Oil Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 4) (19 page)

“And you feel safe?”

“Absolutely. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t stay out here a minute. Nor would I allow my crew to do so.”

“Thank you, Phil.”

“My pleasure.”

And the screen went blank.

It lit up a second later to reveal the executives on the podium.

More questions:

“Are the people at Louisiana Petroleum aware that demands from environmental groups all over the country—and the world—are pouring in, demanding that Aquatica be shut down and dismantled?”

 
A nod.

“Of course we’re aware of those demands. That’s why this story is so irresponsible, so insanely thoughtless. If it were true, then all of these demands would be thoroughly justified. And we would shut down immediately. BUT IT IS NOT TRUE! THERE IS NOT A THREAD OF TRUTH IN ONE DETAIL OF IT!”

“So what are you doing in response to the demands?”

He huddled with two of the men on the podium with him, then addressed the reporters again:

“All I can say is, we’re going to get to the bottom of these allegations as quickly as possible, and we’re going to have them completely retracted. Then we’re going to find the people responsible for making such claims, and we’re going to be sure that they are held accountable for the damage they’ve brought about. Damage both to our good name and to the oil industry as a whole. Now, that’s all I’m going to be able to say at the moment.”

The men left the stage.

Jackson turned off the tv and looked at Nina.

“Ok. So what do you make of that?”

She shook her head:

“All I know is, Professor Narang is supposed to be one of the most intelligent men in the world regarding such matters.”

“Fine. But surely all these folks out on Aquatica wouldn’t be
 
denying these allegations if they thought there was any danger.”

“I wish I could talk to Narang.”

“Nobody can find him. After he wrote the story, he apparently went into seclusion.”

“Probably,” she said, “because he knew the firestorm that he was going to start. What about Liz Cohen?”

Jackson merely grunted:

“Can’t reach her either. The newspaper is not commenting, and they won’t take my calls.”

“So how much trouble am I in, Jackson?”

He smiled.

A thin smile, but still a smile.

“It depends on who you talk to. I’ve had about 50 calls from LP people this morning. They want me to produce you, and they want you to produce the disk, which they claim you stole from them.”

“Only because I did steal it from them.”

“Yes, there is that. Where is the damned disk?”

“Narang has it.”

“I guess that would make sense. Anyway, LP wants their own engineers to look at it. They’re also offering to make it available to anybody else who wants to analyze it. According to them, none of the stuff Narang claims is on it, possibly even could be. Anyway, they want a chance to clear their name.”

“And if they don’t get the disk?”

He shrugged.

“They’re threatening to bring charges against you.”

“What charges?”

“Theft. Industrial espionage.”

“And if they do?”

“We’ll have to produce you in court.”

“Well. I can’t deny that I stole the flash disk.”

“Of course you can.”

“How?”

“By telling the truth. It wasn’t their flash disk. It was Edgar’s. You brought it home to his family just like you brought his shirts.”

She thought for a time and then said:

“I had almost forgotten the way lawyers think.”

“Yeah, we’re all very proud of that. Of course, what they’re going to say is, it isn’t so much the physical disk you stole as the information that was on it. So it becomes an intellectual property case.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ve already reached a district court in New Orleans and we all get to go to Pat O’Brien’s.”

“Hats and horns. Jackson, I’m tired. I’m tired just thinking about all this. I want to go home.”

He looked at her.

“You want to go home?”

Then he shook his head and said, quietly:

“I had forgotten. You don’t quite realize what’s happening, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

He rose, and beckoned for her to do the same.

“We need to take a little ride.”

“Where?”

“Just..oh, just around in town. There are some things you need to see. Things I can’t quite explain.”

“What are you talking about, Jackson?”

“Just come on. I’ll show you.”

“Do I need the sunglasses? Do I have to scrunch?”

“Negative on both. We’ll be going in my own car, not the one the boy picked you up in. Windows are completely tinted. No one can see you.”

“Is it that important that they don’t?”

“You’ll see. Terry?”

The young man stuck his head in the door.

“Yes, Mr. Bennett?”

“Bring my car around back, will you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He disappeared.

“Still the back stairs?” asked Nina.

“I’d take you out off the roof if I could.”

“So it’s that bad.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just come along, and enjoy the view.”

The first thing she noted about ‘the view,’ as they made their way down the stairs, was that a great many people were getting it from a higher vantage point than she enjoyed.

Helicopters were everywhere.

Red helicopters.

Green helicopters.

Blue helicopters.

“My God,” she whispered, as she opened the car door and entered the front seat, “are we being invaded?”

Jackson turned the key and started the engine.

“Yes, we are, Nina.”

“But why? Aquatica is ten miles offshore and LP is headquartered in Lafayette. What does everybody want with little old Bay St. Lucy?”

“You’ll see.”

They pulled out of the alley.

The town had transformed itself, and was continuing to do so.

Busses crowded the narrow streets.

Bands of people were parading past the souvenir shops.

“Who are all these people?”

“These people? You haven’t seen anything. Here, I’ll turn onto Breakers and we’ll take a look at the beach.”

He did in fact turn onto Breakers Boulevard, but the beach could not be seen.

It was obscured by crowds of bandanna-wearing, bearded, sign-waving people.

“I will ask again, Jackson: who the hell are all these people?”

“These people,” he growled, slowing the car as it merged into a line of vans and RV’s, “are the environmental fringe. They’ve been pouring into town for the last two hours. As far as I can tell, all the ‘beds and breakfasts,’ all the hotels, everything—is now booked up for the foreseeable future.”

“But why? Why are they in Bay St. Lucy?”

“Because we are now the center of the ‘Protect the Environment’ movement. And we are that center because we have one thing.”

“What?”

They were passing a large and raucous crowd of people who had built a campfire on the beach and were passing around what were quite obviously marijuana joints. These people, while not sucking hard on their tokes, were waving signs.

Half of the signs said:

“Down with Big Oil!”

…and had a picture of an exploding oil well on them.

The other half of the signs said:

“NINA!”

..and had a picture of Nina on them.

“Oh my God!” she whispered.

…while Jackson continued, saying:

“We are the center of the ‘Protect Your Environment” movement, Nina, because we have
you
.”

“Oh my God.”

“You haven’t seen the morning edition of the
Bay St. Lucy Gazette
. It’s covered with stories about you. They reprinted stuff about the Robinson case, and the Reddington murder. There are about five different photographs of you, even one of you being carried off the court after the Hattiesburg game.”

“But…but look at that poster, the big one that’s been nailed to the pier. Is that…”

“Yes.”

“That’s Furl! They’ve got Furl’s picture on that poster!”

“That’s because one of the stories this morning talked about you and Furl, and your shack. It even ran a picture of Furl.”

“But how did they get it?”

“Beats me.”

“And that printing…what does that sign say, those letters just under Furl?”

“It says, ‘Furl hates Big Url.”

“What?”

“Furl hates…”

“I know, I see it now. But that’s awful! That’s the worst pun I’ve ever heard!”

“What did you expect, Nina? Whoever came up with it was probably stoned out of his mind.”

“This cannot be happening. I’m dreaming all of this. Look! Look over there. Why are they waving those huge pictures of Willie Nelson?”

Jackson sped up slightly in order to get the car through what was either a low-hanging patch of fog across the road, or a cloud of marijuana smoke that had drifted up from the beach.

“It was just announced half an hour ago. Willie Nelson is coming here next week to do a special ‘save the earth’ concert. He’s also writing a ballad that will be called ‘Nina the Queena the Good Greena Earth, that will be sung to the tune of ‘Home with the Armadillo.’

“I’m going to be sick.”

“Not, hopefully, in my car.”

“But…Jackson, it’s like I said: can’t I go home?”

He shook his head.

“Are you joking? Your home has become a shrine. People are standing around it in rows fifty feet deep, as though it was a Greenpeace cross between Canterbury Cathedral and Mecca.”

“But what about Furl?”

“All I know is that he hates Big Url.”

“Stop that, Jackson.”

“Sorry. I thought a little humor…”

“No.”

“Okay, okay. Furl is at my place. The girls are loving on him. He’s having the time of his life. And I’ve already heard from two Los Angeles producers who want to make a tv series about him.”

“Please stop joking, Jackson. This isn’t really very funny.”

“I’m not joking. It would be a kind of cross between Rin Tin Tin and Lassie. Every week Furl would ferret out some big environmental polluter and rip him to shreds.”

“Okay, and don’t tell me. They’d want Meryl Streep to play me.”

“She’s too tall.”

“She could play sh…oh, the hell with it, I don’t want to go through that all again. But Jackson, where can I go? I’m tired. I’m really confused. And I’m scared. I feel like World War I is breaking out and I’m little Nina Sarajevo, sitting there right between all these giants: the oil industry on one side and the recreational drug industry on the other. Where am I going to sleep for heavens sakes?”

“I’ve got that covered. I and your friends. You’re not alone, Nina. This is Bay St. Lucy, you know.”

“It looks like Woodstock.”