13. He meets the shadowy dock man.

The two men made it back to the engine to find that Bobby was gone. They started getting tools out, Roy working like a surgeon arranging them just right in the order he knew they would be using them and the lad just following along and moving things out of Roy’s way. When they were finished, they sat on the tool boxes and lit cigarettes. They smoked in silence, Roy wiping sweat from his face with a bandanna. From above, sounds were heard coming from the galley. “Sounds like Bobby has a batch of iced tea going,” Roy observed. The lad nodded and continued smoking, casually observing more of the engine room. The relative quiet of the engine room was shattered by the sound of a dog from the galley’s watertight door being slammed open, the weight of Bobby stepping onto the fidley, and the door being slammed shut again. The entire disturbance was finished with a single bang of the dog being roughly slammed into place. Bobby came down the stairs at a good pace, his feet turning the metal steps into gongs as they struck. He hit the engine room’s deck plates with a bang and turned immediately to the lad.

“Go find Tommy,” he commanded, “and tell him we need ten gallons of that VARSOL he has stashed. And no bullshit. I know he has some and I’ll come up and get it myself if he doesn’t give it to you. Tell him that.”

“Ok,” the lad responded. “Where do I find Tommy?”

“I said ‘Go. Find. Him’, “Bobby growled. “If I knew where the fuck he was, I’d a told you where to go, wouldn’t I?”

The lad looked at him for only a second and then started up the stairs to the dock. What an asshole. This guy is going to need to calm down if we’re to get along. He considered, too, that Bobby was going to have to see that he was no idiot. To be fair, if engineer Bobby thought he was at all like deckhand Bobby, then maybe he was being tough to make sure he was understood. The lad relaxed and set out to do his first task.

He went back to the forward bitt where they had boarded earlier and made the high step up the cap rail of the bulwarks. One more step and he was on the dock barge. He stopped to look around. The place looked deserted. He walked toward the gang plank leading to the driveway, picking his way around the many pieces of scrap metal, and fittings that littered the dock. He went up the gang plank with long deliberate steps. When he got to the top, he stopped once more to look for his next waypoint. Movement caught his eye. It wasn’t really anything but smoke coming from the open doors of an old shipping container. He carefully stepped up until he could see that two men were sitting inside of it, one on an old metal bucket and the other on an empty line spool. Both were smoking cigarettes, conversing quietly.

He stepped into their view and they both looked up at the same time. One of them, the one on the metal bucket he recognized as the shadowy man that hung around the fire the first day he came to the tugs. He was staring at the lad with narrowed eyes and it gave the lad the same uncomfortable feeling he had that day. The other man sat on the rope spool and smiled at the lad with a broad, gap-toothed smile, almost hidden by the bushy mustache that was as gray as the hair that hung long from under his ball cap. His face was youthful though. The lad was surprised to see the gray hair on such a young looking face.

“What can we do for you, young man?” the friendly man asked.

“You Tommy?”

“I’m Tommy.”

“Well. Bobby sent me up to get a couple of cans of VARSOL from you.”

“He did?” Tommy teased, almost singing the question. “What if I tell you to tell the fat prick that I don’t have any.”

The lad dropped his head for just a split second, the first hint of frustration showing early in the conversation. “Look. He knows you have it and he’s been a real ass so far. I really need to come back with some, or it isn’t gonna go well for me. You have some, right?”

“Yeah, I do. Take it easy. I wouldn’t mess with you too long.” He stood up while taking a last long pull off his cigarette, snubbing it out on the container wall by the time he was upright. The lad could see he was a tall guy. “I have it in another container. C’mon. We’ll get it.” Now the little quiet man stood up too and followed Tommy out of the container.

“Don’t let Bobby push you around,” he said to the lad as he passed him. The lad followed the quiet man toward the container as Tommy led. He continued, “Bobby thinks he’s hot shit because he worked for a big diesel company before this but he get a check every Friday the same as all us. If the old man told you to help with that engine, you do that and you’ll do good. Bobby can’t do a thing about it. They ain’t his engines.”

The lad was relieved that the skinny guy was talking to him at all. He jogged a step or two to catch up and held out his hand. “I’m…..”

“I know who you are,” the skinny man said without looking at the lad’s hand. “I’m Bridges. Donny Bridges. I work up on the dock if you need anything from around there.”

“Ok,” replied the lad. “Thanks.” He was starting to realize that Bobby wasn’t well liked by too many so far.

They reached the container where the paints and liquid goods were kept. Tommy went inside and when he returned, he was carrying in each hand a round five gallon can. He set them down in front of the lad and then closed up the container. He and Donny wished the lad a good rest of the day and walked away, headed up the dirt road toward the office. The lad watched them for a few seconds and then bent to pick up the cans of solvent.

He walked the other way down the road back to the dock. The cans weren’t heavy but the thin, formed metal handles were digging into his fingers. He set them down for a bit to give his fingers a chance to recover some circulation, wishing he had a pair of gloves, but items like these were not to found at this outfit. He would try to remember to buy pair. Picking up the cans, he headed towards the tug, stopping only once more until he arrived at the edge of the dock where he made the step down to the boat carrying one can on his shoulder and holding on for balance to the dock and boat with his free hand. He left the cans on deck and headed down to the engine room.

Work had already begun on the engine. There were parts obviously missing and with Roy on one side of the engine, Bobby on the other, more were coming off as the two men tinkered meticulously.

Bobby heard the lad’s footfalls on the ladder and turned. “Get it?”

The lad nodded. Bobby stopped his work and waved him down. He took the lad over to a tub made from the bottom of an old oil drum which had been cut off neatly with a torch. He instructed the lad to pour the solvent into this drum and to begin cleaning the parts that were starting to pile up beside the tub. He was actually very patient while he showed the lad the scrapers, picks, and brushes that he could use to do the job.

But he made one thing very clear. This was as good as it was going to get during the first half of the engine repair. If he wasn’t up to it, to let him know now so they could get some other help.

“I can’t clean parts if we just stand here talking,” the lad responded with a smile. With that, he set to work.