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Authors: Tony Dunbar
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closer than the Superdome; it was the Broad Street overpass, and he could see that there were people and buses on the bridge.
It took just a few minutes to get there. The people on the overpass drew back as if afraid when the Lost Lady motored up and idled at the edge of the flood. Then, when they saw the police T-shirt, they crowded around.
“Find out if there are any more cops here!” Jones instructed Tubby. He stayed in the boat with his woman and baby. Tubby climbed out, got his land legs back, and worked through the crowd.
“Have you got food?” the people asked. “Where are the helicopters?” “When are they coming for us?” The lawyer just shook his head. He hoped Jones could protect the boat. The buses at the top of the bridge had “Orleans Parish Prison” written on the side. He rapped on the door of the first one, but it was a man sitting on top of the bus with a shotgun on his lap who responded.
“Who are you?” the guard demanded.
“My name is Dubonnet. I’m with the policeman over there in the boat. Are there any cops around? What’s going on?”
“No, there ain’t no cops around. I’ve got forty-two prisoners in this bus and forty-four in the other one. You want them?” Some of the guys in the bus started beating on the glass.
“No food!” they yelled. “No water!” The bus started to rock. Tubby stepped back.
“Get us out of here!” the prisoners cried.
A woman grabbed his arm.
“There’s a sick one there,” the woman said, pulling Tubby toward a heap of clothes lying on the pavement. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but she needs a doctor now.”
Tubby looked, and indeed it was a woman, a fairly young one, hair streaked with dirt, eyes closed, sweating. Her legs looked lifeless on the paving, and her head was supported uncomfortably by the curb.
“Is no one helping you here?” he asked.
The old woman shook her head. “Take this one with you before she dies. Please.”
Tubby carried the woman off the bridge, parting the crowd as he went. She wasn’t light. Her skin was soft but cold. Some of the refugees were too tired to get out of their way, and the lawyer had to step over them. Others cursed him for leaving them behind.
Officer Jones initially looked like he wouldn’t let another passenger on board, but Tubby handed him the woman, and he took her anyway. The captain got aboard, regained the wheel, and motored back into the flood.
“We’ll go to the Convention Center,” Jones stated firmly. “That’s where we’ll find the buses.”
10
Bonner awoke on the leather sofa and took in his new surroundings. A framed Jazz Fest poster, a quiet room. Sunlight came through the windows in the back. He got to his feet and went looking for water. There was a combination kitchen and copy machine room in the law office. Water trickled thinly into the sink, but there was also a Kentwood dispenser with a nearly full five-gallon bottle. He lifted the jug out and washed his face, letting the water splash onto the floor.
A splendid sunrise poured into Tubby’s office. Bonner liked it here. He could see all over New Orleans. Toward the west, rooftops poked out of the silvery glittering soup of lake water. Below him the French Quarter appeared to be high and dry. Other office towers were close by. Curtains flapped from blown-out windows in the Sheraton Hotel.
It was very quiet this high up. No sirens or anything.
He went to work snooping around Tubby’s desk. There was a framed photograph of three girls. They were cute. Here was a calendar, and on the first page were some handwritten birthdays, for Collette, Christine, and Debbie. That would make Debbie twenty-two. Christine would be nineteen. She must be the middle one on the picture. Debbie was the one he liked the best. In a Rolodex he found everybody’s phone number.
How could he play this to his advantage? He took some time with the question while he explored the other offices. He had just about
It took just a few minutes to get there. The people on the overpass drew back as if afraid when the Lost Lady motored up and idled at the edge of the flood. Then, when they saw the police T-shirt, they crowded around.
“Find out if there are any more cops here!” Jones instructed Tubby. He stayed in the boat with his woman and baby. Tubby climbed out, got his land legs back, and worked through the crowd.
“Have you got food?” the people asked. “Where are the helicopters?” “When are they coming for us?” The lawyer just shook his head. He hoped Jones could protect the boat. The buses at the top of the bridge had “Orleans Parish Prison” written on the side. He rapped on the door of the first one, but it was a man sitting on top of the bus with a shotgun on his lap who responded.
“Who are you?” the guard demanded.
“My name is Dubonnet. I’m with the policeman over there in the boat. Are there any cops around? What’s going on?”
“No, there ain’t no cops around. I’ve got forty-two prisoners in this bus and forty-four in the other one. You want them?” Some of the guys in the bus started beating on the glass.
“No food!” they yelled. “No water!” The bus started to rock. Tubby stepped back.
“Get us out of here!” the prisoners cried.
A woman grabbed his arm.
“There’s a sick one there,” the woman said, pulling Tubby toward a heap of clothes lying on the pavement. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but she needs a doctor now.”
Tubby looked, and indeed it was a woman, a fairly young one, hair streaked with dirt, eyes closed, sweating. Her legs looked lifeless on the paving, and her head was supported uncomfortably by the curb.
“Is no one helping you here?” he asked.
The old woman shook her head. “Take this one with you before she dies. Please.”
Tubby carried the woman off the bridge, parting the crowd as he went. She wasn’t light. Her skin was soft but cold. Some of the refugees were too tired to get out of their way, and the lawyer had to step over them. Others cursed him for leaving them behind.
Officer Jones initially looked like he wouldn’t let another passenger on board, but Tubby handed him the woman, and he took her anyway. The captain got aboard, regained the wheel, and motored back into the flood.
“We’ll go to the Convention Center,” Jones stated firmly. “That’s where we’ll find the buses.”
10
Bonner awoke on the leather sofa and took in his new surroundings. A framed Jazz Fest poster, a quiet room. Sunlight came through the windows in the back. He got to his feet and went looking for water. There was a combination kitchen and copy machine room in the law office. Water trickled thinly into the sink, but there was also a Kentwood dispenser with a nearly full five-gallon bottle. He lifted the jug out and washed his face, letting the water splash onto the floor.
A splendid sunrise poured into Tubby’s office. Bonner liked it here. He could see all over New Orleans. Toward the west, rooftops poked out of the silvery glittering soup of lake water. Below him the French Quarter appeared to be high and dry. Other office towers were close by. Curtains flapped from blown-out windows in the Sheraton Hotel.
It was very quiet this high up. No sirens or anything.
He went to work snooping around Tubby’s desk. There was a framed photograph of three girls. They were cute. Here was a calendar, and on the first page were some handwritten birthdays, for Collette, Christine, and Debbie. That would make Debbie twenty-two. Christine would be nineteen. She must be the middle one on the picture. Debbie was the one he liked the best. In a Rolodex he found everybody’s phone number.
How could he play this to his advantage? He took some time with the question while he explored the other offices. He had just about
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