A large fluorescent strip light hung over the table and a rack of power tools stood beside it. A chest-high metal filing cabinet with eight thin drawers took up one corner and Rick slid open a drawer and took out a stack of charts. He spread them out on the table. “Okay,” he said. “I made this run two, three years ago. You’re bucking current on the way down, and probably wind, if there is any. This time of year the weather can turn on you pretty quick, too. And if you don’t pick him up before dark, you’re kinda screwed.” “You won’t pick him up by dark even if you got Joshua stopping the sun for you,” Deacon said, leaning in to look at the chart. “That’s a big ocean out there, buddy, and a mighty small boat.” “I’ll find him,” I said. “We know where he’s headed,” Nicky objected. “He’s going to Haiti. He’s on a straight line between here and Haiti.” Deacon shook his head. “Even if he stays on it, that straight line can be ten, twenty miles wide.
