It was a tossup if there was anybody in the office watching the boats. The most common kind of crime in a marina was people pulling up in small boats and stealing things off the deck like rod holders and any kind of gear left out in the open. Boat owners tried to keep everything of value fastened down or in lockboxes.
The good thing for Mitchell was he could pop open a fiberglass lockbox pretty quickly with his tire iron. First he had to find a boat and make sure it started. There was little point doing a smash-and-grab if he couldn’t make a clean getaway.
Mitchell waited another few minutes and saw two men carrying fishing gear and heading down one of the docks toward the parking lot. They were on the opposite side of where he wanted to go and could possibly serve as a distraction as they unlocked the gate to leave.
Staying close to a low wall at the far end of the marina, Mitchell walked toward the seawall. He tried to stay in the shadows behind the lights that illuminated the parking lot. He got to the sidewalk and looked out at the boats in the marina. On the side of the dock closest to him he saw a fourteen-foot Boston Whaler. It was bigger then what he needed.
Mitchell wrestled with the idea of just trying to take that boat and switch it out for a different boat later when he noticed that tied up next to it was a smaller aluminum boat with a dark green hull. It had a 20-horsepower engine and an exposed gas tank. It also had a center console that would make steering a little easier.
That could be the one, he thought. The trick was getting to it. Mitchell looked over the edge of the seawall. It was near low tide. He could see a small concrete ledge below the rocky wall. It was only a few inches but enough for his toes to stand on. Worst-case scenario, the water was probably only three feet deep. He’d just have to keep his bag above the water if he fell in. He put the tire iron in his bag and got ready.
Mitchell looked down the sidewalk and saw the far gate swing open. The sound echoed across the quiet marina. Using that as cover, he got on all fours and lowered himself onto the lower edge.
He could feel the rough edges of the rocks on the seawall against his knees. His fingertips held onto the concrete lip as he ducked his head out of sight. His feet found the small ledge and he lowered his weight onto it.
Sliding one foot after the other, he moved his body toward the ramp that led up to the gate. He stopped for a moment when he realized he’d never bothered to check if the gate was unlocked to begin with.
He craned his neck to look up at the gate. That was when he saw a surveillance camera for the first time. The camera was aimed at anybody walking through the gate. Mitchell felt a little better about taking the indirect route.
If he could avoid being seen walking onto the dock and hopefully never be observed at the marina at all, it made his chances of a clean getaway that much better.
Mitchell slid over to the underside of the ramp. The boat he was after was about ten feet away tied to a pylon. A wire cable went from the steering wheel, through a rod holder and through the rung of a ladder that led down to it and the Boston Whaler.
The original plan was to climb up onto the dock and walk over to the boat like a civilized person. Because of the camera, Mitchell had to hang from the edge of the dock and scramble like a monkey while trying not to get his feet wet.
Halfway to the boat, Mitchell could hear footsteps on the dock. He froze. They sounded far off but getting closer. Should he stay where he was and leave his fingers in the open?
The ladder was only a few feet away. Mitchell decided to hurry toward it and hide underneath the dock behind it. He shimmied along and almost fell into the water when his hand hit an unexpected rope cleat.
He pulled himself behind the ladder and waited. The footsteps grew louder on the wooden dock above. He could also hear the sound of something being rolled. Probably a cart with gear in it.
A few tense moments later, he heard the sound of a key going into the lock on the gate. It opened and then closed. Mitchell waited another minute to see if he could hear any other footsteps. The dock sounded empty.
He lowered himself into the boat and looked around. The gas tank felt at least half full. That would give him a couple hours. He made a note to find an extra gas tank and fill it up when he could so he could avoid having to go ashore whenever possible.
Mitch examined the cable lock. There was no way he was going to be able to just pry it open. The ladder it went through was made from aluminum and was bolted to the dock. It was doubtful he’d be able to rip it free and just take it with him.
He looked around the boat for a likely spot to hide a key. He reached under the wooden center console and tried to find a hook or a peg where the key might be hanging. Nothing. He looked under the console and saw a few cables and a beer cozy. Still nothing. He looked around the floor. Other than two oars, there was nothing that said “key.”
Mitchell checked the gas tank and the outboard motor. The motor was also locked to the boat. There wasn’t anything that looked like it hid a key.
Mitchell moved to the front of the boat and opened up the small compartment at the bow. Inside was the legally required life vest, some cushions, a rope and anchor and more beer cozies. He was about to close the hatch when he got the urge to stick his hand underneath the back edge. He slid it along the smooth inside and then felt something in the space between the hull and where the top of the compartment connected. It was a plastic hook with a small key ring.
Mitchell pulled it out. There were two keys. One for the cable lock and one for the outboard motor lock. Mitchell unlocked the cable and stowed it in the compartment.
There was still something else he needed. First, he had to make sure the boat would run. He figured it would be better to start the boat farther away from the dock and just glide in when he spotted the right boat.
Mitchell pushed off on the pylon and the boat gently glided away from the dock. When he was twenty feet away, he pumped some gas into the engine using the hand bulb on the fuel line and then pulled the starter cord. He was expecting a small battle with the engine but it started right up.
Mitchell steered the boat in a giant arc and went around the front of the marina. He wanted to get one more thing. He knew it was silly, but it would make him feel a little safer.
He spotted the type of boat he was looking for and aimed his little boat toward it. Mitchell killed the engine and drifted toward the boat. He moved to the bow of the boat and caught the other boat with his hands.
Trying to keep the boats from hitting, Mitchell moved the boat toward a dive platform at the stern of the large boat. He tied the smaller boat and then peered into the back of the boat. There were two large gear boxes.
Feeling like a pirate, he climbed aboard the boat with his tire iron. Fuck, he told himself, he was a pirate at this point. Mitch pushed the flat edge near the lock of one and pried it. The fiberglass around the lock snapped and the lid opened. Inside was a pile of life vests and cushions.
He closed the lid and pried open the other box. This time the lid made a much louder crack as it opened. Inside there was a flare gun, an emergency radio, diving masks and some other gear. He took the flare gun and a few other things and dropped them into his boat.
Mitchell was about to climb in when he heard footsteps again. Still in the back of the larger boat, he squatted down behind the box he had just opened. He waited for the footsteps to pass him by.
Only they didn’t.
29
Mitchell stayed down as low as he could, trying to keep his body out of sight of the person on the dock above him. Did they stop because they saw or heard something? Or did they stop because they sensed something like everyone else who attacked him?