Free The Drowning House by Elizabeth Black

not talking about …”
    I shook my head. “It’s easier to cross the border farther south. On Padre Island, there’s a visitor center that probably sees about thirty people a year. That’s where the road ends. From there all the way to the Port Mansfield ship channel, sixty miles or so, there’s nothing.” Nothing, I thought, except the hot wind bending the sea oats. The air mysteriously charged, full of the sound you hear when you stand too close to power lines.
    I realized Ty was looking at me expectantly. I was flattered. It had been a long time since anyone had shown that kind of interest in what I had to say. I went on. “It’s pretty desolate. So, yes, it’s a drop spot. Marine scavengers camp there. And drug runners.”
    “Any of that go on here?”
    I shrugged. “Galveston is busier, so people are more cautious. But it’s a port city. If you stay on the Island long enough, eventually you recognize the look. Guys with serious tans and the kind ofclothes you’d have a hard time remembering or describing. Rubber flip-flops and two-hundred-dollar sunglasses. They’re always alone. They always sit near the exit.” How many times had I heard Faline tell Patrick, “You stay away from those fellas.”
    The breeze rustled the massed palm fronds above us. Patches of bark rose and fell too so that the whole length of each tree seemed to be moving. Ty looked up. “Coyotes and palm trees.”
    “Like nowhere else.”
    “You called it the Free State.”
    “That started during Prohibition. Galveston supplied about half the country with illegal liquor. After repeal, it was gambling. There’s a nightclub out on one of the piers that was pretty famous then. Every so often the Rangers would try to stage a raid. But before they could get to the end of the pier, the band would strike up ‘The Eyes of Texas’ as a warning and the slot machines would fold back into the walls.”
    Ty put his fork down. “You’re kidding.”
    “The red-light district was famous, too. The fanciest whorehouse in town was right in back of the Artillery Club. You’ve seen the Texas Heroes Monument?”
    “I have?”
    “It’s in the middle of Broadway. You have to drive around it.”
    Ty grinned. “I seem to recall a column …”
    “With a figure on top? It’s Victory, pointing toward the San Jacinto battlefield. The old joke was that she was directing visitors to the brothels.” I sat back, feeling excited and a little giddy from so much talking. A waiter offered a wrapped bottle and I raised my glass.
    When I turned back, Ty’s face had gone thoughtful. “And people here were okay with this?”
    “There’s always been a general sense that the Island makes its own rules. I guess what I’m saying is that it’s a state of mind as much as anything.”
    “You’ve thought about all this.”
    “It’s what Islanders do when they’re somewhere else.”
    There was a crab on the plate I’d given Ty. It lay on its back, legssplayed. Ty went to work, dismantling it with precision. Between bites, he looked at me intently. “Tell me more,” he said.
    “Tourists used to come here, Texans, people from other parts of the mainland, when they wanted a wild time. To indulge themselves. To do the things they couldn’t or wouldn’t do at home. In a place without a conscience.”
    “And now?”
    “It’s a matter of local pride, what the Islanders got away with. It was partly self-preservation. When the port traffic moved to Houston, gambling and prostitution kept the city going. But …”
    “But what?”
    “I think what really mattered to them was demonstrating the Island’s separateness. Showing that they could do whatever they wanted.” I looked down at my plate and realized that my food was untouched.
    “And now. Is there a conscience?”
    “Well, visitors on vacation still do things here they wouldn’t at home. The men drink too much and start fights. The women drink too much and buy revealing clothing they’ll never