15
Return to Liberty Pier

 

A beam of light hit Bronson in the eyes, blinding him to the person opening the hatch.

“Mr. Horum?” Bronson asked, his voice weak and scratchy.

“I waited over at Applebottom’s forever,” Cindy said, lowering the flashlight. “What are you doing down there?”

Bronson pulled the chain taught a few times, shaking the ladder. “Making sure this thing stays put,” he said.

Cindy climbed down the ladder, jumping off the second-to-last rung onto the basement floor. “Quit wasting time. We gotta find your friend,” she said.

“I found him,” he said, pointing to the cuffs. “Kind of botched it after that, though.”

Cindy whipped a pen out of her pocket then busted the metal clip off the cap. The clip fit snug between the teeth on the single strand and the locking mechanism. She pushed the clip down into the locking mechanism until the cuff snapped open.

“Pretty good trick,” Bronson said, swinging his arm around to loosen it up.

“About as good as getting yourself trapped in your own room,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go shake this Applebottom chump.”

“He’s not home,” Bronson said as he grabbed his mask and cape. “He’s up to no good, and Mr. Morgan’s with him. I saw it all up here when he chained me up.” He tapped his temple twice then slipped his mask down over his head.

“I’m not sure of the details yet, Cindy,” Dogboy said, “but the air is thick with the smell of danger.”

Cindy leaned toward him and took a sniff.

“Uh, I think it’s your mask,” she said.

It was quiet on Liberty Pier. No crowds, no music, and no lights from Tralbert’s Arcade. A man holding an umbrella waited at the end of the pier, watching the windows light up in the buildings across the river.

Another man in a poncho approached him. “Dexter Stonehouse?” he asked.

“Didn’t you hear? Dexter Stonehouse is dead,” he replied, then took off his hat. “And I’ve never felt better.”

The other man pulled back his poncho’s hood.

“Wylie Morgan, sir. Applebottom sent me,” he said.

“Ah, so you’re in on the joke,” Stonehouse said, patting the man on the shoulder. “But why did Gerald send you? Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing, sir. He’s down at the docks getting the boat ready,” he said, gesturing for Stonehouse to follow him.

“Young man, you seem familiar. Has Applebottom solicited your services before?”

“Yes. Last night. I’m the man who shot you,” Wylie said.

“Oh my, but you were marvelous,” Stonehouse said, clapping with glee. “Pitch perfect. Wonderful bit of improv there at the end too. Amazing work. We’ll have to use you again.”

“Thank you, sir. Now we should probably go. Applebottom’s waiting.”

“Fine. Right. Better to get out of here before somebody sees me,” Stonehouse said as he followed Wylie toward the docks.

“Do you see that? He’s with Dexter Stonehouse,” Cindy said, pointing at the two men from behind a vending machine.

“So he is alive, for now anyway,” Dogboy said. “Keep your radio on Channel 3, and don’t call the police until I give the go ahead.” He handed her his cape, a sopping mess from the rain.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked.

“Stash it somewhere, or take it home or something. It’s way too heavy to wear in this weather.”

Cindy draped the cape over her arm then reached out to straighten Dogboy’s crooked mask. “You wanted to actually be able to see what was happening, right?” she said.

“Yeah, thanks. Hey, I wanted to let you know I had a lot of fun today. It was like we were real detectives. We should do it again sometime.”

Cindy smiled, then rustled the tuft of hair that poked out of the top of his mask.

“We will,” she said. “Now go. They’re almost gone.”

Dogboy ran behind the men out to the docks. They trudged up the gangway, stopping near a trawler at the end of the platform. Dogboy crawled over then peeked over the trawler’s bow.

The two men looked around the deck of the ship, where Applebottom sat sipping from a thermos.

“Hey Dexter, didn’t you hear?” he asked. “According to the Herald you should be busy counting worms.” He took a swig then chuckled, spilling brown drops of coffee down the sides of his face.

“Come, Gerald, we need to set sail before anybody sees me or this whole thing will be ruined,” Stonehouse said.

“Bad news, boss. I smoothed things over with Mayor Lane so there won’t be no trouble when you poke your head up, but there ain’t gonna be a funeral.”

“How disappointing,” Stonehouse said. He sat down next to Applebottom. “Did you even get around to sending invitations? Did anybody respond?”

“Nope, but at least it’ll be me taking you up the river instead of a judge sending you there. Like I said, though, the Herald printed the story, and City Hall is coming down on them hard. Looks like the Colta City Inquirer is gonna be the city’s number one paper by the end of the week,” he said.

“Well, at least something came out of it,” Stonehouse said. “And now we have access to Mr. Morgan’s services as well. So what do we do now?”

“I’m taking you to your estate down the river then waiting for the mayor to announce that the skilled Colta City police force tracked you down.”

“I’m going to lay down until we get there,” Stonehouse said, walking toward the cabin.

“One question, sir,” Wylie said. “If all you wanted was to shut down a rival paper why the funeral?”

“Shutting down the Herald was a value add,” Stonehouse said. “We set up this thing to find out who cared enough to attend. When you’re as powerful as I am you can’t be too careful. It’s a shame, really. All this work, and I still don’t know who I can trust.”

“Don’t worry, Stoney. You always got me,” Applebottom said, tipping his thermos in Stonehouse’s direction.

“It’s a comfort to trust somebody so completely. Good night,” he said, then entered the cabin.

Applebottom stood then gestured for Wylie to follow him. They climbed up the ladder onto the upper deck so Applebottom could run the necessary checks before they set off.

Dogboy snuck onto the trawler. He ascended halfway up the ladder, positioning himself so he could hear them.

“You got your piece?” Applebottom asked Wylie.

Wylie flashed a Walther automatic pistol from his inner jacket pocket then nodded.

“No blanks this time, right? Heh. Wait until we get down by the suspension bridge then two to the back of the head. Quick and clean.”

Dogboy bounded onto the deck, throwing a few Wee Glimmers at Applebottom’s feet. Applebottom stumbled back, stunned by the bright lights.

“Don’t be a bad guy, Mr. Morgan,” Dogboy said. “What about Mrs. Morgan? This is a real awful thing you’re doing. I don’t think she’d be happy.”

Wylie pulled out his gun, leveling it at the adolescent adventurer. “Please, for your own safety, go home,” he said.

Dogboy put up his hands, stepping back toward the ladder. “Come on!” he said. “Don’t do it, Mr. Morgan. Shooting a kid will send you to jail for a long time.”

“Look at what the cat dragged in. A present for the mayor,” Applebottom said. “You know this kid?” he asked Wylie.

“Yeah, he knows me, and I’m not going to let you have him, jerkface,” Dogboy said. He pulled out his throwing knife then launched it at Applebottom.

Applebottom dove out of the way as the knife whizzed past. “That’s it, kid. You’re dead. D-E-A-D, dead,” he said.

“I don’t believe you,” Dogboy said. “Did you know I can see into the future? If you were going to kill me I’d see it coming.”

A hand reached up into his mask from behind him, covering his mouth with a course cloth. He struggled, for a moment, then his eyes rolled back into his head and the world started to fade around him.

The last thing he saw before drifting off was the face of Dexter Stonehouse and his mask falling to the floor.. …… … ………… ………… …………………

 

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