about anywhere it wanted to.
It didn’t take us long to get into position—the boat was faster than I’d expected and even with the calm waters, my suit was well on its way to being mist-drenched. Once again, I’d wished I’d worn a bathing suit—but protocol was protocol.
‘Captain Dunlop’ gave the ‘helmsman’ the order to move in and the other boats followed suit. By the time we were only a few hundred metres away and slowing down we were certain we were coming up on a ghost ship. That is until a ball of flame came traveling at us, sailing not far above the bow before splashing into the water behind us.
“Shit,” I said, scrambling to my feet. There was definitely someone aboard and that someone was now at the helm and pulling away, a bright orange flare gun still in his hand. “Get on him,” I yelled, although it couldn’t be heard over the roar of the engines behind me.
Within minutes we were right behind him. Then our helmsman pulled to the side and approached alongside the boat. The other two OPP boats had stayed ahead and were prepared to attempt to box him in—a bad idea since his boat likely outweighed theirs tenfold.
I moved up to the front of the boat, between our salty seadog of a captain and our seemingly fresh-out-of-college helmsman and yelled over the din.
“Get up alongside him and trade paint. The guy sounds like an idiot. Once you make contact pull away. He’ll come back at you giving me a chance to hop over.”
The helmsman was about to give me the nod, accepting his new orders when Captain Dunlop spoke up.
“Belay that order helmsman,” he shouted, his voice directed at Chang but his spittle directed at me. At least it blended into the mist from the bow. “There’s no way you’re trying that Jack, unless you’re looking to be our next Oscar.”
I shook my head in confusion. “Okay, I don’t have a clue what you just said but what choice do we have? We can follow out into the middle of the bay until we all run out of fuel and need to be rescued, we can shoot a few rounds into a very expensive boat and wait for it to sink or you can give my order.”
“You really think you can pull it off, do you? And even if you do, you’re on your own over there. Think you can take him?”
“Like I said, not seeing that we have a choice.”
We were shouting, annoyance and the surrounding noise driving our voices up the decibel charts. He stared at me for a moment, as if sizing me up. “You must have some of the Dutch courage in you, boy. Get ready.”
“Dutch? Always thought it was Irish.”
He laughed. “The Dutch used to give their sailors schnapps before a battle. The only Irishman I ever served with wouldn’t have even known there was a battle going on.”
I had to laugh, thoughts trailing back to family reunions with my mom’s side of the family. Drinking truly was an Irish pastime.
I moved down to the stern and took up position, ready to go over the side at any moment. Kara stared at me, pure shock on her face.
“Are you really going to try this? What happens if you miss?”
“I can tread water for a long time if I take this suit off.”
She looked annoyed. “This isn’t funny, Lincoln. You’ll be alone on the boat and he’s armed.”
“With a flare gun, mine’s a little more powerful,” I said, lovingly patting my Sig.
“Whatever, I’m not explaining it to Kat and your kids if you screw up.”
“Kara, I’ll be fine.”
“You’d better be, I don’t want to have to start again with another sergeant training me.”
I mouthed a few offensive words as I gave Dunlop the signal. I could barely hear his order over the engines, “Run him down!”
Within seconds the boat was moving toward Walter’s, fast enough that he’d feel the bump, but slow enough to keep the damage minimal to both boats.
Our boat made contact, grinding along the side for a second as it pushed against the much larger boat, barely causing it to budge. Chang pulled away a few feet and we all waited, holding our breath to see if Walter would take the bait. I was positioned at the back of both of our boats. Up front, it would have been a hell of jump since his bow was well above ours. But at the back, we were much closer. I just had to get hold of the railing and pull myself over.
Walter was everything I expected him to be. He couldn’t take being rammed. Not without ramming back. I readied myself and just before contact, leapt over the few inches of water to take hold of the railing. The hit felt like nothing on this boat but looking back I could see Kara tumbling off her seat as the OPP boat rocked and rolled.
My hands and the railing were both damp and I could feel my grip starting to slide. I moved as fast as I could, bracing myself with a foot at the bottom of the railing before carefully climbing over. Now to hope he hadn’t noticed me boarding. I started sneaking toward the front of the boat, gun drawn and held at the ready. Even if the odds of a flare gun being lethal were pretty slim, I’d risked life and limb once already. I didn’t need to try my luck a second time.
I could see him now, about fifteen feet away from me. Average height, average build, average pair of sweatpants on and nothing else. We must have woken him up. I didn’t have long to consider his appearance, not when it turned out Walter was a one-upper.
You hit him once and he had to hit you back twice. He veered to the left again and even before the impact I was flat on my ass with a heavy thud. Walter spun around and saw me, then reached back for the flare gun. It was enough time to get on my feet and get my gun up on him.
We both stood there for a moment, eyes locked on each other’s weapon, the person behind it a little blurred. The boat was slowing, and Walter took his chances keeping the flare gun on me while reaching back and pushing the throttle forward, somehow locking it into place. The engines revved and we lurched forward. If he’d been hoping to knock me off my feet again it didn’t work.
“Drop the gun, Walter. You won’t be able to do much with one of those, not nearly what I can do with this. Give it up. You murdered your father. You’re not going to get away.”
My point was obvious and not lost on him. He dropped the flare gun to the floor and kicked it toward me. I moved my foot a few inches and let it slide past as I held my gaze, and my gun, on Walter.
“I’m unarmed now. Don’t you have to put yours away?”
Cocky son-of-a-bitch.
“No. What’s in your pockets?”
He turned them out, casting a scowl in my direction as nothing fell out.
“Waistband?”
“Nothing,” he said, pulling the waistband as far out as it would go and moving his hands around his back turning his pants into a sort of hula hoop. If there’d been anything tucked in there it would have hit the floor by now.
Don’t even consider it, Lincoln. Keep him at gunpoint and order him to the ground. But he’s an asshole, it would be fun taking him down. Not if he wins—you aren’t in the shape you used to be.
The voices in my head disappeared, one with an exasperated sign, as I secured my gun in its holster, took off my suit jacket and tie and moved forward. Walter moved toward me, fists in the ready position. Even if I’d had him lay down, hands behind his back, he would have fought once I got up to him. And I wasn’t as good on the ground as I was on my feet.
I started second-guessing my decision. It had been a couple of years since my last real fight, and it was very rare that I ever got into one.
With the gap closed he took the first swing, a right hook so full of bravado that it was easy to read and easy to dodge. I ducked left and followed up with a left-right to his stomach. He doubled over a bit, but came up fast and swinging. Another right that I couldn’t dodge glanced off my cheek bone. The sharp sting of pain made me realize he was wearing a ring.
I could smell booze on his breath as we boxed back and forth for a few shots, neither of us suffering from more than a sore jaw and some bruised ribs. If he was drunk, it wasn’t showing. And wherever he lea
rned to fight, he paid more attention there than in college.
He was leading with his left foot, keeping his right leg behind him.
His right leg.
It was my stance as well, my stronger leg to the rear, ready for a kick or just to give more leverage to my punches. But for him, it was a defense as well.
I switched my stance and laughed to myself as he followed suit. His right leg was forward now and as I feinted a roundhouse kick to his left side he moved to block leaving his right leg wide open. I moved to my left, ducked down and delivered the hardest punch I could muster to his right thigh, right whe-
“Motherfucker!” His leg almost gave out but he stayed standing, reaching both hands down to his injured leg. Blood was already starting to soak through his grey sweatpants. A deep wound, right where the wetsuit had been slashed.
With his hands and focus now on his reopened knife wound, I gave him a lights-out punch that for a moment made me think I’d broken every bone in my hand. But he was on the ground, unconscious and moments later, sporting a pair of handcuffs. I pulled his pants down on the right side, just enough to check the wound and make sure he wasn’t going to bleed to death.
Would it have killed you to wear boxers, too?
The wound was fine—bad, but not life-threatening. The view that I had been given was far worse. I didn’t stick around down there long enough to read it, but there was definitely something tattooed on his… Johnson.
I went to the bow, unjammed the throttle and brought the boat
Full Fathom Five - The Homicide Files (A Lincoln Munroe Novella, #1) Page 9
