the smuggler’s bible

Ferdo

Dawn casts a glare on the water as Ferdo wades in with all his stuff bundled over his head. A mile or two, he thinks, just to throw the dogs off the scent. Maybe three if the current proves convenient to negotiate. Looking back, his worst mistake so far was paying up front for the johnboat. Missed a trick there.

His teeth chatter in the cold. Ferdo wishes he had a wetsuit. He wishes he had a reliable accomplice and a head start. He wishes most of all that he’d put the cash in something other than a paper bag.