12. West
CHAPTER 12
WEST
Climbing back onto the dock, I loosen the line securing the boat. While I’m bent over, I’m able to keep an eye on the two men standing at the edge of the parking lot in front of the fish cleaning station. They’re the same men that were here earlier.
To get to my boat, they would have to run all the way down the boat ramp, along the dock, and to my slip. I still don’t know how Sydney made it to me for the second time. Pure luck? Or would that make me unlucky? Desperation can drive people to do strange things, and I know that witnessing a murder for the first time can do something to a person’s brain.
I would know. I’ve seen more than my fair share of death.
Hopefully, Sydney is listening to instructions and staying inside the cabin. I can see the men moving toward the boat ramp, away from where they could walk down to my boat. Phew.
The dock is quiet this afternoon. Most of the boats have already entered the water to hit the tides right.
I’m pushing my luck to leave port at an incoming tide. I’d prefer to wait for slack tide. But when you’re hiding a murder witness on your boat, it’s not a good time to be picky.
I can see the men standing at the top of the boat ramp now, and I do my best to not stare overtly.
If I take off looking unhurried, then there’s no reason to chase after me—not that they have a boat to do it, but it will take us a while to get out of shooting range.
The men standing up there are looking in my direction.
I pick up my insulated bottle on the deck, take a long drink from it, and slowly recap the lid, pretending like I have all the time in the world to push off from the dock. Like I don’t have their murder witness hanging out in the bottom of my boat. I’m just a guy about to go sailing on this fine, clear day.
Luckily, the wind is up enough that maybe they’ll buy it.
The two men start their way back toward my dock as I start the engine, letting it warm up.
It’s too late to push off without them realizing I’m running, so I take another long drink of water as they stop next to me.
“Have you seen a woman with red hair come by this way?” one of the men asks.
I grab my sweatshirt off the rail and swipe at some imaginary sweat on my brow. “I haven’t, but I’ve been a little busy.” I gesture to the box of tools and a few loose boards still sitting on the deck. “My mechanic still hasn’t shown up,” I reference our earlier conversation.
One of the men laughs, shakes his head, and turns back to face the parking lot.
The first man who spoke turns to leave, then hesitates, turning back to me. “If you’re looking for good deck boards, go with the grade A teak.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the burnt deck boards. “And maybe stop starting fires on deck.”
With that, he walks away, and I’m left holding the water bottle and staring after them as they walk toward the bed and breakfast boat.
I wait until they disappear into the floating hotel, then I jump to the dock and set about working on the lines.
I loosen three of the lines, tossing them over the railing and onto the deck, then retie the midline before heading to the wheel and turning up the throttle. The boat starts to pull away from the dock, but the midline stays secure until I untie it. My chest burns with excitement as I pull the line loose and quickly coil it onto the deck then dash back to the wheel.
I slowly pull away from the dock—all without hitting anything.
So far, so good.
I focus on my boat and slow down as a twenty-foot salmon boat drives past me. No matter how many times I’ve been in high-stress situations, I still get that initial thrill.
What does that say about me? I’ve been accused of being an adrenaline junkie, and I’m not sure I can defend myself. It might be true.
The boat slowly moves away from the dock, the water calm. I slowly rev up the motor, disrupting the glassy water.
The motor chugs for one instant, and I wonder if the boat will die in the bay. I might have replaced the fuel filters, but I didn’t exactly go over the thing with a fine-tooth comb.
Luckily, the tide is pulling us out of range while I adjust the throttle. It roars to life again. I probably should have spent more time on the University of YouTube before setting sail, but little Miss I’m-Being-Chased-by-a-Murderer interrupted that plan.
At least, I think we’re out of pistol range. Not that I think they would risk something like that. They’re more of the kill-someone-with-a-knife, dump-them-in-the-bay type.
The Italian mafia doesn’t like loose ends, and firing at someone at a populated port is pretty much asking for a stint in federal prison.
I lift the wooden set next to me, pull out my binoculars, then look across the bay. The boat pitches with an outgoing wake, and I wait until it steadies enough to the dock again. The SUV is still parked next to the fish cleaning station. No one is visible though, so they have either climbed inside or abandoned their car and are looking for a boat.
I set the binoculars down and focus on the boat. I have no plan of action at this point besides getting out of the harbor.
This was supposed to be an easy job—a paying job.
I was supposed to do an easy, simple little tech job. I should have known. When has anything with Bodie been simple?
It’s never simple when Bodie King is involved, and now here I am, taking my work-in-progress sailboat across the bar. I’ve been planning on doing that, but leaving on such short notice still makes me nervous.
Luckily, I’m catching it right at the beginning of outgoing tide. Now I have to figure out what to do with a witness, the Italian mafia, and my intense desire to stay out of all these problems.
I wait for a seiner to pass before I pick up speed.
The wind is picking up, and I’m excited to actually get to sail. I’m not confident enough in my sailing abilities yet to cross the bar with them, so I keep everything tied down until we’re safely across the bar and making our way out into open water.
Now that the imminent danger has passed, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, calling Fletcher.
“What’s happened?” he snaps. “Do you know how nervous I’ve been? Have you heard from her?”
I glance toward the cabin door, which is still shut. “She’s on my boat.”
There’s a beat of silence as he takes in that information. “Really?”
I hum an affirmation as I grasp the throat halyard, preparing to raise the sail. “Barely made it. They were waiting for her at the police station,” I explain as I pull the reef line. I step back to avoid getting knocked over by the boom. It’s right at shoulder height, and if I’m not careful, I’ll get flattened by it. “Don’t ask me how she got away. We haven’t exactly had time to visit over tea.
Fletcher grunts. “I’m not surprised. I made a call to a guy in Las Vegas who is working in an organized crime unit. He said if it really is the mafia, then they’re exceptional at tying up loose ends.”
“Think you stand a chance on nailing them and keeping her alive?” I ask as I raise the sail.
“What do you mean me keeping her alive? That sounds like a personal problem to me,” Fletcher laughs.
“This isn’t funny, Farley. You’ve got to come get her.” I’m in no position to protect a state witness.
“Why don’t you pour yourself a cold one and text me your location?”
What the… I don’t drink. And Fletcher knows this. Which means he’s trying to tell me something. “You sitting next to someone?”
“Okay, yes. Sounds good,” he continues as if I didn’t just ask that. “I’ll keep them informed of what’s going on. I’ve already gotten the security footage. Someone tried to hack and destroy it, but our firewall blocked them from outside.”
Fletcher and I had worked on recoding the system when I still worked there, and so far, it has held up to some decent hackers. I don’t claim to be that much of an expert, but we made a decent team between Fletcher and me. The thing about that system is the only way someone could try to get past it is to be in the same operating system. Whoever tried to hack in was in the same building as the police department.
“What do I do with her?”
Fletcher’s voice drops to a barely discernible whisper, “Keep her safe until we can get witness protection set up.”
I clear my throat. “I was actually planning on kicking her out at the next port.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
“No, really. I want to drop her off as soon as possible. She’s too cheery.”
“Cheery? Isn’t she scared of what’s going on?” he asks, incredulous.
“She’s scared. Hung onto me like a damn monkey when I tried to get on the boat without her.” She’s stronger than I thought. She seems so small next to me, but she’s got tenacity, I’ll give her that.
“So, what’s your problem with her?” I can hear voices in the background, making me wonder who is there breathing down Fletcher’s neck.
“She’s nice,” I spit out.
“Oh, yes, I can see why that’s such a problem. I hate having to deal with nice people. The worst,” Fletcher says in an even tone.
“She wants to be friendly.”
“No! How horrible!” His mock sympathy isn’t scoring him any points in the friend department.
I don’t know why I’m still talking to him. “How about you get busy on that witness protection and pick her up in Astoria? We’ll take a little sail up the north coast.”
The hell we will. We’ll be heading directly south. But I know Fletcher will catch on.
“I’m on it. But you know how the paperwork is on this kind of stuff. By the way, Saidy misses you and wants to know if you can dog-sit sometime.”
Yet again a straight up lie. He’s trying to tell me something. “Hmm, I’m a little busy. Just make sure you’re there, ready to pick up this lady. I’d like to wash my hands of her.”
“I’m not a miracle worker, West.”
“Then become one.”
He snorts. “I’m not Bodie. But I’ll see what I can do.”
I hang up on him and immediately call Saidy, Fletcher’s wife.
Saidy is wary of me. Our first meeting was…not exactly warm and friendly. I’d scared the bejeebers out of her then tattled to her boyfriend. Needless to say, she does not miss me, nor does she want me to dog sit. A soft, feminine voice answers the phone. “Hello?”
“Saidy, it’s West. Tell Fletcher—in person—that she’ll be in Florence.”
She clears her throat. “Okay, what? Did you say 'she’? Who are we talking about? Why can’t you call him?”
“I can’t. He didn’t want me to say anything over the phone to him. He told me to call you.”
“Dang. Sometimes I hate his job. Why would he need me to relay information?”
“Because this is kind of a big deal, and he’s not trusting everyone a hundred percent right now.”
Saidy grumbles, “This seems to be becoming a habit with us.”
“Thanks. Just tell him, ‘She’s in Florence,’ when he gets home tonight. He’ll know what you’re talking about. And be careful. We need everyone to come out of this alive.”
Not two seconds after I hang up, a red head pops out from between the double doors, the only thing visible above the stairs. She must be sitting on the ground. “Are we all clear?”
She looks like a prairie dog coming up for a look around.There’s a twinkle in her eye and a small smile on her face. She shouldn’t be this happy right now.
I pick up my water bottle and take a quick drink before I tell her, “No. Go back down.”
She disappears as quickly as she popped up.
It’s absolutely all clear. The only way they can see her is if they drive down the south jetty and pull out a telescope.
And the way they were searching the empty ships, I don’t think they’ll be doing that anytime soon. I’m just not ready to talk yet. There are too many things I need to figure out in my mind before I find out the details about the murder she witnessed.
Too bad she only gives me five minutes.
She pops back up on deck, wearing my sweatshirt. It’s hanging around her like it might swallow her up. How dare she steal my favorite blue sweatshirt?
“I thought I said it wasn’t clear yet.”
“I waited a long time before I came up.”
I glance at my watch. It had been four minutes, not five. “You were horrible at hide and seek as a child, weren’t you?”
“What?” she asks as she moves closer. The boom shifts toward her, and she leans out of the way.
I don’t want to make conversation. I want to come up with a solution.
She moves to the bench on the port side and sits down. “Do you know I’ve never been on the ocean before?” She smiles at me like I’ve granted her the world, not like she nearly got killed by the mafia.
“Do you realize the seriousness of the situation?” I ask. I find that I’m genuinely curious to hear her answer. Is she naive, dumb, or disengaged?
“I’m the one who just did a dead sprint all the way to your boat. I’m entrusting my life to a stranger. Do you think I don’t know what’s going on?” She says it all with a smile.
I ignore her. “What if I were to kill you?” Who gets on a boat with a stranger?
I stare at the south jetty as I mull over her words—and attitude. Not naive or dumb—she has an oversized helping of bravado.
Just what I don’t need.
“Well, how are you going to kill me?” she asks as she folds her hands against her knee.