Do you hear what I hear?” Bull’s-Eye asked Highbridge, who had curled himself into a fetal position.
“This is no time for Christmas carols,” Highbridge snapped, as the rain relentlessly pelted every inch of their bodies.
“No, you idiot. I think Eric is singing a Christmas song. Listen.”
“Who could hear anything with this wind?”
“Shut up. He must be looking for us.”
The faint sound of Eric’s voice was drifting toward them. Highbridge strained as he made out the words Eric was singing. It was a line from “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town.”
“He knows if you’ve been bad or good . . .”
“He’s off-key,” Highbridge muttered.
“At least he’s trying to find us,” Bull’s-Eye snapped. “What do you want him to do, call out our names?”
The two men struggled to their feet and peered around the side of the barn. Eric was standing at the first hole, singing his heart out.
“Pssst. We’re here,” Bull’s-Eye called to him.
Eric hurried over to them. “I’ve looked everywhere for you.”
“Well, you found us,” Bull’s-Eye said. “Now what?”
“Some guy had an accident in the dining room and is in the infirmary. He’ll be there at least overnight,” Eric told them. “I have a pass key to his room. Follow me, but we have to be careful. They’re cleaning up the buffet in the Lido and we can’t let them see us. We’ll have to crawl past the windows.”
Three minutes later, as thoroughly drenched as if they’d been swimming in the ocean, the trio, traveling fifty feet apart, finally made it to Crater’s room.
Highbridge ran into the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the shower. Bull’s-Eye peeled off the wet Santa suit and stood in the tartan shorts that Ivy had described. He grabbed a bathrobe with the insignia of the Royal Mermaid from the closet and put it on. He then yanked a blanket from the bed and wrapped himself in it. “I’m going to get pneumonia. Is there a bar in here?”
Eric’s beeper went off. He glanced at it. “It’s my uncle. He’s been trying to reach me. There’s a minibar in the cabinet. I’ll be back.”
After Eric left, Tony poured a miniature bottle of scotch into a glass and sat down on the bed. He had the feeling that Highbridge was going to use up all the hot water on the ship. As he took one strong gulp of the scotch, he looked around the room and noticed a remote control on the bed. He flicked on the television, not sure if he’d find anything other than a lecture about Fishbowl Island or a safety video explaining what to do if the ship was sinking. But when the screen lit up, Tony was shocked to see his mug shot staring back at him.
“Authorities are questioning Bingo Mullens about his association with Tony Pinto, who disappeared from his home on Christmas Day. Pinto is believed to be trying to flee the country, and an informer has told the FBI that Bingo Mullens was making inquiries to find someone willing to smuggle him out.”
The scotch burned a hole in Pinto’s gut. Bingo might give me up, he thought. He’ll end up in Podunk in the Witness Protection Program, pretending to be a shoe salesman.
“Bingo, if you rat on me,” Tony said aloud, “I’ll kill you. The last guy who ratted on me has gotten away so far. But you won’t. I swear to you, you won’t.”