The Waking by H. M. Mann Page B

for your interview?”
    “ Already?”
    “ Yep. Country boy Rufus back there told me you got a shot at a mess job.”
    “ No kidding? Do I have a good shot?”
    “ Well … Maybe. He told me that you got to take a Coast Guard physical and a drug test. Oh yeah. And they’ll do a background check on you, too.”
    Just when I was starting to think positively. “So why are we having the interview? You know I can’t pass my physical, much less pass a drug test or get by with the background check. They’ll find out I’m on probation and—”
    “ There you go again, thinking those negative thoughts. You can pass that physical. Just tell them you’ve been getting over the flu. They’ll understand. Rufus tells me all they do is take your blood pressure and listen to your heart and lungs. Just keep your sleeves rolled down. Tell them you’re cold or something. As for the drug test, well, Rufus says his pee is pure as the Mississippi rain, or so he told me.”
    “ What?”
    “ How do you think all those professional athletes pass their drug tests?” Slade says. “Rufus got your back. Only thing they’re going to find in his pee is pork. You see the size of his ham hocks?” Then Slade sighs. “That only leaves the background check.”
    “ I don’t even have any ID.”
    “ Which is just as well because you’re gonna be me for a while, at least until you get to where you’re going. You play this right, and you’ll be in New Orleans in no time.”
    “ New Orleans?”
    “ That’s where you’re headed, right? To find your daddy?”
    “ I hadn’t thought about it.” But, of course, I’m lying, and I know Slade knows I’m lying, so there’s no use in denying it. “Okay, I have thought about it, but the chance of finding him after twenty-nine years is impossible.”
    “ You believe what you’re saying? Impossible? I am looking at an impossibility. A man jumps off a bridge and doesn’t die. That’s an impossibility that will never be an impossibility for me again.” He fishes in his back pocket for his wallet, taking out an Illinois driver’s license and handing it to me. “Memorize the social security number and the date of birth.”
    “ This won’t work.”
    He runs a finger under his social security number. “Memorize it.”
    “ But where were you born? Won’t this make me from East St. Louis?”
    “ So you were born in East St. Louis, and you’ve lived in Pittsburgh for most of your life. It’s easy to explain, right? You rode the Boonesboro up to Pittsburgh and back to here.”
    He makes it sound too easy. “I don’t know.”
    “ Just relax. Here comes the H-N-I-C.”
    I look up a set of stairs and see Rufus leading an older black woman toward us. She wears a reddish skirt, maroon vest, long-sleeved white shirt, and a black string tie. “She’s the—”
    “ Hush,” Slade says. “And smile.”
    “ I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”
    “ Don’t smile then,” Slade whispers.
    She stands in front of me. “This him?”
    “ Yes, ma’am,” Rufus says, and then he goes about his business.
    She looks me up and down, her soft brown eyes dancing over my clothes, her thin eyebrows rising and falling. “What can you do?”
    “ Whatever you need done.” I sound so desperate. I add “ma’am” for good measure.
    “ Uh-huh.” She looks up at Slade. “Rufus tells me this is your cousin. That true? You don’t look a lick alike.”
    “ We’re second cousins, on my granddaddy’s side,” Slade says smoothly.
    “ Uh-huh,” she says. She sighs and looks back at me. “You in this for the long haul, or will I have to take attendance?”
    “ I’m not sure I understand,” I say, even though I do.
    “ You gonna jump ship at the next big city?” she asks.
    I look down. “No, ma’am.”
    “ Uh-huh.” She shakes her head. “We could use you, don’t get me wrong. Hard to serve a full boat of four hundred folks three times a day when you’re understaffed, but I have to know