Public Enemy Zero

28

Mitchell kept a brisk pace as he headed toward the marina. He would move down one street and then go up another, heading there in a diagonal pattern. If anyone noticed him and thought he looked suspicious, he hoped moving street to street like that would make it difficult to peg down his position.

The blackout extended several more blocks and then everything returned to normalcy. Although he was in a quiet residential neighborhood, he took extra effort to make sure that he didn’t walk right into someone else out for an evening stroll. A few times cars passed him, but none of them slowed down.

As a precaution, he gripped the end of the tire iron in his right hand and shielded the bulk of it with his right arm. That way he wouldn’t look too suspicious if anyone caught a glimpse of him through an open window.

The car lot was over a half mile behind him, but he could still hear the sound of fire engines and police cars. He hoped they would be too focused on the chaos to spread out in a larger search. When he stopped for a moment to look back, he could see a police helicopter shining its spotlight in the area around the car lot.

The hundreds of cars in the lot provided a lot of hiding spaces for someone on the run. The more they focused their attention behind him, the better his odds of getting away would be.

In between some of the houses, he could see the canals that ran all around this part of South Florida. The marina was only a few blocks away. He kept an eye out for a potential boat behind the houses in case the marina didn’t work out. The odds weren’t as good targeting a single boat, but it was preferable to have some kind of backup plan.

One of the things he looked for was any house that was up for sale and looked unoccupied that had a boat in the backyard. That usually meant the owners lived elsewhere and either kept their boat berthed there or rented it out to someone else. A boat from a house like that could go missing for days before anyone noticed.

His ideal boat would be a small one no more than ten feet long, with a small engine. A bigger boat would be faster and could give him a cabin to sleep in. The problem was keeping it hidden and refueling it.

Mitch needed a boat with a gas tank that he could fill with gas siphoned from cars. There was no way he would be able to comfortably fill a large boat’s gas tank at a marina gas pump. He needed something small that he could dock without notice and make his way up the Intracoastal without calling attention to himself.

The next two blocks went by without incident. Finally, he came to the marina. Across an almost-empty parking lot, he could see the docks. He could make out several tall masts and a few luxury yachts. A slightly more upscale marina was a good thing.

When he worked at a marina, during one college summer, he got a pretty good understanding of boaters and what life was like around a marina. Many of the larger boats were lucky to get used more than a weekend a month. Owners bought them for the prestige and the potential for adventure but then grew bored with them and frustrated by the expense.

Smaller fishing boats tended to get a lot more use. The bigger luxury yachts often had at least one crew member who lived on board to take care of the boat. The kind of boat Mitchell was looking for would either be tethered to one of the larger boats or tied off at the far end of the marina.

Within the ecosystem of a marina, you had people who rented berth space for their pleasure craft or charter boats. Then you had people who rented smaller slips for boats they used to provide services to the bigger craft like boat detailing and servicing electronics.

The marina he had worked at owned two small johnboats they used to navigate around the marina and go up and down the waterway to run errands. They were usually tied off on the dock and secured with a cable that went from a metal loop attached to the boat and around a support. Often the key for the lock would be somewhere on the boat itself.

Mitchell stood by a palm tree and watched the marina for movement. The docks were separated from the parking lot by two gates. Near the closest one there was a single-story building that served as the office.

It was a tossup if there was anybody in the office watching the boats. The most common kind of crime in a marina was people pulling up in small boats and stealing things off the deck like rod holders and any kind of gear left out in the open. Boat owners tried to keep everything of value fastened down or in lockboxes.

The good thing for Mitchell was he could pop open a fiberglass lockbox pretty quickly with his tire iron. First he had to find a boat and make sure it started. There was little point doing a smash-and-grab if he couldn’t make a clean getaway.

Mitchell waited another few minutes and saw two men carrying fishing gear and heading down one of the docks toward the parking lot. They were on the opposite side of where he wanted to go and could possibly serve as a distraction as they unlocked the gate to leave.

Staying close to a low wall at the far end of the marina, Mitchell walked toward the seawall. He tried to stay in the shadows behind the lights that illuminated the parking lot. He got to the sidewalk and looked out at the boats in the marina. On the side of the dock closest to him he saw a fourteen-foot Boston Whaler. It was bigger then what he needed.

Mitchell wrestled with the idea of just trying to take that boat and switch it out for a different boat later when he noticed that tied up next to it was a smaller aluminum boat with a dark green hull. It had a 20-horsepower engine and an exposed gas tank. It also had a center console that would make steering a little easier.

That could be the one, he thought. The trick was getting to it. Mitchell looked over the edge of the seawall. It was near low tide. He could see a small concrete ledge below the rocky wall. It was only a few inches but enough for his toes to stand on. Worst-case scenario, the water was probably only three feet deep. He’d just have to keep his bag above the water if he fell in. He put the tire iron in his bag and got ready.

Mitchell looked down the sidewalk and saw the far gate swing open. The sound echoed across the quiet marina. Using that as cover, he got on all fours and lowered himself onto the lower edge.

He could feel the rough edges of the rocks on the seawall against his knees. His fingertips held onto the concrete lip as he ducked his head out of sight. His feet found the small ledge and he lowered his weight onto it.

Sliding one foot after the other, he moved his body toward the ramp that led up to the gate. He stopped for a moment when he realized he’d never bothered to check if the gate was unlocked to begin with.

He craned his neck to look up at the gate. That was when he saw a surveillance camera for the first time. The camera was aimed at anybody walking through the gate. Mitchell felt a little better about taking the indirect route.

If he could avoid being seen walking onto the dock and hopefully never be observed at the marina at all, it made his chances of a clean getaway that much better.

Mitchell slid over to the underside of the ramp. The boat he was after was about ten feet away tied to a pylon. A wire cable went from the steering wheel, through a rod holder and through the rung of a ladder that led down to it and the Boston Whaler.

The original plan was to climb up onto the dock and walk over to the boat like a civilized person. Because of the camera, Mitchell had to hang from the edge of the dock and scramble like a monkey while trying not to get his feet wet.

Halfway to the boat, Mitchell could hear footsteps on the dock. He froze. They sounded far off but getting closer. Should he stay where he was and leave his fingers in the open?

The ladder was only a few feet away. Mitchell decided to hurry toward it and hide underneath the dock behind it. He shimmied along and almost fell into the water when his hand hit an unexpected rope cleat.

He pulled himself behind the ladder and waited. The footsteps grew louder on the wooden dock above. He could also hear the sound of something being rolled. Probably a cart with gear in it.

A few tense moments later, he heard the sound of a key going into the lock on the gate. It opened and then closed. Mitchell waited another minute to see if he could hear any other footsteps. The dock sounded empty.

He lowered himself into the boat and looked around. The gas tank felt at least half full. That would give him a couple hours. He made a note to find an extra gas tank and fill it up when he could so he could avoid having to go ashore whenever possible.

Mitch examined the cable lock. There was no way he was going to be able to just pry it open. The ladder it went through was made from aluminum and was bolted to the dock. It was doubtful he’d be able to rip it free and just take it with him.

He looked around the boat for a likely spot to hide a key. He reached under the wooden center console and tried to find a hook or a peg where the key might be hanging. Nothing. He looked under the console and saw a few cables and a beer cozy. Still nothing. He looked around the floor. Other than two oars, there was nothing that said “key.”

Mitchell checked the gas tank and the outboard motor. The motor was also locked to the boat. There wasn’t anything that looked like it hid a key.

Mitchell moved to the front of the boat and opened up the small compartment at the bow. Inside was the legally required life vest, some cushions, a rope and anchor and more beer cozies. He was about to close the hatch when he got the urge to stick his hand underneath the back edge. He slid it along the smooth inside and then felt something in the space between the hull and where the top of the compartment connected. It was a plastic hook with a small key ring.

Mitchell pulled it out. There were two keys. One for the cable lock and one for the outboard motor lock. Mitchell unlocked the cable and stowed it in the compartment.

There was still something else he needed. First, he had to make sure the boat would run. He figured it would be better to start the boat farther away from the dock and just glide in when he spotted the right boat.

Mitchell pushed off on the pylon and the boat gently glided away from the dock. When he was twenty feet away, he pumped some gas into the engine using the hand bulb on the fuel line and then pulled the starter cord. He was expecting a small battle with the engine but it started right up.

Mitchell steered the boat in a giant arc and went around the front of the marina. He wanted to get one more thing. He knew it was silly, but it would make him feel a little safer.

He spotted the type of boat he was looking for and aimed his little boat toward it. Mitchell killed the engine and drifted toward the boat. He moved to the bow of the boat and caught the other boat with his hands.

Trying to keep the boats from hitting, Mitchell moved the boat toward a dive platform at the stern of the large boat. He tied the smaller boat and then peered into the back of the boat. There were two large gear boxes.

Feeling like a pirate, he climbed aboard the boat with his tire iron. Fuck, he told himself, he was a pirate at this point. Mitch pushed the flat edge near the lock of one and pried it. The fiberglass around the lock snapped and the lid opened. Inside was a pile of life vests and cushions.

He closed the lid and pried open the other box. This time the lid made a much louder crack as it opened. Inside there was a flare gun, an emergency radio, diving masks and some other gear. He took the flare gun and a few other things and dropped them into his boat.

Mitchell was about to climb in when he heard footsteps again. Still in the back of the larger boat, he squatted down behind the box he had just opened. He waited for the footsteps to pass him by.

Only they didn’t.