Darkness fell as Pete darted across a street in Atlantic City. He carried four weapons into battle: the spike in his pocket, the ring of hair from Prosperidad’s, the coil of copper wire, and blind faith. His hood hid his eyes from the few that braved the chill air, and their eyes from his, as he tried to recapture the anonymity he enjoyed the day before.
He took an indirect route across town, navigating a warren of alleys and streets, always moving west. The course was clear, undiffused by his VPD, like a GPS map in his head that scrolled by as he walked. Like it worked in his dreams.
Anxiety mounted with each passerby, potential scouts on St. Croix’s payroll. He ducked into shadows as strangers passed, especially those driving Island Cabs.
He made it to the old schoolyard, scene of the brutal basketball game the day before. One lamp cast a weak circle of light over the empty court. A solitary man leaned against the fence corner, his New York Giants jacket collar turned up against the cold. A smoldering cigarette hung from the corner of his lip. His eyes followed Pete with a rehearsed show of indifference.
Only a lookout would brave the cold like that. Pete kept a measured pace, trying to exude cool, trying to look like he was supposed to be here.
After a hundred feet, Pete stole a quick glance back at the court. The lookout absent-mindedly crushed his expended cigarette beneath his boot. No alarm sounded.
Pete continued down the block, past Island Cabs. A few cabs were parked in the deserted bay past the open rollup door. The shiny black SUV was parked outside, just as he feared.
Prosperidad was probably in there somewhere, and had been for almost a day. He could only imagine what St. Croix and his goons had done to her. The idea of a heroic rescue surfaced and quickly sank. Outnumbered who-knows-how-many to one and with no idea where she was, he’d never make it.
He’d stick to one mess at a time. He’d be back here later. If he lived.
Pete re-entered the storage yard. He picked his way through the maze of boats and trailers. At the fence corner closest to the water, he dropped to his belly and slid underneath a faded cabin cruiser in a decaying cradle.
The cigarette boat was still tied up to the dock behind the warehouse. It rocked gently in the bay’s slight swells, squeezing its bumpers against the pilings. The unlit cabin looked empty.
He spent fifteen minutes watching. One cab came in and then left again. No one left the building. No one seemed to be guarding the exterior. Nothing moved on the boat. Time to act.
Pete crawled forward. He launched himself up the chain link fence and rolled over the top. He dropped to the other side, ran across the short sandy stretch of dirt, and sprinted down the dock. He skidded to a stop at the dock’s edge and lowered himself into the cigarette’s cockpit.
They’d stripped the barren ship down for speed. There were no seat cushions, no cup holders, and no cute little aft mount for a yacht club pennant. Every potential ounce of useless weight it carried out was one less ounce of illicit drugs it could carry back. One seat faced the wheel and control panel.
Pete went to the hatch that led to the cabin. A formidable steel lock secured the hasp.
“Son of a bitch,” Pete whispered.
No one had locked the boat when it docked before. Who would steal from St. Croix? This screwed the stowaway-in-the-cabin plan all to hell. An open, missing, or broken lock would arouse suspicion and guarantee a search. He scanned the cockpit for another option.
A bench seat ran along the cockpit’s aft, split into two storage lockers; the lid doubled as the seat surface. Pete opened the left compartment. It was about the size of a steamer trunk. An anchor and anchor lines lay inside. On the right was what looked like a fuel line cutoff valve.
Useless. Someone might open that, even before the boat left.
He dropped the hatch back down and opened the one on the right side. It was the same size as its twin, but fiberglass baffles across the interior created small compartments, all empty.
Perfect, he thought Well, almost perfect.
He went back to the first compartment. He let out a low groan as he pulled out the anchor. He lugged it to the other side of the cockpit. He grabbed the end and, swinging it like the world’s most unwieldy golf club, brought it down into compartment two. The blow splintered the fiberglass dividers and sheared them from the compartment floor. The crashing noise echoed inside the hull. He waited in case it drew a reaction.
The warehouse walkway stayed empty. He reached into the compartment, gathered the smashed baffles, and slipped them overboard. They sank into the dark water.
Pete placed his spool of wire and the horsehair talisman in the cleared compartment. He took his sweatshirt off and stuffed it in the corner. Then he stepped inside and crouched. Still too tall to close the lid, he rolled to his side in a tight fetal position. He reached up, grasped the lid’s edge with his fingertips and pulled. The stars disappeared behind the lid and Pete lay in darkness.
The smell of the compartment enveloped him, a combination of the sweet scent of fiberglass and the fearsome reek of gasoline. What if he passed out in here from the fumes? He pushed the idea away. He was out of options. The boat was the only place St. Croix would be alone.
Pete shifted in the compartment’s cramped confines and moved his shoulder off a rough patch of fiberglass. Step one complete. For step two, he’d have to do something a lot more difficult.
He’d have to fall asleep.
He had to get back to Twin Moon City. He was going to do it without the wire and knife protection, but he was gambling that with St. Croix making his deal tonight, Cauquemere would be pinned in the tactile world.
Pete closed his eyes. Enough adrenaline ran through his body to power a herd of charging rhinos. He took strong, deep breaths and relaxed his body with each exhalation. The boat rocked like a cradle and he let the exhaustion he’d kept at bay all week take him over. The mainspring of Pete’s consciousness wound down.
The sounds of the tactile world grew faint and then vanished as Pete passed over to save the woman he loved.