Neon Cop's Arc

Chapter 8 of 10

Parker's skiff dropped Neon Cop at the far dock and pulled away. The two watchers still guarded the road. To follow them back to Bander, he needed to see them without being seen. Every open spot near the harbor faced their car. He crouched behind a stack of crates and searched the shoreline. He needed a window, high and hidden, with a clear view of the docks. One shack sat above the waterline, its porch sagging over the pilings. Smoke curled from a rusted pipe. Someone lived there. Neon Cop climbed the back stairs and knocked low. The door opened a crack. An old man filled it, white beard down his chest, a blue cap pushed back on his head. He looked Neon Cop over with one eye half shut. "You're the cop who lost his uniform," he said. "Grimsby. I ran these docks forty years. I know every man out there. And I know you're not one of Bander's." "I need your window," Neon Cop said. "Just the view. An hour, maybe two." Grimsby glanced past him at the car by the harbor office. His mouth tightened. "Bander turned my marina into his shipping lane. Charges honest men to dock where they've moored for years." He stepped back and swung the door wide. "Take the loft. Best sightline on the water." The loft window looked straight down on the docks. Neon Cop knelt at the sill. The two men leaned against their car, watching the road he never used. He waited. Grimsby brought him black coffee and said nothing. An hour passed. A phone rang in the lot below. One watcher answered, listened, then waved to the other. They climbed into the car. Neon Cop pressed close to the glass and read the moment they turned. The car pulled out slow, heading inland, away from the water. "They're moving," he said. Grimsby came to the window. "That road bends up the cliff. Only one place it leads with docks Bander cares about." He tapped the glass. "The old fuel wharf, north end. He keeps it locked. No fishermen allowed." Neon Cop watched the car shrink up the hill. He had his trail now, and a name for the end of it. He turned from the window. "You just handed me Bander." "I handed you a wharf," Grimsby said. "What you do there is your business." He walked Neon Cop to the stairs. "Go careful. Men who cross him don't dock here again." Neon Cop went down the back stairs and along the shore. The watchers were gone from the road. His family stayed hidden behind him. Ahead, up the cliff road, sat the fuel wharf where Bander ran his operation. For six weeks he had chased papers and shadows. Now he knew the ground. He started walking toward the cliff.