“Because I sick and tired of your job always cancelling our plans. I’m making plans of my own.”
She walked out of the room.
CHAPTER 17
The elevator door opened. Jake and Beth walked out into the lobby. McGill was waiting in the foyer with Ben, Dave and Carol.
Dave shouted, “Hey, pretty boy, you noticing a common thread here? We’re always waiting around for you to show up.”
“Whatever.” Jake rolled his eyes at the group. “Kirkland bail on us again?”
“I made the cursory offer, but you know how he is,” McGill said. “C’mon, let’s go. The ferry’s this way.”
The receptionist informed them that the water taxis would run until two a.m. The hours had been extended past the usual last run at midnight due to the extra crowds for the holiday.
The group walked out the side door from the Westin. The fog had thickened to the point River Street was no longer visible, not even the glow from the lights.
The landing was situated at the end of a U-shaped drive located between the Westin and the Savannah International Trade and Convention Center. They walked down to the ramp at the landing, as the Savannah Belles Ferry vessel Juliette Gordon Low pulled into the dock. The ferry, formerly a tug, was about forty feet long with a large black smokestack protruding upward immediately behind the pilothouse. The cabin had been converted into a seating area with painted bench seats.
Crossing the river in the fog gave Jake an eerie feeling as the lights from the hotel dock disappeared. Although there was plenty of room inside the ferry for passengers to sit, most wanted to stand on the deck as the ferry made the crossing. Dave and Ben stood on the bow. Jake, Beth and Carol stayed inside. Carol recapped her day with the media to Beth. Jake stared out the window looking at McGill, who stood just outside the port-side door, talking on his cell phone.
The single beam of the tug’s spotlight shone into the darkness ahead revealing nothing. After two minutes of what seemed like an eternity in the black void, the sky brightened. The lights from River Street came into view. The captain pulled the ferry up to the City Hall landing and docked next to the Hyatt.
Jake grabbed Beth’s hand and they followed McGill and the others on the short walk up River Street to the pub. River Street, he found, was not paved but rather constructed entirely of cobblestones, historic but rough on pedestrians and vehicles. The stones were laid by slaves nearly two centuries ago and were actually ballast stones taken from the bowels of the ships as they docked on the riverfront to load cotton from the warehouses.
Cotton warehouses sprang up along the Savannah River in the early 1800s. Carts were used to carry cotton down to the ships but kept getting stuck in the soft sand. So, Savannahians unloaded the ballast from ships returning from England and used the rocks to line the waterfront and create ramps down the bluff from Bay Street. Masonry walls were constructed along the sandy bluff lining the ramps creating a barrier to prevent erosion.
Walkways built over the ramps were used by merchants and buyers to observe and inspect the cotton as it was carted down below. These walkways make up Factor’s Walk. Cotton merchants, or factors, built a row of warehouses along River Street between East Broad Street and Bull Street. Known as Factor’s Row, these warehouses were later converted to offices, shops, hotels, restaurants and pubs.
River Street was bustling with tourists. Peddlers confronted pedestrians and pushed their goods.
Still two days away, vendors were already gearing up for the big St. Patrick’s Day celebration.
Beth smiled at Jake. “Isn’t this exciting? Look at all the stuff.”
She pointed at an older man. “Look. He’s making flowers out of palmetto fronds.”
Street performers lined the street playing guitars, some singing, in hopes that passersby would throw spare change into the open guitar cases. Three young black men sang “Amazing Grace.” A cappella.
Jake elbowed Beth. “Get a load of this guy.” He pointed to a religious fanatic carrying his Bible in one hand and his doomsday sign in the other while shouting words from “Revelations” at the top of his lungs.
McGill led the group up the walkway between the river and the Hyatt, avoiding the crowded tunnel for easier walking. As they came around the end of the hotel, he gestured to the first building across River Street, Kevin Barry’s Pub.
The pub occupied the bottom two stories of a five-story building. The other stories were accessible only from the Bay Street side at the top of the bluff. The pub had two entrances on the front facing River Street with two windows between the doors. American flags, Irish flags, and POW/MIA flags hung from the roof of the second floor balcony bar. Below the windows was a row of shamrocks and musical notes, all in vivid green.
Irish music spilled out onto the streets from the live entertainers who lent Kevin Barry’s its authenticity and Irish flavor. The group entered the main bar and a waitress cheerfully told them to find any open tables downstairs or upstairs. A U-shaped bar extended from the rear of the room towards the front with bar stools lined along the outside, fast-moving bartenders served patrons from a walkway extending down the middle.
Beth stumbled slightly on the uneven rough-cut timber floor.
Jake caught her by the arm. “Careful there, Grace.”
“I don’t get out very often. Can you tell?” She said.
They laughed.
The dark stone and brick walls, low rough-cut lumber ceilings and low lighting added to the dimness of the room. A haze of cigarette smoke cast a halo around the lights. The group wandered around downstairs looking at pictures on the walls. The crowd was loud as they tried to talk over the Irish band playing on a small stage in another room.
McGill located a place for them then Dave and Ben helped him push three of the round tables together to make one table large enough for everyone to sit together. They all pulled up chairs and sat down.
The barmaid approached and pulled out her pad. “Will this be on separate tabs?”
McGill spoke first, “Black and Tans for everybody. First round’s on me.”
She smiled and put away her pad. “Okay, six Black and Tans it is.”
Jake grabbed her by the sleeve. “What’s a Black and Tan?”
She grinned. “You’ll like it. The bartender makes it with half a mug of Harp’s pale lager, and half with Guinness Draught, a dark stout beer. It’s a great combination.”
“Sounds good — bring ’em on.”
The waitress walked toward the bar. Jake turned to thank McGill when he noticed McGill staring at a man at the bar. The man was tall, exceptionally tall, with mile-wide shoulders and a white triangular-shaped forelock in his hair. Even in the dim lighting he noticed something strange about the man’s eyes. The irises were different colors — a brilliant sapphire blue iris in the left eye and brown in the right.
McGill was still looking at the big man. Jake leaned in towards him and asked, “Do you know that guy?”
The waitress returned with their first round, placing the mugs in front of McGill and Jake first before serving the rest of the group. McGill broke eye contact with the stranger, looked at Jake and shook his head. “No, he just looks freaky. I knew a family like that in Ireland, but I haven’t seen anyone like that since my aunt’s funeral.”
Jake grinned and raised his mug. “Well, if you don’t quit staring at him, you’re gonna piss him off. He might come over here and kick your ass.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. And he looks big enough to kick it all the way back to Atlanta.”
They laughed.
Beth was eavesdropping. “It’s called Waardenburg’s Syndrome. It’s quite common on my father’s side of the family. I’m sure he’s probably self-conscious about it.”