Thin Slice of Life

Chapter 15

O.B. Hadnott had never been in a shrimp processing plant before, but he was told he could probably find Nguyen Ngoc Bao there. The retail seafood store, located street-side in front of the tin warehouse called the Sea-Tex Fish Company, seemed empty when Hadnott walked through the door. The small room had two long horizontal glass counters where the fresh seafood was artistically laid out on beds of ice like an undersea buffet. He gawked at the harvest: shimmering Spanish Mackerel and platter-sized flounder with pairs of eyes awkwardly poking through their flat leathery heads, blue crabs with red-tipped claws, and a half dozen bright pink snapper with startled expressions. O.B. had never realized so many strange, alien creatures existed out there under that green water. Catfish and crappie caught at the end of a bamboo pole in a West Texas stock tank marked the extent of Hadnott’s aquatic adventures. Just then a girl rose up from behind one of the counters, surprising O.B. She had been stooped over a large cooler on the floor. “You want fish?” she asked O.B. O.B. stared at the girl in wonder. She had long black hair that was wrapped in a thick plait reaching almost to her waist. He observed CHAPTER 15 91 |15 that she was short and slight but very well put together, and that she seemed elegant and feminine even as she whisked a strand of hair from her face with a heavy rubber seaman’s glove. This is one beautiful woman, O.B. thought, with what he hoped was only a professional appraisal. “You buy fish?” the woman repeated. “Uh, no ma’am. No I…I’m here looking for someone.” She stared at him quizzically. O.B. continued. “His name is Nguyen Ngoc Bao,” he said, struggling to pronounce the name that up to now he had only seen written on official reports, including the one just faxed to him from Ranger headquarters in Austin. He pronounced it “Nee-gwen Nee-gock Bay-o.” The girl smiled. “In Vietnamese, the name pronounced Win Noc Bao,” she corrected. “Like bow-wow…you know, like talks the dog.” Then her face hardened. “He not here. Gone from office.” O.B. was glad that he could understand this girl’s English. He had felt like a fool a few days earlier while trying to question the Vietnamese fishermen about Neddy Pomade’s shooting. They’d looked at him like he was a goddamned Roswell space alien. “But he does work here, right?” he asked. “I not know. I only work here part time, and my job now is put fish in ice box so it not go bad if we lose power because of storm.” She impatiently heaved a mackerel into the cooler. O.B. forced his eyes away from the girl and looked around the room. “Where are the shrimp?” he finally asked, conversationally. Now it was her turn to look confused. He motioned toward a blackboard on which FRESH-CAUGHT SHRIMP was printed in chalk. “Shrimp in back. Coming off boats,” she replied, nodding toward a heavy door. Hadnott could see people moving around through the small window in the door. “The boats are out fishing even with a hurricane coming?” he asked. “Coming in from Gulf. Sometimes that when shrimping is best,” she said, returning to her task. “Maybe the shrimp don’t want to get caught in the storm so they jump into the nets on purpose,” he added, allowing one side of his mouth to move up almost imperceptibly. O.B.’s version of levity. “You ever been in hurricane?” she asked with exasperation. “No ma’am, I can’t say I have.” “Nothing funny about it.” 92 15| O.B. reddened in embarrassment. “Is there anybody back there who might know Mr. Bao’s whereabouts?” he asked, reassuming his official character. The girl stopped grabbing fish and turned to O.B. “You want to look for Colonel Bao in back, you go, okay. I not stopping you.” “Colonel? Then you do know Mr. Bao,” O.B. answered. She looked sharply at the tall officer. Who the hell was this sunburned cowboy with the huge white hat and clunky boots? Nobody dressed like that around the harbor. “Okay. Mr. Marlboro Man, why not you go back and look for him, you know? Just pretend...