The Storm

Chapter Fourteen

Backtrack

T he flight back to NewOrleans was a blur. To the airport, short term parking, security lines, boarding, takeoff, flight, land-ing, rental car, FEMA check in, Major Peterson, authorization papers, drive to Ruby, and there I was in front of Henry’s house and ringing the bell again at the catfish -headed fence. I had wasted no time. I was on a fast mission. At least this trip was on a clear flight day all the way to New Orleans. But new storm clouds were forming low over New Orleans, and they were getting ready for another downpour. No rain was forecast for that day according to the Major, but another front had pushed in and was threatening the coast again. I had clear sailin g to Henry’s gate. I rang the bell again and a surprised Henry stepped onto the porch and exclaimed, “Land’s sake, Boy. What in the world are you doin' here?” “I gotta talk to you Henry,” I bellowed out, and a worried look spread over his beard-stubbled fa ce. “Well get up here and fill me in, boy!” I bounded up the walkway and across the old rickety porch. “I gotta go back, Henry!” I almost yelled. I hadn’t yet settled down from the fast trip and was wound up tighter than a two-dollar watch. I had only two things on my mind, and they were that compound and getting a story back to the papers.

“Whoh, settle down, Boy. If you don’t have a heart attack, you're sure gonna give me one. What’s goin' on?” Henry asked,

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