Private Eye: 11

‘Thunder’ behind the wheel and ‘Reaper’, Eugene and Murphy ridin’ shotgun, headin’ back to the dock on Otten’s Bay. Just as they near the Jersey Shore, ‘Thunder’ eases up on the throttle. “Looks like we got some trouble brewin’ up ahead. There’s a strange boat lurkin’ ’round the bay entrance. I’ll grab my telescope for a closer look. I reckon I recognize some faces from the newspapers. I’d say their names but that might bring bad luck. It’s that damn Purple Gang. Known for raidin’ boats haulin’ back from Rum Row. Seems like they’ve spotted us and are givin’ chase. Hold tight, folks. We’re makin’ a full-speed dash out to sea. Let’s see what kinda boat they got.”

The pursuit went on for ’bout half an hour, but ‘Thunder’ couldn’t shake off the other boat. As it draws closer, shots ring out, aimed at our lead vessel. Eugene and Murphy fire back. ‘Thunder’ tells ‘Reaper’, “Take the wheel and start zig-zaggin’, so they can’t line up a clear shot. I gotta fetch somethin’ from below deck.”

“Don’t dawdle too long. These fellas ain’t actin’ too friendly.”

‘Thunder’ returns topside, brandishin’ a Thompson sub-machine gun. “Seems like these jokers think they’re dealin’ with a buncha rookies. Make some room for me at the rear. Give ’em a taste of their own medicine.”

Both boats speedin’ along, ridin’ low at the stern and high at the bow. ‘Thunder’ unleashes a barrage of bullets towards the approachin’ boat’s bow. “They’ll be takin’ on water real soon. That oughta slow ’em down.”

True to prediction, the boat begins to slow, and its passengers are spotted scramblin’ to bail out water. A chorus of curses fills the air.

‘Thunder’ steers his boat around and heads back towards the Jersey shore.