Schoenberg cautiously approached the marina, shotgun raised against any potential threats. Inwardly he groaned. Most of the slips seemed to have been vacated, and what few boats were left had obviously been worked over pretty danged good. "Oy gevalt," he complained aloud. "This whole place is ferkockt." 

He made a slow advance towards the nearest boat, a 24-footer with a prow crumpled against the pier. It seemed a miracle that it hadn't been holed below the waterline and sank. While Schoenberg was pretty sure whatever gonif had come before had taken any food, water, or weapons to be found aboard the cruiser, there would be plenty left. A craft man could certainly find some use for, say, a bit of wire or a plastic bag. Back in the service, they'd have to knock together stuff just from whatever they found out in the middle of the damned desert, using skills MacGyver would've envied. A bit of wire or a plastic bag would've been a blessing.

He leaned out and gave the deck of the boat a nudge with his foot. Seemed steady enough. Cautiously, the old man stepped across the gap, onto the deck. He winced at the sudden lurch as the boat rocked into the water. "Be careful, you stupid old momzer," he scolded himself.

It must have been just enough noise.

David heard it before he saw it. The chazzers always made that rasping moan when they were on the scent, enough tummel to warn anybody. David looked back to the relative safety of the pier, but he could tell from the sound it was just one of the things. No sense abandoning the floating wreck and anything that might be on it for just one. He stepped forwards cautiously, sweat pouring from his forehead. Damn this heat.

There it was, seated in the sumptous leather pilot's chair. The chazzers weren't smart enough to undo seatbelts, so all this one could do was reach and moan. Not likely to get up. David looked over the graying corpse, saw the bandage wrapped tightly around the arm. No wonder the boat had crashed. Chazzers couldn't drive from nothing. 

It moaned some more, and David was satisfied it was restrained. Sighing, he shrugged off his backpack, reversed his grip on the shotgun. The butt was walnut, heavy and hard. He had done this a couple times before, back in Egypt. "Sorry, buddy," he said as he took a couple deep breaths. "But if you're gonna sit there like that, not much point on wasting a shell, nu?"

They had taught him to aim for the temple whenever practical, so he did, making sure to lean back away from the arms as he did so. Once, twice, three times, a fourth for good measure. When David was done, it was like someone had dropped a watermelon off the roof. He panted, leaned a hand on the dash, tried to catch his breath. "I think I need a minute here."