by Tawna Fenske
Alex closed his eyes. “I don’t like this.”
“You don’t have to like it,” she said. “You just have to work with us here. I’m pretty sure we can keep these guys distracted for at least an hour. That gives you time to sneak onto the ship, disarm any guards they’ve left behind, figure out what happened to the original crew, check out the cargo, and get the hell off the boat without being caught.”
“Look, just put some clothes on and we’ll find another way to—”
“You want to wear the dress?”
Alex gritted his teeth as Juli stood back, surveying her handiwork with Phyllis. Alex had to admit he’d never seen her look quite so sultry. Come to think of it, he’d never seen her look like she wasn’t preparing to crush someone’s skull between her thighs.
Still, this was a crazy, risky plan. There was no way he could let them do this.
He turned his attention back to Juli, who was now slathering some sort of sparkly lotion on her bare legs. He stared, following the path of her fingers as they slid further up her thigh.
“I can’t believe Cody just happened to have a red leather miniskirt in his bag,” Juli was saying to Phyllis. “What are the odds?”
“I’d say pretty good,” Alex muttered, grateful Cody was in the shower and not here to witness this fiasco. He stared at the thigh-high, patent leather stilettos on Phyllis’s feet and raised an eyebrow at Juli.
“That’s not the boot you puked in, is it?”
Juli rolled her eyes. “No. The other boot was Prada. This is a Manolo Blahnik.”
“Duh,” said Phyllis.
Alex looked at her. “Two days ago, you asked if Manolo Blahnik was an appetizer or an entrée.”
Phyllis beamed. “I’m a new woman.”
“Just what we needed,” Alex muttered.
Phyllis tugged at the ruffled edge of her bustier. “Is it supposed to itch this much? Because it really itches.”
“It’s the price we pay for being desirable, sexy women,” Juli told her. “Discomfort, misery, and itchy boobs.”
“Speaking of the price you pay—” Alex began.
Juli turned on him. “We’re not actually going to accept money in exchange for sex, Alex. We’ll just titillate a little until we suddenly have an ‘emergency phone call’ we have to take care of. Then we’ll sneak out the back door and never see these guys again.”
“Titillate,” Jake repeated.
“Anyway, you’ll only be a couple minutes away on the boat, and we can radio you if anything happens,” Juli pointed out. “And it’s a public place. There will be tons of people there in the bar.”
“So one of us will go with you,” Alex said. “Just for safety’s sake.”
“As a pimp? No. Besides, you need all three of you to deal with any guys they may have left behind to guard the boat. You guys are walking into a much riskier situation than we are. You deal with that, and let us handle ours.”
Juli grabbed a hairbrush off the counter and made a few quick passes through Phyllis’s white-blonde hair, fluffing and teasing as Phyllis sat there looking amazed. “We’ll get out fast if things don’t feel right, okay?” she said, smiling at Alex.
“Things don’t feel right now,” Phyllis muttered, tugging at the bustier again. “Things are very itchy.”
Juli beamed at her. “You look amazing, Phyllis. Beautiful. Isn’t she stunning, Alex?”
Alex sighed. “You both look gorgeous. Really, too gorgeous. You’re going to give these guys a heart attack.”
Juli nodded. “So they said on the radio they were going to start off at that little tavern just down the alley,” she said, tucking her brush into a tiny silver clutch. “We’ll go work our magic. You guys work yours. And we’ll see you back here in an hour.”
“We don’t have to do it this way,” Alex argued, still not ready to surrender. “We have our paintball guns. We’ve got ski masks. We can do this by force.”
Juli shook her head. “I’ve got mace in my purse, and so does Phyllis. But anyway, you can kill more flies with honey than with vinegar.”
Cody stepped out of the bathroom and smiled, rubbing his head with a towel. “You can kill them with orange oil too.”
Juli grabbed her clutch and walked over to the bathroom door, where she stood on tiptoe to kiss Cody on the cheek. “We’ll keep that in mind.”
Alex stared after her as she flounced toward the door, key in hand. Phyllis flounced after her, looking fairly new to the whole business of flouncing. Alex resisted the urge to catch her when she tripped over her own boots.
At the door, Juli pivoted and looked at him. She smiled, making him want to run up and grab her and tie her to the bed so she wouldn’t take this crazy risk.
“Good luck getting the booty,” she said cheerfully, smiling at him.
“Good luck peddling yours,” Jake called back.
Alex shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching them strut out the door.
***
The throb of club music made Juli’s feet rattle inside her stilettos as she stepped into the darkened bar and looked around.
“See anyone?” Phyllis whispered, tugging at the bustier again.
“I’m not sure what we’re looking for,” Juli whispered back. “I think if we go sit down at the bar, they’ll probably just approach us.”
“Do we need to make up a ‘hookers for sale’ sign or anything?”
Juli swatted Phyllis’s hand away from the ruffled edge of her cleavage and shook her head. “Dressed like this, we don’t need to advertise. We just need to wait.”
Phyllis nodded, not looking convinced. Juli gave her an encouraging smile.
“You look totally hot, Phyllis.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’d buy you. If you were really a hooker, I mean.”
“Thanks, Juli. That’s really sweet of you.”
The two of them strolled over to the bar, Phyllis wobbling a little in her high-heeled boots. Juli pulled out a barstool and slid into place, setting her clutch on the wooden surface. Phyllis followed suit, looking like a nervous pre-teen girl on a first date—if a nervous, pre-teen girl were allowed to dress like a prostitute.
“What do hookers drink?” Phyllis whispered as Juli tried to catch the bartender’s attention.
“I forgot to consult my Guide to Hooker Etiquette,” Juli whispered, directing a flirty little wave at the startled-looking man wiping a wet rag across the other end of the bar. “How about if we just wing it?”
“Wing it. Right. Maybe champagne? Or a lime vodka collins? Or how about a cosmopolitan?”
“We’ll have two gin and tonics,” Juli called, smiling up at the bartender as he approached them with a cautious expression.
“With a twist,” Phyllis added, beaming at him. “It’s a special night.”
“Really?” he said, his vaguely British accent offering an odd contrast to boyish features.
Phyllis beamed. “Yes. We’ve got some coochie for sale.”
The bartender dropped a glass. Juli closed her eyes.
“That’s the name of our boat,” she interjected, kicking Phyllis under the bar. “The S.S. Coochie. If you know anyone in the market.”
“A boat,” he said, staring at her in disbelief as he filled their glasses and anchored a lime twist on the rim of each one, pushing them across the bar.
Juli took a sip of her drink, choking only slightly as she tried to remember details from the sale flyers she’d seen posted outside the marina. “Right. A boat. It’s a beautiful sixty-nine-foot Steem AmShip Custom Built workship.”
“You’re selling a tugboat?”
“Um, yes. A tugboat. That’s right.”
“Named Coochie?”
Juli took another sip of her drink and shot a pleading look at Phyllis. “Great weather we’re having here, don’t you think?”
“Sure is nice,” Phyllis agreed, yanking at the edge of her bustier and turning to survey the crowd.
T
he bartender wandered away, shaking his head as Juli tried to decide whether to beat Phyllis over the head with her right shoe or the left one.
“For future reference,” Juli hissed when the bartender was gone, “I think we’ll be a lot more convincing as hookers if we don’t announce it to people.”
Phyllis shrugged and began nibbling the edge of her lime. “I don’t know,” she said, pointing across the bar. “Those guys seem to be buying it.”
Juli followed the direction of Phyllis’s finger and nearly choked on her drink again.
Seven of the biggest, meanest-looking guys she’d ever seen were staring across the room at the two of them, looking like they’d just spotted an all-you-can-eat lobster buffet with a blowjob station beneath the butter tray.
“Don’t they look like pirates?” Phyllis asked.
“They look like inmates,” Juli hissed, thinking perhaps Alex had been right about the absurdity of this plan. At the thought of Alex, Juli felt a pang of longing.
“Inmates, pirates—same thing, right?” Phyllis said. “And it looks like they’re coming over here. Is my lipstick straight?”
“You’re not wearing lipstick.”
“Oh. Right. Here they come. Look pretty.”
Juli felt every ounce of bravado evaporate from her pores as the men ambled toward them like an approaching team of defensive linemen. “I think I just wet myself,” she whispered. She thought about Alex and tried not to consider how disappointing it would be to end up dead in an alley without knowing for sure if the sex would be as amazing as she imagined.
The men lined up in front of them, their eyes hungry and mean. “Well, well, well,” said one of the men in a voice Juli recognized instantly as the one from the radio. “What are you sexy bitches doing here this evening? Looking for a little play? I think we can help you out with that.”
He reached out to grab her with a hand that looked like it hadn’t seen soap since the ’80s. Juli winced.
Suddenly, the man beside him whirled and punched him in the nose. The other men jumped back, dodging the body of their fallen comrade as he hit the ground in front of them. One man grabbed a napkin to staunch the bleeding, while the man who’d thrown the punch crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the rest of the men with a look of reproach.
“That is an entirely disrespectful way to communicate with a lady, Phillip,” he intoned in a voice more suited to a Rhodes scholar than a thug. “I insist that you apologize immediately for your barbaric behavior.”
The other man was on his feet in an instant, looking like a beaten cocker spaniel. He stared at the floor with remorse practically dripping from his forehead. “I’m sorry.”
The other man sighed and smacked him across the back of the head. “What are you sorry for, Phillip?”
“For my barbaric behavior.”
“And for your disrespect of the fairer sex.”
“And for my disrespect of the fairer sex,” he agreed, looking like he wished to be anywhere else.
So did Juli, frankly.
“Very good,” the man said, turning around and bowing slightly before Juli and Phyllis. “My name is Malcolm. And these are my brothers Blythe, Percy, Winchester, Prescott, and Pierson, and, of course, Phillip.”
“Um, pleased to meet you,” Juli said, extending her hand. Phyllis did the same, looking dumbfounded as Malcolm lightly grasped her fingers and planted a delicate kiss on the back of each of their hands.
“Please, allow me to apologize for my brother’s boorish words by purchasing the libation of your choosing,” he said, gesturing to the bartender. “Steven, we’ll have seven glasses of your finest sherry, and whatever these lovely and sophisticated ladies would like to drink.”
“Right away,” the bartender said, eyeing the lot of them as though he wished they’d all fall through the floor. Then Malcolm pulled out a wad of cash the size of his arm, and Steven suddenly looked a whole lot happier to be serving them.
Malcolm eased himself onto the barstool beside Juli and pulled a linen handkerchief from his breast pocket. He used it to mop his brow before turning to Juli with a smile. “So, my enchanting ladies, what brings you to such an uncivilized establishment on this fine evening?”
The other six brothers dragged barstools over and arranged themselves in a circle around them, keeping a wary eye on Malcolm.
Phyllis lifted her drink and took a swallow, then beamed at Malcolm. “We’re here trying to—”
“We’re just here enjoying a drink,” Juli said, kicking Phyllis again.
“Hey!” barked one of the men, rubbing his shin and glaring at Juli. “She just kicked me!”
Malcolm picked up his sherry with one hand and slapped his brother with the other. He took a sip of his drink.
“Apologize for your disrespect, Winchester,” Malcolm said, taking a sip.
“But she kicked me.”
Malcolm kicked the legs of his brother’s barstool and sent the whole thing toppling backwards into a table. The table shattered, the barstool snapped in two, and Winchester’s skull hit the floor with a thud.
Malcolm took another sip of his drink.
“Um…” Juli said, edging away from Malcolm as she glanced down at Winchester. “Is he going to be okay?”
Malcolm seemed not to hear her at first, absorbed as he was in his sherry.
“He’s fine,” declared one of the other brothers. Percy? Pierson? “He’s got a steel plate in his head.”
“Oh. Okay.” Juli made a mental note not to say or do anything else to provoke Malcolm.
“So do you ladies enjoy literature?” Malcolm asked, taking another sip of his sherry. “Because I do so enjoy postmodern American poetry, particularly the Projectivists. So very avant-garde! You are American, right?”
“Um…” Juli said.
“Of course you are. As I was saying, I’m particularly fond of William Carlos Williams. Paterson—his modernist, epic collage of place—truly captures the essence of its locale while examining the role of the poet in American Society in the 1950s. Don’t you agree?”
“Um…” Juli said.
“But of course, we mustn’t forget the impact his tutelage had on other poets associated with the San Francisco Renaissance—obviously Williams’s affiliation with Kenneth Rexroth impacted Rexroth’s exploration of Japanese poetic forms and his deep fascination with transcendent love, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Um…” Juli said.
“Want to see my boobs?” Phyllis asked.
Malcolm smiled and took another sip of his sherry. “Absolutely, my dear. But first, I’d love to hear your thoughts on ancient Greek lyric poetry.”
***
A mile away and on another planet, Alex, Jake, and Cody were standing on the starboard deck of their former boss’s cargo ship, trying to assess the situation.
“Are they unconscious?” Jake asked, staring at the two large men Cody was holding by the shirt collars with their feet dangling limply beneath them.
“Either that or faking it,” Alex said. “I didn’t think he’d hit them that hard.”
“I didn’t realize he was carrying a spatula,” Jake muttered.
Alex sighed. “Cookie, you can go ahead and put them down now. Maybe you can tie them up while Jake and I check things out down below?”
Cody dropped the men in a heap on the deck. “Okay,” he agreed. “You sure you guys don’t need any help?”
Jake hefted his paintball gun and smiled. “We’ve got it covered. And we’ve got our map of the ship’s layout. You stand guard and yell if you see anything odd.”
Alex reached over to straighten Jake’s ski mask for the hundredth time, positioning the eyeholes over his eyes instead of his mouth. “You really think the rainbow-striped ski mask is the best idea?”
Jake’s grin widened between the blue and purple stripe. “We’re outlaws. This is what outlaws wear.”
“Right,” Alex said. “You think the girls are okay?”
“Yea
h. They’re smart. They’ll get out if things go bad.”
“You notice if Juli took the urn with her?”
Jake shrugged. “Not sure. We can check the room when we get back.”
“Okay, let’s head below deck and get this over with.”
Alex turned and started moving toward the stairs. He knew the layout of the ship like he’d come to know the freckle at the top of Juli’s left breast. The boat was one of Kranston Shipping Company’s most popular vessels, utilized for hauling lumber and machine parts and steel around the world. Now they just had to find the diamonds.
Alex moved down one set of steps and turned left, jogging down a long corridor before hitting another staircase. He could hear Jake panting behind him, but he kept going, eager to get the hell out of there fast. They’d seen no trace of the original crew, and Alex was trying hard not to think about it. He was having a tough time thinking at all, worried as he was about Phyllis and Juli’s safety, wondering if they were okay, wishing like hell he hadn’t let them go off alone like that. He thought about how beautiful Juli had looked, how many men would kill just for the chance to touch her. If anything happened…
“Down here, you think?” he called over his shoulder to Jake.
“That’d be my guess.”
“Here, we’ll try this door.”
“You have the lock pick set?” Jake asked, breathless as he caught up to him.
Alex grasped the door handle and pulled. “Don’t need it.”
The two of them stepped into the cargo hold and blinked into the darkness. Alex fumbled on his tool belt for the flashlight and flicked it on, spreading a thick swath of yellow light across the yawning gulf of blackness. There was a musty smell in the air, something like wet cardboard and old seawater. He slid the beam along the wall and hit the light switch.
Alex was the first to see it. “What the—”
“Holy shit.”
They both stood staring, not sure what to make of the cargo surrounding them from all sides of the room. Alex turned and surveyed the rest of the cargo bay, seeing more and more of the same.
They both stood blinking in the dusty air, trying to make sense of things.
Jake shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”