This time it was Dutch who snatched up the phone when it rang. He was waiting for the call. It was
Cowboy Lewis, patched in from the police helicopter.
“We spotted „em, Dutch. Costello‟s barge is pullin‟ into the private dock on the back of Thunder
Point Marina right now.”
“You sure it‟s him?”
“It is unless he cloned that boat of his. Ain‟t another one around here like it.”
“How far away are you?”
“Half a mile, maybe.”
“Can you get down low enough to check the parking kit for that cinnamon Eldorado without getting
your kiester blown off?”
“We‟ll have to use lights.”
“Okay, but be careful. We‟re heading out there anyway, just in case. I‟m tired of sitting on my duster
back here.”
“See ya,” said Lewis.
Stick trimmed his sails and slid quietly past the end of the dock. The two guards were leaning against
the side of the yacht, talking.
Stick studied the layout. The marina was to his left, separated from the private dock by a concrete
wharf and twenty feet of water. A walkway led from the dock up to the house.
A hundred meters maybe, no more, from dock to house.
Plenty of trees for cover plus a terraced lawn that led down to the water.
Two big lights on a pole at the end of the dock. Fuck it, no problem.
The house itself was one-story. That was good. No high ground for them. He swept the house with his
night scope, planning his attack. From left to right, he made the kitchen, with a sliding panel out to a
terrace; the main room, big, with a cathedral ceiling; a bedroom with a large picture window
overlooking the water, and a circular waterbed in the center of it; and a smaller room at the end of
the house. At first he thought that room was dark; then he saw a sliver of light streaming through the
drapes. That‟s where they had to be. And they were here. He knew that because Nance was here.
He counted heads.
Three in the kitchen, including Bronicata.
Five in the living room, including Moreno and Pravano.
Chevos, Nance, and Costello in the bedroom.
Eleven, just as he had figured. He still had the touch.
Behind him, out over the bay somewhere, he heard a chopper whop-whop-whopping. He ignored it.
He tied down the tiller, slung the ammo bag over his shoulder, grabbed the 180 and M16, and
clambered over the cabin to the front of his boat, stretched out on the deck, and got the submachine
gun ready. The sailboat sliced through the water and sailed into the orb of light from the two big dock
lights.
The door opened and Costello was standing there.
He looked like Yankee Doodle Dandy: white slacks, a blue blazer, a red silk scarf flouncing around
his neck.
“Well, well,” I said, “it‟s Captain America.”
By that time I was ready to take on the Russian army.
“You just never give up, do you, Kilmer?” he said, in that flat, no-nonsense lawyer‟s voice of his.
“Offhand, I‟d say your little bubble has blown sky high,” I said.
“You talk big for a man who could be sixty seconds from his own funeral,” he said. “Notice I said
could be. I‟m all that‟s standing between Nance and a bullet in your head.”
I ignored the threat. “You‟re going across, Costello. First murder, now kidnapping. I‟ve been wrong
about you. I thought you were smarter than the rest of these wahoos. You just wear cuter clothes.”
Doe was hanging on to my hand like a drowning woman.
“Why don‟t you let her go?” I said. “This is between us boys.”
“I didn‟t have anything to do with this,” he said. “I‟ve been out on the water for the past four hours.
My cuffs are clean.”
“I can hardly wait to see the look n the jury‟s face when you run that one by them.”
He pulled a chair over and sat down in front of us.
“The monitor‟s turned off,” he said. “So we can talk straight. First of all, Nance and you have had this hard-on for each other for a couple of years. I‟m not responsible for his actions. And from the
looks of him, you could be looking at a case of police brutality, anyway.”
“And what‟s the lady here guilty of, holding my coat while I did it?”
“I‟ll admit that bringing you two out here was bad judgment on somebody‟s part, but we can work all
this out.”
“Good, I‟m glad you see it that way,” I said. “If you‟ll just arrange for a ride back to town, we‟ll be
leaving.”
“Not quite.”
“You‟re skating on no ice, Costello. You may not be guilty of kidnapping, but holding us against our
will sure as hell makes you an accessory.”
“I‟m just trying to arrange a negotiation here,” he said, holding his hands out at his sides and smiling.
“So everybody comes out happy.”
“There‟s no way that can happen.”
“You‟re all bluff, Kilmer. Right now you couldn‟t lick a postage stamp in a court of law, and you
know it.”
“I‟ve got Donleavy cold for murder one,” I said. “And I‟ve got Seaborn and his bank against the wall.
Before it‟s over, they‟ll both be singing like Pavarotti.”
“I never had anything to do with either one of them,” Costello said. “1 may have said hello once or
twice.”
“Oh, I get it. It‟s Save Costello‟s Ass Week, that‟s what we‟re talking about here? Okay, here are my
terms. You give us Nance for murder and kidnapping, Cohen and his books for violation of the RICO
acts, Chevos for smuggling and accessory to murder, and you become a friendly witness for the Fed.
I‟ll see if maybe we can get you off with five to ten.”
“Dream on,” he said with a laugh - It was his last.
The chopper was bearing in, coming closer.
Whah, whah, whah, whah...
Christ, he thought, just like the old days.
The guards didn‟t even hear the boat until it bumped the dock. He was ready.
“What the hell‟s that?” one of them said. They both turned toward the boat.
The laser‟s red pinpoint settled over the heart of the first one. He still had his shotgun over his
shoulder.
Brrddtttt.
He went down like an elephant stepped on him. The other one started to scramble. He didn‟t have
time to yell; he made a dash for the trees. Stick squirreled a burst into the sidewalk, twenty meters in
front of him. A dozen rounds whined off the walk and tore through his legs. He went down on his face.
The second burst finished him.
Stick jumped ashore and ran toward the house. He blitzed the two big lights as he ran. The chopper