“So stay on the boat if you don’t have the stones to dive Simon.” Moesha dared. “All of Philly is unstable.”
The engine quieted.
“Gear up.” Tesso commanded. “We’re here.”
Barely a floor of the old colonials peaked above the water line. Skirts of broken branches gathered high around the trunks of street trees. One flat roof was piled with crates and suitcases. More than half had been opened and rifled through by weather or wanderer, or most likely wind. A dress fluttered in the breeze, its hanger caught on a roof gutter. It was the same as almost every other street Hunter had seen, but that was his grandparent’s house. That was his mother’s dress.
“The pawnshop was there on the first floor.” He pointed southwest, the opposite corner from the fluttering polka dots. “The valuable stuff is either in the basement or the second floor. I’d check both.”
“Are you sure?” Roy asked.
He looked back at his fellow divers. Sure you aren’t going to find anything of value. Mr. Hiltor only ever dealt in rhinestones, digital watches and pop guns. “Pretty sure. Look for the blacked out windows.” Hunter needed the time. He started to ready his gear.
Moesha was already ready to dive. She had washed out the filter on her rebreather and cleared her snorkel. Two orange dry bags were knotted to her shoulder straps. A finisher’s claw hung from her belt and a shiny set of pointed of pointed brass knuckles weighed down her unwebbed hand. She smiled at Hunter as if she might eat him for lunch. “Smash and grab, right!”
He shrugged on his own kit and knotted the bags at his waist. “Yeah, smash and grab.”
Simon was kneeling over the rail, fingers in the water. He stared at the water surface trying to read the currents. “You see that?” Two blocks down, a peaked slate roof floated by, chimney and all. Simon counted out loud as it passed. “Top water has to be going at least ten miles an hour.
None of the divers paid much attention when Simon got like this. His head spun around looking from face to face for someone else to reinforce his anxiety.
“Tesso?”
“What Simon?”
“Are we moving? I mean do you have the engine going? You are pushing against the current to keep us in one place. Right?”
Tesso stepped away from the Captain’s chair, putting her hands halfway up. “Do you hear anything?” The ignition key hung from her fingers in plain sight. The whole boat was still, floating midblock, barely a ripple in the water. “Are you getting wet?”
Simon looked past the key at the islands of brick and shingles, resting in still water. “Where is the stake?”
Moesha pointed to the low rise brick building that marked the corner. “You better hurry if you think I am going to share any of those diamonds.”
Simon’s eyes followed the ridge of water that crossed just beyond the face of the target building. “The confluence between fast and slow water is the most unstable part of the current. You don’t know what you’ll find.”
“Exactly, so go find something. You’ve got fifty minutes. Simon, if you don’t dive you can swim back. We’ll go to South Street on our own.” Tesso restarted the engine.
Hunter leaned into Simon. “Stay north of the intersection. The whole thing is an eddy. Calm waters.” He pulled on his mask.
“No such thing as calm. Held back, or contained maybe, but it is just waiting to flow.” Simon pulled his filter and cleared it.
Six divers flipped over the side in unison. The first four swam straight for the corner, but the other two didn’t rush. Hunter sank straight down under the boat, wanting to put space between him and the rest of them. Simon was just a slow coward.
Hunter fell all the way to the street before turning on his headlamp. The street looked mostly clear, almost clean. The postbox was still mounted to the sidewalk. Doors were still on their hinges. The windows weren’t even broken. It was eerie swimming here. It was as if someone had turned on all the bathtubs on the block, and let them run forever. Stuff that floated found its way out, but anything bolted down had stayed in place.
Hunter started for number eighty eight, following the path he would have taken from the bus. It was weird to swim instead of walk. The nylon straps of his diving gear cut into his shoulders like when his old backpack, weighed down with school books, used to. Tiny bits of his old life swirled about. His headlamp caught scraps churned up when the waters rose; plastic shopping bags, a broken child’s car, the cover of a smoke alarm. The rest had fallen, collecting in the corners like piles of leaves in the fall, caught between stoops.
“Six on the pawn shop.” The crackle startled him. No one communicated much at the start of a dive. Everyone was looking for their own stake before they helped out the rest of the boat.
Six steps up, the black door with its brass knocker looked unharmed. Hunter rolled down the waistband of his wetsuit and pulled out a single key. His grandfather had never trusted anyone with that key before, just like his father had never trusted anyone with the keys to his truck. The stamped brass slid into the deadbolt and turned with a jiggle. Kicking his feet, Hunter pushed open the door.
Between the swelling and the rug the door only cracked open eighteen inches before locking in place. He could have popped the hinges or busted the frame, but that was a last resort. Hunter unstrapped his rebreather and pushed it through in front of him as he swam in the house. He didn’t even bother unclipping his spool. He knew his way around.
The living room looked as if someone had picked it up and dropped it. The brown leather couch Sherman loved to nap on, was cracked and swollen in a corner. Stacks of beloved books and magazines were nothing more than wet rags. Somehow the pictures had stayed on the walls. Hunter kept moving.
Nana’s kitchen was mostly cleaned out. She was the one who had insisted they leave. Sherman had called her a busy body, but she was always plugged in. The under counter monitor was still hanging over the stove, splattered with grease. She loved watching the feeds while she cooked, keeping up on the latest murder investigation or crime report. Every Thanksgiving she made an extra apple crumb cake to walk down to the firehouse. As he got bigger she made Hunter carry it for her, and she introduced him to each of the ‘Heroes of Engine Company nine’.
Maybe she was being overdramatic, but she had started packing before the water mounted the first step. They had been lucky the flatbed started that day. Sherman only had it to replace the fuel pump for Dad the night before. He never did finish fixing the radio.
“Twenty minutes. Status report.” Tesso was in his ear.
“Four cleaning out the pawn shop. Roy and I are scouting for the diamonds. Basement is mostly collapsed. I don’t think Ceppelli had it right.” Moesha said, more for Hunter than Tesso.
“Hunter?” Tesso scolded through the static.
“Did they clean out the second floor? Try the apartments next door. I think they owned those too.” He wanted more time.
“Where are you?” Moesha asked.
Hunter swam up the stairs.
“Who has eyes on Ceppelli?” Moesha asked.
“He’s midblock. There is a door cracked. Number eighty eight.” Simon said.
“Are you with him?” Tesso asked.
“No. My spool got caught up. I’m outside.”
“Safety first Simon. Safety first.” Moesha taunted. “I’m coming to you.”
The door to his grandparent’s bedroom wouldn’t budge. Sherman must have closed it tight before they left. Now swollen, the opening was the strongest part of the wall. Hunter swam into the adjacent room, his father’s childhood bedroom, and found the closet. Closet walls were always the thinnest in these old colonials. He remembered listening through the walls while his mother searched for him on the other side as they played hide and seek. He pulled a drywall knife from the sheaf at his leg. The jagged blade made short work of the wall board, leaving a hole between the studs just large enough.