Adventure of Dallas Fontaine 2

Rain needles the harbor service road as the slipway gate looms ahead, half lit and half blind. Jackson’s car skids to a stop beside stacked chain and rusted bollards, while a Clean Collar sedan noses in behind them, headlights bleaching the wet asphalt. Calabash is already out, breathing hard, scanning the catwalk.

Murderbone bristles at the rear bumper, locked on the sedan as men spill out in dark coats. Jackson plants himself by the driver door, revolver low, eyes sharp through the rain.

Dallas reaches the gate box. The manifest key fits the lock with a clean metallic snap, and the barrier motor whines awake. On the far side, a dock guard shack flashes red as a line of Clean Collar men fan out, too late to stop the lift.

Jackson fires once to pin the lead pursuer, Murderbone surges toward the nearest attacker, and the gate rises just enough to show black water and a waiting boat lane beyond. Dallas stands in the open, evidence under his coat, the escape route exposed and the city’s last hand closing behind him.

The gate clears the threshold, revealing a calm, dark channel, but a patrol skiff sits idling directly in the path.

The skiff's engine cuts out, and the vessel drifts lazily toward the far bank, leaving the central channel wide open.

Dallas sprints toward the water, his boots thudding against the slick concrete of the pier as the skiff bobs against the dock.

Dallas plants his feet and fires two sharp rounds over Calabash’s shoulder. The shots crack the night open and drive the nearest Clean Collar men flat behind the gatehouse rail.

Calabash takes the opening, hits the skiff’s gunwale, and throws a hand to the stern line while Jackson reaches for the bow cleat.

A muzzle flash blooms from the road, but Dallas answers it at once. The return fire skips uselessly off the pier edge, buying the seconds Calabash needs.

Jackson shoves the skiff free, the hull bumping once against the dock before the current catches it.

Dallas keeps the revolver up until Calabash is aboard and the skiff turns its nose into the channel. Then he lowers it, just enough to follow the boat with his eyes.