Patching the Loophole

Old George wasn't surprised at all by Henry's thoughts.

While plenty of greenhorns set foot on a crab boat, some only last a single trip. But there are those who can adapt to the work and become full-time crabbers.

Even if you don't make it a lifelong career, it's perfectly reasonable to earn a few more hauls while you're young.

Old George then brought up his own plans. "When I get back, my wife will arrange another crew. Annie No. 21 will rest in port for a day, restock supplies, and get maintenance done before heading out again.

"I'm not sure how many days they'll need to return to port. If you're still interested in crewing with me, conservatively, come find me at the docks in about a week. Pay will match this trip—I won't treat you like a greenie anymore.

"If you feel rested enough and want to get on a boat sooner, have the Pole contact me. I'll find you a reliable vessel. But for now, your job is to rest. Don't think about this stuff for at least three days, got it, kid?"

Henry naturally wouldn't claim he was fine and could keep working. Even if he dared to say it, no captain would take someone fresh off a boat back out to sea. So he nodded in agreement.

But Old George added a warning. "When you rest, rest properly. My boat doesn't welcome junkies. An addict on board is nothing but trouble. The only help I'd offer is tossing you into the Bering Sea to cool your head. You get what I mean?"

Henry raised his hands in surrender. "Got it, boss. I'll follow your orders."

As a Kryptonian who felt nothing from whiskey, Henry doubted those powders would affect his body. Still, he had no interest in trying.

Seeing the young man's earnest expression, Old George knew he'd taken it to heart. He patted Henry's shoulder approvingly.

"Deposit that check into the bank as soon as you can. I've seen too many guys get drunk in a bar, ruin their checks by soaking them, or get them stolen. You'd better pray the thief isn't fast, or even I can't help you."

"Bank, huh." Henry patted the pocket holding the check. "Is there a place to get cash instead?"

"Cash... Don't tell me you don't even have a bank account." Old George sighed.

He hadn't pried into the young man's background, but with enough experience, he could guess the situation.

Old George said, "I'll find someone to help you. That old-timer's good at handling this stuff. You can ask him anything. Afterward, I'll send you back to Old John's bar.

"Even if you need advice, the guy I'm sending you to won't steer you wrong. My legs feel like they're floating right now—I can't drag you around for all this. That work for you?"

"You've been a huge help, boss." Henry had no objections. Having someone introduce him was better than stumbling around on his own.

Patting Henry's shoulder again, Old George said, "If that's settled, come with me to the dock office. I'll make a call there, and you can wait."

"Alright, whatever you say."

The dock office was just a small room, but there were tables and chairs nearby for resting. Old George used a public phone to dial a number, explained the situation, and hung up.

Before leaving, he bought Henry a coffee and said, "That old-timer will be here in about ten minutes. His name's Tom. I told him what you look like and your situation. You two handle the rest from here. Good?"

Henry took the coffee and nodded. "Thanks, boss."

"Get it done early, get some rest early. After a trip out, it's hard to recover without at least three days of rest. The older you get, the longer it takes. I can't run off to a bar like you young folks."

With a bit of a jab, Old George truly left. He still had to walk to the parking lot and drive home—if he didn't go now, he wouldn't make it.

The dock coffee was terrible; Henry nearly spat out the first sip. But maybe that was why it was so effective at waking him up. Especially with his super taste buds amplifying it, he felt completely alert, like he could rocket straight into the atmosphere.

Before long, a light brown vintage car—the kind Henry had only seen in TV shows or old movies—pulled up. It didn't park but stopped by the rest area, and the passenger window rolled down.

The man inside shouted, "Hey, kid, I'm talking to you. Get in. That damn George called me over."

"Tom?" Henry stood up, puzzled.

"Yeah, that's me. Where else would you find a Tom as handsome as me?"

The man inside was a character—an old white man with half-brown, half-silver hair and an out-of-place pair of sunglasses.

Henry wasn't worried about any ill intent, so he opened the passenger door and got in.

But before he could settle, Tom wrinkled his nose. "Whoa, you've been marinating yourself like a pickle. You smell only slightly better than a can of surströmming."

"That bad?" Henry sniffed himself. "You know how it is on the boat. We're either in rain gear or heavy coats. Hard not to get that smell."

"God, spare me." Tom ignored the cold outside and rolled down his own window too. "Let's head to my place for a shower."

"Is that necessary?"

"George said you might need to get some documents sorted. You can't take a photo looking like a mess, can you?"

Henry glanced at himself in the rearview mirror—messy hair nearly covering his eyes, a face full of stubble. If he used that for an ID photo, it'd scream "I'm trouble."

So Henry didn't argue. "Alright, I could use a cleanup. But I don't have a change of clothes."

"If you don't mind wearing old clothes, I've got clean ones at my place. If you want new ones, we can swing by a store first."

"No need. Anything wearable is fine."

"Good, let's go then." Tom hit the gas, and the car shot off smoothly.

As he drove, Tom continued, "First, we'll get you cleaned up at my place, take a photo, then I'll take you to the bank to withdraw cash. Any questions?"

"You can handle documents? Anything?"

Tom replied, "My main gig is labor brokerage. I help out-of-towners get work permits, introduce them to crab boat captains, and take a reasonable commission. Everything's legal.

"Your case is a bit special. If you don't want the IRS on your tail, we'll need to backfill the work permits and taxes afterward.

"I run a legit operation, so don't mistake me for a forger. I'll handle what George asked, but I'll charge a service fee. You understand that, right?"

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