by Frost, E J
“I wouldn’t,” he snaps.
“Granted. But if you were, how would you?”
He rubs his lightly bearded jaw with his fingers. “It has to stay in solid form, right?”
“That’s my understanding. Why?”
He shrugs. “There are more liquids brought aboard than anything else. Water. Booze. Oil. Heck, even the diesel for the engines. If it were me, I’d bring the drugs aboard in liquid form. Liquids are bottled, so the dogs might not sniff it out.”
I make a note in my pad to ask Michael about the possibility of liquid brick. “I’ll follow that up. That’s really interesting.”
“Better than the drone theory, huh?” At my nod, he leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “If it has to be in solid form, then, if it were me, and I’m just speaking hypothetically here, I’d bring it aboard in the fresh food. Fruit and vegetables don’t keep for two weeks. We take on fresh food in Zihuatanejo. The food’s heavily screened, though. You’d have to do something like insert a pill in every head of lettuce. Something crazy like that.”
We have no idea how much Black paid for his little pink friend, and none of the others have admitted to taking the drug yet, much less how much they paid for it. Even if the dealer only manged to get ten pills aboard, if he sold each of them for a grand, that would be more than worthwhile.
“Let’s assume they only brought limited quantities aboard. Say ten pills. Could ten pills get through the screening if they were hidden in heads of lettuce?”
Reyes spreads his hands. “It’s possible. We’re looking for a kilo of Mexican brown, not individual pills tucked into lettuce.”
“Then, I’ll also need the kitchen staff rotas, if you can get them for me.”
He nods. “Some of the kitchen staff speak less English than the cleaners.”
It might not matter. What I’m looking for are patterns. “If it were you, how would you get the drugs out of the kitchen and into the hands of the passengers?”
“See?” He points a finger at me. If he does it again, I’m going to snap his fucking finger off. “That’s where your theory falls down.”
“How?”
“Because the kitchen staff never interface with guests. Hell, they never interface with the guest facing staff. They’re on shifts. On four hours, off four hours. They’re up when we’re asleep, and asleep when we’re awake. Their bunks are right in the middle of the lower decks. Do you know why? It’s not just because those are the worst rooms on the ship. It’s because they’re the darkest. They get used to it, somehow, but it’s crazy.”
“They have contact with the wait staff, who are guest facing,” I point out, unconvinced.
“You think so? Ask any of the wait staff if they’ve spoken to a trog. That’s what they call the kitchen staff. Short for troglodytes. Because they never come to the surface.”
I feel a hard clutch of sympathy for the trogs, who work in such dismal conditions with the luxury of this posh boat all around them. “Okay, so you’re saying the kitchen staff who would have access to the drug-laced food don’t have any way of getting it out of the kitchens to the passengers?”
As I say it, it sounds ridiculous. There must be a hundred different ways. Reyes grimaces.
“They’re not prisoners down there.”
He’s made it sound like they are. “What I think you’re saying, is I’m looking for one route into the kitchens and another route out. Right?”
He shrugs. “I’m saying it’s unlikely. This whole thing’s absurdly fucking unlikely.”
I don’t care if he thinks my theories are absurd, or the smartest thing since the quantum physics mumbo-jumbo Michael’s wife was explaining to Emily. What matters is he doesn’t actively obstruct my investigation. “Understood. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me this morning.”
Give him points, he knows when he’s dismissed, and he doesn’t prolong the agony. He stands, brushing off his pants, and walks out, ignoring the hand I offer him.
Asshole.
I make a couple of notes while I wait for Jan Millek and doodle a sketch of what I’d like to do to Dan Reyes, which involves dark droplets spraying from his nose. Maybe Emily would like to color-in my sketch; I’ve read that littles like to color.
With a chuckle, I flip to a blank page in my notebook.
* * *
Jan Millek’s English is halting, but perfectly understandable, and he’s a lot more helpful than Reyes. In ten minutes, we establish a timeline for the days Black was alone.
“And he definitely was not in his cabin on Friday night?” I ask, going back to a point we’ve gone over already, but I want to nail down.
Millek nods. “Seven twenty, I put out fresh towels. Eight forty, I turn down bed. Two chocolate, like he ask. He not there.”
Millek remembers Black, in part, because he was a difficult guest. He made a number of special requests, including that not one but two chocolates be left on his pillow every night. Black tipped Millek well, though, or so Millek’s quick to tell me. None of this sounds like sour grapes.
“Same thing on Saturday night?” I ask.
Millek nods. “He there one night. Wednesday. Working, with papers.” Millek waves his arms, which I take to mean there were papers everywhere. “He told me no vacuum. Just bed. Two chocolates.” He holds up two fingers. “I say, yes, two chocolates.”
Millek’s recollection is too nuanced, and tallies too neatly with what I already know about Black’s trip from Olsen and MacDonald, to be fabricated. I make several notes.
“On any night, did you have to clean up room service trays or food he’d brought back to his cabin?”
Millek nods. “Thursday. Friday.” He counts them off on his fingers. “Saturday morning.”
Those would be the nights he was aboard without Olsen, except the Saturday night farewell extravaganza, which I know from briefings with the cruise line was a pig roast held on the Lido deck. Since Black mentioned to MacDonald he was looking forward to that meal, it makes sense he would have gone to it, instead of having food delivered to his room.
“Room service or just food he’d brought back from the buffet?” I ask.
“Room service. Tray.” Millek cups his hands like a lid and I nod.
Black had several meals delivered. That’s a route out of the kitchens if there ever was one.
“Was Mr. Black sick at all during the trip? Did you see any vomit? Anything in the bathroom?”
Millek shakes his head. “Good water. No sick.”
I’m not sure if he means that Black stuck to bottled water or that the seas were calm, but it doesn’t really matter. I’ll have Michael double-check with the infirmary staff, but it sounds like Black only showed symptoms once he left the boat.
Millek watches me, anxiety creasing his long, thin face. “Nothing wrong in food,” he says.
“No, I don’t think anything was wrong with the food, either. Did you clean his bathroom? Did you see pill bottles?”
“Clean bathroom two time every day. Orange.” Millek holds his fingers about three inches apart and shakes them, like he’s shaking a bottle of pills.
Lots of prescriptions come in dark orange plastic containers.
“How many bottles?” I ask.
Millek holds up two fingers, then waggles his hand. “Maybe three.”
Not exactly a pharmacy.
“Did you see any pink pills?”
Millek shrugs. “Just bottle.”
In which Black could easily have put the pink pills. Particularly since the color could have distinguished them from the other pills in the bottle.
“Black was travelling with a woman, Chrisjean Olsen. Did you clean her room, too?”
Millek nods. “Left early. Final clean. Lock up.”
“No one went in her room after Ms. Olsen left?”
Millek shakes his head.
“Did you see anyone in Mr. Black’s room with him other than Ms. Olsen?”
Millek nods. He cru
nches his hands in front of him. I shake my head and he tries again, making bigger motions until I understand his pantomime.
“He had a massage? Was that in his room?”
Millek nods. “Come back later.”
“He told you to come back later because he was having a massage?”
Millek nods.
“Was it just the once?”
Millek shakes his head and holds up three fingers.
“Black had three massages?”
Millek nods and I make notes. I can verify the massages with the Pink Pearl Spa. Although I don’t see a connection between the kitchen staff and a masseuse, any contact between Black and the crew is worth looking into.
“Anyone else you can remember being in Mr. Black’s room?”
Millek shakes his head.
“Thank you, Jan,” I say warmly. “I really appreciate your time. You’ve been a huge help.”
He holds his hands out. “Sorry. Mr. Black nice man.”
I nod. I understand all of the staff feeling bad about Black’s death. “I’ll do my best to find out what killed Mr. Black and make sure it doesn’t hurt any other guest.”
“Hvala vam,” Millek says.
When I stand and hold my hand out to him, he pumps it.
I show Millek out, make a few more notes and then put my notebook and computer in the room safe with a sigh of relief. My interviews for the day are done. I’ve found out a lot, have a skeleton outline of the victim’s movements, and, Dan Reyes aside, I’m pleased with the progress I’m making. Now I can enjoy the rest of the day with my baby doll.
I change into gym clothes, put the things we’ll need for our scene into a duffle, and knock on the connecting door to Emily’s cabin.
She opens the door immediately and grins up at me. “Hi, Daddy.”
I tug on one of her ponytails. “Hey, sweetheart. Ready?”
She nods, bouncing a little in her white running shoes. I doubt she’s that excited about going to the gym, although maybe she’s a secret exercise nut. It’s the scene afterwards that’s got us both keyed up.
I hold her hand as we make our way up to the gym on Deck 9. We talk about the scene as we go. I’ve already given her a framework: a naughty cheerleader is punished for sneaking into the men’s locker room. Emily expands the story as we walk up the ship’s central staircase. Each of her suggestions sparks more in me, and we toss ideas back and forth as we walk. Watching her face light up as we develop the scene, it hits me that this is the key to Emily’s. She’s a writer, so of course she loves a narrative. That’s why she got so excited about my little black book of ideas when I showed it to her during our phone date.
I can act out endless kinky stories with her, if that’s what turns her crank. It sure as hell turns mine.
I stop her on a landing, pull her to the side so we’re not obstructing the stairs and squeeze her tightly.
“What?” she asks, a little breathlessly, looking up into my face.
“I just figured something out, baby doll.”
She grins. “A good thing?”
“A good thing. A naughty thing. A thing that will give you lots and lots of orgasms.”
She vibrates in my arms. “Share it with me, please, Sir?”
“Not a chance, little monkey.” I release her and give her a swat on the ass. “Get moving. Every minute behind schedule the naughty baby falls is a smack on the tits with the black paddle.”
She shrieks and bolts up the last staircase, a streak of black and white in her cute little bike shorts and oversized tee that says, “Come to The Dark Side, We Have Cookies.”
Grinning, I follow her up the stairs, down the corridor, and into the huge gym that overlooks the Lido deck.
Niall’s already on the weight bench. The bar’s relatively straight against the weight of the plates, so he must still be building up to his full load. I circle the bench so he knows I’m there but don’t disturb him while he’s doing his reps.
Emily follows me, bright eyes on my face.
“Yeeees?” I drawl.
“Can I watch while you grunt and strain, Sir?”
“Sure. From the treadmill. Fifteen minutes, cheeky git.”
She pouts but skips off to a treadmill from which she can watch the weight bench. The woman on the next treadmill, bottle blonde and with tits too Barbie-big for her thin frame, speaks to her. My baby doll flushes but responds shyly as she starts up her treadmill.
I spot Niall for five minutes, then take his place while he spots for me. I’m aware of Emily watching me, biting her lower lip and grinning. She’s not walking fast enough to break a sweat, although her cheeks are adorably pink. I would penalize her for lack of effort, but she’s going to get plenty of exercise during our scene.
On second thought, maybe she’s saving her strength. On only fifteen hundred calories a day, she’ll run out of steam very quickly. Maybe that’s the way to approach that particular battle. If she seems cranky or overtired this afternoon, I’ll put her down for a nap and use it as an opportunity to broach the subject of her daily calorie allowance.
Niall snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Head on the weights, not on yer gurl.”
I give him a cocky grin and shove the bar up at him. “Catch, you burly bastard.”
He takes the bar and sets it in the Y supports. I sit up and roll my shoulders until Niall thumps me on the back and I haul myself up to make way for him on the bench. I clamp on another plate when he signals with two fingers.
“Vashi says you haven’t been together long,” Niall says, blowing out on a lift.
“A week,” I confirm.
“Eh, early doors then.”
I shrug. Emily and I may be new, but I’ve been with bottoms far longer and been a lot less sure about any possible future. Still, I don’t know Niall well enough to tell him that.
Instead, I ask, “Have you been in the lifestyle long?”
“Ten years.” He blows out, and I’m pleased to see he’s struggling, since I’d only be able to do one or two reps at that weight.
“Same,” I say, although it’s closer to twelve years for me now. “Did you train somewhere?”
Niall shakes his head as the cords stand out in his neck. I put my hands out, ready to take the bar, but he eases it back into the rest and grips it, blowing out a few breaths. Then he sits up and shakes his head. “Nae. Learned along the way. Here an’ there. What about yeh?”
“Jasmine House in Bangkok. You’ll never have heard of it. Now I’m a member of Blunts in New York.”
“Aye. Heard of that place. Bit up its own arse.”
I chuckle. I’ve heard so much criticism of my club over the years it just rolls off now. “If you get out to New York, come see for yourself.”
Niall grunts. “Will do.”
He spots me through another set. When I move on, he joins me, doing squats.
“Emily and I have a scene in the changing room at noon,” I tell him once I’ve finished a set.
Niall lifts his brows. “Yeh mind meh watchin’?”
“Not at all. Public scene. Are you and Vashi doing any scenes?”
Niall nods. “In a few days. She’s not an exhibitionist. She needs to settle in a bit first.”
“Uh-huh. I’m blindfolding Emily for this scene, so she doesn’t have to deal with too many people watching her.”
“You’ve done scenes with her before?”
“One, but it was just a spanking. This is our first full scene in public.”
Niall rubs his hands together before grabbing the bar again. “Exciting.”
I nod. He doesn’t know the half of it. I’ve been semi-stiff since breakfast.
We move on to deadlifts and finish with pull-ups; I keep the work-out light since I want to have plenty of energy for the scene. I expect Niall to keep lifting when I move to the treadmill, but he follows me and takes the machine next to mine while I start up the one beside Emily.
Emily watches me, eyes glinting, as I set
a ten-minute hill walk.
“That was really hot to watch, Sir,” she says.
“Uh-huh. Ten more minutes, baby doll.”
She pouts, since she was within a minute of finishing her original fifteen but sets another ten minutes like a good girl.
“I can’t believe how much iron you guys were pumping!” the bottle blonde on the other side of Emily gushes.
When I slant her a glance, Emily wrinkles her chin and says, “Sir, this is Rose.”
“Hi!” Rose waves at me.
“Hi, Rose, I’m Logan, and this is Niall.”
Niall nods at the introduction but seems engrossed in the treadmill settings.
Rose continues to yap while I climb digital hills. Emily responds occasionally but I tune Rose out completely, particularly once Niall starts talking to me in low tones. “What brought you into the lifestyle?”
“A mistake,” I admit. “A mate thought he could speak Thai better than he could. We went to a brothel in Bangkok on shore leave. He tried to order me a rim job as a joke. All my buddies went off to get blown. Ten minutes later, a girl came to the room with her arms bound behind her back and a crop in her teeth. It was like someone flipped a switch connected straight to my dick.”
Niall chuckles. “I remember that feeling.”
“Fucking amazing.”
I tilt my head to check on Emily, who has one eye on me even while she responds to a stream of babble from Barbie-tits. I wink at her so she knows I’m still paying attention even though I’m talking to Niall. I consider telling him that being Emily’s Daddy makes me feel the same way I did that first night in Jasmine House. But that might embarrass her and I’m not sure I know Niall well enough yet for that, either.
Instead, I ask, “What about you?”
“Party,” he grunts as his treadmill rises steeply. “Flogging scene. Brought together every fantasy I’d had in meh head since I was a lad.”
I nod. “Do you do impact play now?”
“Aye. Signal whip’s my preference, although I use a bullwhip on Shaan.”
That’s right, he’s in a trio with Vashi and another man. Sounds like he tops both of them. There are two trios at Blunts, but I’m not close to the Doms in either, so I don’t know much about the dynamics of a ménage. It’d be interesting to watch, even for just a scene. “Be sure to let me know when you’re doing a scene. I’ve used whips, but I’m no expert.”