Chapter 11

You can’t park here

KNOCK KNOCK. (Actually ... rappitty rap rap). Some sonofabitch was marring my hull paint.

“What?”

“You can’t park here.”

“Why?”

“Listen kid ... don’t gimmie no shit ... just move it.”

“Ain’t happening, buddy.”

“What?”

“Federal waters ... I’m parked in federal waters.”

The rappitty rap rap was in earnest this time.

I walked out on deck...

Ooo ... he was a BIG one ... Italian, from the look of it. His dinghy was a 4 meter Highfield center console with a 100 hp Mercury. I’ll bet that moved his butt right smartly.

“Lookit kid ... I said move it ... I said it ... you do it.”

“No.”

“This is gonna get ugly.”

He started to board.

“Pirate!” I shot his ugly face off ... and called the Coast Guard.

“Coast Guard, Milford Haven.” Female voice.

“I’ve defended myself from illegal seizure by a pirate.”

“What?”

“I defended my family yacht from being boarded. Shot and killed the bastard.”

“What?”

A different voice said, “Where are you?” Was a male voice used to command.

A little voice in my head said, “37°57’15.4”N 76°53’22.7”W”

“37°57’15.4”N 76°53’22.7”W”

“On our way.”

<Good God a’mighty, kid. That was a trifle sudden.>

“Hello?”

The Highfield’s Merc started, snapped into gear and raced away ... with nobody at the helm.

I’m getting used to weirdnesses in my life ... that was strange ... unusual ... Odd, even. But, it’s all of a piece.

I’m getting used to it. Killing my dad with a hot skillet full of crispy bacon and bacon grease has innured me to death. Didn’t bother me ... much ... to boobytrap the stairs so Jackie fell ... and died ... we got Edith in exchange ... I liked Edith. When Jackie zombied on us? Well, she’s a much nicer person ... we get along. I do miss Edith ... or the sex ... But ... the Italian job? Not a qualm. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him no. A pistol appeared in my hand and I shot him. Where’s the gun? Musta dropped it overboard ... recoil ... maybe. I don’t know ... the Guard will find it. Evidence.

Lessee... 53 miles by car ... probably longer by boat ... the Mark VI plastic boat has twin Cummins V-6 diesel engines ... probably 260 HP @3000 RPM a speed of 25 knots and a range of 200 miles. How do know that? They likely cruise at 18 and it is rough out there. The hurricane? The bulk of the storm passed us about 3 hours ago. The surge is outletting ... probably see the Guard in... 5 hours tops.

Six hours ... my mistake ... they were towing a familiar Highfield dinghy and a body bag on deck.

“Where did you find that?”

“You the kid called?”

“Yup”

“Seen this dinghy before?”

“Hope to shout.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah ... that’s the dinghy the Italian job was on.” “Is that him in the bag?”

“What I wanna know ... is what you’re trying to pull?

“We spotted the dinghy as we were rounding the island. If we’d took the lift bridge we’d have missed him altogether.”

“What?”

“Fifty three miles against the surge. Couple three minutes and we’d lost him. I guess we can thank you for that. The shooting report ... bogus. Big Tony drowned. Probably has an off the scale alcohol content. There’s no hole anywhere and ... we looked. The dinghy must have flipped in the wind. A single gust was clocked at 156 MPH ... in the rivermouth.

“We don’t know who or what you shot ... or think you shot ... but it wasn’t Anthony Leonard.”

<Shut up ... just go with what you got.>

“Okay. Wonder what I shot?”

“Where’s the gun?”

“I think I dropped it overboard.”

“Where?”

“Off the stern.”

The diver suited up and was down less than 3 minutes. He conferred with the Chief ... and he said,

“You kids get out of here.”

“Wha?”

“Don’t ask ... just go.”

We went.