Partners In Crime

16 Dangerous When Wet

"Who says I didn't want to continue?" Chelsea asked eventually.

"What?" Derick was at a loss for words. For a moment the girl was pulling her chain. He figured the last thing the girl wanted to do was spend more time with him and on this darn case. Maybe he was finally getting somewhere with her?
But Chelsea caught on.

"Hold your horses. This doesn't change anything. I still find you a dork and the stuff we did together yesterday, stays between us. And I told you all that stuff at the mancave was Dad's area. You should be grateful we went at all. Otherwise, I would have made you my accessory to my vlogs and fashion icons.
"Whatever you say." Derick rolled his eyes, aware that the girl was in denial.

"That being said, I do appreciate this. Not even my butler would pull this off."
"Surely your friends have butlers."
"Not at the moment no. Right now they're currently going through their shifts from night to daytime." Chelsea explained. "Sort of like me."
"Are those them now?" Derick asked, pointing one at the shore.

Chelsea turned.
"Weird. How did they know we were here?"
That was the first red flag. Because as efficient and highly trained butlers are, they're not omniscient.

From where they were sitting on the bench at the yacht was an army approaching at the horizon, unsophisticated, all seeming to be copied and pasted from each other lazily. Accept the one at the centre: Drench - it was the name Derick decided upon since his moustache is soggy. 

Mr Lankey is the one who chugs down sixteen bottles of alcohol and consumes a little bit of pot.  He had a thick, brown and long moustache, and he had a transparent miniature monocle.
He was dressed in formal attire: a red bow and a blue blazer with no sign of an underlayer. He, along with his crew, who are all wearing white shirts and black tracksuits, men and women, looked like a cult, and that's what gave it away;  the second red flag.

Chelsea shoots up in a hurry, her face is black and white. Derick felt his stomach plummet as she slowly stepped away backwards, her pupils shrinking.
"We got to get out of here," she whispered. It wasn't long until she had raised her voice.
"We got to get out of here now!" She impulsively jumped into action, running to the front wheel while Derick sat there helpless.
"Shouldn't we abandon ship?"
"No time for that," Chelsea said.
"We need to lose them."
"What!?" Derrick roared. He didn't like the sound of that plan.
"What about your friends...?"
"Forget them." Chelsea cut him off, turning on the engine of the yacht as it screamed into life.
"Are you crazy!?"
"Look if you have any better ideas I'd love to hear it."
Derick silently swore. He contemplated jumping, but after one glance at the icy water, as well as flunking PE,  he ultimately decided against it. He'll never forgive himself if he hung Chelsea out to dry. He thought meticulously. Any decision they make would determine their survival. And leaving her would have been the worst decision he made yet. He might as well of committed suicide.

Before Derick knew it, he was thrown off his seat.
Springing out both his arms, he landed safely. Seeing the remote near him, he took it and promptly pressed it. Soon enough, the ramp was gone, and the rope snapped in half like a glorified Christmas cracker.

By now, some goons, going as fast as a cheetah, were at the shore and had launched themselves onto the yacht just in a nick of time.
The others resorted to taking two speedboats that were parked nearby and were soon close behind.

The cold, bitter wind was one of malevolence, beating every part of the two kid's bodies. The rush and force in all areas made it feel like they were fighting an uphill battle with an invisible enemy. It didn't help that water was spitting out from everywhere, soaking them. The sound was deafening over the sound of the howling engine.

The goon with the one-sliver finger ring - Sliver - was now on the yacht. Derick sprung up and stood his ground. He wasn't going to let this man scare him. But he couldn't exactly fight him, either. But he had to do something, otherwise, he's dead meat. Then again, both he and Chelsea would be dead meat if the goon took control of the boat. So he had to go with the next best thing, the thing that he does best. And in time at all, he formulated a plan. He looked down at his pocket. He just didn't know he had to do it that soon.