The boat skimmed over a water so slick it might as well have been oiled. The windless night was illuminated by a vast hunter’s moon. The silver face just hung there in the sky, grinning down on them. The moon’s reflection glinted every time Wayne scouted the waters. Like the entire universe was laughing at him. Wayne Grusza, thinking he had stuff under control. Like his own life.
Headed to Lantern Island.
The trip took almost two hours. They had to sweep out past a spit of mainland, then follow the channel buoys until they were straight west of the place. Wayne rolled the boat off its plane and threaded between a pair of marsh islands. When the lights along the shoreline came into view he cut the motor off. Sat there gripping the wheel with both hands, listening to the night birds and tasting the air.
Foster asked, “Where are we?”
“We’re where we need to keep our voices down, is what,” Jerry replied. “Water reflects noise worse than it does light.”
Foster was obviously not impressed. “Who’s going to hear us out here? Loons?”
Wayne asked, “You know his exact address?”
“The street was something like Palm.”
“Palmetto,” Wayne corrected. “What about the street number.”
“I asked, but they didn’t say. Probably figured I’d come out here and do something stupid.” The boat rocked gently as Jerry moved to the seat across from Wayne. “Here’s a question I bet you can answer if you try. How’d you know the street?”
Wayne unzipped the carryall. “Now you sound like a cop.”
Something must have caught Jerry’s eye—a glint of metal, or maybe just a hint of bygone days. He leaned over and inspected the contents. “Whoa, mama.”
Foster’s eyes went wide and round when Wayne fitted on the nylon-mesh belt and started filling up the pockets. “What is that stuff?”
Jerry’s expression said he could name every item. Flashlight, pistol, silencer, flash-bang grenades, gutting knife, tape, nylon rope with grappling hook, plastique, detonator. “Ten to twenty, is what.”
Wayne dipped back into the bag and came up with a knit cap. And two more. Not just backup. Overkill. Symbols of all the nights he had prepped his equipment and lusted after a deed he knew he would never commit. “Put these on.”
Jerry unrolled his far enough to see the eyeholes and slit cut out for the mouth. “Somebody’s done robbed the evidence locker.”
“Don’t roll them down till I tell you. It’ll get too hot.”
Wayne knew Jerry was searching for a comeback. Something cute that would also let them know he wasn’t buying into the deal. The guy was, after all, a former cop. Sooner or later, Wayne would have to tell them. And once they started forward, the last thing Wayne wanted was chatter. So he leaned in tight enough for Jerry to stiffen. Not a lot, which was a good sign. Like, the big man knew he was in the presence of danger, but a danger not directed at him.
Wayne said, “My ex lives in the last house on the point down to your left.”
Jerry huffed his surprise. “Now ain’t that some kinda mess. So this sorta comes under the category of familiar territory.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve done this trip before.”
“That’s right.”
“By boat. In the middle of the night. Threading your way through islands with gators for company.” The former cop wasn’t giving it much, though. Like he was already on Wayne’s side, but still needing to know. “Your ex must’ve really stiffed you.”
Wayne took a very, very hard breath. “That’s right.”
Something in the cop’s eyes almost pushed open the door. The one he’d kept locked and hidden away for four long years.
But Jerry chose that moment to break off the inspection. He rocked the boat another time, craning forward and giving the carryall another hard look. Wayne made no move as Jerry reached into the case and came out with the sniper rifle.
Wayne knew the former cop was about to ask what a man needed with a gun finished in nonreflective black, calibrated to a thousand meters, with a clip of waxed bullets. And he had no answer except the rifle had never been fired anywhere but the range.
Which was the point when Foster started laughing.
The sound was totally out of place. Foster wasn’t just grinning aloud either. He was lost to his hilarity. He gripped his belly with one hand and pushed his spectacles up with thumb and forefinger of the other, pressing against the tears Wayne could see in the moonlight. Foster tried hard to choke off the noise, emitting the laughs in tight little frames. Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.
Jerry said, “You laugh like an old man.”
Foster waved one hand. Wait. He wheezed a couple of times but finally regained control. “I don’t need a thermometer to know this fellow’s goose is cooked right through.”
“This is serious business here,” Jerry said.
“Victoria is gonna love this.” Foster wiped his face. “We’re sitting in the middle of the Gulf, a thousand miles from any reasonable explanation, and the nightmare that laid this fellow out is right smack dab at the other end of hello. Talk about a sign.”
“Man does have a point.” Jerry’s hand scratched over his beard. He said to Wayne, “Looks to me like you done lost yourself a bet with Miss Victoria.”
“Big time,” Foster said. “Major league.”
Wayne looked from one grin to the other, then decided there wasn’t a thing he could do about either.
“Okay,” Foster said, settling back into his seat. “Let’s go fry us up some skunk.”
Jerry said, “What, you think we’re gonna just waltz in and take what we want?”
“I don’t imagine our guide has brought us this far without something in mind.”
Wayne took that as his cue and headed to the bow of the boat. As he unlocked the trolling motor and slipped it over the front, he could hear Foster there in the back, still chuckling quietly.
The electric motor was made for bringing fishermen close to prey in total silence. Jerry leaned across the transom and muttered, “Tell me what’s going down.”
“I’ve noticed this place before,” Wayne whispered. He glanced back as Foster moved in closer, but did not complain. “The house is totally different from anything else on the island. The place is built like a fortress. The lawn is wired with motion sensors. It’s rimmed by about six hundred lights waiting for the silent alarm to go off. Steel shutters, even over the front door. When the guy gets up, he hits a button, the whole deal just winds up and disappears. Suddenly it’s just another waterfront palace in suburbia.”
“So we’re gonna sit out here until dawn, nab him when he comes out for the morning paper? And then what, spank him and let him go? I’m only asking, see, on account of how I’d just as soon not throw my thirty away on a totally futile gesture.”
Wayne cut the motor back a notch. “I had a little something different in mind.”
Foster’s mouth fell open when Wayne took the .30-.30 from the seat where Jerry had placed it and fit on the night scope and subsonic silencer. The scope was as long as the rifle barrel and a hand’s breadth in width. He watched Wayne pull out the clip and select a second set of bullets, these individually encased in little plastic clips.
“Let me get this straight,” Jerry said. “We’re risking serious jail time by attacking a house in the middle of the night on a hunch?”
Wayne used the life vests to pad the bulkhead by the bow of the boat, then settled himself into a kneeling position. Legs about two feet apart. Entire barrel cushioned and stable. “Pretty much.”
The two older men exchanged a glance. Foster gave Jerry back his own words, “Works for me.”
“Hold the boat steady,” Wayne said.
Most people thought a silencer worked by muffling the bang upon ignition. Which it did. But a professional silencer also slowed the bullet to subsonic speeds. Which eliminated the second major source of noise—passing the sound barrier.
Foster observed, “The house is over that way.”
Jerry said, “Man ain’t aiming at no house.”
“Quiet now.” Subsonic was still fast enough to do serious damage to an unarmored target. But Wayne was after taking out metal. Which meant he needed a bullet with a special kick.
The more modern resort islands had all their power and cable and phone systems buried. But Lantern Island was too old for that. Wayne sighted on the telephone pole closest to the house. The night scope lit up the home’s transformer like a huge yellow target suspended at the top of a long grey pole. Wayne took a breath. A second. Then pulled the trigger.
The rifle huffed.
Wayne saw the streak of light through the scope and shut his eyes tight against what was to come.
The incendiary bullet hit the transformer dead on. There was a sharp crack and a palm tree of sparks.
From the azalea by the bulkhead, a bird chattered its protest over being awoken. A dog’s muffled bark sounded inside a house somewhere along the road. The sparks littered the street, fizzled quietly, then went out.
Wayne waited and listened through a full five minutes. He turned to the wide-eyed pair and softly explained, “House alarms have a back-up battery. Not motion sensors in the yard.”
He slipped over the side onto the sand, checked the night once more, then said, “When it happens, start the motor, untie the boat, and be ready. And don’t speak more than you have to. The guy might recognize your voices.”
Foster hissed, “When what happens?”
Wayne replied, “Now’s a good time to pull down your masks.”