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“If you mean it ain’t worth livin’ in, neither is starvin’ on the street. I do what I can, young man.”
“I meant no offense, sir. I can see that you’re trying to provide for both of you, and I applaud that. We’d like to help. All of you. We think these homes should be updated.”
“Well, if you could do that, it would be good but don’t hold your breath. Couvillion is mean as a snake. Don’t ask for nothin’, or he’ll fire you on the spot. That’s what we’ve learned. Folks are lookin’ for work. He can replace us in a minute.”
“I didn’t get your name,” said Tailor.
“Ray. Ray Bell.”
“Mr. Bell, it was nice meeting you. We’ll be back soon.” He shook the old man’s hand and walked toward their truck, waving at Joshua as they passed. Stopping, he backtracked and looked at the book in the boy’s hand.
“Tom Sawyer. You thinking of sailing down that river?”
“No.”
“I see. Maybe need a little adventure?” he asked.
“No. Don’t cause no trouble for my granddad,” he said, glaring up at the two big men. He might be small, but they could tell he would defend his grandfather to the death.
“We have no intentions of causing him any problems,” said Tailor. “We want to help all of you.”
“Yea, that’s what everyone says, and then someone gets in trouble. Just leave things as they are. We’re doin’ okay.”
“But you should be doin’ better than okay,” said Alec. “That’s what we’re gonna try to make happen.” The boy just stared at them, nodding as they walked away.
“That’s a bitter boy,” said Tailor. Alec nodded.
“Yep. And we may have just made him our enemy.”
Alex and Tailor visited four other shacks along the narrow dirt road. All were the same. Weathered, cracking floorboards, gaps in the walls, no heat, no indoor plumbing. These were slaves’ shacks that this man had basically made somewhat habitable.
“You ever hear of this man, Pops?”
“I’ve heard of him,” frowned Matthew. “He’s a bitter, bitter man. His father owned the fishing company and all the boats and, when he died, left them in debt. The son, Tyler Couvillion, he wanted to sell the whole business, but the boats aren’t in the best of conditions.”
“Will you come with us, Matthew? Will you come and speak with him?” asked Tailor.
“I can try.”
It wasn’t hard to find Tyler Couvillion. He was sitting outside the office of his dockside business. The building looked as though it might fall over with one good shove. He was leaning back against the building, chugging down a beer. His fourth if the empties on the table were any indication.
“Mr. Couvillion? We’d like to speak with you about those shacks you own along Bayou Trail,” said Matthew.
“Them assholes complain? I give ‘em a place to live for free. They can find themselves another job!”
“No one complained,” said Matthew. “We saw the homes, and they’re not habitable. If the Parish authorities came out here and inspected them, they’d tear them down.”
“Let me guess. That’s what you’re gonna do,” he said, snarling at the three men. He didn’t even seem to care that Tailor and Alec could swallow him whole. He slammed the chair forward, now sitting on all four legs, and stood with some effort.
“We’re not here to cause trouble, Tyler,” said Matthew.
“How do you know me?” he asked, jerking his head backwards.
“I knew your father. He was a good man that had a few bad years. Nothing to be ashamed of there.”
“Yea. Says you, old man.” Alec kicked the table in front of the man and took a step forward.
“Have some respect. We’re here as neighbors.”
