The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,98

had begun early this morning when he and the lads had donned some clothes they’d stolen from a small but fancy shop. Of course they could have bought the clothes, but they’d taken Carmine’s words to heart about not being flashy in their purchases. Slipping in during the night and stealing was far less conspicuous than a bunch of Irish working lads wandering in and buying them. And they had left some money behind, making it appear they’d accidentally dropped a roll of cash on their way out. Seemed only right now that they were likely richer than the shopkeeper they’d stolen from.

Wearing their fancy clothes, they’d taken someone’s enormous yacht out of Montauk. Now they were arriving at the ship they’d gone out to meet in open water.

At first, the crew was guarded and almost hostile, standing along their decks with rifles even while others had lines at the ready. But this was a merchant the lads had bought from before, and once he recognized them, he told his boys to lower their weapons. It was nothing personal—some of the rum runners out here liked to try to hijack the merchant ships, cargo and all. Not Danny. He and his crew preferred stealing the cargo from other runners who’d already done the hard part and brought it ashore.

They secured the yacht close to the ship, and got to work. This part was always fast and easy—negotiating prices and buying the liquor from the merchant. They often got some amused looks for how they were dressed or what kind of boat they were piloting, but no one asked questions. A few times, crewmen and merchants had even mentioned that the disguises and boats were ingenious. Far less conspicuous than the speedboats other runners tried to use to simply outrun, outgun, and outmaneuver the Coast Guard.

Once Danny had given the man in charge the rundown of what they wanted, both crews began loading the yacht with as much booze as she could carry. Not just crates and boxes, either—bottles tucked into nooks and crannies no Coast Guard inspector would ever think to check. Behind dishes in cabinets. In tackle boxes. Under blankets. Wherever they could be hidden away without rattling or breaking when the boat rocked.

One bottle broke, so the crew divvied it up between their hip flasks. No one dared take a drink, and they carefully kept it from spilling on their clothes or even any surfaces inside the boat—they couldn’t risk the vessel smelling at all like alcohol. And of course, Danny made a note of the broken bottle in his ledger so Carmine could deduct it from their pay.

Once the loot was hidden and their flasks were sealed and wiped down, Danny paid the merchant. The yacht was untied, lines reeled in, and Francis took the helm to casually make their way back toward shore. As predicted, the Coast Guard was swarming between here and Montauk, hunting the waters for rum runners. A speedboat roared past the yacht, and while they watched, it was nearly intercepted by the Coast Guard. The two vessels kicked up enormous rooster tails of spray as the Coasties chased the speedboat into the distance.

Everywhere any man looked, the Coast Guard flag waved. And here they were, Danny and his crew, puttering along in some rich man’s yacht, standing out among the smaller boats that bobbed on the waves. There was no getting a boat this big into a harbor that populated without being noticed.

And that, Tommy had told them last night, was exactly the plan.

At Tommy’s signal, Francis cut the engines.

“You sure about this?” Danny muttered to Tommy.

“Trust me.” Tommy flashed him a grin. “It’ll work.” With that, he stood at the rail and started waving his arms. Danny was still skeptical, but there was no turning back, so he joined in, waving to signal a nearby patrol boat.

Someone on the patrol boat aimed a pair of binoculars at them. A moment later, he lowered them and appeared to call out to someone on the same boat. Then the boat changed course, and it started heading right for the yacht. Danny’s heart went wild, and not in the Carmine is looking at me like that again way.

“If you’re wrong,” Danny said through his teeth, “we’re going to jail.”

“I ain’t wrong. Trust me.”

Within minutes, the patrol boat pulled up along their port side.

Tommy changed his accent so he sounded like one of the rich Long Island locals when he called out to the other