A twin ferry was departing the Balboa Island dock, heading back across the Bay for the Peninsula, making room for them to dock. There were two ferries running this morning, alternating directions, plying their way back and forth
The young dockhand on the Judge’s ferry suddenly jumped up from his perch on the side rail near the bow, waving his hands frantically in the air. Screeching at the Captain to stop. The Judge turned to see what the commotion was about. The Captain reacted instinctively, slamming the boat into reverse, almost knocking the Judge over, stopping all forward progress, then jamming it into neutral, gears screeching in protest, idling the engine. The ferry rapidly drifted up bay with the inflowing tide, still fifty feet from shore. What the hell was this?
The young dockhand leaned over the low ramp that was the bow, arms disappearing into the water, screaming again over his shoulder. This time for help.
The Judge arrived first, leaning over the young man’s shoulder to see he had a death grip on something in the water. Shit! It looked like someone’s arm.
A single arm and hand protruding above the tide, held in place against the side of the boat by the young man. The balance of the person submerged. The Judge knelt down beside the crewman, thrusting his arms, jacket and all, into the cold green water. Feeling, then grabbing under another arm, hauling up with all his strength.
The body’s shoulder surfaced, clutched in the Judge’s hands, held against the side of the ferry. They held like that for ten seconds, the Judge trying to catch his breath. Then on the count of three, together they half hoisted, half dragged the body up out of the water and onto the low deck of the ferry. Soaking the remainder of the Judge’s sport coat.
They stood there for seconds just staring, the boat drifting more up channel with the tide, the grizzled old Captain abandoning the wheel house, rushing up to see.
“Son of a bitch,” muttered the Captain.
The young dockhand had turned a pasty white, his acne becoming pink blotches. He gave the Judge a stricken look, then made a dash for the lee side of the ferry where he retched up most of his breakfast.
The Judge looked at their catch. It was the body of a man. He wore a white dress shirt, grey slacks, soggy black shoes, heavily polished, no socks. A red silk tie with a yellow emblem in the middle hung around his neck. Loose. In danger of slipping away.
One thing was missing.
The man’s head.
