A Maritime mystery by Jon Tattrie
Chapter One
I paced up and down the boardwalk. It wasn't cold, but I was shivering. Not like me to be scared. Still,
not like me to be hanging about the waterfront at four in the morning, waiting for a psychotic American
assassin to rock up in a stolen boat.
I got to a bend in the boardwalk and turned back. The whole harbour was stuffed full of groaning tall
ships from all over the world. Yesterday it had been a madhouse down here, with every knucklehead
in the city swarming the waterfront to gawk at the big boats and shove Beavertails into their mouths. It
was all I could do to not push them into the water. Now it was quiet, and all the ships had rocked
themselves to sleep and were snoring against the wharf.
Where was that bloody ship?
There was only one mooring left on the harbour, and me and my boys had worked hard all day to
keep it clear. It wasn't easy. Made up some story about a fella on a boat using a wheelchair, so he
needed this prime spot right in the middle of town so he could get ashore easy. Everyone bought that.
Truth was, I picked it because it was easiest to smuggle the famous killer in from, and because it was
right in front of the city newspaper's office, that big green building. I got a reckless love of irony, and
pulling off the biggest story of the year right under the noses of Halifax's finest newshounds was too
sweet to pass up.
"Boss! They here yet?" came a hoarse whisper through the bushes between me and the parking lot.
Jimmy, my right-hand man. He had the brains of a chihuahua and the loyalty of a St. Bernard. Thick
as bricks, and that hard. That's why he was driving the van. Windows all tinted up, perfect for getting
the killer to his victim, which is what I was hired to do.
I knew the assassin by rep - they said the One-Armed Bandit could find Jimmy Hoffa and kill 'im
again. Easy money for me.
"You see a ship here, Jimmy?"
"No, boss."
"Well, guess what?"
"What, boss?"
"It ain't here."
Idiot. But the best heavy a low-level crook like me could buy.
I looked out to Georges Island and there it was. One small tall ship, caught in the lighthouse beam as
it cut quietly through the water. The jackasses had even run a Jolly Roger up her. She angled in
slowly to me.
"She's here Jimmy, get ready."
I fingered my gun, tucked away inside my jacket, just to reassure myself. That gorgeous blond who'd
turned up at my door 16 hours ago with this job had promised me there'd be no trouble. Just pick up
the mad fella, drive him to the drop point. She'd meet me there and handle the killer. After, I was to
drive him back this ship. It'd all be done in time for lunch. Oh, and I'd earn a big bag of money. Maybe
even enough open a little shop, so I could get out of the underworld before it killed me. Maybe that
blond would help me spend the loot.
They were bringing him in during the Tall Ships festival because they figured harbour security would
be slack. The harbour police couldn't check out all the ships, and people were sailing in and out all
day. Who's gonna notice one more ship? So they picked up the Yankee killer in Boston, where I
heard he'd just offed some gangster with a lot of cruel friends.
Our assassin fancied a bit of a break, and I guess he thought of this job as a little holiday.
I got all tense as the ship slid into the space. Something didn't feel right. When you've dealt with
crooks as long as I have, you get an instinct for things going wrong.
"Keep alert, Jimmy. This fella's nasty."
I didn't know who he was here to kill, and I didn't care. None of my business.
All I knew was what the blond told me: one of the super city's super crooks was planning to unleash
mayhem during the Buskerfest. Unless this Yank offed him. Okay.
Some fella came up on deck as they tucked in nice and tight with the boardwalk. Chucked a rope
over. I grabbed it and tied them in. Looked him in the face.
"You got my parcel?" That was the code the blond had given me.
The fella - a shifty little man - just stared at me, grinning. He was as skinny as a rake, and likely just
as nasty if you stepped on him. I heard some noise below deck. Thought about running. But it was a
lot of money waiting for me. Which made me wonder: why was that blond - or whoever she was
working for - handing over so much coin to a thug like me if the job was so easy?
"You got my parcel?" I repeated, hand on my gun. This man on deck looked bad, and he wasn't even
the crazy one.
"Yeah, we got your parcel. First-class delivery," he said, then shouted down below: "Bring it up!"
The doors to the lower decks burst open, and a bunch of hoodlums spilled out, grunting, carrying
something. Too dark to see what. I pulled out my gun and held it behind me.
"Here's your parcel," the shifty fella said, and the boys from below
chucked something overboard.
It hit the boardwalk with a thud and a squish, rolling toward me, stopping at my shoes. I did a quick
count. Yep. The One-Armed Bandit.
With a little red hole in his forehead, and most of his brains missing. Bad news.
Even worse news was the cocking of a gun. I looked up and the shifty fella was pointing a great big
.44 at me, smiling a wicked smile. Half his teeth were rotted out.
"Don't mess with Marky Malone, Mr Stiller," he snarled.
Jaysus. Sweet Marky Malone. The biggest, nastiest, craziest crime boss in the whole city. So that
was who this dead American was supposed to off. And they knew my name.
"Hey, be cool. It's nothing to do with me. I'm just the pack mule," I said, backing away, staring down
the muzzle of that huge gun. A couple of his mates jumped ashore. Everyone had a gun out. I hoped
Jimmy was listening, and ready to make that van fly.
"Explain that to your daughter," the shifty fella said.
"You keep your hands off my Sarah," I said. She was the only thing I cared about in the whole world. I
tried so hard to keep my life from messing up hers.
"You can tell us who put you up to this, or we gonna shoot it outta you, or we gonna shoot it outta
her," the fella said. "Starting with your knees."
And he pulled the trigger.
I watched the big bullet come out of the gun and start the short trip from him to me, and then went
flying and screaming.
Except I went flying forward.
The van had come up over the hill and smashed into my back, stopping on top of me. Everything got
pretty crazy, and the boys from the ship hit the deck under a hail of bullets.
"Let's go, boss!" shouted Jimmy. He jumped out of the van, grabbed me under the arms and chucked
me inside, firing his semi the whole time. He threw the van into gear and cranked her to the left. I
could hear heads popping under our tires.
Jimmy got the thing going and we screamed along the boardwalk, dodged the Wave and tore up
Sackville Street the wrong way.
"Jaysus Jimmy, you didn't have to run me over," I said, punching him.
"Sorry boss. I thought they was gonna shoot you."
"They were! In the knee!"
Jimmy cast his eyes to a little bullet-shaped hole in the front window, and followed it back to a little
bullet lodged in his seat, a few inches from his little brain.
"They got bad aim," is all he said.
I rubbed my leg. Felt busted. My back was all wrong, and then I noticed my stomach was covered in
blood.
"Jaysus, I think I've been shot!"
"Again, boss?"
"But it doesn't hurt," I said, fingering the sticky-wet shirt. I lifted it. No damage.
"You musta fallen on that American, boss."
Jaysus. I must've.
Jimmy skidded right onto Barrington. Good thing there was no drunks out.
"Slow down, Jimmy. We don't wanna get stopped by the cops, not with me all busted up and covered
in blood."
"Sure thing, boss. Where to?"
Good question. As we sped over the bridge, bouncing against the side a few times, the adrenaline
wore off, and I started to get mighty angry. The only question was, who was I going to get angry at
first? They had Sarah. Should I go to her apartment and see what had happened? Should I go to the
drop spot and wring the truth out of the blond? Or should I go straight to Marky Malone?
At the height of the festival, a tall ship glides into harbour by moonlight, bearing a grisly burden, and a
world of trouble for the small-time crook awaiting her arrival on the pier. What happens next? You
decide. Jon Tattrie's serialized mystery kicks off today with Chapter One below. Visit hfxnews.ca to
vote on how the Chapter Two should unfold. And stay tuned for next week's installment ...
Source: Daily News, The (Halifax, NS), Jul 15, 2007, p22