Scalfoni came up and climbed into the cockpit. His greasy skin shone in the dim light. “I got the bombs,” he said. “Gee! I’m sure goin’ to get a kick when they go bang.”
Fenner took off his hat and scratched his head. “These other guys’ve got bombs too,” he said. “They threw one at me about an hour ago.”
Scalfoni’s jaw dropped. “Did it go off?” he asked.
Fenner looked at him and nodded. “Sure, it wrecked a house. I’m hoping you’ve made a good job with your home-made bangs. We might need them.”
Scalfoni said, “Jeeze!” and went away to have another look at his bag.
It didn’t take much longer than fifteen minutes before Fenner spotted distant lights. He pointed them out to Kemerinski, who nodded and said, “Black Caesar.”
Fenner stretched and climbed out of the cockpit. He walked over to the other three who were sitting on the foredeck, watching the lights. “Let’s get this right,” he said. “We’ve come here to put Carlos’s boats out of action. We’ve got to do this quick and with the least trouble. Scalfoni, you carry the bombs. Schaife and me will have the Thompsons, and Alex will cover us with his rod. Kemerinski will stay with the boat. Okay?”
They grunted.
As the boat ran into the small natural harbor, Schaife unslung the two Thompsons and passed one to Fenner. Scalfoni came up from the cabin, a black bag in his hand. “Don’t you guys crowd me,” he said. “These pineapples are touchy things.”
They all laughed.