Free H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy by H.J. Gaudreau

the time Eddie reached the car Fred had the trunk open. Eddie grabbed a Thompson submachine gun and ran back to the river’s edge. Too late, the big boat was too far away. Eddie was furious. Swearing, he ran back to the car yelling, “The Wyandotte boathouse! I’m gonna kill him! I swear I’m gonna kill him.”
    When Fred’s confusion showed Eddie shoved the machine gun in his gut and yelled, “MOVE! Now, you fool!” Fred suddenly understood the urgency of his boss’ demand and ran to the driver’s door. Spraying gravel and dirt, the Packard shot up the hill, bounced over the curb and rocketed out of the side street onto Jefferson.
    Fred dodged traffic and ignored traffic signals. Cops walking the beat blew whistles but no one gave chase. In twenty minutes they swung into a small riverside lot next to a large warehouse. Both Fred and Eddie ran from the car to a ramshackle boathouse standing some twenty yards to the south of the warehouse. Five minutes later a Gar Wood Runabout Model 30 launched from the boathouse.
    Eddie turned south. He pushed the throttle as far forward as it would go. The little boat instantly began to skim across the water, the occasional wave nearly bouncing the two men overboard. He shot between Grosse Ile and Stoney Island and searched for his target. He tried to decide if the boat was south or north of him; he wasn’t sure so he kept racing south. After ten minutes he thought he saw the big cruiser in the distance. He pointed, told Fred to get his Thompson ready and adjusted his course a bit to the east.
    Dolly spotted the small speedster just as she turned east into the lake. It was coming fast and she knew; she knew deep in her heart that it was the Purples. They weren’t going to let her get away. People like her never got away. Her father had died when their one horse had kicked him in the head. Try as he might he’d never been able to get off that damned, broken down, good for nothing farm. He was even buried there.
    There really was no fighting it. She wasn’t going to get away from her hopeless life either. She screamed, she cried, she pushed the throttle forward so hard the metal bent and her hand and arm ached. Still the little runabout was catching her. She edged closer to the Canadian shore. The road map showed a small inlet to an area called Big Creek. If she could get in there she might have a chance, it would be dark soon. Maybe she could hide the boat in the cattails and bulrush.
    The runabout was closer, the daylight was fading, she thought she saw the inlet and turned toward it. The Chris-Craft sped toward the narrow gap. Suddenly a loud bang, the boat slammed to a stop and Dolly was thrown forward onto the dash. It took a moment to clear her head and then to her horror she realized she’d missed the inlet, she’d hit a rock. She could hear water flooding into the front of the boat. The little runabout was fast approaching. The shore was just a hundred yards away, maybe she could swim for it.
    Dolly ran forward and jumped into the cold water. A second later she shook off the cold and started swimming. It was a valiant attempt, but it wasn’t going to succeed. The men in the boat saw her. They followed her, staying just ten yards away, not saying anything. It didn’t take long. Exhausted she began to tread water, then she floated and tried to rest. The runabout idled closer. Eddie was a little surprised the thief was a woman, but business was business. Fred stood, took careful aim and fired the Thompson. Dolly’s body slowly sank to the bottom.
     

 
    Chapter 17
     
    Jim balanced on the top step of the ladder. “Hold tight,” he called to Eve. Then, arms outstretched hard against the wall he balanced on one foot and lowered the other to the next step of the ladder. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. The still heat of the building was oppressive. Some light leaked through the blacked-out windows, but it wasn’t enough to see anything more than vague shadows. He