***
About an hour before noon, the Gangrene transformed itself from a libraryesque atmosphere of scholarly dullness into a lively and colorful festival of swimming, barbequing and drinking. A mix of dance music and rock classics pumped through stereo speakers located at the corners of each exterior level, prompting spontaneous sing-a-longs and dancing in and around the pool and hot tubs. It was a gorgeous day to be out in the warm temperature, enjoying the mild breeze generated by the steady pace of the ship as it passed into the equatorial zone. A school of dolphins made an appearance as food and provided most of an hour's worth of oceangoing amusement for those gathered at the handrails.
I had manned the shooting range since midday, scattering birdshot out over the ocean in unison with the waves. Keeping my pate well protected from the scalding sun under a generous Panama straw, I cheerfully taught curious novices the finer points of handling a shotgun. More than a few moments of anxiety arose during the slaying of so many clay pigeons, the most heartfelt being my infrequent glimpses of Angel sunning herself next to the pool. She was a stunning spectacle to behold, alluringly more desirable when untouchable and placed at a distance. The pale pink Gauze String Bikini worked much to her favor, allowing the maximum amount of her physical beauty to shine while retaining the minimum amount of modesty required by public etiquette. I knew for certain, through the tinted lenses of my Ray-Ban Wayfarers, she was returning my look of fondness behind her Osaka Tortoise Vera Wang Runways. It was one more connection, albeit minor and product-driven, serving as a foundation block in our budding soulmate relationship.
Of less interest, I was alarmed to discover my pigment covered skin contained the amazing ability to change colors. Noting when I stood in close proximity to the pool water, within minutes my upper torso, arms and face became an appealing shade of soft aqua blue. Further evidence of this fascinating phenomena presented itself upon completing a session of shooting. After the stock of the gun had rested against my face and shoulder, I acquired an unmistakable -- and yet not unpleasant -- wood grain appearance. The majority of my time, however, was spent as a manifestation of the lime-green diamond pattern found in the all-weather carpeting and bunting covering the forward deck. Naturally, my chameleonic state only added to my burgeoning reputation as a dexterous magician to the guests witnessing my ever-evolving mien.
I was, dare I say, the center of attention until Bridgework arrived with his heavily-populated entourage, the two flash drives glinting in the sun at an angle across his lobster-red, gray-haired chest. His group, even when garbed in brightly colored Speedo swimsuits, promoted their unique brand of intimidation.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Flubbs, full of tricks. Or full of something else." Bridgework, with Ethelene present, allowed April Après -- her regalia consisting of a brilliant red string bikini fabricated primarily out of red string -- to drape from the crook of his arm.
"Actually, it's Mr. Burnisher, Way Way," April offered in her sugar squeaky voice. "He's just a different color now."
"How do you do today?" I held a shotgun across my chest, the barrel for now safely pointed out to sea.
"We missed you last night, Mr. Burnisher." Bridgework's tone was more than a forceful inquiry. It was downright threatening. As he spoke, I noticed Angel sitting up in her chair and adjusting the towel behind her head. "Looked all over the ship for you, we did."
I chuckled. "Darned nice of you, I must say. I was feeling a bit poorly, actually. Voluntarily put myself on the binnacle list."
"How odd. We visited sick bay several times thinking you might be there."
"I thought I might be contagious," I replied, sidestepping his observation and downshifting my response a gear, "and opted to ride it out in the aft side lifeboat. Better there alone than spreading misery to the guests and crew."
"Gee, that's a great hiding spot!" April blurted. "You never checked there."
Bridgework flashed her an unappreciative sideways glance. "If you were that sick, Burnisher, you should have summoned the captain."
"My error. It shan't happen again."
He moved to a perspiration-inducing uncomfortable proximity. "You are very familiar. I can't quite place you, but when I do," he backed off a bit, the flash drives begging to be snared from his neck, "you'll be dealt with appropriately enough."
"I apologize if my act disappointed the Gangrene."
"I'm not sure everyone's been let down by your performance," Bridgework looked over at Angel as she ruffled the pages of her magazine, pretending to ignore the encounter taking place, "wherever you've been waving your magic wand."
Quelling a rise of bravado, I allowed a slight smirk to emerge.
"I do hope you consider yourself a strong swimmer, Burnisher. You'd do well to familiarize yourself with the prevailing ocean currents."
Baril de Singes [Barrel of Monkeys] Page 20
