“I dunno,” Jabowski said fearfully. “They’re gaining.”
“We’ll make the island,” Frisk repeated with more confidence. “The Dawson Street bridge is just ahead. Once past there, we’ll be hidden from view. We’ll slip behind the island into the tunnel. You left Manheim’s boat tied to the wharf?”
“Sure, just as you ordered.”
“Good. If the cops come by and check they’ll find the motor cold. You can claim you haven’t been away from the island all night.”
“They’ll question me. I’m not willing to take the rap while the rest of you get away.”
“The cops can’t prove a thing once we make the tunnel,” Fagan growled. “This is our last haul in this area. You’ll get your share and we pull out to a safer spot.”
“We pull out all right,” Jabowski muttered. “After tonight I’m through. I never should have dragged poor Jacques into this mess—he tried to run away—”
The caretaker glanced briefly at his nephew, huddled in the stern of the boat. Jacques gave no sign he had heard.
“If the cops overtake us—” Jabowski whined.
“Oh, pipe down,” Frisk said irritably. “We’re coming to the bridge now. We’re safe!”