Seating Chart For General Jackson Showboat -

Captain Bo feigned shock. He gathered the passengers in the saloon and pointed to the chart. “This is a tragedy,” he said. “But we are law-abiding folk. No one leaves until we find the killer.” He smiled thinly. “And to help us, I’ve rearranged the seating. New assignments at sundown.”

The room went silent as a grave. Bo LaGrange had sold the seats as “premium assignments” to wealthy guests, but he’d also sold their names to a network of assassins. The Accountant was merely the final bidder—a man who paid in gold and collected in souls. But there was one seat left on the chart: Seat 1. It had been empty all along, drawn as a tiny skull. seating chart for general jackson showboat

“Who sits there?” whispered a gambler. Captain Bo feigned shock

The Accountant turned the chart around. On the back, in fresh paint: SEAT 1: CAPTAIN BO LAGRANGE. REWARD: ONE WORKING SHOWBOAT, NO LIENS. “But we are law-abiding folk

The Accountant rose from Seat 2. He was unremarkable—gray suit, gray eyes, gray smile. “Correct,” he said. “But you’ve misread the fine print.” He tapped the chart. “Seat 17: $5,000 dead or alive. Seat 44: $10,000. Seat 89: $7,500. And Seat 2?” He glanced at Captain Bo, who was edging toward the paddlewheel. “Seat 2 is the buyer.”

Judge Woolcott, now in Seat 44 (the chandelier spot), laughed too loudly. “A game of musical corpses!” he brayed. Half an hour later, the chandelier’s crystal chain snapped. It fell like a guillotine’s blade. The judge was crushed—but not before someone had carved the number “44” into his palm with a shard of glass.

Bo screamed and dove overboard. The Mississippi swallowed him whole. But the Accountant simply shrugged, wiped the chart clean, and began reassigning seats for the next voyage. After all, a showboat without a captain is just a coffin floating downstream.