From "General Slocum's Gold":

It's gotten darker outside. The moon has sunk behind the island's tree line. The same conditions that shield us from being seen are keeping the light out. I see a bit of starlight and city glow reflecting in the water lapping at the side of the boat, and I can just make out the island's shore, but that's it. I don't like this. Maybe we aren't alone on North Brother Island after all. Maybe Whitey didn't do his homework. With Rikers nearby and the Coast Guard on patrol and the whole goddamn criminal underworld trying to get what we've got, I don't like this at all.

Grease and Al take the flashlight from Whitey and walk toward the back of the boat. When they return, Al says, "The rowboat's gone."

Whitey walks up to him, gets right in his face. "What?"

"The ropes broke," Grease says, chewing his toothpick nervously.

"It must've fallen into the water and drifted away," Al says.

Whitey grabs the flashlight from him and walks to the side of the ship. "It didn't fucking drift away." He starts climbing down the side ladder.

"What the hell are you doing, Whitey?" Al shouts after him. "Let's just set sail!"

"Someone's here," Whitey calls back. He drops into the water and starts wading toward shore, shining the flashlight in front of him. "I don't like being fucked with, and I don't like witnesses. We're marked men if anyone knows what we've got."

"Whitey, come on!" Al shouts.

Whitey's legs splash angrily through the water. "Get your asses down here and help me find these motherfuckers!"

The rest of us climb down the ladder into the water.

"This is fucked," Grease says. "We've got the gold, we should just get the hell out of here."

He looks at me to see if I'm on his side, but I don't answer. Whitey calls the shots, and if he wants to make sure we're in the clear before leaving, then that's what we'll do. Wading toward the island, I keep my eyes open for any movement. The strange hum in the water is back, reverberating through me. It's stronger now. I can feel it in my teeth.

By the time I trudge wet and dripping onto shore, Whitey is aiming the flashlight into the trees. "Sackett, can you see anything in there?" he asks.

"Nothing. Maybe we should get back to the boat, huh?" I feel anxious, like the buzzing from the water is still inside me. I want to be away from here.

Whitey doesn't speak. He looks around, his jaw set tight.

"The ropes broke and the rowboat drifted away," Al says, wringing water from the legs of his slacks. "That's all it was, Whitey."

Whitey shakes his head. "We're not alone here. I can feel it."

"This place is deserted," Al insists. "You said so yourself. "

Whitey stares into the woods. "Every inch of me feels it."

"Let's just get the hell out of here," Grease says again, chewing his toothpick. He wades back into the water toward the ship.

"Not until I know what's going on," Whitey says.

Grease turns to face us, the water up to his thighs. "Fuck it, Whitey. We'll be safer on the boat anyway."

It's too dark for me to see what rises out of the water behind Grease. It looks like a shadow in the shape of a man, but it doesn't make a sound. It wraps its arms around Grease, and they both fall back into the water with a splash.

Whitey whips the flashlight around too late. It's all over, there's only empty air where Grease stood. The water churns briefly, then stops.

"The fuck was that?" Burns whispers.

I grab the flashlight out of Whitey's hand. I inch toward the water, holding the light parallel to my gun. I scan the water but can't see a thing. The surface is calm and dark, like polished metal. "Grease?"

Whitey breathes hard next to me, shaking his head. "I told you, man. I told you. Someone's here."

The flashlight's beam moves over the water. "Grease?" I call again. Something small and white floats toward me, bobbing on the surface. I stoop to pick it up and hold it in the light.

Grease's toothpick.

In the distance, they rise out of the East River, still as statues. Dozens of them. Everywhere I look, heads and shoulders emerge from the water. I point the flashlight, but darkness eats the light before it reaches them.