Page 47 of Walk on the Wilde Side
"So you do know who I'm talking about."
"Yeah, Chug, that fucking weasel. I'll kill him if he touches a hair on her head."
"Nope, if he has her, he's mine. Where do you think I can find him?"
Dad sits back with a groan. It's one of his signature sounds now. "How the fuck would I know? Haven't seen that prick in ages. And, for the record, I was only ever the middleman. My hands never touched guns or drugs."
I stare at him to let him know I'm unimpressed with his defense. "Just need to find Chug. You can talk about how saintly you are with your Maker once you meet him. I'm sure he'll have a good laugh."
"Smart-ass," Dad says. "You know, Chug used to have a boat, a rusty old teapot. Hmm, let me think. It had a stupid name, just like its owner. Knotty something. Spelled k-n-o-t-t-y. Knotty Girl, I think. Figures I'd remember that one," he chuckles. "Why don't you head down to the marina. Ernie Folsom still works on boats down there. He might be able to tell you if he's seen the boat. Far as I know he was always living on that boat. I'll make some calls, too."
"Thanks, Dad."
"Zander, you find that girl," he says.
"Yep."
I climb into the car and head straight for the marina. Rockhurst has a mostly rocky, unapproachable coastline with just a few strips of decent beach, but five miles up the coast is an old marina that has slips for rent. It isn't one of those fancy marinas filled with gleaming yachts and glossy pleasure boats. It's mostly port to old fishing trawlers and a few motorboats. Ernie Folsom went to school with my dad. Dad didn't keep in touch with many old friends, but he occasionally hears from Ernie, and they talk about the old days when they rode their crummy bikes around town even after dark and a dollar in your pocket meant you were fucking rich.
Jameson calls as I'm getting on the coastal highway. I tap the screen. "Is she back?"
"No one's heard from her yet, and now her calls are going straight to voicemail. Kiki is freaking out. Indi, too. They're going to the police to report her missing. Did you find out anything from Dad?"
"I'm heading up to the old marina to talk to Ernie Folsom. Dad says Chug was living on his boat all these years. I'll let you know what I find out."
"I can come down there," Jameson suggests.
"I'm only a few miles from the marina. I'll keep you posted."
I pull into the parking lot. There's an old Volkswagen and a white van parked in the lot, otherwise it's empty. Rain clouds still cling to the coast, and a wet drizzle coats me as I cross the lot. My intuition tells me to check out the van. Nothing about it looks right. I walk up to it and look inside. Two empty beer bottles are sitting on the torn passenger seat and rope sits in a neat coil on the floor. I try to open it, but it's locked. The van is old and so dented it looks as if it has tumbled down a mountainside. I step back and my heel lands on something plastic. It cracks under my weight. I step off it and bend down to pick up the shiny green hair clip. It's the kind with big pinchers that hold hair up. Nev wears them at the shop to keep her hair out of the way. Every muscle in my body tenses with rage. They have her.
I hurry to the slips. The wooden planks along the docks are warped and wobble under my heavy steps. A few boats bob up and down in the choppy tide. Three wave runners are tied to the dock. They're rentals, but today's not a day to be out riding. The incoming storm looks as if it'll churn up plenty of angry waves. I don't see any boat named Knotty Girl. Ernie is in the kiosk at the end of the dock. Like Dad, he's wearing wire-rimmed readers and watching something on his phone.
I knock on the window of the kiosk. His face snaps up, and he stares at me suspiciously. I have that look, the kind that earns a lot of suspicious stares.
"It's me. Finn's son, Zander."
He stares a moment longer then puts down his phone and takes off his readers. He slides open the door. "Zander. What brings you out here?"
"Hey, Ernie, good to see you. My dad thought you might know about a boat called Knotty Girl." An extra loud, smoke-spewing fishing boat is making its way toward the slips.
"The Knotty? Yeah, I know her. She's out though. Rick must have taken her out early. She was gone before I got here at nine. He didn't sign out on the log either." Ernie picks up a notebook with blue ink lines drawn neatly across the pages. There's a wide column for vessel name and owner and two columns for leaving and docking.
"Rick?" I say, "Do you know if he goes by the name Chug?"
Ernie chuckles. "Think I've heard his buddies call him that. Damn stupid nickname, if you ask me. He's been living on that boat on and off for years. He was gone, docked somewhere down the coast for several years, but he came back here about six months ago. Said he was doing business in the area. Not sure what kind of business he does, but something tells me he's not selling bibles out of the trunk of his car, if you catch my drift." He chuckles again. "I can't tell you when he'll be back cuz I didn't talk to him."
My earlier adrenaline has morphed into something much worse and less helpful—dread. How the hell am I going to find a boat out on the open water, and if he does have Nev, what the hell is he doing with her?
I look back at the parking lot. There's no sign of Chug's Camaro. "Ernie, who owns that van in the parking lot?"
Ernie leans out of his kiosk and looks toward the lot. "I think that belongs to one of Rick's buddies. He's been hanging with a whole group of guys who all look like they're up to no good."
"And the VW?" I ask.
Even though he just leaned out to look at the van, he slides out again and looks at the parking lot. "That's right. The VW belongs to Sam's daughter. Sam's the fisherman coming in right now." As he says it the smell of burning oil wafts over the dock. "I keep telling him to get that thing tuned up. He's gonna kill all of the fish before he catches 'em. Hey, I'll ask him if he saw Rick this morning."
"That'd be great." We both walk out to the slip where Sam's smelly, sputtering boat is sliding into place.
