floor. Nick sat down and picked up his stun gun. He fired off a crackling arc which had both men trying to scramble away. Stoddard twisted on the floor, looking up at Nick without recognition.
“Who? Who are you?”
“I’ll be asking the questions, Max, and we all know what happens if I don’t get answers. Why are you two supposed rivals in the gunrunning, drug, and human trafficking business here together?”
“We had to call a truce…especially with what’s surfaced lately,” Bidwell gasped out fearfully. “There were these drives -”
“I know all about the recent disclosures. You guys know a man named Frank from Washington D.C.? He used to be an underling of Senator Ambrose. Now, I hear he takes orders from you, Bidwell.”
“Oh Christ…you’re that psycho, McCarty! Frank said he had you killed. That son of a bitch sent you after us, didn’t he?”
“How about you, Max?” Nick ignored Bidwell’s question.
“Frank Richert?” Stoddard asked, his eyes now wide open.
“Yep.”
“How…how did he know we were setting him up to take the fall?” Bidwell’s voice faded in tenor along with all hope of seeing another sunrise.
“Don’t know,” Nick admitted. “He’s a sneaky one, our Frank.”
“He’ll have you killed too.” Stoddard’s voice sounded stronger. “We can protect you.”
“No thanks, Max.”
“This is all because of that Hunter bitch! The stupid slut and her dimwit husband brought all this shit down on us!” Bidwell raged, rocking back and forth on the bunk.
“This is one of your boats, Bidwell,” Nick interrupted Bidwell’s rant. “Where do you keep your cruising around money?”
“Fuck you, McCarty!”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Nick stunned Bidwell until he flopped around in boneless fashion.
“Honest to God, I don’t know where any money is, Mr. McCarty,” Stoddard whimpered, trying to scoot even further into the bunk’s base.
“Is there anyone else besides you and Jason here looking for the Hunter woman, Max?”
“We stopped looking for her when the drives were released. We met down here to…to reorganize. We needed to let our people pour enough money into the right pockets so we could recover.”
“I believe you, Max.” Nick picked up his chloroform pad. He soaked it once again and bent down toward the cringing Stoddard. “Breathe deeply Max, and go to sleep. If you fight it, I might change my mind and have two drowning victims instead of one.”
Stoddard breathed and died. Nick threw some more water on Bidwell, who cried out as Nick began slapping him awake.
“Now, you were saying about the money, Jas?”
“It’s in a safe, behind the galley cupboard!” Bidwell cried out as Nick fired off another arc near him. He quickly rattled off the combination.
Nick found nearly fifty thousand dollars and some drugs in the safe. He came back from the galley a few minutes later, his bag stuffed with money. Nick had left a couple thousand dollars and the drugs behind before closing up the safe. “That’s more like it.”
Nick cut the ties off Stoddard’s body and worked the corpse up into the empty bunk. He then cut Bidwell’s plastic ties on his ankles. Nick guided Bidwell up the steps and over to the fantail.
“I need a drowning victim. Any volunteers?”
“Oh God no!” Bidwell screamed. “Please -”
Nick threw Bidwell over the fantail and then dived into the water after him. Nick grabbed Bidwell by the hair and surfaced. He held him under the water while clinging to the boat ladder for five minutes. Nick ducked down and put Bidwell over his shoulder. He worked his way up the ladder, tossing the dead man into the boat. Nick retrieved his cutters and cut the plastic tie on Bidwell’s wrists. After shouldering the dead man once again, Nick made his way down to the berthing area and dumped Bidwell on his bunk.
Over the next fifteen minutes, Nick packed up. When he was ready to leave, he turned on just one of the galley burners without flame, and left the oven door open and flame on. He went up to the fantail and into the water, donning his fins and compensator quickly at the base of the ladder. He made it nearly halfway to The Lucky Lady when he felt the concussion from the blast. He continued surfacing every few minutes to check for the small light Gus had turned on. Gus took his bag and gear, hauling up the compensator and tank so Nick could climb aboard without the weight.
“I hope you have the skiff ready, Quarrel. I’ll change when we get to the other boat.”
“All set, James,” Gus played along.
“Well done, Quarrel. Do you have Lucky here rigged to run toward Florida?”
“Of course, James.”
“I’ll be in the skiff, Quarrel. Please hurry, won’t you?”
Gus gave Nick a push and went to set The Lucky Lady on the autopilot he had rigged up. By the time he hurried down to join Nick, the boat was picking up speed with running lights on. Nick released the mooring when Gus jumped down into the skiff.
“I hope you’re wrong about my boat, James.” Gus watched The Lucky Lady churn away.
“Keep that happy thought, Quarrel.”
Before they reached their backup boat, the two men heard muffled explosions off in the direction The Lucky Lady had been headed, lighting up the horizon.
“At least you survived, Quarrel. Good show, old man!”
Gus quickly slipped the mooring ropes into place, holding the boat he had dubbed Second Best in his St. Petersburg berthing. Nick jumped across to the pier, comically kneeling down and kissing the wood planks.
Gus laughed. “Fuck you, Nick.”
Nick turned his head without straightening, to peer up at Gus. “Man, that trip reminded me of the old movie
“Sailing into St. Pete from Nassau in a thirty-footer is not for the faint of heart,” Gus admitted. “Especially when you have to hug the coastline of every rock poking out into the ocean so as not to become a new satellite target. Get your lazy ass back aboard and help me with the gear. We’re going to go clean up and wash the salt out of our throats at the local pub.”
“Sounds good,” Nick agreed, re-boarding the boat. “Do we have to shower down here on the pier or do you actually have a bathroom at your place.”
“You used to be a lot less whiny before you were domesticated.” Gus put an arm around Nick’s shoulders.
“What about all those sweet little ports of call we stopped at as we rock-hopped home over the last couple weeks? You look salty, brother, a real Hemingway-esque character.”
“After the first week of touring those sweet little hellholes, I considered giving myself up. I spent six months in the Afghan mountains once with more amenities.”
“You’re getting soft. This trip toughened you up.”
“Why, thank you, Gus. That is so sweet.” Nick pushed Gus away. “Let’s get the hell off this boat. I need to start planning Frank’s demise.”
“Can I come?”
“Yes indeed, Quarrel.” Nick shifted to his James Bond persona. “You know of course, old man, your survival would again be in doubt with this upcoming sticky situation.”
“Show me the money, James, show me the money.”
