The FACEBOOK KILLER: Part 2

by M. L. Stewart

  We soon met our cleaner, “I Madu – Stateroom Steward – Indonesia,” he seemed polite enough, if a little limited in his grasp of the English language. It wasn’t long before he had informed us of his twelve starving children back home, his terminally ill parents and the fact that he relied on tips to survive. I decided that the flimsy safe in the cabin wasn’t the best place to leave the cash. Albert decided to go and find the Purser’s desk.

  “Tatjiana – Steakhouse Server – Russia” promptly informed Albert that they weren’t called pursers anymore, but Guest Services. She was one of a handful of flustered looking crew adorned with red “Just Ask” t-shirts. They should have printed on the back, “But don’t expect a polite answer.”

  Albert waited in line for over an hour. “Next in line!” came the cry. A young spotty boy was craning his neck over the desk. Albert approached him, Goran from Bosnia, and handed him the ship-card.

  “Forgive me,” Albert began, “but this is my first cruise and I’m not quite sure how things work. I was told that I have to use this card for all purchases. Is that correct?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “I can’t use cash?”

  “No Sir.”

  “But I can give you cash to put on this card?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “OK I’d like to do that.”

  ”OK Sir. How much would you like to put on the card?”

  “ One million two hundred thousand pounds please.”

  It took five minutes of speaking slowly, writing the figure down and clarifying that it wasn’t hundred, thousand or billion before Albert was taken into the “Chief Accountant from the Philippines” office to sort out the matter. After almost another hour of negotiations he returned to the cabin to take a nap. His ship-card looked and felt the same, it didn’t weigh any more, but it was fully loaded. He also had fifteen thousand dollars in cash.

  Albert lay down on the bed and had just closed his eyes when it came. The annoying English voice over the PA system above his head.

  “Good afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Debbie, your Cruise Director speaking from the navigational bridge. I’d like to wish you all a very warm welcome aboard the Carnival Glory for your three-day cruise to Cozumel, Mexico. In about fifteen minutes time there will be a mandatory safety briefing...”

  Somehow Albert managed to doze off, only to be woken by the shrill scream of what could only be described as an ear splitting “beep”, followed by another seven blood curdling “beeps”. It was at this point that “I Madu from Indonesia” burst in and ordered him to take make his way to deck four.

  Still half asleep, we were convinced that the ship had already begun to sink. Thousands of people were heading in the same direction. The corridors and stairs were lined with crewmembers in their life jackets, shouting directions, demanding to see our ship-card and pointing. We didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but believe me, after half an hour standing in that Miami heat wearing a latex mask, suffocated by another thousand passengers, we were ready to kill all of the crew, never mind just two.

  Chapter 17.

  It was well worth the ninety dollars. “Behind The Fun” is what they called the tour. We sat in the ship’s library for twenty minutes drinking orange juice and eating biscuits whilst listening to fellow passengers brag about how many cruises they had been on. After a quick security check by Albert from the Philippines we were on our way. The tour leader was an attractive young lady from Croatia who spoke with a distinct South African accent. So, stripped of any photographic equipment or potentially dangerous implements, we trooped off towards the main galley where, she informed us, they prepared over nine thousand meals a day. Boy, I could tell this was going to be riveting.

  The general idea of the tour was to take us behind the scenes of this gaudily decorated vessel, deep into the crew areas where we would normally not be allowed access. Our idea was a little more sinister. I knew as much about ships as I did about the space shuttle, I hoped this three-hour jaunt around the bowels of this giant steel monster might offer me some inspiration into how we could pick our last two apples.

  The huge stainless steel galley had plenty of opportunistic weapons but it would be virtually impossible to get in and out without being spotted. Something I noticed very early on was the fact that security cameras covered almost every square inch of the ship. However Ahmed and Meena were to meet their demise, one thing was for certain; it would have to be quick.

  Next stop was the photo laboratory, where an Indian managed bragged about the twenty thousand pictures that would be taken during the cruise, abruptly shutting up when quizzed how many would be thrown away at the end. The lab held nothing of interest to me. No means of death. Neither did the crew bar, the mess nor the outdoor smoking areas. Even the Bridge didn’t excite me. It was such a sterile, bright fluorescent environment that even an accident was nigh impossible to happen. The only thing I learned throughout the most boring three hours of my life was that the two apples would be making their salaries via tips only and I had learned early in life that money talks.

  *

  Word had definitely spread about our well-endowed ship card. That evening at dinner, the Maître d' plucked Albert out of the long queue waiting outside the dining room for their free food, and asked if he had any preference to seating arrangements. Albert informed him that he would like to dine alone but insisted that he be served by a waiter named Ahmed Rustam, as friends of his had cruised recently and told him what an outstanding waiter he was. The Maître d' ushered Albert past the waiting pigs and led him to a corner table for two. He then checked with a hostess on the main desk. Yes, Ahmed was on duty that night but he was assigned to work in another dining room but they would rearrange the roster so that he could attend to Albert in person. It would be their pleasure. Albert handed the Maître d' two thousand dollars, wrapped in a napkin.

  He was given a complimentary bottle of champagne, “From the Captain himself,” the Maître d' informed him. Albert wasn’t impressed. Two minutes later his personal waiter arrived, Ahmed.

  It was a surreal setting. I took a sharp mental step back. I felt the latex pressing on my cheek. Here I was in this Las Vegas-style dining room surrounded by a hundred or so monkeys trying their utmost to take our money. Smiling but with dead eyes. And here I was, about to be waited on by the bastard that helped kill my beautiful family. On this huge planet of ours, inhabited by billions, there were only two people who knew the truth about what that happened that night, almost a year ago, and one of them was standing here offering me a fucking menu.

  To be honest I can’t remember what we ordered to eat. It took me all of my strength to hold the rage back. This little fucker even looked like his cousin. Halfway through the champagne we managed to get back on track, back to business. We were professionals now, with a job to do, we couldn’t let emotions get in the way. Not yet.

  It transpired that Ahmed’s boss had relieved him of all other duties except for attending to Albert for the next three days. Whether he chose to eat on the top Lido deck or in one of the restaurants, Ahmed would be there to serve him. This was our first cruise and it was to be Ahmed’s last.

  He returned with the starter and stood at attention next to Albert’s table like some fucking butler.

  “Please,” said Albert, “take a seat. People will think I’m someone special if you stand there all night.”

  “I’m not allowed to Sir.”

  “Take a bloody seat, will you? I’m the guest here and I’ll tell you what you can and can’t do,” he reluctantly sat across from Albert. Looking around nervously, “Now let me explain this little situation we have here. A few weeks ago some friends of mine were on this ship, they told me how wonderful you and some bar waitress were. They said that you two really made their cruise. Unfortunately, however, they aren’t very well off and felt guilty about not being able to compensate you enough for your trouble. That’s why I’m here. To put things right. To tie up the loose ends.” A
lbert was staring hard at Ahmed, who looked more nervous than ever, “Do you know this barmaid? My friends said that she is called Meeny or Meena, something like that.”

  “Yes Sir. It’s Meena. She’s sort of my girlfriend.”

  And so during the next two hours the relationship was forged. On one side for the purpose of financial gain, on the other, pure unadulterated hatred. The Bar Manager was unwilling at first, but eventually agreed to allow Meena to act as Albert’s personal barmaid. They were the envy of the entire crew.

  I knew that in order to gain their total devotion and trust, I had to start flashing the cash. So, that night, after dinner, Meena accompanied Albert to the casino. Ahmed wasn’t allowed to come as he lacked what they called “guest area privileges” unless he was working.

  Albert bought twenty thousand dollars worth of chips and took a seat at one of the roulette tables. Aksana from the Ukraine was his dealer. Meena headed off to the bar to get him a double vodka and orange.

  Albert had never played roulette before, come to think of it, neither had I. He watched a couple of rounds hoping to get a grasp of the game but he was no further forward. He decided to dive in blindly. He placed $50 dollar chips on an assortment of numbers and a pile on the “red” section. Aksana spun the wheel, “no more bets”; Meena returned with the drink, the ball landed on red, number seven. We didn’t know how much we’d won. It didn’t matter. Aksana added a lot more chips on top of ours and slid them across the table to Albert. And so this continued into the early hours of the morning. By 2:00am only Albert, Meena and Aksana remained in the casino. The other tables had closed and the manager was waiting patiently in his office, no doubt wanting to close for the night.

  “Is the bar still open?” He asked Meena.

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Can you fetch me one more drink please. This’ll be my last.”

  “Of course sir.”

  “Aksana?”

  “Yes sir?”

  “Can you count my chips please, tell me how much I have.”

  “Of course Sir. Do you wish to cash them in?”

  “Not yet. Soon.”

  Albert had won just short of thirty five thousand. He was sitting with almost $50,000. Meena returned with his umpteenth drink.

  “Aksana, tell me something.”

  “Yes sir?”

  “How much does an apartment cost to buy in the Ukraine?”

  “ In my town, around one hundred and seventy thousand Hryvnia sir.”

  “What’s that in dollars?”

  “Around twenty thousand sir.”

  Albert managed to add up the chips. He slid the 20,000 across the baize Aksana looked shocked.

  “Buy some nice furniture,” he said, tossing another 5,000 onto the table. Turning to Meena, Albert smiled like a grandfather would to a jealous child, “Don’t worry Meena. You’ll get yours before the end of the cruise.”

  Meena’s face lit up, “Thank you sir.”

  Chapter 18.

  Albert slept like a pig that night. We were awoken by Debbie, the cruise director’s, announcement, like an electric shock to the heart. We were due to arrive in Cozumel, Mexico within an hour.

  The cabin phone rang. It was Ahmed. He and Meena were waiting up on the Lido deck. Albert was late for breakfast. Within ten minutes he was showered and ready to change. The problem was, what to wear? Albert had to wear long sleeves to disguise his hands. He had been warned the temperatures could over one hundred degrees out there. Latex and heat just don’t go together. We threw on a cotton shirt that I vaguely remember being Kalif’s. We had packed one pair of Bermuda shorts, but they didn’t look right. Albert was in his seventies. His hair was white, and so for the first time in my life, I shaved my legs.

  Albert’s personal staff saved him the trouble of standing in line with the small planets, each of whom proceeded to pile enough food for a week on their plates. Albert settled for some fruit, croissants and a coffee. Each of which tasted equally unpleasant. After Meena fetched him a glass of iced water, he told them both to go and get changed out of uniform. He was taking them ashore. He had booked an excursion to the Mayan Temple ruins.

  As the apples scurried off excitedly, they were stopped by a large man wearing a sleeveless white shirt, the epaulettes bearing four bars of gold. He spoke to them quietly, there was nodding and shaking of heads, before they continued on their way. The man with the gold epaulettes approached Albert.

  “Do you mind if I join you Sir?” He asked.

  “Not at all. Please, take a seat.”

  “My name is Stephen Robertson, I’m the Hotel Director here on board,” he said extending his hand. Albert shook it. No further forward as to what the fuck a hotel director was.

  The ensuing conversation left him in little doubt. Had we been to the gift shop yet? They had a remarkable array of fine watches and jewellery. The art auction? That would be taking place this evening, we were informed. How about the spa? And so it went on. This man sitting opposite knew exactly how much money we had on our card and if he could have cut it and let it bleed out into a glass, he would have. We took it as a warning that, unless we started spending, our preferential treatment might stop and that was something I could not let happen, under any circumstances.

  *

  It was half an hour before Meena called the cabin to tell Albert that they were waiting by the gangway. A half hour, in which, I had desperately tried to conjure up a plan but to no avail. Security was tight, we had nothing with us to assist in the apple picking and we had around thirty-six hours to get rid of our new best friends. Fucking blood-sucking leeches. As far as I could see there were only two options. Either do it today, now, in Mexico or wait until we got back onboard. That would give us tonight and all day tomorrow to come up with something.

  The San Gervasio ruins were exactly as described. Ruins. By the end of the twenty-minute bumpy bus ride I was in no mood. I told the apples to go in themselves, I was too tired, and so I waited by the gate for two hours. Thinking.

  This place was out of the question; there were far too many people around. I counted four other cruise ships as we walked down the pier. Not to mention the Mexican soldiers who kept appearing out of nowhere. No, this was definitely out. It had to be done on the ship. Bloody shame, I was fairly sure that if I could have gotten rid of them in Mexico, I could go back to the ship claiming that they had robbed me. It would have been the perfect excuse for them not to show up.

  I was beginning to get frustrated. For the first time since all of this began, I didn’t know what to do. Jesus Christ, we had killed people in prison but we couldn’t get rid of two fucking kids on a ship? We needed more information. That was the answer. Not to mention a rock solid alibi. We were nearing the end. After these two little fuckers were gone, we were home free.

  Albert did his best to make conversation with Ahmed and Meena on the way back. Yes the fact that the temple was dedicated to fertility and marriage ceremonies was fascinating. No, I didn’t mind if we got dropped off downtown to visit their favourite crew bar. Yes, I would pay for the taxi back to the ship. Yes, no, yes, whatever. Shut the fuck up and let me think.

  Give me a double vodka and orange; no make it a triple and two beers for my friends here. Tequila shots? Why not? I don’t care what your name is and why you are dressed like a whore just keep the drinks coming. Ahmed, my friend, tell me about life on the cruise ship. Really. That’s very interesting. Have you ever seen anyone fall overboard? No? I see, so what did your friend tell you happened? Really? That must have been scary as shit. Waitress! I told you to keep them coming.

  *

  That evening was formal night, dress-up night, Evening of Elegance, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. We were all advised to ditch the shorts and vests and opt for shirt and ties, tuxedoes or gowns. It was, in fact, a thinly veiled scam for the photography department to make a small fortune. I had taken the Hotel Director’s threat seriously; he had offered us the perfect alibi on a plate. Who w
ould ever suspect that a lonely old man, who had lavished gifts on these two crewmembers, would be responsible for their deaths?

  Albert had purposely rented the largest tuxedo available. He looked bloody ridiculous in it. It was obviously made for someone twice his size, but he needed the space. When he met Ahmed and Meena outside of the gift shops, they were obviously amused by his new look, but said nothing for fear of upsetting their sugar daddy. Albert ignored their mirth, after all he who laughs last and all that.

  Unsurprisingly the little bastards picked out the most costly watches for themselves. Ahmed opted for a Tag Hauer, whilst Meena shamelessly asked the sales assistant, which was the most expensive ladies watch they had. A Tissot, priced at $6,450. We knew exactly what they would do; as soon as Albert had left the ship they would try and flog them off at half price to some new guest or one of the officers. It didn’t matter anyway, it was adding worth to our cause.

  Dinner wasn’t until eight. So Albert took his apples around the photography backdrops. They had their pictures taken in front of the Titanic staircase, in an Italian garden, posing behind one of the ship’s grand pianos amongst many others. The apples proudly showed off their new watches as Albert smiled endearingly for the camera.

  It was all arranged. We had checked out the deck below. We knew exactly where the lifeboat was. There was a telephone nearby. Ahmed had basically told us the procedure. Albert would dine at eight, then take a nap before meeting Ahmed and Meena in the Piano Bar for drinks. It was a special occasion and Albert wanted them to be a part of it.