First Avenue

by Lowen Clausen

“Do you think they’ll just give up when they see the flag?” the sergeant asked, now questioning Turner’s competency.

  “I wasn’t thinking about showing any flag,” Turner said. His gruff voice rumbled out of the huge mustache that all but hid his mouth.

  “You’d probably swamp before you got out a hundred yards. There are some pretty big swells out there. Besides, how are you going to sneak up on anybody with that whiny little motor? Paddle?”

  “We could, I guess, when we got close enough.” Turner struggled to hang on to his idea.

  “What about a kayak?” Sam asked.

  It was quiet as the sergeant turned his incredulous expression toward Sam. “What about it?” the sergeant asked.

  “I have one here.” Sam pointed out the cabin window. “I come to work in it every day. I’ve been in water like this.”

  “Are you crazy?” the sergeant asked.

  “Sometimes.”

  “You got it here?” Turner asked.

  “That’s right. I used it this morning. I use it every morning. It can handle this kind of water.”

  “How many people can get in it?” Turner asked. He was the only one of the Harbor crew who showed any interest in Sam’s idea.

  “It’s made for one person, but the rear compartment is big enough to carry another man.”

  “Doesn’t matter if we can’t get close enough to use it,” the sergeant reminded them. “You guys seem to forget that we’re going to show up on their screen. We can’t hide.”

  “What if they think we’re tugboats?” Johnson asked. He was the pilot on Harbor 1 and had been quiet until then. “We hear those guys on the marine radio all the time. We know how they talk. Maybe the bad guys can see a little blip on the radar, but they can’t actually see us. If we act like tugboats and talk like tugboats, how are they going to know the difference?”

  “What if they don’t go where tugboats go?” the sergeant asked.

  “Markowitz said they want deep water. That’s where they go.”

  Another believer. The tide was changing, Katherine thought.

  “I always wanted to ride on a tugboat,” Sam said. “It looks so easy just plodding along.”

  “This won’t be easy,” the sergeant said.

  “But it might work,” Markowitz concluded. “It might just work. I’ll go with Wright in the kayak.”

  “No offense here, Markowitz,” Turner said, “but I think I’m in better shape to go along with Wright. You’re looking a little green, by the way.”

  Everyone looked at Markowitz, and it was true. He did look green, but then they all looked green from the green light of the instruments and the circling image on the radar screen.

  “He’s right, Fred,” Sam said.

  “Fine with me,” Markowitz said curtly.

  “We’ll call Harbor 1 Gloria, and Harbor 2 …” Sam paused as names ran through his head.

  “We’ll call Harbor 2 Olivia,” Katherine said. “That was the baby’s name.”

  “The Gloria Rose and the Olivia Rose,” Johnson said. “They’ve got to have the same last name.”

  “What do we call Pierre’s boat?” Markowitz asked.

  “How about the Sinking Donut?” Turner said.

  “How about the Nippon Blue?” Johnson said. “I’ve heard that name before.”

  Johnson’s suggestion was chosen over Turner’s.

  “You think maybe we should get some more help?” asked an officer from Harbor 2 named Hendricksen. Hendricksen was the tallest of them and so used to stooping in the boat that he stooped even when there was room to stand tall.

  “We considered that,” Markowitz said, “but we don’t want any more people in on this than absolutely necessary, and right now, nobody off this boat—not even our dear chief—has a clue what we’re going to do.”

  “Don’t want another Morley, either,” Turner said, his voice throwing the word out like gravel on pavement.

  Morley was a name that had special meaning in their small society—a cop killed by other cops in a raid gone bad. Too many cops shooting in too small a space. Everyone agreed that they didn’t want another Morley.

  They refined the plan in bits and pieces as one officer or another offered a suggestion or raised a point that required a change.

  “Anything else?” Markowitz asked.

  Nobody had anything more to offer, at least not that he or she was willing to say.

  “Okay then,” Markowitz said. “When Wright or Turner gives the signal, we’ll come in with lights, sirens, loudspeakers, everything we got. Be ready for anything, but if there’s any shooting, make damn sure you know what you’re shooting at.”

  “You got that right,” Turner said.

  Markowitz looked at his watch. “It’s ten o’clock. If our snitch is right, we still have a couple of hours. Let’s get ready.”

  Sam and Turner walked out of the cabin to the front deck. Katherine followed them. Sam climbed over the railing, which was moving up and down with the waves, and jumped to the dock. He landed on his butt.

  “Is that how you handle this water?” Turner asked as he leaned over the boat railing.

  “Hope not,” Sam said. He jumped up before anyone other than Katherine and Turner could see him. “Got the kayak right over here.”

  Turner jumped down to the dock more gracefully than Sam. Katherine climbed over the rail and jumped when the surging boat was closest to the rising dock. She watched Sam and Turner untie the kayak and turn it over. Sam pulled the rubber cover off the rear storage compartment.

  “This is your place,” he told Turner. “Get in and see if it works.”

  Turner stepped into the compartment and got onto his knees as if he were in a canoe. The compartment rim was barely higher than his knees.

  “You have to sit down,” Sam explained. “Keep your weight low. Use your legs to balance yourself.”

  “There’s not enough room in here to sit down,” Turner said.

  “Cross your legs.”

  Turner looked at him. This was not what he had expected—sitting down with no room to move.

  “Now lift yourself out,” Sam said.

  The kayak tipped as Turner put more weight on his right side.

  “Come up straight,” Sam said.

  Turner tried again and stood up successfully. His face, however, was not the face of success.

  “Don’t worry,” Sam said. “The water will give some. It worked a lot better than I thought it would.”

  He put the rubber hatch cover back over the compartment and cut a large X into the rubber with his pocketknife. Turner knelt down beside him to watch what he was doing.

  “It’ll keep the water out,” Sam explained.

  “I’m going with you,” Katherine said. “I’ll ride there in the front.”

  Sam and Turner looked up at the same instant.

  “Three people will be better than two,” she said.

  Turner rose from his knees and walked over to the forward hatch. “You got a point there, Officer, but let’s get real. This is no time for that women’s lib shit.”

  “You’re right. Let’s get real,” Katherine said. “Do you think you or anyone else here except me will fit in there?” She pointed to the considerably smaller front hatch cover.

  Turner’s eyebrows rose toward his forehead. “What do you think, Wright? This thing handle three people?”

  “I’m not staying on that boat, Sam,” she said and pointed back to Harbor 1 before he could answer.

  “I imagine it can handle three as well as two. It might actually help balance it to have more weight in front.”

  “All right then,” Turner said. “Let’s try it. See if your ass will fit in there, Murphy.”

  It fit, barely, but she hoped they wouldn’t have far to go. Her legs would be asleep if it took very long.

  Sam and Turner lifted the kayak and carried it to Harbor 1. Turner jumped up to the deck, and Sam threw him ropes from the front and rear of the kayak. He climbe
d up to the police boat while Katherine held the kayak on the dock. Sam and Turner lifted the kayak over the railing.

  As Sam tied the kayak on the front deck, the boat crews silently gathered around him. “I learned these knots fishing with my uncle,” he said. The boat crews didn’t seem impressed.

  The sergeant crouched beside the shallow kayak and tapped the side of it with his knuckles. “I hope you guys know what you’re doing. If you dump over, we’ll pay hell finding you in this weather.”

  With that comforting message the sergeant stood up and looked at the others.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “Nothing we can do here.”

  There was a flurry of activity then. The crew on the other boat jumped down to the dock and hurried to their boat. Johnson released the lines of Harbor 1 from the dock and jumped back on board like a cat. In a quick succession of movements he had the lines coiled and stowed. Hendricksen repeated the movements in an almost identical style on the other boat.

  Free from their restraints, the two boats pulled away from the dock. The Gloria Rose headed southwest toward Harbor Island while the Olivia Rose went north to anchor close to the grain elevators and wait for their call.

  Sam and Katherine remained beside the kayak. Sam checked the knots again and then every inch of the skinny boat.

  “Have you ever paddled a boat before?” he asked her.

  “No.”

  “Not even a rowboat?”

  “No.”

  Before he could say more, Turner came out of the cabin carrying three shotguns wrapped in plastic. His sea legs steadied him on the moving deck.

  “They each got five in the magazine,” he said, making sure both she and Sam understood. “None in the chamber. Safety is on. You want to double-check?”

  “Haven’t you?” Sam asked.

  “Triple.”

  “You want to check, Murphy?” Turner asked.

  “No.”

  “Remember, you got to pump one into the chamber.”

  “That’s what you said,” Katherine replied.

  “I know. I just don’t want any screw-up out there.”

  Sam fastened the shotguns on top of the kayak with rubber straps. One was in front of the port where Turner would sit, and the other two were between Katherine and himself. Turner climbed into the back compartment again and adjusted the X’ed rubber cover around his waist. He wiggled back and forth in an attempt to find a comfortable position.

  “Sure sits low.”

  “Your butt is pretty much in the water,” Sam said.

  “Maneuverable though, isn’t it?”

  “Turns on a dime.”

  “All right, then. This thing keep you in pretty good shape?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so. Any good with your hands?”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, I ain’t talking about jacking off.” Turner looked at Katherine, and she thought he was going to apologize for his coarse language. She was tired of apologies. Perhaps he saw that, because he looked back to Sam without offering one. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I got a feeling we won’t have time for much fancy stuff. I got a roll of duct tape from the cabin. It works better than cuffs.” He pulled it out of his jumpsuit and showed it to them. “Sure wish we knew what kind of boats they have.”

  “Me, too,” Sam said.

  “Can’t be too small if they’re out in this weather. Find out soon enough, I guess. Who are these people, anyway?”

  “Markowitz told you about Pierre,” Sam said. “He doesn’t want to say anything about the others—in case we’re wrong.”

  “Sure, but he’s not the one going to climb on that deck. I want to know what I’m facing. Goes no farther than this.”

  Turner looked first at Sam, then turned to Katherine.

  “It’s Captain Russell,” Katherine told him. “And two beat cops. McDonald and Fisher. All Second Watch.”

  “We might be wrong,” Sam said. “Or there could be others. I went to the academy with Fisher.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Turner said. “McDonald, Fisher, Russell.” He said each name slowly and looked up toward the black sky and imagined each of these men in the void. “What about this Pierre guy? What’s he look like? Anybody’d let a baby starve might do anything.”

  “Short, fat, greasy-looking. Pig eyes,” Sam said.

  Turner snorted. “In case he isn’t wearing a sign or something, maybe you can tell me how old he is, how big. Cop stuff, you know.”

  “White male, forty, five foot seven, two hundred pounds, dark brown hair—medium length—greasy, usually unshaven, one-inch scar on his right cheek, pig eyes.”

  “Got it,” Turner said, chuckling out of the side of his unmoving mouth. “I’ll damn sure be looking for those pig eyes.”

  “We have to get there first,” Sam said as he pulled an extra paddle loose from the straps that held it to the top of the kayak. “When we’re in the water, you have to dig like this.”

  He demonstrated to them the proper motion.

  “Just dig on one side. Kat, you paddle on the right side. Turner, you paddle on the left. Don’t worry about steering,” he continued. “I’ll do that. We won’t have much time to get there. You have to dig hard,” he said and looked separately at both Turner and Katherine.

  “Okay, partner. I’ll dig like a son of a bitch,” Turner said.

  “Can you get a paddle for Murphy from the dinghy?”

  “It’s not like this one,” Turner said.

  “Doesn’t matter. Something that will dig in the water.”

  “It’ll dig all right,” Turner said. “I take it this thing ain’t bulletproof.”

  “Not likely.”

  “I sure wish I had learned to swim. Can you believe they would put me in this outfit without teaching me how to swim?”

  The windshield wipers fought a losing battle against the rejuvenated rain as the Harbor boat rose and fell with the swells. Markowitz took off his glasses and wiped them on the blue sweatshirt one of the officers had given him. All of the Harbor crew wore blue jumpsuits with gun belts cinched around their waists. Katherine and Sam wore borrowed jumpsuits over orange life vests.

  Sam’s kayak, tied down across the bow, was like a finger pointing into the rough water. Over this finger, they spotted the De la Cruz anchored a hundred yards off Pier 43. All of them leaned toward the window, toward the ship, as though they would see it better. Their boat circled its prey in a wide arc.

  The De la Cruz’s deck was well illuminated. The bow and stern were distinct, but its sides rose like a giant shadow out of the water. Inside the crowded cabin, everyone watched the ship.

  “Looks awfully big,” Markowitz said.

  “Let’s head over to Todd Shipyards,” the sergeant told Johnson. “Slip in behind that processor there.” He pointed to a large ship anchored in front of one of the dry docks. “We don’t want to get too close to the De la Cruz.”

  Johnson maneuvered Harbor 1 past the ship the sergeant had selected and turned off all the running lights. He circled behind the ship and slowly edged along its hull until the De la Cruz was again visible. Then he put the boat in reverse, slid back behind the ship that served as their screen, and told Turner to drop the rear anchor. When the anchor was set, he edged the boat slowly forward until they could see the De la Cruz again. Then he shut the engine down to its slowest idle so that there was minimum pressure on the anchor chain. The sergeant and Turner both had binoculars. To Katherine, the De la Cruz was like a distant moving picture framed in the windows. The picture didn’t change.

  Sam sat down on one of the benches and leaned back against the cabin’s quivering metal wall. He braced his body against the rolling of the boat and stared at the others who remained standing around the wheel. Katherine thought about joining him but decided to remain standing with the others. On the police radio, disturbances, irritations, and violations in the city were announced, and cops went to do what they could. It seemed far away, and yet s
he could see the city’s lights through the rain-spattered windows. Occasionally there was chatter on the marine radio—more informal and undisciplined—mostly concerning the weather and getting from one place to another.

  “I hate stakeouts,” Sam said and stared at the ceiling of the cabin. “Wait and wait for nothing. My old man would have been good at it. He could wait for the world to end.”

  Maybe he was right, Katherine thought. All the waiting in the world would not make any difference if Captain Russell had picked up a single suspicion. Nothing would happen if the boy had decided to talk to someone else. Nothing would happen if they had any sensible alternative. Nothing would happen.

  Chapter 38

  There’s a boat out there with its lights off,” Turner said in an urgent voice that brought Sam to his feet. He joined the others gathered in front of the windshield in the dark cabin.

  “Looks like about twenty-five feet,” Turner said as he peered through the rain and darkness with his binoculars. “Might be a Bayliner. It’s moving to the stern of the De la Cruz.“

  Sam stood behind Katherine and leaned toward the windshield as if another few inches would make a difference. He still couldn’t see it.

  “What about radar?” Sam asked. “I just see a bunch of junk.”

  “Right there,” the sergeant said, pointing to a spot on the screen. “It’ll show up better if it moves away from shore. Too much background here.”

  “All right, baby, move in there,” Turner said.

  “Can you see anybody topside on the De la Cruz?“ Markowitz asked.

  “No. The Bayliner’s moving away. Ten to one, they picked up something.”

  “We won’t move till she gets farther out,” the sergeant said.

  “Shall we alert Harbor 2?“ Johnson asked.

  “Not yet,” the sergeant replied. “I don’t want to do anything that might spook them.”

  “It’s headed northwest,” Turner said. “Speed’s increasing.”

  The boat turned on its running lights, and everyone in the cabin saw the flash of colors.

  “Lit like a Christmas tree,” Turner said as he peered through the binoculars. “There’s a step on the stern. That’ll help us.”

  “You need more help than that,” the sergeant said. “Wright, can you get that kayak unlashed in a hurry?”