“I didn’t write it, Mike,” she said. “I just live here.”

  Jerry took the mailbag and said his goodbyes, only to learn that this mailman was also planning her way out of the mail game. She’d been working on getting a steam engine working and was going to be a tour operator and do her best to capitalize on the song. She was going to call it the Last Train to Clarksville, and it would depart Clarksville every day at 9 sharp or later in case she felt like sleeping in.

  They motored on to Hamburg, where he exchanged pleasantries with a mailman named Nails. With a name like Nails, it was easy to assume he was a tough man. As tough as nails, maybe. But he earned the moniker not for his fortitude, but for his voice. It was grating. Even that was confusing, though, because it might be easy to assume that his voice was grating like nails on a chalkboard. But it didn’t sound anything like that. His voice was grating on a whole different level, grating enough that it made you want to shove nails in your ears. Thus, the name.

  And after listening to a half-hearted rendition of “Last Train to Clarksville,” in which Nails cleverly replaced Clarksville with Fartsville, Jerry turned over the mailbag and quickly shared the news about the festivals and the raids.

  “I heard something about that,” Nails said. “Sounds like they were dressed more for a costume party than a raid.”

  “That’s how everyone’s telling it,” Jerry said. “Do you have any news for me to send downriver?”

  “Nothing new. But you should know that Marco and his boys have been acting up a lot lately.”

  “Same place?”

  “Yeah. Watch yourself, Mike. Those pirates aren’t messing around.”

  “Always do, Nails. I’ll see you in a couple of days.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “You, too? Big plans?” Jerry asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve got some big plans, Mike. I’m getting the hell out of this place.”

  “You? Aren’t you still in that cult? They’re just going to let you leave?”

  “No, man.” Nails seemed offended by the assumption. He looked away. “That shit got way too weird for me.”

  “All the chanting and loyalty oaths finally get to you?”

  “Nah. It wasn’t that so much as they’re switching to muumuus.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Yeah, that just doesn’t feel right. I need something kind of…” he held his hand between his knees. “I don’t know, I guess like a floor or just something to stop the breeze. You understand?”

  “I do.” And he did.

  “Yeah, I can’t hang with that,” he said, and smiled at his own pun. “So, I’ve had it with mail and the cult. I’m out of here.”

  “What’s the plan? Or can’t you tell me?”

  The mailman looked over both his shoulders before waving Jerry a little closer. He whispered, “I’m going to start my own cult. It’s going to be great.”

  In his year on the river, Jerry had perfected his insincere smile, and he wore it now. “Well, that makes sense. You’ve been in, what, two or three cults?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Wow! Seventeen cults. So you really know your cults.”

  “Oh yeah. I know my cults.”

  “So how is yours going to be different?”

  “Well, the problem I’ve seen with almost every cult I’ve ever been in is that it’s really good for the guy that’s in charge. But it kind of sucks for everyone else. They have to do all the work, you see? While the guy at the top, he doesn’t do anything except treat people like crap. But the problem is that not everyone can be in charge.”

  “Oh, so you’ve found a way to create a cult where everyone is in charge?”

  “No, I’m going to start a cult where I’m in charge and I get to treat everyone else like crap. Then it will be great. Weren’t you listening?”

  “I guess I missed that part. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, you’d better learn to listen better, Mike, if you want to be a member of my cult.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t think I’ve got the time.”

  “I’ll be nice to you, Mike. You could be like the second in command. That guy’s got it pretty good too. I mean not as good as the guy in charge, but relatively speaking. I mean the last place guy gets basically all the shit.”

  “That does sound like a good deal, Nails, but I’ve really got to get going.” He took the mooring line from the man and pushed off the dock.

  Nails shouted after him, “You don’t need to be a slave to the river, Mike. You can be a slave to me. It’s a good deal. Think about it!”

  Jerry waved one final time.

  “Did that man ask you to join his cult?” Laura asked when they were out of earshot.

  “He did.”

  “What an odd thing to do,” she said.

  “He sees an opportunity and he’s taking it,” Dalton said. “I admire him. He’s got what it takes to get ahead in life.”

  “You admire him,” Laura said with a certain amount of condemnation.

  “Well, not him per se, but his attitude. I mean he dresses like a buffoon. And he sounds like an idiot. He could do with some coaching and presentation skills, but he’s got the right spirit.”

  “I think it’s disgusting,” Laura said. “Cults are terrible things.”

  “The strong will always dominate the weak. Might as well be on top. I find it inspiring,” Dalton said. “We’re kindred spirits, that weirdo and I.”

  “You hate muumuus, too?” Jerry asked.

  Dalton gave the boatman a weak and sarcastic smile and turned back to the river.

  Laura’s husband had been watching the exchange and finally spoke up with a question. “Are we just all going to ignore what he said about pirates?”

  5

  “What did he mean by pirates?” Laura asked.

  “What do you mean, what did he mean?” her husband asked. “How many ways can someone mean pirate?”

  “Well,” Laura crossed her arms and went on the defense. “He could mean vicious men who rob and plunder or…”

  “Or people who illegally download movies?” Thomas Caine added.

  Laura looked away.

  “That’s what you were going to say. Wasn’t it?” Caine said with a smile.

  “Or books,” Laura said with confidence. “Sometimes they illegally download books.”

  “Who steals a book?” Caine laughed.

  Laura sat down with a pout. “A better class of criminal than you’re used to, Mr. Caine.”

  “Either way, dear,” her husband said with a hand on her shoulder. “I doubt the man was warning us about a band of internet users with little regard for intellectual property rights.”

  “So, we’re talking actual pirates, then?” Connor had finally gotten up from his nap somewhere after Clarksville. But this was the first time he had spoken. “Like Pirates of the Caribbean pirates?”

  “This is the Mississippi,” Caine explained. “The Caribbean is a whole other river.”

  Dalton reached for his briefcase. “No one mentioned pirates,” he said as he snapped it open and pulled out a notebook. “This changes things.”

  Caine mocked him. “Oh, does the baby want to get off?”

  Dalton pointed a pen at the actor. “It changes the math, smart ass. Pirates on the river are a liability. Their presence has to be factored into shrinkage.”

  This caused Caine to laugh. It was a stage laugh, so it was extra condescending. “Hey, everyone. Pirates make this guy shrink.” He stepped over to Andy and elbowed the man in the arm.

  Andy looked the actor in the eyes and shook his head to ensure the younger man understood that they weren’t going to be friends.

  Dalton didn’t take the bait either. “It’s only business, kid. It’s all about protecting your investment. Sometimes it’s from competition. Sometimes it’s from an act of God. Today it’s pirates.”

  “I know all about protecting my investment,” Thomas Caine said. “But you see? I am my investment. And I’ve already dealt with some pirates of my own.”

  “You did?” his assistant asked.

  “Yeah, you remember,” he told her.

  “I do?”

  “Yeah, you… don’t you remember when those kids snuck into the screening? They were in the balcony.”

  “But those weren’t pirates,” Lana said.

  “The old lady said they were pirates,” Caine said with a glance at Laura.

  “But now we’re talking about the other kind of pirates,” Lana said. “The kind that board ships and kill people.”

  “Marco doesn’t always kill people,” Jerry said.

  “Marco? Like Marco Polo?” Caine asked. “That’s clever.”

  “It could have been,” Jerry said. “But he doesn’t go by Marco Polo. He goes by Marco Swolo.”

  “Swolo? Like…” Dalton mimed a bodybuilding pose.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty ridiculous. And he sure likes to show off. Almost never wears a shirt. But they shouldn’t bother us. They’re after valuables. Not luggage.”

  “So that’s the reason for the rules?” Lana asked.

  He nodded. “I don’t run gold. I don’t move guns. No eyepatches, parrots or piglets. I don’t have a thing on board that a pirate could want short of a bottle of rum. So Marco and his boys should leave us alone.”

  “And he’s not a killer?” Laura asked.

  “Not usually,” Jerry said. “Now that people are getting back on their feet, the pirates have found there’s more profit to be made in kidnapping people than in killing them.”

  “Kidnapping?” Thomas Caine said. “Do you think they know I’m here?”

  Eve shook her head. “How could they? All you’ve done is introduce yourself to everyone at every single stop we’ve made.”

  “Oh my God.” He said it quietly at first, but he kept saying it and it built in volume with repetition. “They’re going to kidnap me, aren’t they? They’re going to kidnap me and make me perform in some stupid play written by Marco Swolo. And, oh God, it will probably be some horrible musical filled with shanties.”

  “Calm down, kid,” Dalton said. “He’s a pirate, not Kim Jung II.”

  “Easy for you to say. They’re not here for you,” Caine shot back. Then, his demeanor shifted, and he grew much softer spoken as if resigned to the idea. “They’re coming for me. I’m endangering everyone on the mission. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “Save it, Shakespeare, the Academy isn’t watching,” Jerry said, then explained, “They’re not after you.”

  “How do you know that? You don’t know that.” Caine turned and grabbed Lana by the shoulders. “Don’t you think they’d want to kidnap me?”

  Lana struggled to keep calm in her voice. It wasn’t easy when being shaken. “No, boss. I don’t think you need to worry about it.”

  Caine gasped and pulled a hand to his chest. He didn’t even have to say, “How dare you?”

  “I mean, of course they’re after you, boss,” Lana reassured him.

  His look of rejection turned to one of hurt.

  “You’ve got me in a corner here, boss.” Lana shrugged. “I’m not really sure what you’re looking for on this one. Is it more important for me to tell your ego that everyone wants you or for me to tell your paranoia that everything’s going to be okay?”

  “I’m not really sure. I could really go either way with it,” Thomas said, and dropped into the seat. “This is a very confusing time for me.”

  “Well, you’d better make up your mind.” Dalton slapped the briefcase shut and tucked it quickly back under the bench. He pointed down the river. “Because they don’t look like they’re here to steal a book.”

  The boat wasn’t much bigger than the Boomer, but it wasn’t the size that was intimidating. It was painted black and red, and it rocked as it turned toward them and blasted a hardcore rendition of “Drunken Sailor” through a massive bank of speakers. On top of the cabin stood a bare-chested giant of a man with a Telecaster strapped around his shoulder that hung to his knees. The boat was covered with twice as many men as the Boomer had passengers.

  “Sasquatch,” Eve called softly to wake the dog as she repositioned herself to face the approaching craft.

  As subtle as it was, Jerry noticed the movement. He caught her attention and motioned for her to remain calm.

  Laura moved next to Andy and clasped his arm tight.

  “Oh my God. They’re coming to get me.” Caine didn’t know if he should sit or stand, turn this way or that. For a moment it looked like he was considering making a swim for shore. He paced an incredibly small spot on the deck until Dalton directed him to sit down.

  “You’ve got a plan for this,” Dalton said. “Don’t you, Boatman?”

  “It’s going to be okay, everyone.” Jerry disappeared into the cabin and reemerged a moment later with a duffel bag. He set it on the captain’s seat and joined the passengers on the rear deck.

  The man with the guitar continued to rock as his boat closed the distance to the Boomer. The men in the song had moved on from putting the drunken sailor in a boat with the captain’s daughter to shaving his balls with a rusty razor and the guitarist was now playing directly to the crowd on Jerry’s boat.

  Thomas Caine rushed to the captain’s side. “What do we do? Do we swim for it?”

  “Can you swim faster than his boat?” Jerry asked quietly.

  “I don’t think so,” Caine said, studying the distance to shore. “Tell me you have a plan. What do we do?”

  “We stay calm,” Jerry said. “And it would probably be best to applaud when he finishes the song. But whatever you do, don’t ask for an encore. I’m not even joking. He’ll do it. He’ll do it and it will be terrible.”

  “How can we applaud that? It’s not very good,” Caine said.

  “Then maybe try and act like you liked it, Thespis.”

  Caine nodded and made his way back to his seat, spreading word of the expected applause to the passengers as he went.

  The final chorus of “Hooray and up she rises” was drawn out for a length of time that was simply uncalled for and ended with a flourish that no pirate shanty ever deserved. But, mercifully, it came to an end as the two boats met.

  The passengers erupted in a round of applause led by Thomas Caine, who looked around to make sure each man, woman and dog was doing their part as he had directed.

  “My my my.” The man with the Telecaster unslung the guitar and passed it to one of his men while the others tied the two boats together. “That was some welcome. I thank you all for your applause.”

  The large man jumped down to the deck of his boat and stepped over the rail to the Boomer with a simple stride.

  They all felt his presence on the boat as it shifted to accommodate his weight.

  He looked at each of the passengers long and hard, examining each with either a critical or appreciative eye. “I don’t usually get applause like that, except maybe from my own men on pay day.”

  A smile appeared on his lips as he looked at Eve and Lana. He tipped his hat to Laura. He sneered at Dalton, who reacted by half sitting and half falling back into his seat. He gave Caine a second look and raised a finger like he was about to say something.

  Caine stood proud and tall for a brief moment before he started shaking and sat down next to Dalton.

  Then he turned the finger on Jerry. “It was quite a warm welcome from your charges here. But tell me something, Captain Mike. Why is it they are all clapping for yours truly but you’re not?” He jabbed the large finger into Jerry’s chest.

  Thomas Caine made a sound that sounded exactly like, “Eep.”

  Jerry glanced at the finger and then back up into the giant man’s eyes. “Because they all think you’re a pirate named Marco Swolo. But I know you’re just an asshole on a boat, Mason.”

  The giant heaved in a massive breath that exploded a moment later as laughter. He looked at the passengers and laughed even harder. “You all thought I was… You told them I was Marco? That’s a dirty trick.”

  “Mostly, I just let them assume,” Jerry said and pointed to Caine. “That one’s got quite the imagination.”

  Mason looked at Caine and then back to Jerry. “Do I know him? I know him, right?”

  Thomas Caine shook his head. “I doubt it. I mean… probably not.”

  “No, I know you.” Mason studied him closer and then clapped his hands together in excitement. “Mike, you’ve got a bona fide movie star on board. Did you know that?”

  “He may have mentioned it.”

  “That’s where I know you from,” Mason took Caine’s hand and shook it with enough enthusiasm to pull the man off balance. “You play the Librarian in all those movies about the Librarian. I love those movies. Don’t you, Mike?”

  “Do you want your mail or not, Mason?” Jerry asked, holding out the duffel bag.

  “Of course.” Mason took the bag, opened it and began going through the bag once he set a pair of reading glasses on his nose. The bag was filled with letters and small packages bound in brown paper. Just like the old days. It was amazing how fast the past came back into style. People insisted on brown paper packages and had no idea why. But that’s how it was being done.

  The passengers settled back into their seats to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

  “If you’re not a pirate,” Andy asked, “what’s with the big production?”

  “It’s awesome! That’s what’s with it. Every legend needs entry music, friend.”

  “Legend?” Thomas smirked. “Just who are you?”

  Mason stopped shuffling through the mail and peered at Thomas over the glasses. “Are you serious?” He turned to Jerry. “Is he serious?”

  Jerry smiled and turned away. He had seen this show before.

  “You must be new around here. My name is Commodore Mark Mason. And I’m the King of the River and Captain of the ‘Cuda. I can outfight, outdrink, outrun, outswim, outshoot, out-gotdamn-swear, outsnore, outtalk and out-any-damn-thing anyone else on the entire Mississippi.” Mark Mason snorted for emphasis and went back to his mail.

  “Commodore?” Connor chuckled.

  “That’s right,” Mason said, sifting through the letters.