Ken leaped forward too, only a fraction of a second behind him. He chopped at the hand that held the gun just as Sandy’s shoulder made contact.
The gun flew wide over the side of the barge. Barrack almost followed it, under the impact of two hundred pounds of well-conditioned muscle.
Almost before Barrack landed heavily against the bulwark, the boys had spun around and were tearing across the deck toward the ladder. The man named Cal emerged through the cabin doorway just as they charged past. He never had a chance to stop them. He hadn’t even raised his fist when Ken struck him a glancing blow that threw him backward.
The boys didn’t attempt to find the actual location of the ladder in the darkness. They vaulted straight over the bulwark, side by side, and landed on the concrete pier six feet below with bone-jarring thuds.
But both of them were on their feet an instant later and pounding toward the street, the shouts behind them echoing in their ears.
They reached the opening in the fence just as they heard the engine of Barrack’s car roar into life.
Ken glanced briefly back over his shoulder. Barrack had parked the car with its nose pointed toward the barge. He would have to back up and swing around.
Sandy was glancing quickly up and down the dark deserted street.
“There’s a diner down there!” he panted. The glow of neon lighting he was pointing to was at least three blocks away, but it seemed to be the only haven in sight.
They had covered less than a block when Barrack’s car emerged from the pier. It paused there briefly. The driver was apparently looking to see which way they had gone. And then, apparently, he sighted them. The car swung in their direction, its tires screaming.