“Sorry about this.”
“Dude,” he said, ignoring my apology. “How’s the girl?”
“Safe. For now.”
“One question.”
I looked at him, waiting for it.
“How many cars do you plan on destroying?”
A smile formed on my face. “I think I’m out of them.”
“Shut up,” one of the guys on the other bed said rolling toward us.
32
The seagulls swarmed a fisherman cleaning his catch. They circled the boat waiting until he tossed the trash parts into the water. Then like bomber planes, they dove for the rewards. A few pieces landed in the saltwater of Mobile Bay. The waterways were crowded, but it was Labor Day weekend. Boaters were taking to the water with the three-day weekend in droves. I leaned against the dock railing and slurped Dr. Pepper through a straw.
Alison sent me an email the day before yesterday. She said it would be the last time they could talk to me for a while. Kristi got the two of them into Witness Protection. Mac Crowder made bail despite the argument that he had the means to flee the country. It wasn’t a surprise that he disappeared earlier this week. The feds were searching for him but suspected that he was able to slip past the border.
He’d turn up eventually, but to ensure the safety of Alison and Naomi, they were getting new identities. She thanked me again, probably the fifth or sixth time since the judge released me and Malcolm. I didn’t know all the details of what Naomi had endured with the Crowders, and Leo pointed out that it might be best if we never knew how bad it was.
Looking across the marina, I saw Leo standing near the ship store. He made eye contact with me and nodded. There wasn’t a lot of detail in that nod, but I took it to mean that we were still waiting.
One of Leo’s many connections flagged Marty Witt’s credit cards. For weeks, there was no activity. Then, it went crazy. She was buying gas and food between Memphis and Mobile. Yesterday, a pending charge for a boat rental appeared.
Leo convinced me that even if it was a dead-end, then we could spend a few days drinking on the beach. Life had gotten pretty slow the past few weeks. Jason was after me to cover a few stories for him. I wasn’t that interested in writing up stories about urban violence. Even though Angela was keeping me pretty occupied, I agreed to ride south with Leo.
The boat was rented through a website simply called Rent My Boat. It allowed boat owners to lease out their private boats to individuals. Leo contacted the owner of the boat, and after convincing him that we were interested in renting from him in the future, he gave us some details about the boat. According to him, the boat was unavailable today through the end of next week, and while he didn’t give us the name of the person renting it from him, we surmised it was Marty Witt and, hopefully, Phillip.
We waited.
When I saw a skinny man descending the walkway, I thought it might have been Witt. Hard to say. The last time I saw him he plowed through me. I motioned to Leo who nodded again. This time, I think he was confirming it was Witt.
Walking toward the man, I sipped on my soda and admired the boats. The assumption we made was that Witt wasn’t able to access the money he embezzled, and he needed to get out of the country. A decent boat could make the jump to Cuba, and then it was easy to get to the Cayman Islands, where all kinds of banking options were available. It would take a few days to get down the Florida coast, but Witt could make the trip in the duration that he rented the boat. By the time the owner reported it stolen, it would be close to Cuban waters.
The man was towing a cart with some supplies. Several cases of Pepsi and bottled water were stacked in the cart. At the top of the walkway, I saw Marty Witt carrying grocery bags toward me. From here, I could tell it was Phillip Witt.
I paused to look at a 53-foot Carver as Witt came a few feet closer. Leo was now behind Witt’s mother, and blocking the only exit to land.
“Hi, Phillip,” I said when he came within five feet of me.
His widened eyes looked up at me in shock. He turned to run and stumbled over the cart. Cases of soda burst open on the dock as the cart overturned.
Witt scrambled to his feet. He almost made it when he stepped on a can of Pepsi rolling across the dock. The scrawny bastard fell back into me.
I tried to catch him, but in trying to catch my own balance, I ended up knocking him off the dock. He went under the surface with a splash.
“Phil!” Marty screamed as she started running toward me.
Leo sprinted past her.
Witt broke through the surface, thrashing the water. I reached down and caught his arm.
“Calm down,” I said, “you’ll attract sharks.”
“What!” he howled as he tried to pull me into the water so he could get back on the dock.
I punched him with my free hand. Stunned, he stared up at me.
“Calm down, there aren’t any sharks you idiot.”
Leo came up behind me. “Seriously Max, he has to go in my truck.”
“Stop it,” Marty Witt howled. “Leave him alone.”
I grabbed Witt again and pulled him onto the dock.
Leo turned to his mother. “Shut it,” he said, “your son is going to jail.”
Witt wallowed on the deck leaving puddles of water all around him.
“You aren’t taking my son,” she howled. She reached into her purse and pulled a small .22 caliber pistol out.
Leo caught her hand before she got the gun completely out of her purse. He pulled it from her grasp and tossed it into the water.
“Phillip,” he said, “do you want to come with us? Or should we drag your mother in too?”
He turned his head toward Leo. His eyes were sad. “I’ll go. Just leave her out of it.”
“You can’t,” she pleaded.
Leo grabbed Witt by the arm and helped him to his feet. “I hope you have a change of clothes,” he said. “Otherwise, you ride naked all the way back.”
Blood and Roses Page 19