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Jesus. They’re still twinkling!
Well, this sure will beat hell out of hearing Koch snore all night.
He took the pen and circled “30.”
Mary made her crooked smile.
[ FOUR ]
New York Bay
2345 6 March 1943
Francesco Nola put down the battered black binoculars, pulled back on the throttle controls, and made a hard course correction, swinging the wooden wheel so that the Annie headed in a due eastward direction and in line with the channel markers. The dimly lit compass face responded by rocking then spinning inside its grimy glass dome on the helm, the white number 90 finally settling in behind the black line etched in the dome glass.
Dick Canidy could tell that they were now in the Narrows, the tidal strait between Upper New York Bay and Lower New York Bay, and that on the present course, they were headed for shore.
Behind them was Staten Island, and ahead—directly ahead, as Canidy could now make out the shoreline and some docks—was the southwestern tip of the borough of Brooklyn, on Long Island.
“So after I ice up the Annie here and deliver her to my cousin at Montauk—he’s taking her on a four-day run—I’ll come right back to the city and we’ll meet a little after that,” Nola said.
He reduced the throttle more, causing the boat to settle in the water.
“You have my home telephone number. If I am not there, then I am at the fish market. You can get me one place or the other.”
“Okay,” Canidy said.
Outside the pilothouse windows, he saw the man who had thrown him the lines at the fish-market dock. The man was walking toward the bow, preparing the lines for docking.
Canidy wondered if he should offer to help, then saw on the dock a man coming out onto the pier finger. The building behind him had a faded sign reading: ISLAND ICE &SUPPLIES BRKLYN. A metal chute projected out of the top floor and reached down and out to the pier where the Annie was about to be moored.
Canidy watched quietly as Nola, with a mix of grace and skill, spun the boat in its own length, working the engines against themselves—starboard in forward, port in reverse—then both in concert, to back the boat in so that the ice chute could easily reach and fill the fish holds.
After a couple minutes of bumping the levers in and out of gear, the Annie gently nudged to a stop against the pier. Nola put the twin gear levers in the neutral position, then went out the steel door of the pilothouse to get a better view of the work on the deck.
He saw that the fore and aft lines were being tied to pilings, and nodded to his crewman.
He turned with his hand out to Canidy.
“See you soon,” he said.
“Thank you,” Canidy replied, shaking the offered hand.
“Just in time,” Nola then said and nodded toward the dock.
Canidy looked toward the building and noticed nothing special. Then, just beyond the building, he saw a taxicab pull up to the curb.
“Mine?”
Nola nodded.
“That’s some service. Especially out here at this hour.”
Nola smiled and squeezed his arm.
Canidy went to the car. When he got close, he realized it wasn’t just any cab.
He got in the backseat and closed the door quickly, appreciative of the warmth inside.
