sliced the small offshore island into Big Jericho and Little Jericho. Stick set his course for Jericho.
Clouds played with the face of a full moon and night birds chattered at them as the sleek sailboat
cruised away from land, its sails furled, powered by the engine. Stick flicked on the night light over
his compass. It was 8:45. He would be there in another fifteen minutes. He checked his tide chart.
High tide was at 9:57. The bar would be perfect.
Weasel Murphy was crunched down against the cabin wall, his thumbs still shackled behind him.
“1 already told you,” the rodent-faced gunman said arrogantly, “1 don?t know nothin? about
nothin?.”
“Right,” said Stick.
“I get seasick; that?s why I didn?t go along on the boat. You can?t understand plain English?”
“You start getting sick,” said the Stick, “you better stick your head over the side. Puke in my boat and
I?ll use you for a mop and throw you overboard.”
“Fuck you,” Murphy growled, but his arrogance was less than convincing.
“Cute,” Stick said. “I admire your stuff”
“How many times I gotta tell you,” Murphy said, “I don?t know nothin? about snatching no Fed, or
the Raines dame. That?s all news t?me.”
“Where?s Costello heading on that schooner of his?”
“I told you, I don?t fuckin? know! They was just goin? out to have dinner and get away for a few
hours. We was all tired of looking up some cop?s nose every time w turned around.”
He shifted slightly.
“Where the hell are we going?” he demanded.
Up the lazy river,” Stick said.
“You?re a full-out loony, you know that. You need about fifty more cards to fill out your deck.”
“Big talk from a man who can?t ever scratch his nose,” Stick said.
“Look, these things are killing my thumbs,” Murphy said. “Can you at least loosen them a little? My
whole damn arm?s goin? to sleep.”
“I want to know where Kilmer is and where Costello?s going. You just tell me that, we turn around
and head for home.”
