Chapter 49 - LIGHTENING STRIKES

Dunk was bleeding from the mouth where Bobo had punched him, and he could feel his stupid door swinging shut. That's what he called it when Buster would beat him, and his mind'd go dead. It was just easier to have no feelings, not try to figure your way out, just hunker down and lie low. Dunk had fought against going dumb ever since Liz.. Mrs. Dow.. had shown him the light in books, but now it almost seemed foolish to try and be too smart. Look where it'd gotten him this time.

He'd seen he could lure the goons off the sailboat, and away from Mary, by aiming them at the barrel of dope. Even if it wasn't under that buoy, he could distract them.. but he was pretty sure that's exactly where Sonny had hidden it. When he started hand-hauling whatever it was, it sure didn't feel like lobster gear, and he'd had no problem making it seem difficult. The drum would pick up and bump along the rocky bottom as the tide caught EQUAL'S. Dunk could feel the jar of the impact all the way up the taut line.

Of course he'd made a great show of wrestling with the weight, so the current had time to sweep them out of sight of the sailboat. Faint sounds of making sail came down the wind to him, and he muttered and groaned to cover them. The sputtering outboard helped, too. But the mobsters were too fixated on the drug barrel to notice. Aside from a little leg-breaking, Monk and Bobo weren't used to lifting a finger, so they weren't quick to offer Dunk a hand hauling, but finally Bobo couldn't stand it. He grabbed the incoming line and used his massive strength to hoist the drum up alongside.

Dunk saw this was a chance to get clear of these thugs. If Bobo got bent over the side wrestling with the drum, Dunk might kick his legs out from under... Dunk looked over at Monk. But the other mobster was too shrewd for him. Monk pulled out his handgun and grinned at Dunk.

"Help 'im wid the barrel, Dinkface," Monk instructed. So the two of them man-handled the drum into the whaler, and Bobo tried to figure out how to open it and examine the contents. The boat drifter farther down wind and tide.

"Yeah," Monk said, "Whad else could it be, huh?" They might have stood there staring at the barrel even longer, if the outboard hadn't chosen that moment to drag across a bit of higher ledge, alerting the mobsters.

"Fuckin A," Bobo said. "Where the fuck are we?" He looked around at the fog. "Where's da fuckin sailboat?" That's when he grabbed Dunk by the shirtfront and slammed him upside the head, mashing Dunk's cheek against his teeth.

"Woah," Monk cautioned. "He's runnin da boat."

"Yeah? Well he bedda start doin it right," Bobo snarled. "Get us back to dat sailboat, fuckhead, or I'll make you bleed all ovah."

Dunk put the outboard in gear, but when he revved it up, the motor coughed and died. He turned the ignition again, and got the motor going enough to move them against the current, but he set a course divergent from that BALI must have taken. The engine caught and ran, caught and sputtered, caught and ran, and Dunk managed to work them round in a circle inside Bunker's Hole without their catching on.

"They're gone," Dunk said finally.

"Whadday mean?" Bobo demanded.

"They were right here," Dunk insisted, pointing at the water,

"Yeah, right," Monk said, with a nasty little grin. "OK, kid, here's the deal. If you can get us outa here widout nobody sees us.. and da barrel.. you might get to see that little bitch again. But you keep fuckin wid us..." He shrugged.

"Yeah," Bobo said. "An I'll go find her and fuck her just for you, asshole."

"Where you wanna go?" Dunk asked softly.

"Back where we left Chinetti," Monk said.

"OK," Dunk said. "I'll try, but this engine is all fucked. It may take a while."

"Longer than you think," Dunk hoped. He could read the weather signs loud and clear. He'd noticed the windshift as it stirred the waters around them, and he'd heard faint thunder bumpers to westward. Chances were the mobsters were in for a surprise, and maybe he could get away then. His best chance, Dunk reasoned, was to wait for a downpour, then slam them onto a ledge connected to shore.. on a bigger island, if not the mainland.. and get away by dodging through the ledges. He'd risk getting shot at, but he didn't trust this pair not to shoot him at Sawyer's, anyhow.. if he took them there. He'd rather take his chances outrunning these city thugs on wrinkle turf.

"Too bad the tide's so far up," Dunk thought. "Where's the best spot?"

He decided the ledges on Rogue, across the channel from Mary's dig, were ideal. They were high enough to provide cover even with the tide up, but had numerous crevasses running in a maze of parallel outcrops, offering an excellent dodge. Rogue was a huge island, so he was pretty safe once ashore, and there was even a phone at the far end where the Richmond's had their summer estate. He could jog there on the island roads, and call for help, if necessary.

"First I gotta get more speed outa this mothah," he thought. So Dunk made another demonstration of engine trouble, and surreptitiously readjusted the high and low speed jets while he fuddled at the stern with the gas jugs. This time when he hit the throttle, the whaler came up on the plane with gusto.

"Bout fuckin time," Bobo shouted over the engine.

Dunk calculated he could make one more false circle round the hole at high speed before all hell broke loose, and he timed it just right. It was inky black now, and the air had gone eerily still. Lightening and thunder flashed and tumbled.

Dunk aimed EQUAL'S toward the Rogue passage, and gave it full revs. The fog was all roiled and tattered around them. Just as they screamed into the channel, the sky opened above them. A solid downpour bounced off the water all around, completely blinding them. Dunk adjusted the steering. Thirty seconds later EQUAL'S smashed onto a sloping ledge, leaped in the air and bounced off another one. Before the fiberglass hull came screeching to a halt in the rockweed, Dunk was over the bow and away.

"You fuckin asshole," Bobo screamed after him, and there was a double blast from the sawed-off shotgun, but Dunk was over the first ledge, zigging and ducking across the rocky maze. Headed for the tall timber.

Lightening struck a big spruce off to his left with a crash. Heavy rain beat on the rocks and the smell of ozone filled the air. Dunk laughed aloud waving his hands in the air as he ran.