One scurrilous side effect of Samantha’s promotion rested upon the reporter who suffered the subsequent demotion; one Rex Riddle. A longtime employee, Rex obsessed bitterly over it as patently unfair, unjust and downright unacceptable. He began planning his revenge to be heaped onto Samantha, the young upstart, and put the interloper back in her place; that place being the F & P column. Rex vowed, he would regain the T & L column come hell or high water.
Samantha proposed critiquing a weekend cruise aboard the Caribbean Star to her editor...“Whatever it takes, Boss, that’s what you always preach,” Samantha parroted back to her glaring editor, Wilbur Conners.
“Within reason, Samantha...and the budget! I didn’t mean that you could grandly travel around the globe to garner some two column story,” Wilbur all but shouted, the veins almost bursting from his bulging reddened cheeks.
“Grandly around the globe? Boss, it’s a two nights, three days trip to the Bahamas, Grand Cayman Island, and back home. I hardly would rate that an award winning, budget busting around the globe itinerary,” Samantha snorted.
“Alright, alright! I guess our already over-taxed budget could spring for the basic cruise. But, that’s the extent of it; all the rest, drinks, massages, all that fancy dancey stuff is on your own dime,” Wilbur once again proved his penchant frugality when it came to the Deco Beech Weekly’s budget outlays.
“Thanks, Boss. I knew you’d see the error of your ways. I’ll write a bang up critique that’ll knock the hard earned bucks right out of our advertisers’ wallets. You’ll see.” Samantha made a victorious march out of the editor’s office as she pumped her fist and stage whispered, “Yes!”
With the battle won, Samantha knew that she now had to win the war. She challenged herself to come up with a dang good...no, make that an outrageously awesome, top notch story; a column that would set the travel reporting bar a dozen notches higher for any future Deco Beech Weekly news story.
But, not so fast Samantha. Rex Riddle had conveniently overheard the repartee between the Editor and Samantha. If one reporter can finagle a weekend cruise out of old Wilbur Conners, he thought, so can two. Rex knocked on his editor’s door.
Looking up from his painstaking duties, Wilbur recognized the presence of his longtime reporter standing at the door sporting a prominent scowl. “Yeah, Riddle, what is it? I’m busy...I need to finish up proofing these last couple of columns before deadline.”
“Shouldn’t take much of your time, Chief. I’d like to float an idea for you.”
“An idea? About what? You haven’t had an original idea in years, Rex, truth be told, so how did this idea come about? Did the proverbial light bulb suddenly come on?” Conners chortled.
Blushing, “Chief, just listen for a minute, OK? I confess, I overheard you and that Simmons woman discussing her cruise proposal. Well, I’ll admit it; I’m pretty sore about the transfer from T & L to L & P. I know you’re the boss, but I think my tenure around here should be worth a second chance.”
“A second chance? OK, like what?” Wilbur Conners picked up his cigar and took a deep drag.
“I’d like to go on that same cruise and write a critique competing with Samantha’s. Then, you can read both reviews and judge who really has the talent for T & L. I’m placing my reputation on the line here, Chief. I think I can write a review that will blow that whipper snapper’s out of the water, so to speak. What do you say? You owe me this chance, Boss.”
The Editor in Chief rested back in his chair and blew out a cumulus cloud size puff of cigar smoke. Tapping his fingers on the top of his desk, he replied, “Riddle, you and I have been working this rag for years. I guess I do owe you one...but, just one. If I let you go along on this cruise and write a review, when I compare the two reviews and I pick Simmon’s over your’s you need to vow that will be the end of this feud and your silly rivalry. Do you accept the terms?”
“Fair enough, Chief. I hear you loud and clear. But, I warn you, the rules of war are in play until your decision. And, you know, there are no rules in love or war!”
“Awfully dramatic, aren’t you, Rex. I guess with a name like “Rex”, you would have a flair for acting the monarch.” Wilbur took another drag on his cigar and coughed.
As he was leaving, Rex turned back with one final comment, “As long as the cruise isn’t over April 14th, I’m fine with it.”
“April 14th?”
“Yeah, the anniversary date on which the Titanic sank!”
Randy Barrow was up to his eye teeth in financial debt: credit card, car loan, personal loan; loans of every shape and size would complete the laundry list of Randy’s indebtedness. As far as the collection agencies were concerned Randy Barrow was inexorably headed over his own personal fiscal cliff. To his credit, Marsha Stewart was correct about one fact, he did have muscles.
However, the old adage about “all brawn and no brain” was coined by someone who had observed Randy Barrow in the flesh. He pumped his body to the edge of Beefcake status, but now when he vainly checked his physique in the mirror, the image in the mirror begged the question: “Where’s the beef?”
Now, even maintaining his paper thin macho pride, along with his fragile he-man muscles, required being placed on hold; Randy was delinquent in paying his monthly gym club membership. The club’s accountant had sent a voice mail warning that his standing with the club had been terminated. This was more than sufficiently proven when Randy attempted to open the gym club door with his card key, not having listened to the informative voice mail message.
So, with the prospect of flabby muscles courting a supremely deflated bank account, Randy would retreat to his habitual place seeking solace and advice, a bar called the Big Apple Martini; named by a former New York City transplant now residing in the Sunshine state. There, nightly after his day’s meager endeavors at the travel agency, Randy would share the ongoing soap opera of his dismal life with a willing ear; that ear being attached to one Jiggers Malone, the always present former Bronx bartender.
Jiggers projected the faux image of a caring, professional counselor, particularly to his single drinking, babbling raconteurs. There was no want of a sizable contingent of lonely, depressed or more than anxious imbibers ready to spill the beans about their own or someone else's deplorable life. Over the years, Jiggers, selling his hope on the rocks, had accumulated an immense amount of information concerning his clientele; some of that information bubbling over with truly incriminating elements; ripe for blackmail if the possessor were to be morally bankrupt...as we could readily define the character Jiggers Malone’s conscience.
This not being enough to provide a destructive component to Randy’s dismal personal life, the Big Apple Martini conveniently supplied a breed of unsavory patrons posing as drinking partners; Las Vegas type shills who helped Jiggers Malone run up the bar bill and open wider the confessing soul’s mouth revealing even more incriminating factoids. As we know, cream rises to the top; unfortunately, so does scum. Enter the huckster; drawn to a sucker like a moth to the flame.
“Hey, Dude, what’s up with the contender for Ladies’ Man of the year?” The huckster, Benny Tallman, knew how to aim at the sucker’s Achilles’ heel. Randy had made his usual after work stop at the Big Apple Martini bar conveniently located next to the parking lot he used for his car during work at the travel agency.
“Not much, Benny, just the usual...swatting the ladies off like flies,” Randy replied fronting a jovial veneer.
“Yeah, that’s what I heard from Marsha a couple of nights after your get-together, shall we call it? You remember the one with the bulging blouse spilling over attached to the unfilled head? I never seem to be able to focus above her breasts. Who can blame a red blooded South Beach kind of guy like me, right?” The gorilla chest pounding contest was underway.
The male bonding banter progressed as each sipped on their Bud Lites, flicking the ashes off their cigarettes while blowing smoke sideways in a vain attempt to thwart lung cancer from second hand
smoke. Drinking and smoking in the bar went together hand in hand as cozy as drowning and suffocating; the Big Apple Martini wasn’t as high class a place as the name attempted to imply.
“Oh, right...Marsha. I met her at a job interview over at that Dade Professional Temp Agency. Asked her on a date when I started at the travel agency. She fell for me and these,” he flexed his biceps. “Some kind of hottie, alright.” That was Randy’s insightful reply to impress...his Neanderthal chest thumping.
“We had a sizzling date here that night compliments of Jiggers loaning us his private apartment upstairs,” Randy reached out to Jiggers offering the bartender a clenched fist tap. “I’ve gotten a lot of repeat fantasies from that session. Sure is true that it takes two to tango.”
“You don’t say. Not to change the subject, Dude, but how’s that travel agency thing working out? Taking any of those free trips lately?” Benny was priming Randy for the proposition.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I’m going on a terrific weekend cruise to the Bahamas and Grand Cayman. Planning on enjoying some real serious diving...and a lot of heavy action with the ladies.” Randy nudged his bar buddy.
“Cool, Dude. Happy to hear that you’re doing so well,” Benny slapped Randy on the back as he took another sip of his Bud Lite. “Grand Cayman Island, huh? That gives me an idea. I’m just wondering if you could do me a small favor.”
“Anything, Pal, you know you can always rely on me,” Randy countered now feeling the false bravado that alcohol produces. Actually, Benny thought, I wouldn’t rely on you for anything, but this is a golden opportunity to make use of a willing sucker...and Randy, Muscle Dude, you are going to be my sucker numero uno.
“I have a friend who lives in George Town, you know, on Grand Cayman Island. You are stopping in George Town, ain’t you?”
“Yeah, we have two port calls: Nassau in the Bahamas and George Town, Grand Cayman.”
“Super! The guy was visiting me and left something behind; forgot to pack it in his rush to catch the flight. Dude, if you do me this favor, the drinks at the Big Apple will be on me, got it?” Benny winked.
“No problemo, Benny. I’m sure I can find room in my suitcase; it’s only a weekender, so I won’t be needing too many clothes; for most of my planned activities, I won’t need any. He-he,” Randy cackled.
“Terrific. I was going to mail it, but you know how risky sending a package through international post offices can be. Too many thieves out there handling the product, especially when it’s such a small package, about the size of a brick. It shouldn’t take much more room in your suitcase than a couple Caribbean beach shorts, Buddy.”
“Cool. What do I do with the package when we arrive in George Town, Benny? It’s good that the package is small, since the ship has to anchor out and we take a tender boat to get to the port.”
“Now that I know that you’re going to deliver it, I’ll write down the directions and meet you here at the Big Apple Martini tomorrow at our usual time during twofers. How’s that? Does that work for you, Dude?”
“Perfect. And, oh, Benny, can you start buying the drinks tonight in anticipation of my doing you the favor?”
Benny and Jiggers exchanged glances. Jiggers winked as he examined the cocktail glass upon which he was applying the finishing shine. Jiggers could size up a small brain.
Marsha Stewart could tell that she would need to sit on top of the suitcase to force it closed and get it locked. Way too much stuff, but a girl needed to be prepared for any prospector looking for her gold nuggets; the image she liked to visualize when she inventoried her prized assets in the mirror. There’s no second chance if you miss that serendipitous opportunity. She looked around the closet in her small apartment bedroom to see if she had overlooked any of her more daring numbers.
She spied the outfit, the one with the sheer see through blouse, which she had worn on the second date with her muscle man, Randy. It had definitely worked its magic on him and was worth using for another go round. There were lots of prospectors seeking the kind of gold nuggets that Marsha had not so shyly hiding under the peek-a-boo surface of this chemise.
The phone rang out in the living room as Marsha was finishing the survey of her wardrobe. How irritating. She had laid the wireless device down on the coffee table after her last chit chat. Breaking away from her intense search of hanging material, she answered.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Marsha, how you doing these days?” The male voice was familiar, but the exact ID of the person was uncertain.
“And, who might this be?” Marsha unconsciously walked to the window and looked down to the street as if the caller would be standing out there peering up at her apartment.
“Oh, let’s just say it’s your mystery admirer, Marsha.”
A shiver cut through Marsha’s semi clad body. “If you don’t tell me who this is, I’m going to hang up.” Her grip on the phone caused her hand to turn crimson red.
“Now, let’s not be too quick to hang up, Sugar. I think what I have to say will be worth your while. Get my drift, Marsha?”
“No, I don’t get your drift, Mister Who Ever This Is.”
“Let’s just say that I have a few rather revealing pictures of you with a gentleman friend. Now that I review them, I’d revise my estimation of the friend being a gentleman. And you don’t appear to be all too much of a lady, either. Now, are you catching on to my drift?”
Marsha froze in shock. Words wouldn’t come out of her mouth even if she had been able to form any. “Overwhelmed with curiosity? I’d bet you’d love to see all the positions you two were able to, let’s say, make love. Looks like a gymnastic exercise manual.”
“Just stop it! What do you want? Money? I haven’t got any.” Marsha came across as if she were mouthing lines from some long forgotten suspense thriller movie.
“Now, Sugar, I didn’t ask you for any money. I’m aware of your financial plight. I’d appreciate you doing me a small favor. It won’t be much to ask for the destruction of these incriminating photographs. You’d like to save your job and your reputation, wouldn’t you? And, I’m sure your family wouldn’t want to see their darling daughter in such a compromising predicament would they?”
Marsha was blown away. How could this be happening? One minute she was happy go lucky packing for a cruise weekend and the next she was smack dab in the middle of an unfolding horror story. Her mind flashed thoughts faster than a summer electrical storm in Florida pitches out streaks of lightening. What kind of pictures? With who? Where? How did he take the pictures? She took a deep breath.
“OK, I have lots of questions I want answered about these so called incriminating pictures, Mister.”
“Hold on, little Lady. You don’t hold enough trump cards to play this hand. Just listen to my proposition, agree, and it will be almost over; no harm, no foul.”
“Almost...?” Marsha’s throat constricted so tightly from fear, not allowing even one more syllable to squeak out.
“I’ll place a small box outside your apartment door in ten minutes. I’ll ring your doorbell when I’ve placed it there. Wait one minute before you open the door and don’t look through the peep hole, either. Pack the box in your suitcase. There will be an envelope with the instructions enclosed explaining exactly what you are to do. Did you get all that?” Marsha could hear the caller taking deep breaths.
“Yes, yes, I think I understand. So, when I do what you ask, when will I get those photographs?”
“When I get the word that you fulfilled your end of the bargain and delivered our little care package to my contact in George Town, Grand Cayman Island.”
Lucky was finally able to get a hold of Led after one voice mail and two text messages. Led was out roaming the county for landscaping jobs to augment a work load which didn’t weigh in as any too overwhelming. His work schedule looked more like Lucky’s and Lucky was retired.
“Hey, Lucky, what’s up? Just read your text.” Text messages suited Led’s lifestyle
better since he could answer or ignore them more easily especially when he was up to his elbows with planting shrubbery.
“I just got off the phone with Lora at RDC, my cruise scheduler. You remember her from the holiday cruise? I think you met her shortly after your recovery from the Lost Lagoon experience.”
“Oh, yeah. Her. So, does she have a cruise for us?” Led never missed a possible reason to skip town...and more to the point, work.
“Us? Well, young Fella, she has an emergency need for me. I don’t remember her including your name in the request.”
“Ha-ha, always the comedian. So, when are we going...and where?”
“This weekend. A quick round trip Miami-Nassau-Grand Cayman, back to Miami. I put in your name just in case you would consider going. I know you’re up to your neck with the demands of your work.”
“Not so fast, let me check my appointments. Awesome, I just so happen to have an opening in my usually busy schedule this weekend. And, I still have time to do some laundry, so I’ll be ready, Old Man.”
“Thought as much...about the work schedule, I mean. You surprised me mildly with the laundry news. That’s worthy of a headline.”
“Everything I do is worthy of headlines, Lucky. You should realize that by now.”
“Led, your humility is bursting out all over the place, once again.”
“Hey, isn’t Grand Cayman where there is some of that awesome diving and snorkeling? I might bring along my diving gear.”
“Please, don’t. You can rent some there. The last time you brought all that gear, I could hardly move around the cabin. It’s cramped enough as it is.”
Cruise to Critique (Lucky & Led Cruise Ship Mystery Series Book 5) Page 2
