“Complain, complain. OK, I’ll leave it behind. My gear is better than what you can rent. But, as always, I’ll give in. You win, Old Man.”
“Ha-ha, I win? If you call this winning, it will be the first time. Anyway, super that you can find the time to come along. Since it is such a short trip, maybe you can focus on just having fun and forget about chasing after the girls.”
“What? Hey, Old Man, a mind is a dangerous thing to lose. Have you lost yours? There is no distinction between my having fun and chasing gorgeous women; that is one and the same as far as I’m concerned.”
“OK, tell me, Young Man, somehow in all that discussion, did I win again?”
CHAPTER THREE
Sail away was scheduled for the usual five that afternoon. The crew of the Caribbean Star had worked their miracle again; finishing the overwhelming chores on turnaround day in their magnificent style: well trained staff, attention to detail, lots of practice. The ever verbally extended “My pleasure” reverberated throughout the ship as the welcoming mantra to the new congress of boarding passengers.
Lucky and Led hoisted their over the shoulder satchels and proceeded to the already rather extensive queue of fellow boarding passengers snaking its way back and forth on the enclosed ramps ascending ever upwards toward the entry deck. They had expertly ducked around the company photographers attempting to capture the tired but smiling faces of the guests for the first of many less than candid cruise pictures. Led was unimpressed with the model of cameras being used; he considered himself somewhat of a professional photographer for one of his side jobs back home involved photography for marriages, specializing in weddings set on the beautiful snow white sandy Gulf of Mexico beach. He had invested in several high quality devices of the trade as a proof of his legitimacy, one of which he had packed.
As they made the trek toward the boarding security kiosk at a snail’s pace, Lucky noticed a uniformed security person among the awaiting throng surrounding the kiosk who seemed to look somewhat familiar. After so many cruises, faces sometimes blended together and tended to fool Lucky’s mind into thinking that he might know the person from one of his former cruises. Often, by the time the distance between them disappeared, so did the familiarity of the face and he quickly realized it was a look alike resemblance, but definitely not the same person.
With each step, though, this face kept focusing into an identical face Lucky had once been way too familiar with. The recognition of the face sent a shudder of recognition up and down his spine. Bingo! It was undoubtedly the one and only inimitable inspector from the Royal Danish cruise ship, North Star, and its Chief of Security, Sanjay Mehta. The flood of hazy memories quickly sharpened into crystal clear recall as Lucky’s mind rolled the events of that infamous cruise filled with murder and mayhem; Lucky always thought of that cruise as the cruise to Mayhem, a place he had never heard of until he became embroiled with the treacherous affairs during that cruise.
“Well, well, if we aren’t blessed with the presence of my favorite cruise chaplain,” Sanjay Mehta remarked. Lucky had inserted his cruise card into the slot at the security kiosk which would permanently document the cruise guest’s identification and take the mug shot.
“Unbelievable. I can’t believe it, Chief Inspector...it is chief inspector, still?” Lucky stretched out his hand for the handshake.
“Very correct, Sir. I’ve maintained my position but have transferred ships. Many of us cross ship often to assure that we keep our skills fresh and alert challenged by the new surroundings. One does not want to get lazy or stale with their observational skills. You, of all people, will appreciate that, am I not right?”
“Chief Inspector, you more than proved your skills on that auspicious cruise.” As Lucky was waved passed the kiosk by the junior security officer, Led stepped up for his turn.
Smiling broadly and chuckling, Sanjay Mehta took account of the presenting passenger. “And look here, a returning guest of note. Led Daley, I do believe, if my memory serves me well.”
Led nervously inserted his cruise card into the slot. “Hi, Chief Inspector. It’s good to be back aboard. I hope this cruise will be way less involved than the last one we were on together,” Led stuttered.
“Yes, lad, I hope so, too. I’m heading toward retirement with RDC and I wouldn’t want my pension to be thrown into question.” Chief Inspector Sanjay Mehta thrust out his hand to Led as a welcoming gesture. Led felt a ton of relief seeing the Chief Inspector’s offer of appeasement. They shook hands. Though all might have been forgiven, the affairs and the consequences of that fateful cruise to Mayhem were definitely not forgotten by the Caribbean Star’s Chief Inspector Sanjay Mehta.
Yolanda Reiff opened the drapery concealing the sparkling clear glass sliding doors leading out onto their stateroom balcony. She wasn’t quite certain how Marsha managed it, but her colleague from the Dade Professional Temp Agency had procured an owner’s suite together with concierge service. One of the benefits was already at hand prominently displayed on the dining room table for six: a large bowl of fruit, a bottle of champagne and a pound of chocolates wrapped in a decorative box surrounded by a wide, bright red bow. A card accompanying the complimentary gifts signed by none other than the hotel manager himself was propped alongside the delicacies.
As Yolanda stepped out onto the balcony, the warm, satin soft breezes from the harbor kissed her face. She was reminded why she chose to live in south Florida in spite of the overcrowding, traffic jams and overpriced restaurants due to the winter influx of snowbirds. As she was about to slink into one of the lounge chairs, she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Marsha.
“Impressed, huh, Girlfriend? One of the powers of the weaker sex,” Marsha proclaimed with a wave out over the scene as if it was her kingdom. Oddly, her face didn’t mimic the nonchalance of her statement. Worry lines were evident.
“Yeah, I’m super impressed. The other week when we were researching the cruises you appeared to be less than interested in the nuances of the trip. I remember you distinctly leafing through some entertainment gossip mag.” Yolanda made a move to go back inside the cabin.
“A girl can change her mind, can’t she?”
“If the girl had a mind,” Yolanda teased.
“If you have to know, it’s my network of influential friends that’s responsible for these luxurious accommodations.” Marsha joined Yolanda in the cabin.
“Cool. I believe in networks; it’s just that I can’t decide which one: ABC, CBS, CNBC, PBS....”
“OK, I get it. Very funny, but don’t quit your day job. It was my travel agent guy. You know, Randy Barrow, the guy I first met at the office when he interviewed for a research grant job. He and I have become, uh, somewhat close since then.”
“Oh, close. Hmm, I see. And, getting close produces these benefits? Fine, I have no objection to closeness especially when I reap some of the collateral benefits.” Yolanda opened the box of chocolates and popped a dark chocolate filled with a cherry into her mouth now drooling with anticipation of the sugar intake.
“So, is this Randy fellow waiting for you upon your return? I hope you can keep in close touch with him. I’d...I mean...we might want to go on another cruise someday.” Yolanda wiped her chocolate stained lips.
Marsha’s head dropped into her hands as she began sobbing. “What the hell is the matter with you, Marsha? For God sake, are you sick or something?” Yolanda stepped over to the couch where Marsha was and sat down next to her and put her arm around Marsha’s shoulder.
“Nothing, Yolanda, there’s nothing wrong. I’m just being silly, I suppose. All the excitement of the trip and everything. Maybe it's PMS,” she grinned as she dabbed the tears from her eyes. “I get overly emotional every month.”
Yolanda retrieved her arm and relaxed. “Oh, I do so understand. We’re all girls here, you know. Let me get you a bottle of water from the fridge...compliments of our concierge,” she smirked.
“This is the final announcement to ask that
everyone on board who is not sailing with the Caribbean Star to please make your way to Deck Four and depart the ship at this time. Thank you. We hope you will cruise with us in the near future. This is for all our passengers for this cruise: we will be setting sail in approximately one hour.”
The friendly announcement echoed around the ship as two not so cheery looking boardees were hiking the ascent to the Caribbean Star’s Deck Four for their admittance to the ship. The pair had an obvious wall of negative energy between them, repelling any chance of closeness. Samantha Simmons and Rex Riddle had been arguing nonstop ever since Samantha discovered the late fated plan between Editor Wilbur Conners and said reporter, Rex Riddle.
Samantha was, to put it mildly, livid with rage. She surprised herself over the vehemence of her anger. Betrayal, that’s what it amounted to, pure and simple.
She spat and sputtered, “How could you do this? I’ve proved myself with that T & L column. You were demoted fairly and squarely,” She fumed on and on.
“Listen, my little Chickadee, you will learn the hard facts about the newspaper business. You need to fight for what you have the talent for and I have the talent to write the T & L column. Conners was looking only chest high when he moved you over to the T & L column desk. I can’t compete with those things, but I can with my literary expertise. You’ll just have to win this one on the merits of the word and not the protrusions semi-covered by your blouse.” Rex didn’t pull any punches when it came to professional survival; as he told the Boss, no rules in this war.
When several people surrounding the verbal pugilists kept looking askance at them, Rex and Samantha decided to give it up and quiet down. During this temporary time out, Samatha looked around her surroundings and took in the beauty of the immense vessel she was about to board. One of the impressive sights was the deck upon deck of outside cabins with lovely balconies. With loads of romantic scenarios filling her mind, she could feel her reporter juices flowing already.
A smidgeon beyond earshot, straggling behind her and Rex, a rather tanned, semi-buffed single fellow was edging his way to the ship. Possessing a weekender size carry all bag, emblazoned with the travel agency logo that provided the comp, he embraced his burden feeling the clothes surrounding a small wrapped package. Too bad that Yolanda and Marsha had stepped away from their lovely balcony so quickly. If they had lollygagged a bit longer taking in their view overlooking the pier, they would have noticed that tanned, semi-buffed someone boarding the ship...someone who had proven to one of the ladies that he liked to be very, very close to what he valued...the person whom Marsha could implicate as her network connection, her very convoluted erstwhile boyfriend...Randy Barrow.
CHAPTER FOUR
Randy needed a hiding place in his cabin for his smuggled treasure load. One so obvious that no one would notice; forest for the tree theory? He nodded with approval. By happenstance, during the machinations with his unpacking, he had knocked over the small glass top coffee table sitting next to the pale green upholstered couch. He noticed that the bottom plate of the table was affixed with three small Phillips head screws. He decided to take a look. He fetched his Swiss knife that he had packed in his carry on and unscrewed the plate from the leg of the table. Surprisingly, the ship’s security scan hadn’t picked up on it. Great security, he mused.
The bottom plate fell to the floor. When he bent down and peered inside he discovered a hollow space just large enough for his package to fit into; snugly, yes, but that made it even better. Squeezed in the wrapping wouldn’t rattle if anyone else ever knocked the table over either while cleaning or searching for it. Perfect! Randy felt that a bit of paranoia was justifiable; risk-reward theory? Probably not.
Custom fitting his package into the bottom of the table, he secured the Phillips head screws tightly. As he set the table upright, he slumped back on the sofa and mentally reviewed the serendipitous circumstances which had gotten him involved with this nefarious operation.
An unbelievable set of circumstances as he attempted to rationalize their unraveling; he’d call them coincidences, but, like crime detectives say, there aren’t any coincidences in criminal investigations. Of course, the blame first fell onto his dismal state of financial affairs, or lack thereof. Whatever. He found the ad in the Deco Beach Weekly by this placement company for part time positions available; a company called Dade Professional Temp Agency. When he showed up for the interview, he met the most gorgeous gal who interviewed him with the bonus of giving off A+ body language. She, being Marsha Stewart, put everything into her job, including her delicious natural attributes. These personal qualities captured his attention with perfect focused 20-20 vision, but definitely blurred his mental capacity when it came to understanding the requirements of the position offered..
She only had one position open at the time, so, without much thought, he took the appointment to meet with the Pan Pacific Asia Future Development company. Sounded exotic and exciting; it proved both. Randy soon discovered that the operation was a shell corporation for a sophisticated international swap operation. In other words, a smuggling scheme for the illegal transfer of intellectual properties from their rightful creators to a “for profit only” Hong Kong Triad, read “Asian Mafia”.
The instant monetary fix, along with the promise of much more to come his way, proved too tempting for this less than moral giant. Randy had always been found more in the category of moral pipsqueak. Once he got on board with this gang, he found out the job was more than temporary and involved recruitment. Marsha came to mind, but this time pictured in a less erotic position. He correctly judged his former temp job interviewer as being someone with the lack of moral character as him.
Following Benny Tallman's proposition, Randy floated a hint of the possible partnership with Marsha. Randy suffered a mild setback when he met with her surprise rebuff. Marsha might hold a higher moral stance than he first surmised. So, he hatched the plan of the dinner followed by the “dessert” of using Jigger’s specially equipped love nest. Jigger early on had figured into this ruse since he was more than on board when it came to any act of human behavior that would bring a plus deposit into his future retirement fund. He monotonously repeated to his bar buddies, “who wants to be a bartender all his life?”
The plan was solidly afoot in Randy’s mind. Rustling from his revelry on the couch, Randy set out to put his plan into action. He only had to coerce seemingly accidental coincidences into the life of his adorable, albeit unwilling, cohort and erstwhile girlfriend, Marsha Stewart. He had no doubt of her cooperation since she dreaded the revelation of her actions that dark, steamy night with him in Jigger’s special room.
Dropping their luggage on top of the bunk style beds in their Deck Four cabin, Lucky and Led let out a growl of relief in synch. “This is why I prefer longer cruises,” Lucky sighed.
“Why’s that?” Led feigned interest, “Though, may I remind you that nobody cares?”
“You go through all this hassle of travel and boarding for the same number of nights. Give me back to back cruises any day,” Lucky continued his commentary whine.
“No problem for us younger guys, Old Man. Just sayin’. I keep my mind on the goal.”
“Which is?”
“The one and only worthwhile goal of a young red blooded American man: hot women.” Led smiled broadly as he gave the clinched fist thrust.
“Settle down, Warrior. Remember your decorum with respect to my position here.” Lucky half heartedly teased.
“Decorum? What’s that word mean? You’re using those fifty cent words again and I’m only up to paying a quarter for words these days.” Led returned the jab.
“Hey, I have a great idea, Led. Why don’t you run along and give me room to unpack. I know it’s a sacrifice to let me get organized first, but do it as a favor.” Lucky knew it would be a miracle if Led ever fully unpacked during the entire weekend.
“Yeah, yeah, anything for a friend, even an old one,” Led sprang off the chair and headed
to the door. “The way I figure, since this is a three night cruise and I’m used to being on a seven night cruise, I’ll have to work two and a half times as fast to reach my goal. See you around the ship sometime if I find a free moment. I doubt that, though, as I’m in the mood for some intense cool action, like with me and a hot looking babe in a swimsuit. OK, heading to the pool deck. Later.” The only thing left betraying that Led had ever been in the room was the fading hint of his cologne.
Lucky began the chore of squirreling away the clothes from his luggage into the small drawers and on the shelves affixed in the center of the closet. He was startled by a sound...a knocking. At first he thought it was some noise he was making, but then he heard it again. A distinct knocking on the cabin door.
He peered through the peep hole, but couldn’t make out who was responsible; maybe the room attendant? He opened the door.
“Oh, hi, excuse me for the interruption, but I saw you come aboard and found out that you were the chaplain for the cruise,” spoke a smiling face belonging to none other than the T & L writer, Samantha Simmons.
“Yes, hi. I admit to the charge. I’m Father Lucky. And, who might you be?” The charming caller at the door quickly erased Lucky’s anxiety about unpacking.
“Ah, I’d invite you in, but I’m afraid the room is in a bit of disarray from just getting in,” Lucky blushed.
Chortling, “Oh, no problem, Father Lucky. I just wanted to make contact with you and maybe get a time that we could meet together...say, in one of the lounges. Since this is a quick trip, I don’t want to let a minute slip away.” Samantha fidgeted with her ballpoint readying it to scribble down the appointment time.
“And, you would want to meet about what, exactly?” Lucky was confused.
“Sorry, I’m a reporter for the Deco Beach Weekly here in Miami and I’m on assignment to write a critique of the ship and this cruise. Since the cruise is over a weekend, I thought there might be a chaplain on board and I wanted to get your take on the cruise; possibly other experiences that you've had with your past cruises. Whatever might pique the interests of my readers, you know.”
Cruise to Critique (Lucky & Led Cruise Ship Mystery Series Book 5) Page 3
