Chapter thirty-eight

Cars with car-top boats are not an uncommon sight in beach towns. In fact, it’s a regular occurrence during summer months. Kayakers, windsurfers, and big-boat boaters all do the same thing to get their small crafts from one place to another.

What was curious about Sam’s little procession was that the car carrying the small boat belonged to the Coast Guard.

Usually, all the Coast Guard’s boats were docked near their station. Their ribbed inflatable could fit two of the dinghies Sam was borrowing inside it, and their fast maneuverable cutters docked nearby, always at the ready.

Following in the Mustang, Sam watched Hoops’ brake lights flare as they started to climb the high-rising bridge over Snow’s Cut, an east-west passage on the Intracoastal Waterway just north of the town of Carolina Beach. Great. A wreck.

Sam got out of the Mustang and walked up a few feet to Hoops’ car.

“Thanks for coming, Hoops. Hope it’s okay for you to be away like this.”

“Just doing my duty, Sam-Man; just doing my duty.” Hoops lit a cigar and took a long drag.

Sam moved away from Hoops’ open window to get a breath of fresh air. Looking toward the top of the bridge where a blue light was flashing, Sam noticed a sailboat mast creeping toward the bridge.

Three steps forward, Sam saw it.

Toothless’ long silver hair. Toothless stood at the helm, impatiently calling out to a small craft in front of him as he headed west toward Masonboro Sound.

“Hoops! Get on your radio! I saw Mike’s boat heading west.”

Hoops cupped his hand to his ear to hear Sam better.

Sam repeated: “Mike’s boat! It’s heading west.”

“Not much I can do about it now, sitting in this traffic.” Hoops obviously enjoyed another pull on his cigar. “Besides, you said Mike wouldn’t mind if you borrowed his dink.” Hoops pointed to the car-top treasure.

Sam threw his hands in the air. “Hoops, I wasn’t going to bring you into all of this. It’s a mess, and I need your help.”

Hoops leaned over the seat toward Sam. “What’s up, Sam-Man?”

“Mike’s a dirty cop. He and Andy both. They are involved with a drug ring, and they took hostages when I tried to bust up their little party. They may be on that boat right now! Please. Do something!”

“What, no part-ey girls, Sam-Man? That’s not like you to lie to a brother. But just the same, if Mike’s doing wrong, we’re gonna set him right. Tell me more.” Hoops nodded to the passenger side door.

Sam obeyed and climbed in. The stench of Hoops’ cigar reminded him of Lee. Methodically, he recounted everything he knew.

Hoops listened. Then Hoops reacted by grabbing his radio.

“Coast Guard base Zero-Three-Three, do you copy?” Static.

“You’re on, Hoops. What’s up?”

Sam recognized Hoops’ sidekick Allen Morris on the radio. Hoops dispensed with the formal talk.

“Switch to forty-two.”

“Switching forty-two.”

Hoops tuned the radio into channel forty-two, a clear frequency not typically monitored by casual boaters or towboat operators. The curious could pick up all kinds of conversations if dialing around a radio, but Hoops’ cryptic monologue was one Sam could barely understand.

“Looking for a rum punch. I’m stuck at Snow’s Cut facing west. Can you pick up and deliver?”

“Copy. Can do. Want a single or a double?” Allen was on.

“Make it a double. One more thing. Could you check on my cat Moonglow for me? I left her with nothing for breakfast, and I think she’s going to be spitting mad when I get back.”

“Copy. Will do. Out.” Allen’s voice was replaced by static.

“Cat? Rum punch?”

“Yeah, Sam-Man. You never know who might be scanning the radio.” Hoops slowly explained as if Sam were one tool shy of a tool shed. “Rum punch means possible drug runner. Single means unarmed, not much of an offense. Double, be prepared for the worst. My cat/dog/parrot/whatever’s the name of the boat so Al can do a quick trace to ownership and alert bridge tenders, and ‘breakfast’ is code for hostage. When I ‘get back’, that’s Hoops-speak for bring back up. Al’s fast. He’ll get some guys and take the cutter out for a spin. We’re using the element of surprise here, so Mikey’s pal will be none the wiser.”

Sam shook his head. “He’s probably armed, Hoops. He’s got hostages. He sees a cutter coming, and what’s he gonna do? Shoot and dump?”

“He won’t have time. Not to worry, Sam-Man. We’ll nail him. Anybody else with him?”

Sam thought about Scuz Number Two. “No, nobody else in the cockpit.”

“Think they’re all on board? Must be a pretty cozy group if all the hostages, and Mike and Andy are down below.”

Sam counted on his fingers: “Tripp Johnson, Mike, Chuck, Lisa, Andy, Jenny, and Molly, one goon below, and Toothless at the helm. Nobody was sitting in the cockpit except Toothless, so either they were all down below, or….”

Sam didn’t wait for Hoops to answer. He dashed back to the Mustang and did a seven-point turn to get off the bridge, the only road off the island. Sam headed back into Carolina Beach.