Pilate's Rose by J Alexander Greenwood

Author:J Alexander Greenwood [Greenwood, J Alexander]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780996522953
Publisher: Caroline Street Press
Published: 2018-01-24T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven: Pier Review

All right, fine. Keep driving. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the actual road where a henchman of Ollie Olafson—yes, that Ollie Olafson—drove John Pilate off the road, nearly killing him. But our John bounced back and Ollie, Craig and the rest of his crew are now asleep in the cold embrace of…

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Pilate found a window that “Mr. Jones” had broken into and took a quick look around Kay’s condo. Jones had tossed it, searching for something. No sign of Kay.

Pilate tried to use her phone, but it had been ripped from the wall. He climbed back out the window, made his way to a busy street and hailed another cab to Conch Harbor Marina.

At the marina, the night had made people scarce on the slips, the steady hum of sound from Duvall Street blunted by the tide.

Now to find the Angry Rose. He walked toward a couple of sunburned guys unloading coolers and fishing gear from a dual console boat.

“Hey, fellas, do any good?”

A heavyset man of about forty with what appeared to be a permanently red face looked up from a spilled tackle box. “Naw, got skunked.”

“Sorry,” Pilate said. “Say, I’m looking for a little boat supposed to be docked here. Called Angry Rose. Seen it by any chance?”

“Uhhh, no. Nope, sorry,” he said, stretching his back. “What about you, Dylan?”

“Huh?” Dylan, a shaggy-haired, skinny kid of about twenty said as he grunted and carried a cooler off their boat and deposited it on the pier.

“Seen a boat called—” he looked at Pilate.

“Angry Rose?” Pilate said, looking at him.

Dylan bit his lower lip. “Huh, what kind of boat?”

“Not sure,” Pilate said. “It’s not real big. Maybe holds four or five.”

“Angry Rose,” Dylan said, scratching at his mop of hair. “Hmmm.”

“She’s captained by a very fit looking blonde gal, about yay high,” Pilate put his arm out. “Nice looking.”

Dylan smiled. “Oh, yeah. The Angry Rose,” his eyes flashed in recognition. “Yeah, I remember her.” He nodded.

“Know where she ties up?”

Dylan looked up at Pilate. “Huh?”

“The boat.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. She’s one slip over, about midway down.”

"Hey, thanks, guys," Pilate said.

“She a friend of yours?” Dylan asked.

Pilate turned back to him. “You could say that.”

Dylan gave him a thumb’s up.

Pilate waved at the pair and jogged to the end of the pier, crossing over to the other row of slips. Midway up, as promised, was the Angry Rose. No one on deck, but a light glowed in the cabin window.

Having no clear idea about boat etiquette, he stepped across the dock and onto the boat’s deck, feeling the boat move with his momentum. He steadied himself and strode to the cabin door, raising a fist to knock on the illuminated window.

"Ahoy, there?”

Ahoy? Really?

The light in the window went out and the door jerked open, a 9-millimeter handgun gleamed in the dull ambience of the pier.

“Don’t move.”

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Taters Malley put down his cell phone for the third time. His calls to Pilate were not being answered, and he was worried. Had the cops picked him up? They said they wouldn’t cause a fuss if Taters brought him in.

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