Adventure of Dallas Fontaine 2

Dallas Fontaine and Murderbone slip out of the lower passage and into Harbor proper. Salt wind hits first, then the oily stink of diesel, wet rope, and old pilings. Ahead, the dock lane opens under a bank of sodium lights, and the water below shivers black against the pilenters.

A harbor clerk in a raincoat waits under a sign for Pier Nine Cargo. He spots the ledger under Dallas's coat and stiffens, then looks past him toward the lane like he expects company to arrive any second.

Murderbone lowers his head and growls at the end of the dock. A pair of fresh tire tracks cut through the wet grit, stopping near a chain-linked gate with a new padlock shining in the light.

Dallas turns toward the tracks as a headlight blooms faintly beyond the gate, creeping closer through the fog.

Dallas scans the black water beyond the pilings, but the slipway is empty and the channel remains devoid of any craft. The only movement is the rhythmic slap of tide against the rotting wood, though the distant hum of the approaching truck grows louder.

Dallas sweeps the dock lane, and the fog parts on a little skiff tucked under the pilings, half hidden by a stack of tarps. Its paint is scabbed, but the hull sits true and the oars are still chained inside.

Murderbone pads to the gunwale and sniffs the bow, then looks back at Dallas with a hard, expectant stare. The truck’s headlights wash the gate brighter, bleaching the chain and new padlock in silver glare.

Dallas reaches down and jerks the skiff’s painter line free from the piling. The rope comes loose with a wet snap, and the boat shifts against the wood with a dull bump.

Inside, a folded harbor token lies under the thwart beside an oilcloth bundle, and the manifest card peeks from Dallas’s coat as he checks the craft. The lane stays empty, but the approaching engine is loud enough to rattle the loose boards under his boots.

He has a boat now, and the water route is open in front of him. Behind him, the gate glare keeps burning brighter, waiting for his next move.

Dallas swings into the skiff in one smooth motion, coat flaring as the hull rocks once under his weight. Murderbone stays planted on the dock edge, watching the lane instead of the boat.

He crouches by the thwart, fishes out the chain, and snaps the padlock free with a hard twist. Metal clinks into the bilge, quiet but final.

Dallas cuts the last length of chain, and the oars fall free inside the skiff with a wooden knock. The boat is ready now, untethered and waiting for the water.

The headlight glare at the gate sharpens through the fog, bleaching the padlock and the wet planks white. The engine behind it grows louder, closing the lane by sound before it closes by sight.

Dallas settles the evidence under his coat and braces one hand on the gunwale, ready to shove off. The skiff drifts against the piling, fully freed, while the lights keep coming.