The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,99

men: “Oh, thank God!” He flailed a hand at the yacht. “Our engine is down. Any chance you can tow us back to Montauk?”

To Danny’s utter amazement, the Coast Guard men didn’t even hesitate.

“This boat’s a bit small,” one of the men called out. “Let’s get a cutter over here. They’ll get you right home, sir.” Then he went into the cabin and spoke on the radio. For long minutes, the two crafts bobbed in the water, the patrol boat’s motor the only sound aside from water sloshing against hulls.

Then a second Coast Guard vessel arrived—a larger cutter—and at the direction of the patrol boat, they tossed some lines to the boys on the yacht. Tommy even fussed at them about scratching the boat or getting dirt on its pristine deck, which had the Coasties rolling their eyes and grumbling “yes, sir,” and “we’re sorry, sir” the entire time. Once the lines were secured, the cutter began towing the yacht back toward Montauk while the patrol boat went on its way.

Aboard the yacht, the crew exchanged wide-eyed looks.

It worked?

It worked.

Dear God, it worked.

Another speedboat zoomed past, its wake rocking the yacht. Someone on the cutter looked to be radioing and gesturing frantically, and from several degrees to the south, one of the faster patrol boats shot after the speedboat—right past the liquor-laden yacht being towed ashore by the Coast Guard.

Francis let a little snort escape, and Danny had to clap a hand over his mouth and turn his back to the cutter as laughter took over. Then Mathew lost it. And Tommy. Bernard shot them a glare, but his lips were pressed together because he too was apparently in danger of losing his composure.

By the time they docked and untied from the cutter, the men had collected themselves enough to thank their “rescuers”… who then returned to sea without once asking what the yacht might have in her belly.

Watching the cutter leave, Bernard shook his head. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Tommy elbowed him and flashed a grin. “Have a little faith. I know what I’m doing sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Bernard eyed him. “Good thing you knew what you were doing this time, or we’d be—”

“Bernard, for Pete’s sake.” Mathew smacked Bernard’s arm. “His plan worked. Let him be smug. He’s earned it for once.”

“Hey!” Tommy huffed. “Just tie up the boat, you idiots.”

Laughing, the lads got to work mooring the boat. As Mathew wound a line into place, he chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at the departing Coast Guard cutter. “I still can’t believe it. That shouldn’t have been that easy.”

Danny shot him a look. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“Aye.” Mathew secured the line, then stood, absently rubbing his back. “But I thought Tommy’d lost his mind when he said this would work.”

“Should’ve put a wager on it,” Tommy said with no small amount of smugness. He slapped Mathew’s back. “You’d have been giving me your cut tonight.”

Danny chuckled. He’d almost put a wager on it himself, and he was glad he hadn’t.

The dangerous part was over. Now came the tedious one.

Frustrating as it was, patience was a virtue in this game unless they wanted to be as reckless and foolish as their rivals who tried to outrun the Coast Guard. While it was tempting to offload their booty all at once and get paid for it sooner than later—and while Danny had his own reasons for wanting to hurry back to that underground office—moving this kind of cargo off that kind of boat in broad daylight would draw too much attention. So would sneaking in and moving it in the dead of night.

In this case, offloading the liquor took nearly as long as the run itself had. Throughout the afternoon they’d go in two or three at a time under the pretense of doing maintenance on the marina. Dressed again in their usual clothes, they’d casually park a cart beside the yacht, and they actually did fix some broken boards and replace a few rusted fixtures to maintain their cover. Whenever they’d wheel the cart back off the marina, it would be significantly heavier thanks to the liquor that Bernard and Tommy—who were still on the yacht to guard the booze—had quietly slipped off the boat.

Sometimes, people came down to the marina, and the crew carefully kept them from noticing anything amiss down by the yacht. Giulia would charm people into chatting with her. When that wasn’t enough, she and