Detective Wolf and the Flatwoods Fighter

Wolf cursed at himself for letting the sailor be killed, and for not stopping the culprit when he should have, but knew there was no time to waste. Thinking quickly he grabbed a rib from the catfish carcass and jabbed it into the underside of the yacht with all his adrenaline fueled strength. A smile creased his face as he felt it plunge through the metal. He figured the sailor, from his carelessness with the speargun, would also be carelessness enough to not take care of the boat, and as a result it was leaking. Faintly sure but a leak was a leak. Struggling to breathe, Wolf forced himself onto the side of the speeding yacht. Hot wind ripped past his face so quickly it was almost painful. He was facing the yacht now, While he could not see the full body of the culprit he could see, that they were wearing a rather thick black jacket, and had a side holster underneath. As it was the middle of summer, it defied reason to the average policemen if they were in his shoes, but in the corner of his mind Wolf could not help but think of a reason. This person was aware of who he was, and did not want him specifically to recognize them. Much like the murder they disguised as a suicide, their efforts to lead others off the trail led him straight to the path he was on now. If Wolf was religious he would have considered it fate, but he was a man who made his own fate, and right now he was deciding what that would be. He could jump inside boat and try to wrestle them to the ground, but that could only lead in a crash. he could alert them to his presence, forcing them to stop, but almost ensuring they would try to kill him, or he could try to sneak in and knock them out in one quick motion with the catfish rib. He was somewhat fond of the martial art: Eskrima, a martial art focused almost entirely on melee weapons and the brutal damage one could inflict with them.