Chapter 18 Party Ken

The sun beat down on the East River like a sledgehammer, sweat dripped down Ken's face. Captain Ken Conner, known as Party Ken, steered his ramshackle party boat into the shady lee of Wards Island, separating Manhattan, the Bronx, and Queens.

Half a dozen other boats idled in the distance, their crews silently casting lines. It was a hot summer day and everyone was hoping to catch something.

Ken was at the helm with Old Man Watkins at his side, dressed as a Statue of Liberty impersonator, ready to start the day's work - as they did every day.

"Watkins, start the music and collect the fares," Ken said.

"We have Japanese businessmen on board today. They don't speak a word of English, so let's try and squeeze a few extra dollars out of them."

"Aye aye, Captain," said Watkins.

He punched play on the battered CD player, and the cackling speakers kicked into gear with the opening bars of Frank Sinatra's 'New York, New York."

Ken grabbed his microphone and addressed the passengers, while the boat chugged along the East River.

"Smart money's on a good haul today, get your rods and wallets ready."

The Japanese businessmen looked confused, listening to Ken's garbled English.

Working off hangovers from a night of drinking too much sake, they started dipping into the beer cooler.

Most were dressed in overpriced tourist knockoffs with American flags and Mickey Mouse hats.

Old man Watkins walked across the deck tipping his overflowing bucket of chum over the side, hat in hand, ready to take payments.

Frank Sinatra's distinctive voice filled the boat. It was just another day on Ken's party boat, where Ken's permit could only afford him the less glamorous sights of New York.

"To the left of us, you can see the Wards Island Sewage Treatment Plant. It treats sewage for over 1 million people in Manhattan and the Bronx.

The plant uses a variety of treatment methods to remove pollutants from the wastewater. So don't eat the fish if you catch any. Heck, you can't understand a word I say anyway."

A prominent big Dollar Japanese businessman with the full garb of I love New York tipped a wedge of notes in old man Watkins's hat.

"Statue of Liberty come?"

Old man Watkins had a twinkle in his eye.

"Statue of Liberty come later."

The Japanese man nodded, adding more notes, as the song "New York, New York" got stuck on an infinite loop.

Noticing the undulating water growing in tension. Ken rapped on the wall of his wheelhouse, trying to get the microphone to work.

The old piece of kit was starting to show its age, and the feedback squealed through the speakers every time he spoke.

"Current's running strong by the plant outflow. Should have the fish pooling in this eddy," he said, wincing as the feedback squealed again.

"Rods in the water, try not to scare 'em off before we can reel 'em in."

A shout from Ken's boat cut the banter short. All Japanese eyes followed past the sewage plant, taken aback by the strange sight - a dark shape rippling toward them.

The Japanese tourists fell silent in bewilderment as a conning tower knifed skyward. The once tranquil river became a turbulent vortex as the machine emerged from its hidden realm beneath the depths

At that moment, all thoughts of leisurely sport vanished. Unnoticed eyes were now on them. Ken grabbed his binoculars from his overstuffed draw-case to get a better look.

He handed the binoculars to old man Watkins, who now joined him in the wheelhouse.

"What the hell, a submarine? Submarines don't come through the East River"

"She's flying no flag I recognise. And she's heading this way, fast. Best we give her a wide berth, Ken," Watkins said.

"Watkins there is no time."

The boat rocked violently in the submarine's wake, the tourists clung to the railing for dear life.

Before Ken could swing his boat around, the scuttle hatch at the top of the submarine screeched open, as dark figures filed onto the transfer ramp.

Moving like gazelles dressed in black Maritime Operational Combat Dress Uniforms, they leaped the gunwales of Ken's boat.

"Ah, this is American entertainment, like Hollywood action movies," one tourist said in Japanese.

"Yes, we are on a movie set," the big-dollar tourist said. He started clapping and snapping pictures with his phone.

The other tourists followed suit, clapping and snapping pictures of the 'Bloodies' as if they were actors in a blockbuster film. The submarine's hatch closed and it submerged, leaving no trace of its presence.

Ken and Watkins looked at each other in disbelief. They knew this was no movie set. These were real adversaries, and they were on their boat. There would be no safe passage or catch for these tourists on board today.

Asp stepped forward with a Maxim 9 pistol. "Sayonara, baby."

Aiming fire the 'Bloodies' decimated the party square in the foreheads with silenced pistols with uncanny precision.

Old man Watkins had no chance, he was hit plumb on the chops, as a bullet smashed through the glass of the wheelhouse.

Party Ken ducked just in time, shaking on the wooden floor.

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In the aftermath of lives extinguished, the boat's party ambiance had been shattered by the outburst of ruthless aggression.

Asp and Dante surveyed the dead eyes over the creaking planks.

"Sayonara baby? "Dante remarked, grabbing a beer from the beer cooler.

"I wanted to say Hasta la vista, baby., but I got stage fright" Asp laughed.

"Now, search the boat for loose ends."

The 'Bloodies' fanned out across the boat, their silenced pistols drawn.

They stepped over the bodies of the tourists they had just killed and checked the galley and the toilet, but the boat was empty.

Dante ascended the steps to the wheelhouse where Ken was waiting with a flare gun held in his hand. Dante opened the door and stepped inside. Ken fired, but the shot went wide, whizzing past Dante's head.

Ken's portable speaker was splattered with Frank Sinatra's music, ending his infinite time loop.

Dante smiled. "I'm afraid Frank Sinatra's time has come."

He grabbed Ken's wrist with his steely grip and twisted it with such force that Ken felt like his wrist was going to snap.

Ken raised the flare gun again, but Dante was too quick for him.

He then punched Ken in the face and Ken crumpled to the floor beside Old Man Watkins.

Bruised and bloody. Dante stood over him, his gun pointed at Ken's head.

"Spare me," Ken begged. "I will do anything you want."

"This could be your lucky day, we could use a boat captain."

Dante grabbed Ken by the arm and dragged him out of the wheelhouse.

"Let's go," he said. "We've got work to do."

Ken stumbled in front of Dante. Ken could feel the cold metal of Dante's gun pressed against his back.

They emerged onto the deck, where Asp and the 'Bloodies' were waiting. They all turned to look at Dante.

"I have found a loose straggler," Dante said.

Dante shoved Ken towards Asp, who took in his white t-shirt that said Captain Ken's party boat.

"Captain Ken, get on your knees. If you follow my instructions, you will live."

Asp pressed the steel barrel of the pistol against Ken's forehead.

"You will take us to the Chelsea Piers. We will be your boat party. You will take us past the Coast Guard. If any of these steps are unsuccessful, I will slaughter everyone you have ever loved."

Ken swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Hey, this is my party boat. You're my guests. This is what I do."

Asp removed the gun from Ken's forehead. "Then go and do it."

Asp's tall, muscular frame confronted the 'Bloodies' with predatory undertones.

"Strip the tourists and throw them over the side like fish bait. Today we will be Japanese tourists."

"What about the old Statue of Liberty up there in the wheelhouse?" Dante asked.

"Well, you know Dante, if the hat fits, you look about the right fit."

"Why do I always get the rough end of the deal, Asp?"

"Enough horseplay, go and get him," Asp ordered.

Dante went back up to the wheelhouse where Ken was turning the boat around.

"Me again," Dante said waving his pistol at Captain Ken, hauling old man Watkins bobbling head down the stairs like a sack of potatoes.

From Ken’s point of view high up in the wheelhouse, he gaped in horror at the disconcerting spectacle, unfolding upon the waters of the East River.

The forgotten souls of his former tourists, once eager to explore this vibrant city, now met the terrifying fate as their lifeless bodies were discarded over the side of a boat, with Old man Watkins - going in last.

Captain Ken set his course for Chelsea Piers with a new boat party of killers aboard, dressed in Disney and New York attire. The journey passed uneventfully.

They pretended to fish and waved at other fishing boats, playing the part of jovial naive tourists.

Captain Ken kept his eyes on the horizon, sweating profusely. Dante, dressed outlandishly as the Statue of Liberty, kept him company.

"Don't even think of touching the VHF radio to call the Coast Guard," Dante said, pointing his gun, and tucking into a tin of sardines.

Chelsea Piers's colossal steel and concrete structure dominated the landscape as they were about to pull in.

Ships and boats of all sizes, from small pleasure craft to massive cruise liners, were docked there.

The skyscrapers of Manhattan loomed in the distance. against a vivid sky ablaze with fiery hues from the sun's mirage.

"Everyone conceal your weapons, we are about to go," Asp said.

The boat made its approach to Pier 62 at Chelsea Piers, ready for the 'Bloodies' to disembark. Ken came down from the wheelhouse.

"Coming in," Ken said, throwing a bowline knot onto the pier.

A burly dockworker with a thick New York accent caught the loop of rope and pulled it tight.

"Make sure it's tight, I don't want the boat to drift away," he said.

"Don't worry, I'll make it tight," Ken said, tying the rope off in a bowline knot.

He looked around the pier. It was a large, concrete pier with several cleats for tying up boats. His fishing boat was small, but it would fit snugly against the pier.

"Okay, where do you want me to put it?" Ken asked.

The dockworker pointed to a spot near the end of the pier. "Right there," he said.

Ken maneuvered the boat into place and tied it off. Asp checked his watch giving the go-ahead for the 'Bloodies' to go.

"Thank you, Captain, we've had an amazing time. The heat has been murderous out there. Here's a little token from all of us."

Asp said, handing Ken a bullet with "Party Ken" written in smudged blood.

Waving goodbye to Captain Ken, the 'Bloodies' disembarked and headed for the nearest tourist trap - dispersing into the crowd.

Ken motioned to the hefty dockworker as they started to walk away. "Untie me right now."

The dockworker shook his head in confusion.

"You got another boat party waiting for you?" He said, gesturing to the group of tourists walking up to the pier.

"I don't care. I quit."

The dockworker untied the boat, and Ken sailed away back to Manhattan as fast as he could.

Heading out of the East River, Images of old man Watkins's discombobulating floating body clouded his visions.

Red murals of Japanese blood from the decking were hosed down, he swigged a full bottle of Lamb's Navy rum, glad to be alive.

"Who were those strange men? And why did they choose my boat?" Ken thought, throwing the empty rum bottle into the polluted tide.