CHAPTER SIX
Day two of the weekend cruise began quietly until the guests were roused out of their slumber by the in-stateroom announcement that the ship was cleared by the Grand Cayman port authorities. Tender boat operations would begin immediately for those holding tickets one and two.
Grand Cayman hadn’t built the usual long pier or dug the deep water port to accommodate the large cruise ships. This required the ships to discharge their passengers onto their tender boats and shuttle them to and from; a fifteen minute ride. This helped assure the retention of a pristine shoreline and the beautiful beaches including their shallow, gentle waters for swimming and snorkeling...a favorite of the day visitors to the British flavored island community of George Town.
Lucky had risen at his usual seven o’clock to get ready for the morning service. Eight o’clock seemed to the usual time to ring the chapel bells. Since it was Saturday, Lucky really didn’t have great expectations of an overflowing crowd. He seldom had a “no show” experience, but a short cruise in the Caribbean might offer up this possibility. No matter, the service must go on. It had been scheduled and so it would be.
He met the activities staff person already setting up the table and podium with a microphone. “Good Morning, I’m Father Lucky. Thanks for being here so early.”
“Good Morning, Sir, I’m Fernando. Is this the way you want it set up? We don’t have a chaplain aboard very often and nobody remembered how to set up. Just let me know whatever you want and I’ll make it happen.”
“So far, it looks fine, Fernando. I’ve had a lot of experience with setting up on cruise ships, so not to worry. If I need anything, I can figure it out. How long have you been with your ship?”
“Only three months on the Caribbean Star. I transferred over from the North Star after being on it for two years.”
“Oh, so you may know Chief Inspector Sanjay Mehta, then?”
“Absolutely. He’s good people. We’ve worked together before on the North Star.”
Lucky thought what a coincidence that Fernando and Chief Inspector Mehta work together when he and Led had their cruise filled with mayhem. The pleasant conversation would have continued between Lucky and Fernando, but ceased when they heard the sound from an approaching guest.
“Good Morning. Are you here for the morning worship service?” Lucky sent out the greeting almost before the person entered the main area of the lounge.
“Good Morning. Yes. I wanted to see you in action, so to speak.
“Oh, it’s you, Miss Simmons,” Lucky now recognized the guest as his recent visitor to the cabin from the afternoon before and their agreed upon meeting.
“Please, call me Samantha. My friends call me Sam, but I have to know that you’re not going to kid me with gender jokes. I’ve heard them all.” Samantha smiled and extended her hand in greeting.
“Well, Samantha is fine with me. I wouldn’t want to be accused of making any non PC remarks. I’m here to sow seeds of love and friendship, not distress and discomfort.”
“Yes, I’ve heard it said that church goers are full of Jesus on Sundays and filled with hate the rest of the week.”
“One day with Jesus gets one strong and six days without Him makes one weak.
“Touche, Father Lucky. I can tell that you’ve been around a block or two in your line of work.” Samantha looked around the empty lounge.
“Wow, am I it?”
“Probably not going to be an overflowing congregation this morning. But, you’re here and that’s all it takes. The service goes on for one or one thousand. I’ve had lots of small groups when I had services for my military personnel. They are a busy bunch, so getting to chapel required an extra amount of effort. But, many made it...dedicated souls. Anyway, I’m getting off the point of the here and now.”
“Oh, that’s fine. If I’m going to write about this aspect of the cruise, I like a bit of getting the story in context. The human element softens a cold hardcopy story, you know.”
“You’re the expert in that arena, Samatha. Would you like to be part of the service? Like, maybe reading the scriptures?”
“Sure, I guess I can read, being a newspaper journalist. If, however, you pay me back with a time for a more in depth interview sometime today.” Samantha waited with a daring stance.
“Sure, how about we take the tender into George Town and find our way around to a good cup of tea.”
“Perfect. So, where are the readings?”
In unison with Lucky picking up the book of readings to give Samantha a chance to review them, he and Samantha heard another person coming into the lounge.
“Excuse me, Father, I hope I’m not too late to join in with the service?”
Lucky and Samantha turned around to the smiling face belonging to none other than veteran reporter, Rex Riddle.
"You're going to need more than one vial of oil for this one," Samantha whispered into Lucky's ear.
The sun was blazing away high overhead as Led finished up designing the inner sanctum in which he and his awesome woman would stand and make their vows. He had furiously worked at building the shore side setting. Flower trellises meticulously strewn with an array of tropical flowers were the backdrop through which the attendees could view the expansive blue waters of the Caribbean lapping the sands of the immaculate beach.
The music was furnished by a steel band trio from Trinidad and the vigorous beat of the drums matched the palpitations of Led’s heart. He was barefoot as he stepped toward his chosen sweetheart for life. He reached out to clasp her hand and begin the vow exchange which would unite them for eternity and beyond. His old friend, Father Lucky, stood under the flower trellis facing them with the wedding ritual book in his hands. His eyes sparkled as he beheld the thrilling joy on the faces of the two young lovers.
“Led Daley, are you ready to make your vows to marry this woman?” Father Lucky announced the moment which Led had so yearned for his entire life.
“I, Led Daley, do hereby take...” He suddenly felt his arm being shaken and he dropped the ring which had been resting on top of a Portobello mushroom. It fell on the beach and rolled directly into the path of a sand crab which snatched it handsomely and scurried into the water with his new found treasure firmly pinched in his large claw.
Lucky almost screamed as he repeatedly tugged at Led’s arm. “Led, wake up! You have ladies waiting for you up in the buffet. I ran into them when I was coming back from the chapel service. They were going to get breakfast. Led...Led, wake up.”
“Huh? Oh, OK, yeah, yeah. I’m awake. You just spoiled the best dream of my life.”
“Listen, Young Fella, the best part of your life and your day is already leaving you behind as long as you waste it in that bed.” Lucky came down a bit harsh, but he was forever challenged with getting Led up and addressing the day. Youth had this unconscious feeling that life lasted forever; Lucky, from both professional and personal experiences, knew that the length of a person’s time on this planet had a limited shelf life; no one was guaranteed the next moment.
“Do I need to remind you of your magnificent obsession?”
“My what? There you go again using those fifty cent words,” Led jumped out of bed, got dressed and made a dash for the door.
“Just trying to help you grow your vocabulary. Some ladies are impressed with a suave, sophisticated choice of words,” Lucky chortled.
“Yeah, yeah, Old Man, I know all the magic words I need to know when it comes to the ladies,” Led fired back. “Hey, thanks for getting me up, even though you spoiled an awesome dream.”
“Well, this “old man” as you so refer to me so disrespectfully, has been up since sunrise working for our keep”
“Yeah, yeah, it's always sunrise somewhere.”
“He says with a nod to Jimmy Buffet. More to the point, where are you guys heading to today?”
“Taking my beautiful creatures out for an adventure of snorkeling and diving. Marsha only wants to snorkel. She’s kind�
��a afraid of the deep water. Yo’ more for the riskier escapade; said she’d love to try diving with me. Actually, let me quote her. She said that she’d ‘like to have my arms around her’. I have no problem buying into that idea. Whoopee.”
“Settle down, Lover Boy. It’s only a weekend cruise, remember? You’re not getting married to her and setting out on a life long island adventure.”
“Whoa! That’s far out. That was my dream. Wow, Old Man, how did you know what I dreamt?”
“Be careful what you dream, Led, you may wake up to find them true, someday.” Lucky winked.
“Hey, time is love and I got to run; she’s right where I need to be.” Verbalizing his retort by using a line from the popular song recorded by Josh Turner, Led let the cabin door slam shut as he began his mad dash to the breakfast buffet and the current ladies-in-waiting. Led was in a feisty country and western macho frame of mind.
Historically, George Town’s look and feel has been immensely influenced by the British. Initially, the Cayman Islands were administered as a dependency of Jamaica until 1962. Continuing to this day, the official English governmental arrangement now includes the Cayman’s own constitution with a governor officially appointed by the British monarch. Among the governor’s major responsibilities is to appoint a premier who is determined by the ruling elected party.
In addition to the Cayman Islands, Great Britain’s empire building reached to a far flung island in another hemisphere of the world, far, far away...Hong Kong. The ownership of this UK “Pearl of the Orient” ended a few short years ago in 1999 with its hand off to China. Though separated by thousands of miles, to a point, like distant family cousins, with degrees of separation, Hong Kong and Grand Cayman share a measure of the same blood running through their veins mirroring their historic heritage: financial interests, cultural customs, that unmistakable strike of the vowels with their distinctive pronunciation of the royal language, versus the more plebian American accent with the resultant slaying of the Queen’s English.
Over the generations blood family members from Hong Kong migrated to the archipelago of Caribbean islands in search of a brighter future. In addition, members of the association known as the Triad, with their legally questionable activities, hitched a ride along like the lice attached to the rats on ships accomplished in the middle ages which brought the black plague.
Similar to the Italian Mafia or the Japanese Yakuza , deeply embedded in the seamier side of the Hong Kong criminal culture, members of the Triad have traditionally dabbled in a plethora of dubious endeavors. No mistaking, the overriding drives, then and now, that trigger their lawbreaking saliva glands remain the same: financial profit and political power.
One of the most persistent undertakings centered around the art of counterfeiting. Ever since the advent of printing of currency, the Hong Kong market was ripe for this insidious activity due to the myriad of paper currencies floated by the ever changing ruling governments. In the modern day, with the high tech and lucrative market of electronics, the stealing and counterfeiting of operating systems and proprietary programs is proving to be the latest version of the questionable art form...a cleaner, greener style of the art of imitation,white collar crime, as it is referred to with polite deference in the courtrooms of the world. Counterfeiting had blossomed into the criminal growth industry.
Meanwhile, the beautiful, luxurious cruise ship, the Caribbean Star, slithered into its anchorage with this backdrop of sub culture filled with a boatload of passengers ninety-nine per cent naively oblivious to the treacherous underbelly of the local island paradise. Several of our visitors were about to glibly step into the island’s murkier side; an invisible bog filled with the mushiness which comes from the criminal quicksand-into which they could readily sink without the faintest warning.
Conversely, there was the one percent tendering over to George Town very aware of the possibilities...and more than determined to take full advantage of them...willing to blithely instigate the ultimate cost even of life itself, of course, to be paid by others, some innocent and some guilty as could be charged.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Randy was oblivious to the extent of the dire straits of his present situation. He failed to comprehend the fatal flaw of his involvement in this clandestine operation. Wrapped in the glow of being treated like royalty compliments of the cruise culture amenities plus the twenty- four hour buffets, he lost sight of the clear and present danger attached to this episode of smuggling. In his mind, this was a one time adventure to extricate himself from the dismal condition of his financial situation. The sad consequence would prove the usual norm of operation when it came to belonging to a crime syndicate...once in, never out; once would never be enough.
Exactly how did this escapade begin? All he could remember was that shortly after he landed the job offer from the Dade Professional Temp Agency, he was approached by a man who offered him the opportunity of a lifetime. The task seemed like a simple matter of transferring two small packages from Miami to George Town, Grand Cayman via a lazy weekend cruise. Super! A piece of cake! In exchange, Randy was offered a full payoff of his outstanding debts. Oh, oh, an offer too good to be true, but Randy naively believed it. Poor, stupid Randy; all brawn, absolutely no brain.
Meeting Marsha seemed like a dream come true...a wet dream fantasy. He was both broke and an aging bachelor; not a winning combination. In his tiny mind he judged the unexpected relationship which rapidly developed to possess the rank of a minor miracle in his life. Randy really didn’t deserve too many miracles if he were to add up any gracious deeds done to his fellow down and outs...he had never performed one.
Sorting his few on board possessions, Randy readied for meeting up with Marsha at the gangplank and the tender boat shuttle ride over to downtown George Town. He was about to turn over the glass top table, cum safety deposit box, to retrieve the hidden booty, when the phone on the bedside table rang.
“Hello,” Randy spoke into the phone with a semi muffled tone to his voice; paranoia had crept into his cabin unannounced.
“Are you about ready, Randy?” Marsha’s question surprisingly unnerved him.
“Ready? Oh, yeah, I was born ready. But, I don’t think we should be calling each other on these phones. I’m pretty sure they are less than secure.”
“Right. See you in about ten minutes at the departure kiosk. Don’t forget your cruise pass card.” Marsha got in her motherly warning.
“And don’t you forget the you know what. Make sure it’s well camouflaged.” Nervousness began to creep up in Randy’s admonition. “We can’t afford any screw up at this juncture. One mistake and it might sabotage the whole operation.” Now, Randy sounded like an old TV spy episode.
“Oh, for heaven's sake, Randy, you sound like James Bond. Relax." Marsha slammed the receiver down.
Rex’s spontaneous arrival on the ecclesiastical scene earlier before the morning Mass had squelched any plan making with Lucky on the part of Samantha. She had nudged Lucky with that “don’t say anything” signal. Lucky was being inducted into the joist of the reporters’ peer rivalry whether he preferred it or not...and he didn’t.
After a bit of high level brinkmanship, Samantha had edged Rex out of the area of the faux chapel and immediately made her move on Lucky. She was bound and determined to spend the rest of the port day with Lucky. She felt that he would be a gold mine of information about cruising and her shopping addiction made her ache to wander around the boutique and tourist trap shops that abounded on the British island paradise.
“Actually, I know a wonderful couple who winter on the island. They’re real Brits and he’s a retired barrister; always offer impeccable English hospitality with a cuppa and biscuits. I make a short stop at their place almost every time we anchor here to accomplish a proper visit, as they put it. I’m sure they would be absolutely delighted to meet you.” Lucky was waxing eloquently about his friends, George and Elaine, whom he had met on several past cruises through their participation
in the chapel services.
“Sounds lovely. Just what I would expect from a cultured man of the cloth like yourself.” Samantha was slapping a pound of butter on the bread, so to speak.
“They have a nice home bay side, the gentle waves from the ocean lap at their pool. I’m sure the property is worth ten times the value of the house. Someday a hotel chain will offer them a fortune they can’t refuse and build another monstrosity of a resort hotel.”
“Sounds like you like things to remain constant in your life, Lucky. May I remind you that change is the only unchangeable reality? How about we meet around ten at the tender boat place. We can make a day of it and freeze frame the present George Town scene in our memories.” Samantha squeezed Lucky’s bicep.
“Sounds like a perfect plan to me. See you at ten. Oh, by the way, will Rex be chaperoning you?” Lucky got in a final tease as they departed the lounge used daily for the makeshift chapel.
Not everyone was so cordial regarding their tender boat ride and day’s events on shore. It began with an extremely disconcerting revelation when Randy returned to his cabin. He had stepped out for a quick cup of coffee and danish and, on his way out, he stuck an apple into his pocket for a quick bite once he reached the shuttle station dock.
While he was away from his cabin, the room attendant was making his rounds for the morning clean up and had unlocked and opened the door of Randy’s cabin. A few minutes into his chores, the attendant realized he had forgotten the toilet bowl cleaning liquid and went to the supply closet to fetch the bottle. Leaving the door ajar with the rubber door stop made it perfectly convenient for the passerby to step into Randy’s room.
Cruise to Critique (Lucky & Led Cruise Ship Mystery Series Book 5) Page 5
