He also gathered up all the cash he kept in the house — which was considerable because he never really trusted banks after all the recent insanity in the world of money. His wallet with his credit cards was in his F-150 parked at the 2nd Street Wharf, and he had no way of telling whether or not they’d be accessible… but he planned to check it out.
He changed into his most durable, comfortable shoes — a pair of Timberland Trailscapes — then a baggy shirt to conceal his holstered sidearm, and denim cargo pants with plenty of pockets, and an Orioles cap. He also grabbed a windbreaker, his Spyderco Endura knife, and the extra set of keys to the F-150. Traveling light, but protected, he would buy anything else he needed as he needed it.
When he regained the second level, Tommy was still keeping his watch, alternating between the front and back yards. “Nothin’ shakin’,” he said.
“Okay, we’re pushing our luck. Let’s get out of here. The back door.”
“What’s in the bag?” Tommy eyed the sleek, black duffel.
“My guard-dog,” said Dex with a lopsided grin. “Okay, outta here.”
As they casually exited the neighborhood, Dex kept looking for any sign they were being watched or followed, but saw nothing. Either their adversaries were very, very good, or he and Tommy were still ahead of them. Crossing Davidsonville Road, they walked through a maze of back streets to an array of strip malls on the other side of Crain Highway. The traffic was heavy and everybody seemed like they were in too big of a hurry to pay any attention to them.
“In there.” Dex gestured to a Giant Food supermarket, where he paid cash for two Trac phones, and some quick foods — nuts, dates, energy bars. Before leaving the store, Dex activated both phones by calling in the codes, then gave one to Tommy.
“Memorize my number. Don’t put it in the speed dial, just in case.”
“In case what?”
“In case they get you or this phone. If my phone rings, I want to be sure it can only be you on the other end, okay? Same for your number — I’m going to be the only one who ever calls you, got it?”
Tommy nodded.
Dex dropped the phone into one of his cargo pockets. “They can’t trace any calls we make on these, plus we add as many minutes as we need with extra calling cards.”
Tommy regarded him with quiet admiration. It was a look Dex knew well from all the Navy years, where he’d learned to be a take-charge guy, and he wore the responsibility like a hand-tailored uniform.
“Man, it’s like you had this all figured out ahead of time.” Tommy chucked him on the arm as they headed for the automatic doors at the exit.
“Not really. I’ve just been thinking some of this through.” He stopped on the sidewalk, pulled out the Trac phone, called for a cab. When they sat on the bench outside the supermarket to wait, Dex had plenty of time to assess the situation — and he didn’t like it much. He had been trying to figure who hit the Sea Dog and why, but nothing was making sense yet. Could be the Coast Guard or maybe the Navy if Kevin’s friend had alerted somebody at the Naval Yard in D.C.
But Dex didn’t like it. He’d spent too much time in the Navy, and this scenario didn’t have their fingerprints on it. Same for the Coast Guard. This was either an alphabet agency or maybe even terrorists or some other rogue operation. And if any of those guys were after him, he didn’t feel good about his chances.
He also used the time to have Tommy call Augie and explain things to the old guy, who was clearly an X-factor nobody knew about. Tommy asked him to watch around the neighborhood for anything suspicious around on the street, and to not let anybody in or near the backpacks with Dex’s gear. Augie loved the opportunity to be doing something useful and promised he wouldn’t let them down. Tommy told him to expect them later in the day.
They waited more than a half hour for the taxi guy to show up. It was one of the local outfits whose major business was either runs to BWI airport or taking home drunks from the myriad bars in the area. There wasn’t all that much business midday, and that meant less than spectacular service. The old Caprice sedan that pulled up to the curb from Bay City Cab was downright skeevy. As Dex and Tommy slid into the grimy backseat, they were overwhelmed by the stifling afterglow of stale cigarette smoke. The driver looked back at them like they were bothering him, and Dex decided there wasn’t much chance of a tip in his future.
Dex directed the cab to a bar on the corner of 3rd Street and Chesapeake, which placed them within walking distance of the wharf parking lot.
“Okay, let’s see what’s going on,” he said, as they turned north on 3rd, then a right on Severn. As they approached the next corner and turned left to walk the long block to the wharf, they knew something was amiss.
“Jeez, look at all the cars.” Tommy gestured at the crowded street ahead of them.
“We are so stupid,” said Dex as they both stopped on the sidewalk. “I should’ve checked the news. Looks like the Sea Dog caught somebody’s attention.”
At the end of the block, flanking the entrance to the parking lot to the 2nd Street Wharf and Marina, were the mobile transmission vans of all the TV stations in Baltimore and Annapolis. A police cruiser, flashers dormant, was double-parked at the end of the block. Tommy shook head. “We’re fucked.”
“Maybe not,” said Dex.
“How you figure?”
“Keep walking, like we have no idea what’s going on. Like I said before, there’s not much chance anybody even knows you were onboard. I’d be surprised if anybody’s looking for you yet. When we get to the lot, you take my keys and fire up my truck. Start heading out of the lot and I’ll flag you down.”
Tommy took the keys, nodded once. “I can do that.”
“Yeah, but take your time. Give me a minute or two to get the scoop from somebody.”
“Like who?”
Dex shrugged. “I’ll see if I recognize any of the regulars. Otherwise, I’ll do what everybody else does, I’ll ask a cop.”
“Jeez, you sure that’s smart? Suppose they’re lookin’ for you?”
Dex tugged on his Orioles cap, adjusted his sunglasses. “I look like a million guys like this. I think I’m okay.”
“You better be.” Tommy forced a grin. “Anything happens to you, I got no plan.”
“Trust me,” said Dex.
Tommy nodded and headed down the left side of the street, weaving his way through the vans and cars and into the gravel lot. As he did this, Dex walked straight ahead along the right lane sidewalk and up to a few young guys in dress shirts and ties near one of the news vans. They were either interns, techies, or maybe reporters.
“Hey, man, what’s going on?” he said in a bit of an exaggerated Tidewater accent.
The nearest of the group regarded him with a feckless expression. “Charter boat blew up out on the Bay,” he said.
Dex revealed just the right amount of surprise, and asked some of the obvious questions, ending up with: “Any survivors?”
The guy shook his head. “Don’t think so. The Coast Guard’s been out looking all day.”
Thanking them, Dex turned and headed back down 2nd Street as he saw Tommy wrestling the F-150 out of the lot and in between a couple of vans. As he pulled alongside, Dex yanked open the passenger door and hauled himself in.
“Where we goin’?”
“Let’s get back to Little Italy and get our stuff.”
“Then what?”
“Not sure yet.”
Tommy pressed down on the accelerator as they cleared the traffic, then glanced over at him. “So, are we safe, or what?”