Under cover of darkness late on Christmas night, in the Port of Miami, a rowboat glided silently up to the side of the Royal Mermaid. A rope ladder was dropped from the lowest deck.
“You go first,” Bull’s-Eye Tony Pinto grunted as he grabbed the ladder and handed it over to his fellow escaping felon.
“You just want to make sure the rope is secure before you give it a whirl,” Barron Highbridge said icily, as he stood unsteadily, put one foot up, tested the ladder, and began to climb.
“Hurry up!” a voice urged from above.
Larry the Creep, at the helm of the rowboat, extended a beefy hand to Bull’s-Eye Tony. “Don’t worry, Boss. We’ll be waiting for you just offshore Fishbowl Island. We’ll sneak you ashore, then you’ll be home free. Now try to relax on this cruise.”
“Relax? Hiding in a stateroom with that idiot Highbridge for the next three days? I told you I didn’t want to be on the run with anyone else.”
“We were lucky to find this situation,” Larry protested. “That poor dope Commodore Weed should only know what a louse he has for a nephew! Lucky for us, though. As soon as the cops find out your wife is wearing your ankle bracelet, they’ll be swarming all over the country looking for you.”
“I’ll say that nephew is a louse—he has some nerve charging me a million bucks for a three-night stay.”
“He wanted more,” Larry reminded him. “I drove a hard bargain with him.”
Bull’s-Eye looked up. In the shadowy darkness he watched Highbridge effortlessly maneuver himself up to the deck and grasp the hand that was extended to him. His heart racing, Tony stood, grabbed the rope, and positioned his foot on the first rung. “Merry Christmas,” he muttered bitterly and turned to Larry. “If you want to give me a present, find where the Feds hid that jerk who ratted me out and whack him.”
Larry nodded.
“That would be a really nice gift,” Bull’s-Eye emphasized.
From above, sweating profusely, Eric watched Bull’s-Eye begin to lumber up the ladder. Eric had been warned by Larry the Creep that if anything went wrong and Tony ended up in the clink, he would be swimming with the fishes.
Then Eric stared in horror as Bull’s-Eye’s gun slipped from his pocket and fell into the water. At least that wasn’t my fault, he thought.
For two million bucks—one million for each stowaway—Eric had been willing to take this huge risk.
But now as a cursing, red-faced Bull’s-Eye came closer and closer, grasped the rail, and heaved his thick body over the side of the deck, Eric realized that he might have bitten off more than he could chew. The other guy he knew he could handle. I should have stuck with white-collar criminals, he thought, trying to appear in charge as he whispered in what he hoped was an authoritative tone, “Follow me.” He did not have to warn them to be silent. Most of the crew was already on board in preparation for the maiden voyage, but it was late and the ship was quiet.
Clad in hooded sweatshirts and dark glasses, the two felons followed Eric up a service companionway to the boat deck at the top of the ship. Eric peered out into the carpeted passageway. The coast was clear. He beckoned them forward. As they were passing the Commodore’s door, something slipped from under Highbridge’s sweatshirt and fell on the floor. Even though the carpet was plush, there was a distinctive thud.
“Oh goodness, my toiletries kit,” Highbridge whispered, slipping as he bent down to grab the leather case. Quickly trying to steady himself, he accidentally bumped against the Commodore’s door, barely missing the mermaid-shaped doorbell.
Eric’s heart almost stopped. His uncle was a light sleeper and often spent much of the night reading. He raced down the passageway, the others on his heels, stopped in front of his stateroom, and with trembling hands inserted the key. The green light went on, the electronic lock beeped happily, and he pushed open the door. The two escapees followed him inside the room. Eric shut the door behind them and double-locked it.
The curtains to the balcony had been drawn for the night by the cabin steward. A mint was on Eric’s pillow. Bull’s-Eye Tony lumbered over and sat on the couch while Highbridge dropped his leather toiletries kit on the bed and sighed.
Some roommates, Eric thought. Tony, a dangerous crime boss, and Highbridge, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, who cheated other people out of their money just for the thrill of it. Both in their mid-forties. Tony, on the short side with a powerful build, balding, and a face that looked as if it had gone a few rounds in a prize fight, and tall, thin Highbridge with his dark brown hair, chiseled, aristocratic features, and a disdainful expression he had probably been born with.
A knock on the door sent shock waves through the room. Eric pointed to the closet. Tony and Highbridge ran to it and disappeared inside.
“Eric, are you there?” Commodore Weed called from the passageway.
Eric turned on the bathroom light and pulled his robe off the hook to suggest he’d been about to get undressed. The robe over his arm, he opened the door. Uncle Randolph was a sight to behold in his custom-made, blue-and-white pajamas, complete with a sailboat embroidered on the lapel. “Hi,” Eric greeted his uncle, trying to sound sleepy.
“Mind if I come in?” the Commodore asked soulfully.
Eric had no choice but to open the door wider.
The Commodore stepped inside. “I heard a thump on my door and hurried into the passageway just as your door was closing. I guess you can’t sleep either, huh?”
In his long history of shady dealings, Eric had learned early on that it was always better to stick as close as possible to the truth. “I went for a walk on the deck, so keyed up about our Santa Cruise. Then I realized how tired I was. I think that’s why I accidentally bumped against your door.” He yawned, then watched in horror as the Commodore picked up Highbridge’s toiletries kit off the bed, and sat on the couch where the indentation from Tony’s generous behind was still fresh.
“Handsome kit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with it before.”
“I’ve had it a while,” Eric answered lamely and deliberately yawned again.
“I won’t stay long,” Randolph said in a tone that suggested he was just getting wound up. It reminded Eric of his long-winded high school graduation speaker who spent the first fifteen minutes at the podium mumbling, “Now before I start my remarks, I’d like to mention . . .”
“It’s okay, sir, stay as long as you like,” Eric said weakly.
“Insomnia,” Randolph began. “The good thing about it is it gives you time to read. The bad thing is it gives you too much time to think. Tonight I was thinking about Christmases past when you were a little boy.” He laughed. “You were a terror. Your mother almost died when she realized that you’d stolen the change out of all her guests’ coat pockets at her annual Christmas party.” The Commodore laughed again. “But that was a long time ago.” He looked around. “I’m glad these luxury rooms turned out so well. It’s nice to have a couch and a couple of chairs, not to mention a balcony. The closet is big, too, isn’t it? A woman’s dream.” He got to his feet. “Tomorrow’s a big day. We’d both better try and get some rest.”
“Uncle Randolph, I want to thank you for making me a part of this wonderful new venture of yours.”
“Blood is thicker than water, my boy,” the Commodore intoned as he patted Eric on the shoulder, then crossed the room. The closet door was at a right angle to the outside door of the cabin. By mistake he put his hand on the closet door and began to turn its handle.
Eric lunged forward and threw his arms around his uncle’s back. The Commodore let go of the handle, turned around, and wrapped his nephew in a bear hug. “I never thought you were an emotional fellow,” Randolph said, his voice husky. “As a matter of fact, I thought you were something of a cold fish.”
“I love you, Uncle Randolph.” By now Eric was so nervous that his voice was quivering. His uncle obviously thought that he was about to break down and have a good cry.
“I love you too, Eric,” the Commodore said softly. “More than you’ll ever know. This will be a good trip for us. For our relationship. Now get some rest.”
Eric nodded and quickly opened the cabin door and eased his uncle out. He stepped into the passageway and watched until his uncle’s pajamaed figure disappeared into his own suite. Stepping back inside, Eric almost collapsed with relief. He double-locked the door and opened the closet.
“I need a hanky,” Bull’s-Eye whispered, then mimicked, “ ‘I love you, Uncle Randolph.’ ”
“I did what I had to,” Eric said impatiently. “There’s a queen-sized bed and a pullout couch. How do you want to arrange this?”
“I’m taking the bed,” Bull’s-Eye ordered. “You two can share the couch.”
Barron looked at him, about to protest, but the sight of Bull’s-Eye’s ugly expression immediately changed his mind.
Eric spent the night twisting and turning on the lounge chair on the balcony.