Ghost of a Chance

“The needle is linked to your husband,” Alex said. “If he moves, I can follow. Now go home and wait. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything. Okay?”

Hannah hesitated for a long moment, then she nodded.

“Thank you, Mr. Lockerby,” she said, rising. “Please bring my Leroy back.”

Alex promised that he would, and Hannah left.

“She seemed happier,” Leslie said, entering the office once Hannah was gone. “I take it you found her husband.”

Alex grinned at her.

“Best finding rune in the city, remember?”

“Did she pay you?” Leslie said, trepidation in her voice. This was clearly the reason she’d come in and Alex didn’t blame her a bit.

He pulled the bills from his pocket and handed the singles over, then presented the fiver to Leslie.

“As promised,” he said.

She started to turn away, but he stopped her and picked up two of the ones.

“Cab fare,” he explained.

“Take a crawler,” Leslie said, reaching for the money, but Alex put it in his pocket.

“I think I might need to hurry this time,” he said, rolling up the map.

“Why?” Leslie asked. “You know where the husband is, right?”

Alex nodded as he returned the figurines to the cigar box, and put it and the map back into the filing cabinet.

“Something just doesn’t add up about this,” he said. “The husband has no money, nothing they could use to ransom him.”

“You’re worried the kidnappers will figure that out and kill him,” Leslie finished. “What are you going to do when you find him?”

Alex opened the second drawer down in the filing cabinet and withdrew his Colt 1911 in its holster, slipping it over his shoulder.

“I’ll convince whoever took him that Leroy Cunningham isn’t worth keeping,” he said.

5 The Leak

A little over half an hour later, Alex got out of a cab in front of a quiet little boatyard on the eastern edge of Manhattan. A wooden sign hung, suspended over the entrance with the words, Sunrise Marina, painted on it in gold letters. Beyond the entrance, a short paved road ran down to a small wooden building beside a concrete boat ramp.

A long wooden dock stretched out over the water from the far side of the building. From there, other docks branched off the main one to either side. Boats of every description, from tall sailboats, to boxy cabin cruisers, and even the occasional sleek speed boat bobbed in neatly arranged slips. At this time of the year many of the slips were empty, their owners having taken their boats out on the water.

Alex consulted the brass compass and found the needle still pointing vaguely east. It had changed as the cab moved through the city, so he was sure it was still linked to Leroy Cunningham.

The marina was the only thing to his east, but Alex decided to be cautious. Stepping into the cover of an alley between a naval supply shop and what smelled like a fish market, he pulled out his 1911 and checked the magazine. This one had a small cross drawn on the bottom in red ink and he swapped it for the spare kept in his holster. The Spellbreaker runes on the bullets in the first magazine were hard to make, especially with his trembling hands.

Spellbreaker runes were just what they sounded like, magic designed to destroy other magic, like shield spells. He didn’t figure he’d need them against a normal group of kidnappers. Still, even ordinary thugs could be dangerous, so Alex cocked the pistol, clambering a round, and stuck it back into his holster with the safety on.

Satisfied he was suitably prepared, Alex crossed the street and began walking along the marina’s fence. As he moved, the compass needle turned, indicating a spot out toward the edge of the marina.

Alex pocketed the compass and walked down the paved road to the wooden building. It was a small office with a room above for the caretaker, a white-haired man with a bushy beard, an island shirt, and deck shoes. He sat, reading a paper and smoking a pipe in a comfortable-looking chair with a view of the bobbing boats through a massive bay window.

“You in charge?” Alex asked as he entered.

The old man glanced up over the top of his paper and ran an appraising eye over Alex, then returned to his reading.

“S’right,” he said, slurring his words lazily. “Wha’cho want?”

“Name’s Lockerby,” Alex said, stepping up beside the man. “I’m a P.I. A rich lady hired me to find her deadbeat husband; apparently he’s hiding out somewhere on his boat.”

“I ain’t no snich,” the man said. “Run along, sonny.”

Normally, this was when Alex would have to drop a fiver to loosen the man’s tongue. Unfortunately he only had two bucks on him, so he was going to have to do this the hard way.

Alex pulled the paper out of the man’s hands with a quick movement. The caretaker tried to stand, but Alex pushed him back into his chair with enough force to make his point.

“Listen, friend,” he said. “The guy took their kid. It’s part of some messy divorce that you don’t want any part of, so either you answer my questions, or I call the cops and tell them the kid might be here.”