Daniel offered him a hand, and the kid danced from gunwale to gunwale like a leaf blown into our stern. Safely landed, he glanced back at Rivera for approval.

She pumped a fist, encouraging the other Macys to do likewise. “Vamos al estadio!” She held Jandi’s gaze as the taxi veered away.

Daniel offered the boy a corner of the canopy. “Bienvenido a bordo, chico. Vas a ayudar a mi hoy?”

“Sí!” The boy moved to help, shy but certain. I admired his poise.

Rousseau climbed down the ladder to hurry the loading and convene a last-minute planning session in Zephyr’s stern. We would convoy, all craft staying as close as safety would allow, but the route was still under debate.

Tito advised open water. “Sure, more wind, but it’s with us, and a lot less chance of a wave smacking you into a building.”

Will agreed. “The others did fine going right up the river.”

Jake kept shaking his head. “Weather’s worse now. We’re safer with some wind shelter. Less worry of being blown out to sea.”

“And buildings offer something to swim to if anyone gets swamped,” Maxine added, “or cover if attacked.”

First Avenue won in the end, at least until it dead-ended in the Bay of South Bronx.

Tom Doyle avoided the conference until he’d come up with a way to save at least some degree of face. After a bout of grumbling and stalking about, letting the wind whip his long coat flaps aside to expose his double shoulder holsters, he motored over to Zephyr. “Here’s the deal. I got a few olders who aren’t up to a hand-to-hand, so if you’ll find room for them, me and my patrol crews will ride security as far up as 96th. Then we’ll head home to brave the Big One.”

“That’ll be good,” Rousseau said mildly. “Thanks.”

The others let him do the talking. As it turned out, nearly a third of Tall Tommy had no stomach for an ambush or for riding out the storm in their glass-sided East Chelsea den. Some had been helping with the raft-building. Others arrived in small craft as the convoy was lining up, and seating adjustments in the taxis had to be made.

“Y’know,” I told Daniel as we watched boats and rafts jockeying for position, “there are good reasons ships put out to sea when a hurricane’s due. But a canal boat like Melville . . . best in calm water, right?”

“Wait till you see how she handles in the open.” Daniel had a genius for looking smug without making you feel stupid. “She’s had a few . . . modifications.”

I tilted my head up at him. “Anything in your life that hasn’t?”

“Like you said: criticize and improve.”

“So, open water’s where we’re heading?”

He nodded at Jandi, who’d settled himself by the tiller. “Got our goodbyes to make. We’ll catch up afterward.”