by Les Goodrich
They walked to the kitchen and Colin opened the refrigerator to take out two of the green imported bottles.
“This okay?” handing one over.
“Have you ever actually been to Holland? You might not drink anything from there if you had.”
“We went to Amsterdam, remember?”
“No.”
They opened the beers and Dolph followed Colin to his room. They went out on Colin’s deck and began to kick their ideas back and forth.
Colin suggested a few marinas to choose from and they agreed on the Atlantic Safari Yacht Basin. Atlantic Safari was in South Lauderdale (closer to Miami). Although the docks were gated there were no guards and the dockmaster lived above the clubhouse across the street. They would have to pick boats large enough to have the caliber of electronics they were after, but small enough to not have live-aboard captains or crew. Mid-sized sport fishermen from thirty-eight feet to about sixty feet would work. They agreed that with boats that size they would have to do at least three to make it worthwhile. They decided to not take any antennae, transducers or other peripheral gear. Those were easily replaced and not part of the main value of the electronics themselves. They would also be impossibly cumbersome to get to or steal.
This actual planning turned out to be the most stimulating conversation they had ever had. Colin’s ideas raced and connected. Dolph reasoned, confirmed and countered. The whole thing was inspiring and felt like a scene right out of a movie. Thrilling. So much so that they slowed themselves deliberately. Dolph chain smoked and Colin just had to have a glass of whiskey and he actually put on a straw fedora.
“Been saving that huh,” Dolph teased but it was neither here nor there and he understood the notion.
Finally the excitement got the better of their sitting around and they drove down through town to the marina to see it in the dark. Dolph drove and Colin kept notes.
They needed a car with cargo room. The Pathfinder. The gates were locked securely and the seawall fenced and not just fenced but fenced beyond the coping so that a section of fence protruded out into thin air over the water on both sides of the center dock gate. They would have to park somewhere and slip in silently by some quiet boat: Colin’s canoe. They should park somewhere that was a short paddle but a long drive from the marina. Dolph knew the perfect spot. A place directly across the river behind some condos where he used to fish if you could still get down there. It was a five-minute skip by canoe but at least a thirty-minute drive through town and across two bridges. Three bridges. The marina was dimly lit at the ends of the docks which was perfect because the docks stretched out toward their proposed parking place across the river. They studied the night light and the shadows of the dock tips; under the docks the water was black, but the white boats had a grey cast to them. They would slip under the docks and access the boats directly from the water. The canoe was very dark green inside and out, not black, but it would do. Colin would crawl up onto the boats and Dolph would stay in the canoe. Colin kept a running list of what they needed: big heavy plastic bags, small bolt cutters, grey sweat suit, black sweat suit, rubber gloves, walkie-talkies, police scanner (if those things really worked), flashlight, tool belt.
They drove back to Colin’s planning and scheming the entire way. They had six days to get it all together. Tomorrow they were going shopping with cash to Home Depot, Radio Shack and Walmart. They would get everything, see what it amounted to, then think of a way to ditch what they could after.
Saturday was spent in Dolph’s guest house planning their route to Miami and back. They snuck around like kids on Christmas testing the new walkie-talkies. Colin spray painted black camouflage streaks on his new grey sweat suit. They tested the scanner in Dolph’s truck. A girl in West Broward had been beaten, strangled half to death with a jump rope and paramedics were en-route with advisories to stage and wait for police before going in. A toddler had been bitten by an iguana and Animal Control was dispatched. The iguana possibly still inside the house somewhere.
Sunday and Monday they planned the actual job. They decided to do it Thursday morning two-forty a.m.. If it took an hour they would still have time to get to Murphy’s by five-thirty. A feeling of indestructibility had come over them. They worked together much better than Dolph ever thought they would. They listened to each other and criticized constructively. They could leave nothing to chance. They could not afford to let anything stop them saying what they felt or thought. This was no time for egos or hurt feelings. This was business. Above anything else they must succeed.
They had two days left to reconsider and that idea actually felt good. Two days that nothing bad would happen. Two whole days during which they could call it off. For some reason that was no longer an option but they were glad for the two days nonetheless. They spent those days waiting, thinking, plotting and orchestrating details. They would go over their plan again and again in their heads and out loud and by Friday it would all be over. Success or failure. Glory or disaster. The hand had been dealt and their very lives would soon be forever altered one way or the other.
Chapter 12
Two-twenty Thursday morning. Colin and Dolph sat in the Pathfinder, windows down, and listened to the still world outside. They were parked amidst mangroves and cabbage palms at the end of a rolling dirt road behind the Vista Del sol condominium building. Dolph had parked just atop the last bluff and, through the windshield, they looked across the river to the Atlantic Safari Yacht Basin. A warm humid breeze breathed gently from the east and carried with it the savory scent of salt ocean air. They barely heard the lanyards of a few moored sailboats lightly ting against their aluminum masts.
Colin sat in his grey and black dappled sweats. He wore a black nylon tool belt that held a small flashlight (red lens), bolt cutters, walkie-talkie with earpiece wire snaked up inside the sweatshirt and out the neck up to his ear and a roll of black plastic lawn bags rolled tight and tied with a large wire tie. He wore a pair of tight rubber gloves and his hands sweated profusely. He pulled them off with two stretchy snaps careful to keep them right-side-out and stuffed them into a sweat pant pocket.
Dolph in the driver’s seat wore a black sweat suit and, in his school backpack, had his walkie-talkie with earpiece, binoculars, scanner with earpiece, and his Swiss Army knife for good measure.
The canoe was tied to the roof. At two-thirty a.m. they quietly unloaded the canoe and carried it swiftly to the water’s edge. Dolph got the paddles from the back of the truck and checked for the tenth time to be sure they had everything. Colin checked his things again also; he tried to think of anything they might have forgotten.
Dolph reached into and pulled the binoculars out of the pack. He stepped to stand on the bluff and study the marina through them. Not a soul was moving on the docks. Not a soul awake. He glassed up and down the river, eyes reaching as far as the binoculars could afford, and saw no moving boats nor anchor lights. A green pulsing channel marker light lit the water and faded to glow again and fade some mile distant. The two stepped into the canoe and pushed with a hollow scrape of sand and shell away from shore.
They crossed the calm water smoothly; the slapping lanyards of a sailboat grew louder as they rowed past. They moved toward the marina purposefully and without doubt. They aimed the bow along the same line lengthwise as, and moved head-on under, the southernmost dock.
The marina housed mainly sport fishing boats from thirty to seventy feet. The boats, docked side by side and backed tightly into their slips, trimmed the straight south dock up one side and down the other. Long aluminum outriggers reached skyward away and back from the shoulders of each boat, their tips nearly touching high above the center of the pier, like a lineup of colossal soldiers with outstretched swords as if a monumental version of the military’s ceremonial human-weapon tunnel. The boys slipped silently over the black water and under the giants undetected.
They crept along through a maze of darkness. Massive boats rising like skyscrapers towered over them. They loo
ked for boats in their size range and not hooked up to shore power. Boats with tarped over cockpits and windows covered in canvas automatically made the cut. Those with bridge lights on or humming air conditioners lost out. Five boats fell into the requirements. Each was on the darker end of the marina. Each was in the size range. Three were canvased up for the summer and two were at the loading dock waiting to be hauled for maintenance. Dolph maneuvered the canoe out from under the dock and up to the first boat sliding alongside her stern. Colin looked up at the boat. She was wrapped in blue canvas, snapped and zipped from transom to bridge. It was perfect. Once inside Colin would be free to move about without being seen.
He unsnapped three snaps along the port gunnel, stood gingerly, and squirmed under the fabric cover into the cockpit. He clicked on the flashlight flooding the cockpit with muted red light. He looked the red beam up the bridge ladder then clicked off the light. He climbed the ladder; his heart pounded in his throat.
“So much for maritime etiquette,” he whispered to himself.
Dolph moved back under the dock to watch the other boats for any activity. He slowly unzipped his pack, put both earpieces in his ears, and turned on the scanner. If any cops were dispatched to Atlantic Safari Yacht Basin, fourteen-hundred Indian Shore Drive he would hear about it in time to have Colin and himself paddling toward the truck parked in darkness a thirty minute head start from the marina parking lot. If Colin saw or heard anything he would know about that too. He sat in the night air waiting for his partner looking and listening for trouble.
Colin knelt next to the helm chair on the bridge surrounded by a tent of royal blue canvas. He held the light in his mouth and snipped the tiny brass padlock on the electronics cabinet with the small bolt cutters. The lock fell silently into his lap. He opened the console and surveyed the equipment: a color radar unit, a Northchart Loran, Colorscope depth finder and an autopilot. He snipped the lock from the overhead box: a handheld GPS navigator, four handheld VHF radios, a white satellite phone.
Colin quickly untied one of the bags and began cutting wires. He only harvested self-contained items which was everything except the autopilot. The lawn bag held it all but was much heavier than he had expected. He barely made it back down the ladder and it took every ounce of his strength to not fall or drop the bag.
Once in the cockpit he pulled the walkie-talkie from its clipped spot on his tool belt and keyed it whispering. “Hey. I’m ready.”
Dolph adjusted the earpiece and asked Colin to repeat himself, which he did. Dolph moved with a cautious slowness from under the cover of the dock and watched for signs of life. He pulled up to the boat as Colin unsnapped a few more snaps to fit the bag out. Dolph took the bag and gently settled it in the belly of the canoe. He removed the walkie-talkie earpiece and turned down the scanner volume.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“Fine. Didn’t take as long as I thought. It’s a good thing too. This shit weighs a ton.”
“I noticed that.”
“Yeah, you’ll have to make a trip to the truck after the next boat. We won’t be able to carry it all if we wait. Don’t sweat it though. I’ll finish the third one while you make it there and back. Okay?”
“Yeah just be quiet. We’ll do that custom ride at the end next.”
They crept along under the south dock, slid out between two boats, paused to check things out then crossed the open basin to the center dock moving as silently as a wind-blown leaf across the still black water. The sulphur vapor dock lights lit the docks behind them and before them and cast wrinkly gold reflections in strips along each dock leaving the area under the docks and out in the basin they crossed dark and in fact making it darker by contrast than if there were no lights a all.
They made it across and slipped between the bows and under the crossed lines of two boats on the outside end of the dock they had approached.
A sudden burst of noise shocked them and their entire systems. Then the recognized sound of gushing water erupted inches behind them. Colin gasped but held his breath to keep from calling out. An automatic bilge pump on the boat next to them had clicked on. Dolph put his hand to his chest.
“I just had a heart attack,” he whispered.
Each of them took a deep breath, looked around again, and crept on to the big custom boat. It too was canvased up but only over the cockpit up to the bottom of the bridge. Once Colin was up there he would have to be extra careful. Again he climbed aboard and went up the ladder. This time he stopped to quietly unzip the cover’s opening to the bridge and thought that sometimes when you try to do some action quietly it seems louder than if you would have just done it normally. That zipper sounded like thunder.
Dolph pulled back into the dock’s cloak of darkness and turned up the scanner. He replaced the walkie-talkie earpiece. He looked at his watch: three a.m.. Plenty of time. They had to be on the road by quarter to five. A bit sooner if possible. They had talked about getting to Murphy’s early to check things out before walking in there with a shitload of stolen gear. They had plenty of time. No problems.
A light came on that lit Dolph’s face and shot fear through him like a bullet. It was the interior of the boat next to the one Colin was on. Dolph looked at the boat’s stern and his mind and heart trembled. He reached up to the bottom of the concrete dock to push the canoe backwards slowly but as fast as he dared. His face and the small craft moved out of the beam of light. The big boat’s bulkhead door jostled and slid open. Dolph stretched his neck to see Colin who was crouched on the bridge putting something into one of the bags. Dolph put the radio to his mouth and whispered as clearly as he could (the other boat door still opening), “Don’t Move.”
Colin froze. They had agreed to never speak unless Colin had finished a boat and called Dolph to get him. He knew it was serious. He looked up carefully and saw the light on the other boat. He heard the door slide shut. He was paralyzed.
Dolph watched from the veil of dock shadow. He prayed the canoe was dark enough. A man in boxer shorts and a t-shirt stood at the doorway of the boat not twenty feet from his friend on the bridge next door. Dolph thought that they should have painted the damn canoe black. The man rubbed his face. Dolph was motionless. He listened for the dispatcher’s voice. Maybe the guy had seen them and called the cops and now he was watching to see if they ran and which way. He listened to the scanner and prayed.
The man stretched, yawned and reached into his shirt pocket. He took something out: a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit the cigarette and leaned on the closed door.
Dolph watched him smoke. He had never realized how long it took to finish one. Nothing involving them came over the scanner. The guy had not seen them. And he did not see them now. The man coughed, tossed the butt into the water and went back inside. A few seconds later the glow inside of the boat went black and Dolph exhaled then shook his head to get the fear out.
Colin was glad to hear the door shut and see the light go out but he remained still. He had never been able to see the guy or what he was doing. He breathed into the radio.
“Yo.”
“It’s okay,” Dolph answered. “Just a guy having a smoke. He went back in. When I pick you up I’ll do it from the other side. How’s it coming?”
“Goddamn cigarettes,” Colin said.
“How’s it coming?”
“Good. Almost done. Call you when I’m ready.”
Colin loaded a few more things into the bag. It was not quite as much as the first boat but still a good haul. He climbed into the cockpit and called, “Ready,” to Dolph.
He handed down the second bag and slid into the canoe straining to go slowly and make no noise. Dolph backed the canoe under the dock so they could get settled. Colin took an oar, helped steady them and whispered.
Another minute and I’d been halfway down the ladder when that guy came out. Take me to the next one. That big one at the loading dock. Fuck this populated shit. Then haul ass back to the truck with this stuff. Come right b
ack and get me. I’ll be done and we’ll get the fuck outta here.
“Deal,” Dolph agreed.
At the loading dock Colin climbed up into the big sport fishing boat. There was no canvas; this time he would be working without a net.
Dolph turned the scanner back up and headed for the end of the pier. He paused, looked for signs of life and saw none, then made a dash for the open water. He left the basin behind him and glided out into the night.
On the far shore he scraped up to the little beach below the truck on the grey bluff. He thanked God the truck was still there. No cops either. He loaded the two bags into the back, closed it up quietly and stood on the slight rise to look through the binoculars to the marina. He looked to the boat Colin was on. It looked no different than any other boat there. He peered up and down the river. No boats. No police boats. No marine patrol. No one. He looked at his watch: three fifty-four a.m.. Still in good shape. He stepped down to the shore, pushed the canoe back into the water and headed back for his friend.
Colin was finishing up their sweetest haul yet. He felt better at the loading dock away from the other boats. It was pitch black and he knew no one could see him. He climbed down from the bridge and crouched in the cockpit. He tied the top of the bag (the fullest one yet) with a length of string. He had one bag left. He looked to his watch; Dolph should be on his way. He felt for the radio and began to call Dolph then stopped. He looked at the empty bag then up and across the dock to the other boat they had checked out. He stood slowly to look out over the marina. He lifted the bag up onto the dock and climbed out of the boat. He ran, low to the ground with the bag, to the other side of the loading dock.
He stepped into the fourth boat and lowered the full bag down onto the deck. He climbed to the bridge and cut three locks. Flashlight in his mouth he examined his treasure. He clipped antenna cables and power wires efficiently and filled his sack like a pirate plundering Royal Navy silver goblets from a captain’s dining cabinet.
