“Let’s get them cuffed,” Sam said. He pulled his handcuffs out of another pocket and handed them to Turner. “Start with him on the right. Move him farther away. Nobody else moves. We’ll search them after they’re all cuffed.”
It was McDonald, but Sam refused to use his name. Turner put the shotgun on the cabin floor behind Sam and pulled a revolver out of his gun belt.
“You. Move to the right. Move to the right,” Turner said as he approached McDonald. “Keep your hands on the wall.”
“Come on, you guys know me,” McDonald said. He turned his head and attempted to smile. He looked like a sick man, a man ready to vomit. “We can talk about this.”
“Shut up. Keep your hands on the wall. You turn around again, I’ll blow your head off.”
As McDonald turned his face to the wall, Turner put the barrel of his gun at the base of McDonald’s head. He held Sam’s handcuffs in his left hand.
“Put your left hand behind your back.”
McDonald did nothing. His hands, particularly his left hand, were shaking as though he had damaged nerves between them and his brain. There followed a moment of silence that was not good.
“Now!” Turner said. His voice was vicious. He reached for McDonald’s wrist and wrenched it down.
Sam heard the cuffs ratchet onto McDonald’s wrist. One to go, he thought. Then the worst will be over.
“The other one,” Turner hissed.
McDonald let his right hand fall. Turner holstered his gun and clamped McDonald’s right hand into the cuffs. McDonald’s forehead banged against the wall as he lost his balance. Turner dropped McDonald roughly to the floor.
“You’re making a big mistake,” the captain said. “This isn’t what you think. We were making a bust here. You guys are messing it up. Listen to me. Listen to me!” he shouted.
After dropping McDonald, Turner had pounced to a spot behind the captain. Now he hesitated. He turned his head and Sam could see the doubt edging into his mind. Sam leaned forward and tensed the muscles in his arms and shoulders.
“Cuff the bastard,” he said. “Then tape his mouth shut.”
Turner hesitated no more. He pulled the captain’s left hand down and shackled it with his own handcuffs. The captain still pleaded for an audience, but it was mere noise now—noise that grated on the ears. When he joined the captain’s right hand to his left, Turner dumped the grating heap to the floor beside McDonald. He wrapped duct tape clear around the captain’s head and sealed his mouth. The pleas had changed to threats and curses before the tape muffled and turned them back on the sender. Sam appreciated Turner’s foresight in bringing the tape.
“Sam! Sam!” Katherine shouted through the open cabin door. “The other boat is taking off.”
“Let it go.”
“Is everything okay in there?” she asked.
“Yes. Just cover the deck.”
In the back of his mind, Sam realized that the sergeant had called several times as well.
“
Harbor 1
to
Harbor 4
,“ the sergeant repeated.
Sam pulled the radio out of his pocket again with his left hand while holding the shotgun ready with his right.
“Go ahead,
Harbor 1
.“
“Do you have everything under control?” Concern was evident in the sergeant’s wavering voice.
“Affirmative,” Sam replied.
“You’ve got the other boat breaking away. Do you want us to come in or pursue?”
Pierre was the last one not restrained. Pierre slowly turned his head toward Sam. He was going down easy, too. He was much braver with young girls and babies.
“Go after the second boat,” Sam said into the radio while keeping his eyes on Pierre. “They may be armed. We have four suspects under arrest here. Do you receive?”
“Received,” the sergeant said over the rise and fall of the siren. “We’re in pursuit.” A moment later, he was back on the radio. “
Harbor 1
to
Harbor 4
. Confirm that you have made felony arrests and that your suspects were armed.”
“
Harbor 4
,“ Sam replied. “That is affirmative. Four felony arrests. Our suspects were armed with handguns.”
“
Harbor 1
received.”
As Sam put the radio back into his pocket, he heard the sergeant providing the chief dispatcher with information. The escaping boat was headed east toward Pier 90, and the dispatcher switched cars, including K-9 units, to their frequency and began assigning them quadrants in the area. Within minutes, there would be a welcoming party waiting on shore.
The deck of the small cabin seemed filled with bodies. In a moment there would be one more. The last one would be for Alberta and her baby, for Sanchez and his wife, for Maria. The last one would allow him to breathe deeply again without smelling decomposition and see babies without remembering the one he had held and her mother’s impossibly hopeful eyes. This would end it.
“I’ll do him,” Sam said as Turner set himself up behind Pierre.
For a moment Turner didn’t seem to understand. Then he thought he understood, but he still did not. He stepped back from Pierre and grinned as he held out the diminished roll of tape. They exchanged tape and shotgun.
Drops of sweat fell from Pierre’s forehead as Sam frisked Pierre’s chest, belly, legs, and groin for weapons. There was none. His odor was distinct—the smell of nervous sweat. He was unclean, and Sam felt the uncleanness on his hands. Without instructions, he wrenched Pierre’s left hand and then his right away from the wall and clasped them together at the wrist with the duct tape. Then he pulled Pierre’s arms away from his back and wrapped them in tape, too. He pushed Pierre to the deck while letting his head bump whatever it might meet without trying to interfere. It might have been easier to tell Pierre what to do, but Sam didn’t say anything. Pierre would have to guess what he wanted. Even if he guessed, he could never guess right.
Sam pulled Pierre’s legs together and wrapped them. Finally he lifted Pierre’s head off the deck by his hair and wrapped his mouth and eyes as Turner had done with the others without breaking the tape and without concerning himself with the amount of nose left uncovered. There was probably enough to breathe. Finished, he dragged Pierre as far away from the others as the small cabin would permit. He stood over him for a moment, breathing hard and realizing that it was not enough.
The plastic bag on the counter was open with a wire tie beside it. It was not hard to imagine what it was. Sam used the tie to close up the end of the bag, and then he peered into the open satchel. There were four bags inside, making five in all. He dropped the plastic bag into the satchel and lifted it. It didn’t weigh very much. All this for five bags of powder.
There was a lot of money, however. He reached down and shoved the bundles that had spilled out back into the box. He had never seen so much cash before. He closed the box and sealed it with tape. He did the same with the satchel. It made him nervous, as though thousands of eyes were watching him. When he looked up, he saw only two.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he told Turner. “Make sure everybody is secure. I’ll check outside.”
“It’s Fisher, isn’t it?” Turner asked.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus.” As Turner went around checking the prone bodies, he continued repeating the word. It seemed to give him some distance from the men he touched.
Sam found the switch for the deck lights and turned them on. When he stepped outside, he saw Fisher thrashing like a fish pulled out of water. Katherine was trying to hold him down. Fisher seemed to be deliberately working his way to the rail, and she was in danger of being dragged after him. Sam lunged across the deck and pinned Fisher against the deck with his knee. He ripped away the tape that encircled the other man’s face. Fisher vomited and breathed and swore and repeated the cycle again. Finally he looked around for the cause of his torment. It didn’t ease his pain.
“You okay?” Sam asked Katherine.
“I couldn’t hold him. He went crazy.”
“That’s all right. We got him now. You’re under arrest, Fisher,” Sam repeated.
“Oh god, oh god,” was all that Fisher managed to say.
Sam pulled Fisher up to a sitting position. He pushed him against the railing where there was a rope and life ring mounted for an emergency. He pulled the rope free and lashed Fisher’s body to the railing.
“Fisher, listen to me. We got all of you. We have the money. We have the dope. You’re under arrest. Do you understand me?”
Fisher nodded that he understood.
“Do you understand me? Yes or no?”
“Yes,” Fisher screamed.
A vicious swell caught the boat from the side and washed over them. Reflexively, Sam grabbed the rope binding Fisher and hunched down over him. Katherine’s shotgun rattled past him across the deck. She had been swept along, too, and might have gone over if she had not grabbed the railing.
“Get inside,” he told her. “Get inside.”
She made a lunge for the cabin door and wedged herself against the opening.
“Jesus, Fisher,” Sam said, relieved that they were all still afloat. “Hell of a night for a boat ride.”
A shimmer of hope appeared in Fisher’s eyes. How many times had Sam seen that? Alone with a cop who has seen enough that he doesn’t judge, or hides his judgment, or doesn’t care.
“You okay, Fisher? Breathe okay?”
Fisher nodded. His eyes focused on Sam’s face. They were about the same age. They had been dumped on the streets at a time when it was easy to think that everyone was against them. Because they could trust no one else, they looked out for each other. Although much had changed since then, that code had not.
“Hell of a mess, Fisher.”
“Leave me alone, Wright. Get this rope off me. I’ll take care of this myself.”
“Who else is involved?” Sam asked. “Is there anyone else from the department?”
Fisher stared at him.
“McDonald and the captain,” Sam said. “Anybody else? I have to know.”
Sam’s face was within inches of Fisher’s. Even so, he shouted his questions. He held on to Fisher for support against the sea that was working against them both.
“I’ll take care of this myself,” Fisher shouted again.
“I have to know, Fisher. Who else?”
“Get the rope off me,” Fisher yelled.
“I will if you tell me. Who else?”
“There’s nobody else,” Fisher said at last.
“The truth, Fisher. You have to tell me the truth.”
“There’s nobody else. The captain, McDonald, me. McDonald and the captain made all the plans. Nobody else.”
Fisher began to shiver. The water was cold, and the wind pe
“What about the girl and the baby?” he shouted. He pulled his face away from Fisher’s but held on to the man’s clothes. “What about that baby?”
“It wasn’t me. We had nothing to do with that. That was Pierre. It made us sick. It made us all sick. You got to believe me, Wright. It made me sick.”
Sam began to rise, and Fisher struggled against the rope.
“Get this rope off me, Wright. I told you the truth. There’s nobody else. I told you the truth. The rope, Wright. I’d do it for you.”
Sam looked down at the rope holding Fisher to the rail. Fisher’s hands and legs were still bound tightly with duct tape. Sam looked toward the cabin door. He saw light but no faces and made a decision in the midst of the storm. He pulled the rope and loosened it enough so that Fisher could wiggle out if he chose. Without looking back, Sam crawled across the deck toward the cabin. Katherine appeared in the doorway again, but he pushed her back as he lunged inside. He closed the door behind him.
Turner was at the wheel. He barely looked toward Sam.
“Thought I might have lost you out there.”
Sam said nothing. The boat spotlights were shining forward in a crazy pattern as the boat rose and fell. When Turner had the boat clearly heading toward shore, he looked at Sam more carefully.
“Fisher okay?”
Sam nodded.
“Maybe you ought to bring him inside. Pretty rough out there.”
“He wants to stay outside. I got him tied down,” Sam said. He looked only ahead. He didn’t want to look at Turner or Katherine, and he didn’t want to look back outside.
Turner shrugged his shoulders. “Figured it was time to get us home unless you got some other plan to get us killed?” Turner laughed through a strained grin while his hands spun the wheel in radical turns to steer them through the churning water.
“No other plans.”
The sergeant came on the radio with a change of course. The fleeing boat had suddenly turned north toward Smith’s Cove. Turner pointed to the radar screen. There was much interference on the screen as the boats passed close to the shoreline, but with creative interpretation, Sam could follow the chase.
“They’re damn near on top of each other. Blow the son of a bitch out of the water!” Turner shouted at the screen.
The patrol cars reported in as they scrambled to change locations. There were no simple routes into the area. There was an unusually long silence on the radio, broken only by the dispatcher asking
Harbor 1
for a status check. Everyone listening knew something had happened.