Surviving Murder

November, 1999, Cape Cod, Massachusetts

A powerful cigarette boat eased out of the harbor in Hyannis Port carrying two men. The pilot, a short, well-muscled man with dark wavy hair, shoved the throttle forward and sped East toward their murderous destination. His brow furrowed, above cold eyes as black as the Atlantic below.

There were few men tougher than Tony was. Together with his three brothers, he had been raised on the streets of the North End of Boston where he quickly learned the tougher you were, the better your quality of life. His short statue made him the target for bigger bullies who quickly learned that big surprises came in small packages. What Tony lacked in size, he made up for with quickness and determination. He began strength training as a young man and developed a self-control that carried throughout his life.

His single concern tonight was his companion. Posey, looked both stupid and incompetent with his sloppy overweight physique. Obese people always disgusted the fitness conscious Tony. To him, they were people with a lack of self-discipline. His was a business where the lack of discipline could get you killed. Tony knew, however, that the hands of the tall stout man sitting in the back of the boat had squeezed the life out of several hapless men who dared to underestimate him. Tonight, however, there would be no physical contact. They would use the tools of the trade to do their job. At this moment, the big man was looking a little seasick.

Tony held the wheel tightly as they bounced, at high speed, over the rough surf barely touching the tops of the waves. Again, he reminded himself that there could be no mistakes. The sooner they finished this, the better.

He knew the voice of the man that contacted him, though he did not know his name. Tony and Fred had done jobs for him before. Tony also knew he was a man who did not quibble over Tony’s fee, but he did not accept failure. Tony never asked why anyone wanted a job done. When the money was wired into his offshore account, he went to work. By activating what he called his “pest control” business, the extermination was done rapidly. In his business, men who failed to complete a job properly became food for the predator fish in the Atlantic. He knew he would die someday, but he did not intend to go that way.

Turning his face northeast, he focused intently on the bobbing dim light from the lone sailboat anchored in a cove several miles away. Hearing a noise, he looked back to the port side in time to see Pose gagging as he hurled his expensive lobster dinner over the side and into the Atlantic Ocean. What a waste of a good lobster, he thought with disgust. It was a good thing he really did not need him tonight. He was extra baggage, a requirement of his current employer.

Meanwhile, A tall athletically built woman stood proudly astride the deck of her boat. Feet spread apart, back straight, head held high, Susan was quick in movement, thought, and speech, carrying herself with the arrogant confidence of one who has overcome and tasted the rewards of success. Turning her head, she looked south as the wind blew her long curly hair. Ordinarily, she wore the unruly red mass in a tight bun to project the efficient image, which was a mark of her profession. Here, she allowed herself to relax fully. Her fair face smiled and the freckles on her small nose seemed to dance with delight as she experienced this ultimate high.

After she secured the mainsail, Susan thought it would be a good time to relax. She thought of her new toy, the hand held tape recorder, bought to quickly record quick reminders to herself of the many things she needed to follow up on every day. Perhaps this was the time to see if she could figure it out without using the printed directions. Stepping down into the cabin, she grabbed it and a small flashlight to supplement the limited light on deck.

Like most people, she wanted to hear her own voice on the tape. Pressing the clearly marked play button, she nodded her head, saying, “Yes,” to congratulate herself. Flicking the flashlight off she zipped it into a pocket, as the tape began to play.

What she heard shocked her. The voice on the tape was not hers, but that of her employer, Charles O’Malley a well respected senior United States Senator. Apparently, he was arguing with his foreign guests. In the dim light she could not find the stop button. Quickly, she reached for the flashlight to find the switch to turn off what was obviously a private conversation. Susan’s training prohibited her from listening to anything that was none of her business. She fumbled with the zipper on her pocket. In her haste to pull out the little light, it slipped out of her hand and rolled across the deck. By the time, she retrieved it, clamped the light in her teeth, and found the stop button, the conversation she had inadvertently heard had greatly shocked her

Before her mind could process all of this, the wind began to gust and the rope on the mainsail started to loosen. Quickly stuffing her flashlight into one pocket, the tape recorder into the other, she automatically zipped the slits in her suit, as she hurried across the deck to secure the rope on the boom. Her hands worked quickly, but her fingers shook. Her thoughts were occupied with the tape’s message.

From some distance, she heard the sound of a powerful boat motor and knew it was traveling at top speed. Turning in the direction of the sound, she could see the running lights of a cigarette boat bearing down on her. In a few moments, it slowed and began to pull along the starboard side of her sailboat.

Fear gripped her heart as she tensed and wondered who was in the boat and what they could possibly want. There were reports and stories of bad things happening to people who sailed alone, but she had always felt safe here in this cove near the lighthouse. With her fingers still working to secure the lines, there was no time to get the gun she kept in her cabin. Stay calm she told herself. This was her remedy for any bad situation. She was not a person who panicked or looked for the worst.

From her position near the port side of her boat and still holding the rope from the boom, she could see two men in the big boat slowing their craft, as they came closer. Fear began to tighten its grip on her with thoughts of the danger she could be facing. Stay calm she again told herself. They were shining a large light on her, throwing themselves into the shadows so that she could not see their faces.

“You Susan Kelly?” One of the men yelled.

“Yes, I’m Susan Kelly.” She was finally able to say. “Is there something wrong?” Her hands shook as she took them away from the boom to shield her eyes from the light and get a better look at the men in the boat.

There was no response to her question. She saw the light glint against the barrel of their guns. At the same second, a powerful gust of wind swept into the sail she was trying to secure. She heard the shots, just as the boom slammed into her knocking her off balance and into the cold Atlantic Ocean.