SHADOW OF A DOUBT III: INVESTIGATION
Mike sat on the railing of the boathouse's balcony, legs swaying playfully as he stared westward at the last rays of sunset over the river. His brow furrowed as he squinted through the binoculars we'd found on the motorboat docked inside. I was hunched over it beside him, thumbing through some shopping sites on my phone.
"Can't believe I gotta wait 'til Sunday to get a carton of smokes delivered." I grunted.
"Thought you quit?" Mike shot back.
"Well, how else am I supposed to spend my time here, in the middle of fuckin' nowhere? Trekking with Russ and Steele was enough wilderness for a lifetime; now we're trapped up here 'til the Feds cut our leashes."
"It sucks, bro." He nodded. The wind whistled by as we lingered there in silence, watching the few boats on the water trawl on by. This place would've made a nice getaway for someone looking to escape the city, but all my heart wanted was to get back home. Casey and April's old apartment would have been close enough; not expecting to get shuttled out to the boondocks "for our own protection", we'd planned on crashing there until the sewers were safe enough to return.
The purr of a boat engine entered quietly from the edge of the water, gradually becoming louder as a little white motorboat sped into our field of view. It whipped up a huge trail of wake, before suddenly slowing to a stop about a hundred yards in front of us, right in the center of the river's opening, where a larger fishing boat nestled alongside it.
"The hell's going on over there?" I pointed, distracting Mike from the geese he was peering at.
"Looks like…" he squinted. "…Some kind of business deal. The dude on the smaller boat just got handed a suitcase, and now they're putting boxes onto the bigger one. Looks like he's wearing a ski mask, too."
"Give me those." I snatched the binoculars from his hands, and peered through to see what he described. There was definitely something fishy going on; but the details were just barely visible in the twilight. "I gotta get a closer look. This shit doesn't sit right with me."
"Can we take the boat?" Mike's eyes lit up. "Please?"
"You don't think they'd notice that behemoth coming up on them?" I huffed back. "Come on, follow me if you can keep up." I dove in with a splash, the brisk water sending a chill down my spine before I adjusted to the temperature and kicked off. The two of us slowed our movement as we approached the vessels. I tapped Mike's shoulder to get his attention, gesturing to myself and the motorboat, then to him and the larger one. To show him what I meant, I latched onto a handle on the far side of the vessel, and likewise he grabbed the anchor across from me.
The propeller on the motor kicked to life just moments after we'd arrived, and the two of us parted as our boats ran their separate ways. The force of the quick acceleration threatened to rip me off, but my grip held strong until I knew the two boats weren't in sight of each other. After several minutes, just as my feet were beginning to brush the sandy river bottom, I let go, and was tossed in the wake like a ragdoll. Surfacing with an air-hungry gasp, I watched the boat pull into an inlet dock at what looked like a tiny river cabin, one lone lantern hanging above the door. The three masked men disembarked, one holding his weighty metal suitcase in both hands.
It felt like it'd been forever since I pulled a solo mission. While I didn't have the helmet or suit on hand, my mind went instantly back to its Nightwatcher mode: alert, focused, and ready to kick some ass. As they approached the door to the cabin, I pulled myself onto the bank and ducked behind a tree. Waiting until the multiple locks were unfastened and the door was ajar, I picked up a rock and whipped it into the neck of the man holding the suitcase, charging toward them. With a cry, he dropped to the ground, and the other two turned around, reaching to holsters on their waistbands, only to be met with punches to the stomach. As they keeled over, I smashed their heads together, and entered through the cabin door unchallenged.
What looked quaint and dated from the outside was treacherous on the inside. Factory-fresh assault rifles and submachine guns were mounted on a rack by the door. The rest of the room was just boxes, but their contents were even more worrisome. Knock-off cigarettes with no tax stamps, powders and plants bundled in plastic wrap, enough hollow-point bullets for a South American country, glass vials of pills (some looking exactly like what we'd found in the Foot warehouse a while back), and even a few cases of what seemed to be plastic explosive. Treading back to the door, I fished the keychain off the unconscious goon's belt, and cracked the briefcase open. Too many bills to count, all tightly wadded by rubber bands, stared back at me like a grass-green seductress. Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, I couldn't tear my gaze away until I heard tires crushing gravel down the road behind the building.
In a heartbeat, I dragged the blacked-out bodies and the suitcase into the building, pulled a rifle off its rack and a loaded clip from a stack below them. The door slammed shut, and back into the river I trudged, around the corner of the dock where I could stand unseen with the gun above the water. A braking sound came from the road, one door opened, and one set of boots hopped out. A driver wondering where his passengers had gone.
"Allô?" a baritone called out as he came around the cabin. "Garçons? Êtes-vous ici?" As he came up to the door and saw its unlocked state, I leaned my head into the dock and peered down the gun's rail. He was a long-haired man in a leather jacket, though all colors were unclear in the shadows of the early night. "Tabarnak!" he called out, and just as he whipped his head around to find whoever had opened the door, I squeezed the trigger and released it. A fraction of a second later, he was down, clutching his foot just as I had planned. Before he could pull the pistol from his jacket, I hoisted myself up and rolled onto the land, sprinting toward him before his eyes could identify me. The barrel of my gun rested in his mouth, and his groans of pain stopped as he looked up at me.
"I'm giving you 'til the count of three, and you're gonna tell me who you work for, where all the shit inside came from, and who gave your friends that briefcase of money. One. Two." I pulled the gun from his mouth. "Three."
"Va chier." The man spat, and as his eyes shut in a wince as I spun the gun around and smacked his temple with the stock. He went out like a light, and I opened the door again to toss his body on the pile of his associates. I stepped gingerly over a leg to grab the briefcase, a couple (well, more than a couple) cartons of smokes, and what looked to me like about an ounce of some of their better-smelling herb. Debating whether or not to drop the rifle I'd slung over my shoulder, I threw a few magazines into the box of cigarettes, then shut the door and clicked shut the heavy padlocks. I thumbed through the keys on the chain I'd taken earlier until I found one matching the make of the motorboat, tossed my loot on the passenger seat, and clicked the key. The engine roared to life, and the bow lifted up out of the surf like a muscle car on its rear wheels as I raced off into the darkness.
Perpetually sorry for the wait! Winter break just started so buckle up for more!
