Chapter 46 - FLAREGUN

The SUZY-Q was jogging in place near the starting buoys of the race course. This year the race committee had decided to stagger trail heats so boats in the different categories would run in successive trials: an under 20-foot trail, then an under 30, then the big boats, then another heat for the mosquito fleet, and so on. This would put the finals all together in mid-afternoon for the convenience of a TV crew out of Bangor who were attempting to do a story for Wild World Of Sport.

The course ran from a pair of buoys just east of the bridge to another pair a mile down the reach, then back to the starting point. The first flock of under 20's had just come buzzing across the finish line, and the crowds on the bridge and in the spectator boats were blowing horns, throwing fireworks, and waving flags furiously. Race organizers were marshaling the first cadre of under 30's, and SUZY was booked for the first over 40-foot trial.

Gram's bits and pieces had been fitting together in Sonny's mind. He suspected Sidearm's deal-making had brought down some gangsters who'd decided to get the cocaine by using a little force. And it looked like the men on the boat did know Sum, after all, and they were trying to get hold of him, too. But if Sum was out running round in a boat with Nicky and Sidearm last night, he must be OK. There was no sense rushing into anything. Let the sailors and the mobsters cool their heels until race day was over, and there were fewer eyes to see. Sonny was never one to be hurried, especially by threats of force.

Jumbo and Janet had gone to work in the galley, hustling up a big feed of eggs and sausage with all the trimmins, and Buster had even calmed down and had a couple helpings as SUZY-Q sat at her mooring. But once the races started and the mob scene of smallcraft commenced to swirling around them, Buster had holed up in the cabin with the hatchway closed tight. The two new lovers were happy to be out in the damp excitement, sitting on the piled nets in the stern.

Yesterday Sonny and Buster stowed the highflyers and other gear down below the level of the rail, so SUZY looked more like a lobsterboat. This was The World's Fastest Lobsterboats Race, after all. Not that SUZY had a prayer. But racing's what you do on the Fourth, if you've got a fishboat. The only other game in town is the annual appliance shoot, out to the town dump, where you take your most irritating appliance and blow it away with your magnum. The real sportsman could get in both events, of course.

All true aficionados of the races had their CBs turned on, and were switching back and forth between channels 9, 10, and 11. Nine's the general call-up, and kept free for short calls and emergencies. Ten was the official race channel, where the marshal relayed instructions and reported official results. Eleven was manned by a volunteer crew of race observers, stationed in boats every quarter mile along the course. They'd take turns describing which boat was in what place and tell of any excitements. In the impenetrable fog this was the only way anyone could follow the action, until the winner crossed the line at the bridge. The marshal also cruised around at the starting buoys using a loud-hailer to line up the contestants. He fired a flare gun to start each race.

Between SUZY and the race buoys six 30-footers were circling to get in place. The marshal's flare gun went POP, sending an arcing red glow up into the blowing mist. Engines roared, and the boats leaped up onto the plane, and roared into obscurity.

Sonny heard a tin boat clinking alongside, and looked over to see Muk, Sumner, and a little fat man in a fancy summer suit. Sumner seemed to be holding something under a jacket, and Sonny guessed it was a gun.

"OK, you 40-footers, start approaching the northern buoy," the loud hailer called.

"Got a special guest for you, Sonny," Sumner said. "Thought you'd like to meet Mr. Chinetti." The little man was positively green, and utterly out of place in his fashionable tailoring and Italian shoes, now soaked from Muk's bilge.

Sonny smiled at Sumner. "Welcome aboard," Sonny said to Chinetti. He reached down a hand and jerked Rizzo over the rail.

Sumner followed suit quickly. When he saw Jumbo and Janet, Sumner stood thinking for a moment, then said to them,"There may be a little rough business ahead, Jum. Maybe the lady would like to go ashore with Muk."

"Maybe the lady wants to stay right here and watch the fun," Janet replied.

Sumner looked at Jumbo, who shrugged, and put his arm around Janet. "She likes it rough," Jumbo said, and she punched him lightly in the side. They laughed together.

Sumner took a breath. "OK," he said, turning to Sonny. "The sailors took Liz and Jesse hostage yesterday afternoon, and offered to trade." Jumbo and Janet stopped cuddling and went still.

"I think Dunk must have gotten Jesse free somehow, but now he and Liz's cousin and Jesse have been taken by Chinetti's thugs. There all out to Bunker's Hole, I'm pretty sure." Sumner went on. Turning to Janet he said, "This could get dangerous."

"Sounds like it already has," she replied calmly. "Maybe you'll need a nurse."

"God, I hope not," Sumner said. "I thought we might take Mr. Chinetti and work out some kinda deal," he continued, turning toward Sonny

The sound of the raceboats had been swallowed in the fog, but now they were coming back, and the crowd noise around them was building. Muk had been holding onto the side of SUZY-Q. Now he called, "You need me any more, Sum?"

Sonny held up his hand before Sumner could answer. "How'd you get to town?" he asked Sumner.

Sumner nodded toward Chinetti, who was grimly holding onto the port rail looking down into the water, obviously trying not to throw up. "His limo."

Sonny nodded, then he leaned over the starboard rail and said something indistinguishable to Muk. Muk laughed, started his outboard, and pushed off. "Good luck boys," Muk called as he zigged away through the fleet.

Now the racing 30-footers were almost back upon them. Two boats came blasting out of the roaring murk, side-by-side trailing great bow waves. Off to one side a third boat was riding one of those waves, trying to get an extra umph the way car racers will draft, and hoping one of the leaders will blow his engine at the last second. But the matched pair bounced across the confused waves at the finish line, a dead heat.

Sonny turned up the volume on the CB. "Boats numbered 7 and 13 qualify for the 30-foot finals," the Marshal broadcast. "You 40-footers can get ready." And he repeated the call for the next heat over his hailer.

Sonny had been jogging up and back against the tide, which was running east under the bridge. Now he motored upstream about 30 yards, swung SUZY round and throttled back, so she drifted toward the race buoys. Five other boats were playing at the same game, trying to be closest to the line when the marshal fired his gun.

"OK, boys," came the call on channel 10. "Easy now number 6." Slaughter Alley in HONEYDEW was number 6, right at the line, and he reversed her, cutting slightly in front of Bernie Carter's brand new SILVER STREAK, which Bernie'd built specifically to win these races. Honey was with Slaughter, and she waved at her sister Janet, who waved back.

Sonny, Jumbo, and Sumner all laughed to see Slaughter's tactics.

"On your mark," said the radio. "POP!" The flare gun went off, and all six skippers put the hammer down.

The roar was deafening. Two of the boats had removed their mufflers entirely, in hopes of getting just a little bit more power, and all six were running at max revs. The big boats dug their asses down into the water and threw up great roils of churning brine. Faster and faster they moved forward, almost all of them surging up onto their flat bottom surfaces at the same instant, and they leaped across the waves, trailing humped stern waves, throwing cascades of white water to their sides as they punched into the crests ahead of them. These big boats were world's fastest.

Sonny and Jumbo and Janet and Sumner hung on tight, bright-eyed with excitement. Chinetti puked over the side.