Ten minutes later the skiff was plowing across Jamaica Bay, Weecho leaning against the console, Shongut steering a roundabout course while they figured out what to do. Weecho had given the short version of what had been going on.
“He’s not gonna let you walk outta this, he can help it,” Shongut said. “Or her, either.”
“Where would he have taken her?”
“Most likely his boat. He stays on it sometimes. There’s a full cabin forward under the deck.”
“He could be anywhere.”
“You make him come to you, you got some control over the exchange. I got his cell number you think of a way.”
The long low skiff slipped past the deserted islands of the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge, the city a jagged shadow over through the haze.
“How long you had this boat?” Weecho said.
“A while. Nina and me used to fish on it, she was younger.”
Weecho tried to picture that. Shongut nodded toward the passing islands.
“She did some bird snatching herself back then. Hawks and stuff, I showed her how.”
World-class model and poacher.
“Lynch was a customer. Me mostly, but for Nina too. He had big ideas even back then.” Shongut’s expression went dark. “He ruined my little girl.”
Weecho watched him, the craggy profile, the faded eyes, hoped the old guy had been spared from seeing just how ruined his little girl had ended up.
They both stayed quiet as the boat bounced over a set of waves.
Shongut spoke again, raspy, distant. “Kid’s old man does the best he can, passes on what he knows. Kid’s gotta take it from there.”
He swatted a bug away from his eye, squinted into the late afternoon light.
Weecho waited a minute – then went forward and sat on the fish box. Took out his cell and made a call.
# # #
Dara met them two hours later at the Broad Channel marina. Weecho introduced her to Shongut, didn’t mention the man was Nina Galleon’s father. Shongut steadied the boat against the pier while Dara passed Weecho a portable DVD player. The decoy DVD itself was still in Weecho’s jacket pocket.
“The battery and spare are both charged,” Dara said.
“Any instructions?”
“I left them in the car with the box. I can…”
“I mean from Alex. I thought he’d be here.”
“He had a financial fire to put out, otherwise of course he’d be.”
“What happened?”
“One of his bankers called wanting face time. Wouldn’t take no. Alex had to get down there right away.”
He should ask for more money, Weecho thought. Tell the guy they can’t afford to let him go under, too cool to fail. Like the bank pricks did themselves all the time.
Dara said, “Whatever he’d tell you I’m sure you already know.”
“Like?”
“Don’t get caught, obviously – Lynch or the police. And if you see a chance…”
A wave slopped up between the boat and the pier, soaking Weecho’s jeans.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“…get that laptop.”
She handed down a canvas tote bag. “Sandwiches and sodas. Enough for tonight and tomorrow. Enough, too, if you want to bring me as backup.”
Weecho knowing she was going to ask. “It wouldn’t work. The idea is keep it small. Each of us’ll have only one backup, Teddy’s mine. He knows the territory, it’s his boat. If anything changes, I’ll call you.”
She fixed Weecho with her black eyes to let him know what she thought of that.
“What about the jeep?” she said.
Weecho dug out the key, handed it up and pointed behind her. “It’s parked two blocks over, just this side of Cross Bay, the road you came out on.” Jeremy had driven her, had stayed with the car.
Weecho dug out the cassette he’d taken from the answering machine, went to pass it up with his other hand, winced and grabbed his shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Dara said, then remembered the gunshot wound. “It’s probably infected.”
Weecho switched hands with the cassette. “That’s an update from Lynch, a message he left. Maybe you can play it on the way back.”
Dara shook her head and took the cassette. “You’re in great shape to be doing this on your own.”
“It’s just stiff, no big deal.”
Dara stuck the cassette in her pocket. “I’ll stay on standby. If anything doesn’t look right, back off and call me. I’ll get there.”
“Got it.”
“I’m serious. He’ll be looking for any edge he can get. In his mind this isn’t about an exchange.”
That got an Amen from Shongut.
“Do you hear me?” Dara said.
“I hear you. What about the gun?”
“It’s in with the sandwiches. With two extra clips.”
“Thank you.” He tried to look appreciative… then pushed the boat away from the pier.
# # #
Shongut steered them through the little fleet of moored Broad Channel boats, all shapes and sizes with names on the transoms, past the last marker heading out of the marina.
“Pretty lady,” he said.
Weecho nodded. “She uses it well.”
“She American?”
“Israeli.”
Shongut thought about that. “They’re a tough bunch.”
“I’ve heard.”
“Maybe we should’ve brung her along.”
YOU ARE READING
Weecho: First Shots
Teen FictionA hot young photographer shoots a conspiracy murder, has cops and the killer chasing after those pictures, hooks up with a fugitive punk girl to cover his back.
