Free Third Strike by Philip R. Craig Page B

you?”
    He nodded. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Not many people look like me.”
    I looked at him, imagined him running down the dock. Tall, skinny, with his scruffy beard and that gray-blond ponytail trailing behind him. He was probably right. “That was two nights ago, huh?” I said.
    â€œDon’t tell me not to be scared,” he said.
    â€œAll I’m saying is, if they were going to try to catch up with you, they probably would’ve done it by now.”
    â€œI went back last night,” he said. “After I called you.”
    â€œYou’re that scared, but you went back?”
    â€œI didn’t go out on the dock. I hid in the bushes, like we did. I just wanted to see if they came back again.”
    â€œDid they?”
    He nodded. “It was the same thing as before. They pulled up to the dock in front of Dr. Mumford’s place, and the van was there, and they offloaded more boxes.”
    â€œDid you notice anything different?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œSo you brought me down here because you wanted me to see this boat offloading big wooden crates at night.”
    â€œAnd because I’m scared,” he said. “They saw me. They know I saw them. They had machine guns.”
    â€œBut they didn’t show up tonight,” I said. “So maybe whatever they were doing, they’re finished. Maybe they’re gone, and you won’t have to worry about them anymore.”
    Larry looked down at the table and shook his head. “Yeah, maybe I overreacted. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve bothered you. Maybe it’s nothing.”
    â€œNo,” I said, “it’s something. Of course it’s something.”
    â€œI keep thinking I should tell somebody,” said Larry. “Except if I do, they’ll know who told. Me. The guy they caught in their searchlight. They had guns, Brady.”
    I took a sip of wine, blinked away the rush of tears in my eyes, took another sip, then said, “You called me, and here I am. So what do you want me to do?”
    He looked up at me and shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    â€œWe’ve got to report it.”
    He shook his head. “Not me, man. I’m staying out of it.”
    â€œYou want me to handle it. That your idea?”
    â€œYou’re a lawyer.”
    â€œMeaning, you’re my client, whatever you tell me is privileged. Right?”
    â€œThat’s what I was thinking,” he said. “Yes. I mean, you can report what I told you. Just leave me out of it.”
    I smiled. “Okay, so let’s see. I go to, say, the Coast Guard station here in Menemsha, and I say, ‘I’m a lawyer, and this client of mine, he saw this big boat come into the pond, and there were men with guns, and they were offloading some big wooden crates.’ What do you think the Coast Guard people would say to me?”
    Larry nodded. “First thing they’d say, I guess, would be, Who is this client? What you’re telling us, it’s nothing but hearsay. Get your client in here so we can cross-examine him and get the story firsthand.” He reached across the table and put his hand on my wrist. “See, Brady? That’s why I wanted to show it to you. So you could see it for yourself. So it wouldn’t be secondhand.”
    â€œRelieve you of all responsibility, huh?”
    He nodded. “You put it that way, yeah, I guess so. So I’m telling you, you can’t mention me. If I tell you not to tell anybody where you heard what you heard, that’s what you’ve gotta do, right?”
    I nodded. “If you insist, yes. You’re my client. Whatever you tell me is privileged.”
    â€œI didn’t move down here to get involved,” Larry said. “All I want is to be left alone.”
    â€œIf you really felt that way,” I said, “you wouldn’t have dragged me down here. You think you’ve seen something