Shooting For Justice by G. Tilman (top 100 novels txt) 📗

in and had him sit for a few minutes until he completed it. He looked at his list closely, then pushed several sheets across to Pope.

“What do you go by, Provost?” McKellar asked.

“Either John or just Pope.”

“I’m Dan, John. No need for a lot of formality inside. Outside, protocol is the Navy’s middle name.”

Pope grinned at him.

“Seems to be in Washington, too. Few uniforms, but everybody is concerned by the next man’s title and how much power it suggests. Pretty silly to watch. I can understand it from a discipline standpoint in the Army or Navy, though.”

“Yes. Me, too. You get used to it when you are in uniform. Which I will probably wear until they put me in a box, nail it shut and fire a few rifles up in the air.”

“Probably not a bad life. Especially if you don’t care about the rose covered cottage for the long term. Just one big, organized adventure.”

“True, John. Sometimes you get an assignment which is or gets boring, but even then, you can transfer before too many years pass.”

“I have prepared a letter of introduction for you for the local and Philadelphia yards. You will be on your own for Philadelphia and for the live oak preserves in the South.”

Following dinner, Pope went to his room and prepared a working list of questions he wanted to ask. The ones for contractors included: “How are you impacted? What will it cost you? Can you make a turnaround and switch to steel hulls? Cost? Retraining time? Cost to retrain. What do your employees or members think? What are you hearing?”

Pope was not seeking the answers to these questions. He was seeking how the questions were answered. Did the questions engender anger? How were the responses couched? In business logic or threats?

In Brooklyn and Philadelphia, he got angry answers from companies who supplied wood shipbuilders and their unions. Most others saw the steel hull handwriting on the wall and were adjusting to change over. The cost to manage the change in their marketplace was simply a cost of business most said. They would build as much of it as possible into the lucrative government contracts. The unions would attempt to cover the cost of retraining into contract negotiations with the builders. Nobody seemed to be taking on the Navy.

He made reservations on a train to Atlanta and onward to live oak preserves in Florida and Mississippi.

Pope planned a one-day break in the trip to report to Lincoln and see Sarah.

“So, nobody so far seems to be horribly mad at the Navy, or the congress, or the president?” Lincoln asked at the end of Pope’s update.

“They are irritated to have to change. I think resistance to change is a human frailty. But I have not seen the type of anger leading an assassination or a coup.”

“This is comforting, John. Keep nibbling away at this thing. Eventually, there will be nobody left but the threat.”

“Occam’s Razor, sir. Shave away the possible and you will be left with the answer.”

“Hmm. Thought I heard such logic somewhere. Perhaps in law school.”

“Perhaps, sir,” Pope said. “I will let you know which way the wind blows down South in the live oaks.”

Pope went home and surprised Sarah. They adjourned to the parlor and he brought her up to date and told her he was on the way to Florida and Mississippi, if not more Gulf states.

“I wish I could go. I’m starting to get cabin fever. There’s not much more research I can do at the Congressional Library.”

“Why don’t you go then? We certainly can afford your train fare and meals. It will be a break for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am, honey. You just cannot actively be a detective. It’s out of the character we are playing. But you can be the loving wife. Very loving would be nice,” he said.

“I am beginning to see why you want me to go…”

“Truly, I have missed my partner on the trail. Tell May and pack a few things. Including your armaments.”

“Shotgun, too?” she asked. “It will fit in my valise. I checked.”

“Then by all means, bring it along. You never know when a nice load of double-aught will soothe a savage beast,” Pope said.

She sought May and requested a train picnic to carry for the trip down. Pope had never seen the valise she was packing. It was longer and less deep and wide than most. He was pretty sure his partner had her sawed-off shotgun in mind when she selected it. The perfect wife for him, he thought.

They headed south through Richmond and on to Atlanta, and then to Jacksonville where they changed for a westbound train for the Florida panhandle. They got off the train in Pensacola and checked into a hotel.

Pope got a horse from the livery nearest the hotel and rode to a live oak preserve. He presented the letter from the admiral who was in charge of naval operations.

His reception was cool at first, then heated as the civilian manager cursed the Congress and the Navy. He sounded like the man Pope had arrested at the President’s House, ranting about “ruining jobs for hardworking Americans”. The difference in his rants was the substitution of changing from wooden to steel hulls instead of immigration.

“Where is the company located which hires the men who tend the live oak trees, cut them, mill them, deliver them to port and load them?” Pope asked.

“ACME Marine Lumber is in Biloxi. At least until they go out of business.”

Pope bit his tongue and let the man continue.

He asked about shipbuilding unions in Pensacola. He was told there were no shipbuilding unions in Florida. He suspected the same for Mississippi.

At the end of the harangue, he thanked the man and left. Pope wished he could have decked the man for subjecting him to his temper tantrum but knew it would not have accomplished anything. Except, perhaps, satisfaction.

He went back to the hotel. Sarah left a note saying she was out walking around