Another assumption I’d been trained to make: if two were involved, there could be more. It was similar to the cop rule that you always assumed a suspect had one more weapon hiding somewhere on their person. Find a gun in the belt, check the ankle. Find a gun in the ankle and belt, check for a knife. Find a knife ... well, you get the idea. Were these two the whole thing or could they be working with others who were among the people looking to inherit more from Francine than they deserved? Could they be working with someone in the Bacon family?
A push-up got me to a slumping, yet seated position. Outside, the men argued, Jermaine jabbing the air with exclamations about ripping my guts out and eating my heart, while Gilroy coolly stated the obvious: not worth it. We need this fool alive, for now.
Jermaine muttered a derisive “fine” and marched over, leaned in the open door, closed his eyes against the stench and punched me in the face. I lulled, barely maintaining consciousness. Gilroy pulled him out and told him I’d be harmless for the remainder of the ten-minute drive to the boat.
“Sit up front with me and lean out the window. Listen.” They were on either side of the hood now, moving to get in. “I need you to keep it under control. We’re almost home free. You okay? You took what you need, right?”
Jermaine slapped the roof.
“Yeah? How you know? If we almost home, why we keepin’ him breathing?”
The lunatic had a valid point. They lacked all the information, otherwise why keep me alive.
After we’d been driving for ten or fifteen minutes, we bumped to a stop. The dirty-white awning of a storefront peeked down through the window. Jermaine dragged me to my feet. Red Hook Marina. The stinging had been going on long enough to become background noise. I was the guy who had driven drunk so many times, being sober made me more dangerous. Come to think of it, I was still a little drunk, which maybe lessened the effect of the pepper spray. Score one for the drunken. Then again, if I hadn’t passed out in the yard from boozing, I wouldn’t be in this mess. If I weaseled out of this disaster, I’d try sobriety.
Yeah, right. Evelyn tried to make me get sober. If I couldn’t do it for her, I certainly wasn’t doing it for myself.
Everything hurt. My face, my chest where Jermaine stuck his foot into me, my shoulder, and my knee. A welter of blows. At thirty-three, I felt like I had the body of a retired pro wrestler who’d been whacked with chairs and slammed to the mat hundreds of times. Except none of mine got me any fame or fortune. All my injuries came from stupid mistakes.
I was so out of it, I hadn’t even checked to see if my phone was still in my pocket. I patted the back of my shorts where I stashed it earlier that night.
Gilroy held it in front of my eyes. “You looking for this? You are going to unlock it, now.”
Jermaine seized my hand and pressed my thumb to the home button. The screen glowed. Gilroy walked ahead, scrolling through my logs, probably searching for a starting point.
The filthy marina water lapped gently against the boats, whap, whap, whap. Street lights crouched on the hillsides like fireflies waiting to take flight. One house in the distance had a light on in the window. I’d always loved to imagine what those distant home-dwellers did in the light, while outside, darkness concealed their transgressions.
I thought of screaming. No doubt someone would hear. There had to be someone who slept on their boat in this marina. But what could they do for me, except get killed?
Be patient. Wait for an opening.
Gilroy, apparently satisfied with whatever he’d found in my phone, dropped it into his pocket as he stepped onto a boat. I couldn’t make out the name of the vessel, but took a quick look around to ascertain its location. Third dock to the left of the dockmaster’s shed, second from the last slip. A fishing boat, in the thirty-foot range, white, two-tiered.
Jermaine shoved me onto a cushioned bench and plopped next to me. This time he pulled out a gun.
“I thought you only used arrows,” I said.
The cyclops abyss gazed at me, unblinking. A short trip to a long goodbye. Glocks were so sinister. No style, all business. Typical Austrian attitude.
I needed to piss. Badly.
“Hey, Gilroy, can I at least piss over the side here?”
“Let him piss,” he said to Jermaine, clearly tired of my whining.
“You know, that gun is loud,” I said as I walked aft.
Jermaine stayed right behind me, the gun trained at the back of my neck. When I tried to piss, nothing came. My full bladder could not overcome my fear.
“Hey Gil!”
“I told you not to call me that,” Gilroy said through clenched teeth.
“Can I shoot him, for being disrespectful to you?” Jermaine asked.
“Jermaine, stick to the plan. I don’t need the respect of such a man.”
Holding up the gun, Jermaine continued to complain. “He’s right, this gun is loud. Inelegant. I want to use my proper weapon.”
Gilroy sighed. “Fine. Give me the gun. Your precious weapon is under the seat.”
Gilroy trained the gun on me with one hand and held the steering wheel with the other.
From under the seat, Jermaine pulled out a crossbow and loaded it. Gilroy returned his full attention to steering the boat, setting the
