We are shoved down a dark hall filled with rope and other boat junk toward a door that opens into a large garage. There’s a flickering neon tube in the ceiling, and I can see the place is a workshop. There are a couple of outboard engines on sawhorses, and the smell of grease and oil is thick and heavy. At the other end of the shop is a big sliding door that could be used to haul in boats on trailers. The sound of the idling inboard gets louder as we are shoved toward that big door. I can see another man standing in the shadows motioning for our escorts to hurry. He’s gone before we get outside. I didn’t notice much in the brief look I got beside white shorts, green silk shirt, deck shoes, and a dark complexion. Apparently it’s been raining while we were locked up in our little cell. There
