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Keeping my gaze centered on his scowling face, lest he figure out my plan, I pulled my right foot back, turned it forty five degrees, and whacked that illegitimate son of a banshee right on the shin with my royal blue cast. And just for good measure, as he was bent over and hugging his injured limb, I gave him a hard shove to the head, tipping him keister over tea kettle. The knife clattered as it skidded across the deck and I ran like a maniac towards the Windjammer Café. Or rather, I ran a step and hopped, ran a step and hopped, ran a step and hopped.
“You bitch!” I heard him roar just seconds before he grabbed my hair, whirling me around like his own personal Raggedy Ann, ready to beat the stuffing out of me. The silver dagger in his hand and his menacing eyes gave me fair warning. It was time for me to fish or cut bait, as the saying goes. I might not be able to run very fast, but I still was pretty good at one thing, and that one thing was going to give me a fighting chance to stay alive. It was time to cause a ruckus. Surely someone on the deck above would look down and see me fighting off my assailant.
“Take your pea-picking, slime-ball hands off me, you bastard!” I hollered at the top of my lungs as I dipped to avoid his attempt to stab me. “Leave me alone, you freaking maniac!”
“I’ll kill you!” he screamed at me, his right arm raised above his head. “You’re a dead woman!”
“Murderer! Murderer!” Even as I bellowed that word again and again, I wondered what Dame Agatha Christie would think of me. My mind flashed to Murder on the Orient Express. “Women are like that. When they are enraged they have great strength,” her chef de train had remarked. Damn straight, I decided. Someone’s going down and I can tell you right now that it’s not going to be me!
“FBI, Hudsucker!” Todd came busting onto the scene at full speed, his weapon drawn on the man with the knife. “Show your hands! Now!”
Marco froze in his tracks, unable to move as his brain scrambled to process what was happening to him, but the fingers of his left hand remained entwined in my hair. Unsure of what move I should make, I turned to Todd for direction. He was quickly moving forward, his weapon trained on my assailant.
“Do it!” screamed a female agent in an FBI tee shirt, her gun aimed at a point just over my shoulder. She meant business too. I waited, expecting my assailant to surrender and the agents to move in with handcuffs, but that didn’t happen. Why isn’t Marco giving up?
Whirling around on one foot, I saw his eyes narrow as he suddenly seemed to recognize the spot he was in. That’s when he looked at me. In a flash of intuition that was driven solely by the terror coursing through my veins, I knew the danger wasn’t over. I was about to become a human shield.
At that moment, Kenny stepped into view. The panic that contorted his face into something almost unrecognizable told me that he understood Mark Hudsucker’s evil intentions towards me.
“Scarlet, hit the deck!” he screamed.
Hit the what? My rattled brain struggled to comprehend the command. I saw his frantic arm motions. It looked like he was pushing something down. Oh, I get it. Hit the deck. But how do I that with this big baboon holding onto me like I’m his prize banana? I have to make him let go of me.
With both hands locked together, I struck Marco’s chin, forcing it up towards the sky, and even as he tried to recover his equilibrium, stumbling backwards, I broke free from my assailant’s grasp and did a belly flop onto the floor.
“Damn!” When my casted leg smacked the hard deck, I gasped, unable to avoid the blast of pain that came my way.
“Don’t move, Scarlet!” a voice instructed me. “Just sit tight a minute, until we’ve got the suspect under control.”
Don’t worry. I couldn’t get up if I tried. Lying on my stomach, I fought back the tears. For the third time in less than twenty four hours, my poor foot endured yet another brutal blow.
“Scarlet?” I felt a hand on my back. Kenny knelt down beside me. “Honey, are you okay?”
“I-I-I....” I had to take a breath and exhale slowly before I knew the answer to his question. “I think so.”
“Get Dr. Van Zandt. He’s in the Windjammer Café!” the man from Mercer Security commanded one of the security officers. “And where’s the nurse?”
“I’m right here,” a woman crossing over the water bridge called out to us. Seconds later, she dropped to her knees beside me and leaned in, her face close to mine. “Where does it hurt?”
“The better question is: “Where doesn’t it hurt?” I corrected her tersely.
“Okay, let me try again. What hurts the most?”
“My foot is killing me.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the pain?”
“Eleven.” Now that I was safe, the rush of adrenaline was fading and my body was beginning to protest its latest assault. I was sure to have new bruises on hands, elbows, and knees. Note to self—next time you decide to do a dive, aim for the pool.
I watched as Mark Hudsucker was led away in handcuffs by two FBI agents. Defiant even in shackles, he jerked, twisted, and butted his body, trying to break away. Knock yourself out, creep!
No sooner had they disappeared than one of the Royal Caribbean security officers radioed for assistance to cover an incident. “All available personnel, I need backup in the H2O Zone!”
Kenny was swept away in a wave of blue-shirted Royal Caribbean security officers. He tossed a promise over his shoulder as he ran. “I’ll be back!”
“We’ll get you fixed up in no time. Just let me get you into the chair and I’ll take you down to the infirmary.” The nurse released my wrist, deciding my pulse was strong enough, and got to her feet. She put her arms around my waist, clasped her hands together, and hugged me tight.
“Mmm!” I moaned, my teeth clenched, as my personal Florence Nightingale lifted me up and plopped me down on the seat of my wheelchair.
“Nurse!” One of the security officers came running into the Solarium. “We need you! Things got wild when two kids collided. One of them suffered head trauma and another one split his chin open when he fell face first on the deck. The doctor needs you to assist!”
“I’m coming,” she told the agent, before turning her attention back to me. “You sit tight. I’ll be back for you.”
“But....” I started to protest, but my plea went unheard. She took off at a gallop, her medical bag in hand. Gazing around, I saw that Juan hadn’t returned to tend his bar. The rubberneckers who had watched Mark Hudsucker throttle me from their perch on Deck 12 had already departed for the big splash zone catastrophe with the squirt gun set. Once again, I was alone in the Solarium.
Here I am, battered and bruised yet again, and no one’s here to console me. I feel like a little kid, ready to wail, “I want my mommy!” Do you believe it...at my age? It’s ridiculous. I should just pick myself up and move on. I would, except for this damned cast on my foot and the hurt that won’t leave me alone.
“Well, I guess I could just go find my mother.” I sighed, knowing that the current emergency took precedent over my situation. With my hands on the wheels of my temporary chariot, I propelled myself forward, careful to navigate through the Solarium maze. It took me longer than I expected to roll past the giant gold-painted palm trees and colorful toucans on my way back to the lounge. My arms weren’t used to the manual effort of pushing on the wheels to make them go. I caught the tip of one of my footrests on the corner of a wall when I swung wide to get around a lounge chair, but luckily, it was the left one. My foot was now so sore, I wanted to rip off the cast and submerge it in a bucket of ice, just to stop the throbbing ache. What if my toes swell so much, they burst through the confines of the plaster that protects them? I don’t want to lose them. How would my little piggies ever go wee, wee, wee, all the way home again?
“Oh, swell!” I got as far as the exit when I found my way blocked by a wild-eyed woman holding a gun. Her hands shook so hard, I was sure she was going to shoot the beak off one of the colorful tropical birds that towered over us. And what’s a toucan without his trademark beak...a parrot?
“You!” she snarled. “You ruined everything!”
“Missy, I presume.”
“This is your fault! None of this would have happened if you hadn’t interfered!”
“I believe they call that denial,” I shot back, defiant. I figured that since Missy and her partner had already murdered twice before, I had little to lose from getting on her bad side. It’s not like you can get that horse back in the barn. She already hates your guts. “You think you can go on killing people as some sort of demented career move?”
“Shut up!” she sputtered through clenched teeth. Even as I saw her angry eyes narrow, I stoked the flames of her frustration.
“Why should I shut up? Is it because you can’t handle the truth of what I’m going to say to you? Everyone knows that Velma Sue has far more talent in her little pinkie than you have in your whole body!” My brain worked overtime, doing the math. If that gun was loaded, it wasn’t like I could out run a bullet. Even if she was a lousy shot and couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn, chances were good I would at least get winged. What should I do? I needed to cause another ruckus. It worked the last time, and it just might work again.
“That’s bull....”
“No, it’s not,” I retorted loudly, creeping forward as I egged her on. My brain registered the futility of provoking an unbalanced egomaniac with a loose grasp on reality. Did I think she would shoot me? Sure. But I was damned if I was going to go quietly. Oh, no. I was going out kicking and screaming all the way. And hopefully, someone on the upper deck would spot us before she could pump me full of lead. “You can’t sing to save your sorry excuse of a life. You’re a no-talent nobody and the only way you think you can make it is for you to ruin the woman with a voice that everybody loves!”
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” she screeched like a four-year-old, the gun at her side. “I hate you!”
“Well, thank goodness we’ve established that you hate me. I wouldn’t want to be fooled into thinking we’re best friends, Missy.” My voice was dripping with enough sarcasm to host a Jon Stewart roast.
Over her left shoulder, I caught sight of a figure inching his way towards Missy. The man was still a good fifty feet away, but at least I could see he had his own weapon in hand. Now I just had to keep her occupied until Marley could sneak up on her.
“Everybody knows you’re tone deaf,” I went on, thinking back to all the cruel comments I’d heard from teenage girls during the years I taught at the high school. They can be vicious when they go for a rival’s figurative jugular vein. I just took a page from their snarky playbook. “That’s why Missy and the Fillies was such a flop as a group. You think all it takes for you to shoot to the top of the charts is for you to kill your competition? Ha! Nobody’s going to want to listen to you sing! You stink!”
“That’s a lie! People love me!”
“Right. That’s why the rest of your band hung you out to dry.”
“They did not!” she insisted at the top of her lungs. Keep screaming, honey. The more witnesses I have, the better.
“Okay, Missy,” I said in my sternest schoolmarm voice. “If you’re so great, why did they vote to keep Velma Sue on? Why didn’t they fire her?”
“That’s only because her sister got them that contract! They had no choice!”
“Of course they had a choice, and they made it. You’re out and Velma Sue is in.”
“No, she’s not. As soon as I get done with you, I’m going to kill her too!”
“You’re going to kill me?” I figured it would help if I got her to admit this was her plan.
“You can bet your sweet biscuits I am!”
“How are you going to explain the gunshots on a crowded ship?” I demanded of the crazed woman in front of me. “You don’t think anyone is going to hear you fire that thing?”
“Oh, I’m not going to shoot you.” Suddenly Missy’s face transformed from angry to cunning. “You’re going to jump overboard.”
“I don’t think so!” I remarked, chuckling at the notion. Let’s let her think about how dumb that really sounds. Why would I want to jump overboard when my rescue is imminent?
“I do.”
“Good luck trying to make that happen,” I snorted derisively.
“That’s what George Delaney said just before he died.” She flashed me a satisfied smile, as if she had just placed the trump card in front of me.
“Yes, but the only reason you managed to murder him was because there were two of you and one of him.”
“You’re hardly in any position to resist me,” she reminded me smugly. “I have a loaded gun.”
“Ah, you do. But I have something you don’t have.”
“What’s that?” This time it was her turn to snicker.
“Marley.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have Marley,” I said again.
“What’s a Marley?”
“A Marley is not a thing, Missy. Marley is a man, and he happens to be standing right behind you. He has a gun in his hand too. I’m going to guess that his is also loaded.”
“Oh, sure. You think I’m going to fall for that old trick?”
“Well, suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Hands up!” Marley bellowed in her ear. The unexpected sound caused Missy to jump about a foot straight up into the air. When she came back down, Marley made his move, swooping in so smoothly that the look of surprise barely had a chance to register on Missy’s face before a muscular 190-pound man grabbed the gun from her hand and forced her onto the deck, face-first. One by one, Marley grabbed her hands and bound them behind her back with a plastic cable tie. Once she was no longer a threat, he helped her to her feet. “Your killing spree is over, toots!”
Juan, finally back from his supply run, dropped a large corrugated cardboard carton on the bar and hurried over to see if he could help out. Marley immediately assigned him as my aide.
“We’re going down to the security office. I’ve got to let the FBI know we have the other suspect in custody. As soon as I hand Missy over and get an update on the brats’ brawl, I’ll have you escorted to the infirmary,” Marley informed me. “I don’t know yet how many were injured and I don’t want to send you down there if the little cretins are going to continue their epic battle over squirt guns.”
Wanting to avoid passing through the growing crowd gathered to watch the teenage takedown in the H2O Splash Zone, Marley led us to the elevators by still-tranquil spa. The calm atmosphere was soon shattered. Patrons signing up for treatments at the front desk got a real earful of Missy’s vile, vituperative vocalizations. One of the spa employees hurried to shut the door as we waited for the elevator to arrive. For poor, mortified Juan, however, there was no escape. He was stuck listening as Missy spat out a series of threats she promised she would carry out the second her hands were free.
“Don’t worry,” the chief of Royal Caribbean security told him. “She won’t be sailing with us.”
“Gracias a Dios!” The sweet-faced bartender nervously observed the woman willing to kill to be the next country superstar. “Está loca!”
“Sí,” I agreed with him wholeheartedly. “There’s an understatement.”
“Ella es también peligroso.”
“Yes, she’s very dangerous. She helped to kill two men,” I told him, as the elevator doors opened and Marley shoved the uncooperative Missy into the car. We gave him a few seconds to put her in the far corner, where she could do no harm.
“I might have to name a cocktail after her,” Juan confided to me, keeping his voice low. “Maybe I’ll call it the Muy Loca.”
“Or you could call it the Mad Missy. Make sure it packs a real punch.”
“Just like the lady,” he grinned.
“Okay, I’ve got the suspect under control,” Marley told him. “You’re good to go.”
Juan backed my wheelchair into the elevator, careful to keep a good distance between us and the seething singer.
With most of the team responding to the calamity on Deck 11, the security office was fairly quiet, with a handful of personnel manning the monitors. Harkin jumped up when he saw Marley trying to wrestle Missy through the door.
“I’ll get the security officer,” he promised. Less than thirty seconds later, Diego Garcia popped his head out of his office.
“Damn! Is that who I think it is?” he asked Marley.
“Hell, yes. Whatever you do, don’t get too close to the claws. This one looks like a scratcher.”
“And a biter,” Garcia added, stepping in to assist. “Let’s put Cat Woman in the conference room for now. We’ve got the Joker in the holding cell, with Schmidt doing the babysitting.”
Todd, working in another room down the hall, suddenly appeared in the doorway. He let out a delighted whoop as Marley and Diego offered up their prize to him. “Excellent!”
“This is the craziest cruise I’ve ever been on,” Juan admitted as he kept me company. “And I’ve been on plenty of those in the last ten years.”
“Well, I’m glad to know this isn’t what normally goes on,” I smiled. “It’s been pretty crazy for me too.”
“My mother’s never going to believe me when I tell her what happened.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“I can only hope my mother doesn’t want to know what happened, because if she finds out, she’ll never let me out of her sight again!”
Once the paperwork was written up for the transfer of the suspects into FBI custody, there was a very sobering meeting for the parents of the little hooligans involved in the brawl. As the ranking federal agent, it was up to Todd to explain the serious ramifications of committing prosecutable crimes at sea while traveling on a ship registered in the United States. Diego then outlined the Royal Caribbean’s rules for the rest of the cruise. Most of the kids received written warnings that they would face arrest if they engaged in any more antics while they were on the Liberty of the Seas. Three of the worst juvenile offenders were released into the custody of their parents only after the adults promised to supervise them for the remainder of the trip.
As for the two injured kids, they were still being treated in the sick bay. The one with the possible concussion was expected to recover, but just to be on the safe side, he would be taken to the hospital in Hamilton on the same boat that would transport Missy and Marco back to Bermuda. The other one was stitched up by Dr. Van Zandt, who assured the parents that the scar on their son’s chin would be barely noticeable once it healed.
“Okay, we’re making progress now. Juan, you’re free to return to your station,” Marley announced. “I’ll keep an eye on Miz Scarlet.”
“Good luck. Don’t forget to stop by my bar for a drink,” Juan called out, as he departed, on his way back to Deck 11. “I’ll make you something special.”
“I thought I already was something special,” I quipped, unable to resist a grin. He was still laughing when he disappeared around the corner.
“Do you think you could write up a statement?” Marley asked me. “It’s best when it’s still fresh in your mind and you haven’t had too much time to get creative.”
“Sure. Just give me something to write on.”
A man named Earl pushed my wheelchair up to a desk, found me a legal pad and a pen, and offered me a bottle of chilled water that was heavenly to sip. He took a seat to my left and went back to his monitor. Five minutes later, as I sat scrawling out my saga, he let out a snort.
“Ah, the Royal Promenade. It’s a shoplifter’s version of paradise.” He pulled out his radio and instructed a colleague to convince a silver-haired, sixty-something woman that there were other, more appropriate activities for her on the ship than helping herself to designer sunglasses.
“Tell Granny there’s shuffleboard on Deck 4.”
Half an hour later, the ship’s crew prepared to welcome aboard a contingent of law enforcement agents, who were arriving by high speed boat, courtesy of the Bermuda Marine Police. The captain got on the ship’s public address system to announce that the Liberty of the Seas should be ready to resume the journey in about forty five minutes.
A short time later, I was sitting in the wheelchair, studying a new contusion on my left leg, when I heard a woman call me.
“Scarlet!” Kathleen Delaney stepped into the security office. “I heard you got hurt this afternoon. Are you okay?”
“Oh, I will be,” I told her, grimacing as I tried to flex the toes on my right foot. “It’s great to see you, but totally unexpected. What are you doing here? I thought you were flying home.”
“Todd decided that since the killer and his accomplice were captured, there was no longer any reason to keep me in the hospital. He said it would be okay for me to sail home.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Honestly?” She took the seat next to me. Her eyes were moist, her voice thick with emotion. “I could use a little moral support. I miss George. It feels like someone ripped my heart out without any anesthesia.”