Remy Boudreaux's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The gator's wake pulled Remy a mile down the channel before the water went still and dark over what he guessed was the Marie-Claude. He killed the motor and looked over the side. The bayou here ran deeper than he remembered. Thirty feet, maybe more. He had a mask in the skiff, a length of rope, and lungs that had never held air past a minute. He knew what that meant. He could dive down there and drown, or he could sit in the boat and lose the land. Neither answered the mortgage. "Alright, vieux," he muttered. "How you want me to reach you." He motored back toward the landing and tied off near the old tavern at the edge of the water. The place had been shut since he was a boy. Broken windows. Loose boards. A door that hung open on one hinge. His grandfather used to drink there and swore the owner kept a compressor and hose rig in the back for pulling crab traps off snags. Long shot. Only shot he had. He stepped inside. Dust rose off a busted couch shoved against the wall, its cushions torn, its cloth faded to nothing. He walked past it toward the back room. Something croaked. Then something else. He stopped. Five toads sat in a wet cluster on the bar, watching him. Their throats pulsed. The biggest one spoke first, and its voice came out flat and plain, like a man ordering a drink. "Wrong door, cher." Remy did not move. "He said don't wake her," said a smaller one. "He did," said a third. Remy set his hand on the bar and leaned down close. "My grandpa send y'all?" "The swamp send us," said the big one. "Compressor in the back. Hose still good. Take it and you owe." "Owe what?" The toads did not answer. They only stared. He walked to the back. The compressor sat under a tarp, rusted at the seams but whole. A coil of air hose hung on a nail. A regulator, cracked but usable, sat on a shelf. He tested the pull cord. The motor coughed, caught, and ran rough. He shut it off before it drew more attention than it already had. He hauled the rig out past the bar. The toads had not moved. "You gonna tell me the price?" he asked. "She'll tell you," the big one said. "When you get down there." Remy loaded the compressor into the skiff. His hands shook once and then steadied. He had a way down now. He also had a debt he had not agreed to, owed to something he had not seen. He pushed off from the tavern and pointed the bow back toward the deep water over the Marie-Claude.