Mashed

“I don’t think he’ll make it”, said Jay.

“Don’t be daft”, said Red, “he’ll make it”.

"Daft", asked Jay, "is that like, a boating term?"

"It mean shut up and keep your eyes open", said Red.

Red leaned over the railing and looked down toward the pier. A late night mist had started rolling in from the sea and it was clouding his view of the wood pier below. Jay leaned next to him and spit over the side of the ship.

“That’s sick”, said Red.

“What is”, asked Jay.

“Spitting. It’s a disgusting habit”, said Red.

“Whatever”, snorted Jay.

“No. Not ‘whatever’. If I catch you spitting again I’ll cut your tongue out”, said Red.

Jay leaned over the rail and pretended that he was going to spit. Red pulled out a long, jagged Bowie knife from his vest pocket.

“Do it”, said Red.

The blade of Red’s knife shined and flickered in the waning moonlight. The glare flashed across Jay’s eyes. Jay pulled away from the rail and stood up straight. Red slid the knife back into his vest pocket. A fog horn blared in the distance. Red looked out from the deck and tried to make the outline of the shore against this thickening mist. He was searching for the headlights of Dante’s car coming over the road.

Dante was indeed late. He was supposed to make the deal and get back to the Carpathian so they could set sail before morning. Now he was a little less than an hour late and Red was getting anxious.

“He got pinched. I know it. I know he got pinched. Any second now a zillion cops will come roaring over the hill man. Helicopters and speed boats will roll up on us. I don’t want to go to jail Red”, said Jay.

Jay tucked his hands the pockets of his track suit and bounced on his heels trying to shake the late night chill that the mist brought. 'Jay', thought Red 'was always wearing the wrong thing for the task at hand.' Red ignored Jay’s comment about the cops. He knew that they were clean for the moment. Even if Dante talked, there was still nothing they could do until morning. The cops still had to get a judge to sign a search warrant and Red was pretty sure that would take time.

“We wait”, said Red.

Jay made an audible noise of condescending disappointment.

“That’s stupid man. We’re gonna get pinched if we stay out here much longer. Plus I’m cold, man”, said Jay.

“Shut your mouth and hold still”, said Red.

Squealing tires shattered the undulating silence of the docks as Dante’s car came tearing around some storage trailers stacked along the pier. He slammed on the breaks and the car came to a hard stop in front of the gangplank of the Carpathian. Dante threw open the drivers door and stumbled out.

“Dante”, shouted Red.

Dante looked up towards Red and Jay. Red was moving toward the gangplank. Dante waved subtly and tried to step forwards and away from his car. He fell forward and cried out.

“Red! It’s a double Cross”, said Dante as he dropped onto the wooden pier.

Red couldn't see him from the gangplank. Dante had disappeared below the thickening fog when he fell. Red certainly didn't hear what Dante had said.

“Dante”, called Red, “where are you, man?”

Red heard the rumble of another car approaching. It sounded big, like a large SUV. He turned to see fog lights penetrating through the mist as the first shots rang out, chewing up the wooden pier below Red’s feet. He sprinted back toward the ship and looked up the gangplank just in time to see Jay take fire to the chest and fall backwards onto the deck.

Red considered Jay’s sudden end faster than he thought he could. He thought, ‘kid shouldn't have worn a white track suit’, and continued to sprint up the gangplank as bullets whizzed and ricocheted around him. Red knew running onto the boat was a dead end. There was no escape route with the sea on one side and the gunmen on the other.

The boat’s captain came out onto the deck from the bridge and was immediately cut down by strafing gun fire. Red was lucky to get past him and into the bridge and then made his way down below. He could hear the voices of the gunmen hot on his heels. They sounded Russian or Eastern European which was no real surprise to Red. It seemed they were always involved these days. He’d warned Dante not to get involved with them.

Red pulled his pistol and stood near the only doorway down below. They’d have to come this way to get him, but he’d be sure to get them first. He glanced out the nearby porthole and tried to catch his breath. Instead it was taken when he saw Dante, stand up, dust himself off, light a cigarette and lean against his still running car.

“Son of a….”, said Red.