Crotty was up on his knees, pointing the blinker at Juna. 

Shongut aimed. BAM! 

The shot ripped through Crotty’s throat, almost separating his head from his shoulders, killing him instantly. The blinker, the detonator, flew off into the grass. 

Lynch lunged for it. 

Weecho was on his hands and knees, crawling as fast as he could toward Juna. 

Shongut shot again. BAM! 

The shot kicked up dirt in Lynch’s face when he dove for the detonator. 

Weecho got to Juna and yanked at the bomb vest straps. Pulled and twisted, finally ripped it off, swung it back to give it a heave. 

Lynch was over there fumbling with the blinking detonator. 

Weecho let the bomb vest fly, turned away and ducked. 

Ka-WHOOM! 

A huge fountain of dirt and driftwood and broken clamshells erupted at the edge of the meadow. 

Weecho fell on top of Juna, shielding her from the falling debris.  

Shongut ducked the fallout, raised his rifle and fired. 

Lynch was zig-zagging away from the shots, away from the meadow, plowing through the reeds clutching the DVD player, making for the Donzi. 

Weecho turned Juna onto her back, pressed his hand to the spurting hole in her thigh. 

Shongut ran over and dropped to his knees. “I couldn’t think how else to do it. He was gonna take us all out.” 

“Press your hand here,” Weecho said. 

“This part I know, keep your hand where it is.” Shongut opened a pocket knife and slit the knots of the scarves around Juna’s eyes and mouth. “I was hoping I’d just wing her.” 

Weecho bent close to her. “I know you’re hurting, hang in there.” 

“Leg… What hap…” Juna’s voice slurry, eyes glassy. 

“Take it easy,” Weecho said. “We’ll get you fixed up.” 

Shongut, in corpsman mode, tied the scarves together and wound them around the wound. Weecho pulled his hand out when Shongut tightened the knot. 

“We’ll get her in the skiff,” Shongut said. “There’s bandage left in the first aid kit. We can call ahead to be met.” 

Weecho dug for his cell, remembered it was on the bottom of the bay. 

And the skiff was about to become a non-option. 

The chattering of an automatic weapon came from the channel at their backs, spurts of dirt kicking up around them. Weecho and Shongut whipped around and flung themselves flat on the grass. 

Lynch was shooting from the moving Donzi, muzzle flashes flicking from an Uzi submachine gun he swept along the top of the reeds. 

Weecho pulled the Beretta from the small of his back, stayed on his stomach and opened up. Shongut fired away with the lever action, the two of them clipping off reed tops, Lynch ducking out of sight. 

Lynch swung the Donzi past the skiff, shooting at the stern, the skiff’s outboard bursting into flames.  

Weecho and Shongut scrambled to their feet, firing past the flames, waterspouts chasing the Donzi as it disappeared around a bend. 

They turned back to wounded Juna. 

Weecho said to Shongut, “Give me your cell, I’ll have them come get her out.” 

“It’s in the boat, in the console.”  

Weecho started for the skiff just as flames reached the outboard’s fuel tank. WHUMPF! The boat went up in a fireball.  

They stared at the skiff, the hull one big billowing flame. Weecho looked down the channel to where the Donzi had disappeared. Lynch had grabbed the DVD player, would know pretty quick if he didn’t already that the performance was a phony. 

A gust blew across the meadow that made Weecho turn to look where it came from. 

Over on the other side was Nina Galleon’s ghost. 

Nina stared at him. Weecho stared back.  

Then kneeled back down next to Juna. “Juna, can you hear me?” 

Juna whispered a far-off, “Yes.” 

“We’re going to get you out of here, get you fixed up. But I have to know…” 

She tried to focus on him, glassey-eyed. 

“That DVD,” Weecho said. “Did you leave it at the bus station?” 

He felt like dog shit but had to do it. 

“I’m cold,” Juna said. 

Weecho pulled off his jeans jacket and laid it over her. “Did you hear me?” 

“Yes.” Again, just a whisper. 

Shongut cut in. “We gotta…” 

Weecho flipped his hand – Quiet. 

Shongut’s daughter’s ghost was watching them but the old man didn’t see her. 

“Juna,” Weecho said, “where’s the key – to the locker.” 

Her eyes were closed. Drifting in and out. 

Shongut looked at Weecho like he was ready to punch him.      

“Juna, I’ll get the money for you. But I need the DVD.” 

Weecho hoping that whatever drugs Lynch had given her had broken down that stubborn streak. “Juna, tell me where the key is. We can’t leave the money and the DVD there.”   

Juna’s eyes blinked open. Closed. 

Weecho touched her arm and they opened again. 

“Fish tank,” she said. 

Weecho looked at Shongut. They both knew.  

And Lynch for sure would want to know, once he’d seen that the DVD he had now was worthless. Nina’s fish tank was one place he hadn’t thought to look.   

“There’s a chance he’ll come back,” Weecho said to Shongut. “How are you on shells?” 

“Just what’s in the magazine.” He’d reloaded with those loose shells he’d grabbed. “But I’ve got the range advantage, enough to stand him off.” 

Weecho popped the clip from his Beretta, pulled a full clip from his pocket, smacked it into the grip and chambered a round. 

He dropped down beside Juna. Didn’t want to leave her. But Shongut had the bleeding under control, had his fingers on an artery, a pressure point.         

“Juna, Teddy’s going to stay with you till I get back.” 

“Thirsty…” she said. 

“I’ll bring plenty to drink.” Anything they’d had was boiling in the flames. 

Weecho touched her cheek, colorless, cold… then got up and took off across the meadow. 

“Where you going?” Shongut yelled to his back. 

“To get us outta here.” 

He ran across to Nina, her ghost hovering near Crotty’s mutilated corpse, some closure about that scene, Weecho thought.    

“Keep going,” Nina said. 

“Where?” 

“The tracks.” 

Weecho slowed down, looked around. 

Nina pointed. “Go!” 

He took off again, bushwhacked through the reeds and cattails. Waded across a tidal stream, came out onto another meadow, stood on a rise and looked out at the bay, trying to see the Donzi. 

The fastboat was still in the channel, Lynch steering along the route Weecho and Shongut had taken coming in, Lynch going the opposite way now. 

Weecho followed the boat’s silhouette, saw the direction it was headed, got his bearings and ducked back into the underbrush. 

A few yards in he caught his foot on something and went down on his bad shoulder. Pain like he thought would put him out. Sat for a second letting his head clear… then used his good arm to push himself back up. There was a drainage culvert further on that he followed to a chain link fence. He squeezed under, keeping the Beretta clear of the muck, and scrambled up an embankment. 

At the top were the tracks. 

He followed the dull glint of the rails, watching his footing on the wooden ties, until he came to a trestle that ran out over the water – over the pass-through Shongut had taken them through on their way to the rendezvous. If Lynch was going back to Broad Channel, or wanted to make a run for the ocean, he’d have to take the Donzi through here. Weecho ducked down so he wouldn’t make a silhouette and went out onto the trestle. 

Out on the water, the Donzi had just left the channel, Lynch steering in a wide circle back toward the trestle, peering past the bouncing bow, watching an A train slip across the marsh. 

Weecho looked in the direction Lynch would be coming from, could see the Donzi’s running lights headed this way, headed for the red and green navigation lights marking the channel. Back in the boat’s wake, on the island it just came from, he could see the burning skiff. 

He was looking around for where to position himself when the trestle started to shake. A rumbling at his back. He looked over his shoulder, saw the oncoming lights of an A train. If he didn’t move, it was going to nail him.  

He jammed the Beretta in his waistband, used his good arm to swing himself under the tracks. Crawled along a trestle beam and wedged himself into a corner about twenty feet above the water. Everything around him was shaking, the A train coming off the Rockaways on its way into the city.    

And where was the Donzi? 

Closer than he thought. Could see Lynch looking up at the train when it boomed over head. Weecho tucked himself in tighter and groped for the gun, knew he’d have trouble holding it steady with the trestle rocking like this. 

Lynch slowed the boat, pointing it between the channel lights bracketing the way under the trestle. 

Then the trestle stopped rocking after the last car passed over and Weecho had the perfect shot. Perfect, but… Could he shoot the man cold like this, even a scumbo like Lynch? Plus it had to be a perfect head shot, Lynch probably wearing a flack vest like Shongut said. No, he had to get him out from behind that wheel, put one in his crotch, make it hurt, then go for his head. Do it now or the chance’d be gone.    

Lynch glanced up at the dark beams closing over the Donzi. From out of the murk a voiced called down, shouting over the exiting train. 

“Pull it up Lynch!” 

Lynch stared, How the f—? and grabbed for the Uzi.