Crime of Their Life

by Frank Kane

  The bartender caught Liddell’s signal, nodded, made a production of setting down the cloth and glass. In the split second his back was turned, the shot glass reached his mouth, was returned to its position empty. He shuffled down to where Liddell sat examining the table sitters in the backbar mirror.

  “Again?” he asked.

  Liddell nodded. While the bartender was pouring some scotch over the ice in a fresh glass, Liddell laid a five-dollar bill alongside his empty glass. “We’ll be spending a lot of time together. Might as well get acquainted.”

  The bartender grinned broadly. His hand snaked out with the ease of long experience, the bill disappeared from the bar. He slid the refill in front of Liddell. “Name’s Cyril, sir. Anything you want, you just yell.”

  “I’ll remember that, Cyril. My name’s Liddell.”

  The bartender nodded. “I know, sir. Came aboard this morning. Cabin 321 on B deck, isn’t it?”

  Liddell grinned. “Word sure does get around.”

  The bartender shrugged. “You know how it is aboard ship, sir. Hardly anything happens that isn’t all over the ship in an hour. Like a small town, you might say.”

  “Hmm. And here I was figuring I could get a little time off for good behavior without anybody paying too much attention—”

  The bartender grinned knowingly. “Don’t give that a second thought, sir. They talk and talk, but all of them are measuring each other for a little fling.” He dropped his voice, leaned across the bar. “On a cruise like this with the warm nights and stuff, everybody expects it.”

  Liddell seemed to brighten. “I haven’t had much of a chance to look around. Got any suggestions?”

  A cautious look crept into the bartender’s eyes. “Not offhand, sir.” He studied Liddell’s face. “Ingrid would be the girl to see. You meet her yet?”

  Liddell shook his head.

  “She’s a real smart girl, Ingrid is. Knows everything that’s going on. First night out she holds this dance for unattached men and women.” He winked. “Like that there’s no making mistakes. You know right from the start who’s looking for it.”

  “Looks like I’m a little late.”

  The bartender took in the broad shoulders, the heavy jaw, shook his head. “You won’t have no trouble. The competition ain’t that good.” He reached down under the bar, brought up a phone, pushed a button on the base. “This is Cyril in the bar,” he told the operator. “Is Ingrid back on board yet?” He waited for a moment, nodded. “Okay. Ask her to come up to the French Quarter. Got somebody here who wants to meet her.” He dropped the receiver back on its hook. “She’ll be right up.”

  A waiter leaned on the bar at the far end, rapped his knuckles on the mahogany. The bartender nodded to Liddell, shuffled down to where the waiter stood.

  Somewhere deep in the innards of the ship, there was the soft rumble of the engines. Liddell consulted his watch, checked the time out at 5:45. By now the tender was out of sight under the side of the ship discharging its passengers. In another hour, the Queen would be slicing the waters of the harbor into rippling waves on its way to Grenada. The following day it would be in La Guaira and the third morning in Curaçao. He wondered what it was that made Landers think the diamonds would be brought aboard in Curaçao rather than La Guaira which was on the coast of South America. Why the double risk, when the delivery could have been made in one motion on the north coast of South America?

  He heard, rather than saw, the girl’s entrance. There was a perceptible break in the hum of conversation, then it resumed with greater vigor. Liddell glanced up into the backbar mirror, saw her for the first time.

  The captain said this was one of the sights he shouldn’t miss. It only took a glance to tell him why.

  She was tall, generously proportioned in a Scandinavian way. Her hair was a golden brown, piled on the top of her head, her skin was sunburned to a soft nut-brown. Her thick-lipped mouth was a crimson slash in the cocoa of her complexion.

  She wore a navy blue blouse, its V-neck slashed deeply enough to make speculation whether she wore anything under it unnecessary. As she walked, her full breasts had a motion of their own which, combined with the white sheath skirt that clung to her rounded hips and thighs, made her progress across the room to the bar a production.

  Liddell swung around as she walked up, stopped alongside him. Her eyes were green, slanted, an effect that was enhanced by expert tinting of the lids. She looked him over frankly, appraisingly, seemed to like what she saw.

  “So you’re the new passenger?” Her voice was husky, slightly accented. “I’ve been hearing about you. They weren’t exaggerating.”

  “It sure doesn’t take much to make the bugle around here.” Liddell grinned. “I thought I was being nice and inconspicuous.”

  The blonde shrugged, did interesting things to her facade. “An unattached man always creates some excitement. Especially an attractive one.” She eyed the broad shoulders, the thick hair flecked with gray, the humorous grin. “They’re sure going to be drawing straws for you.”

  Liddell grinned. “You make a guy feel right at home. And you don’t even know my name.”

  “Johnny Liddell. You’re in 321 B deck—”

  “I hope you remember that.”

  The blonde pasted a saucy grin on the full lips. “I don’t usually remember passengers’ cabin numbers.” The green eyes flicked around the room, she dropped her voice. “The paying guests resent competition.” She brought her eyes back to his face. “The staff is only supposed to stand in in basket cases.”

  “Such as?”

  Ingrid shrugged, looked over at a table near the wall. “Mrs. Phelps. Over there near the wall. The stewards, the junior officers, even the cruise director have orders to see that she doesn’t have to sit out any dances, doesn’t have to drink alone.”

  Liddell followed the girl’s glance. Mrs. Hilda Phelps was in her sixties, a fact that the hennaed hair, two face lifts and three strands of beads around her neck failed to conceal. She was addicted to too much make-up, her rouge was two blobs of red in the dead white of her skin, her mouth a garish smear of carmine. When she talked, her glistening white teeth were far too even to be real. Seated opposite her, trying to look enthusiastic and interested, was Jack Allen, the cruise director. From the way his eyes hop-scotched around the room at intervals, Liddell got the impression that he was looking for relief. But the junior officers, if any were around, were steering clear of the bar.

  “Mrs. Phelps is unattached and very generous,” the blonde told Liddell. “If you’d care to meet her—”

  “No, thanks. I wouldn’t think of trying to cut in on Allen or any of the rest of the staff.”

  Ingrid’s chuckle was deep. “Maybe you like them a little younger? Fran Eldridge is only about twenty or twenty-one and I’m sure her father has as much money as Mrs. Phelps.” She turned, surveyed the room. “They may not have come back aboard yet, but—” She broke off, squinted at the glass-enclosed area on the port side. “Oh, there they are, in the lounge. The tall girl with the white-haired man.”

  Fran Eldridge was not only tall, she was pitifully thin. Her hair was a mousy color, wispy. She wore it tucked untidily behind her ears. She squinted as she looked around, in preference to wearing the glasses that had been prescribed for her.

  The man at the table with her was small, dapper. His white hair was plastered neatly on his head. Despite the informality of the attire of the others in the bar, he wore a shirt and tie with his blue linen suit. As Johnny watched, the man snapped something at the girl, she self-consciously dropped her hand from her mouth where she had been macerating the cuticle of her thumb.

  “Another basket case?” Liddell wanted to know.

  “Not exactly. She’ll be well taken care of for the rest of the cruise. The junior officers drew straws for her and the third officer won—or lost as the case may be. Anyway, he’s been real attentive.” She checked her watch. “Usually around by now to take her off her father�
�s hands.”

  “And old Dad?”

  Ingrid grinned. “Finds himself a card game or someone to drink with. He usually closes the Midnight Sun. That’s our late bar. Opens when the others close. All the regular crowd ends up there every night.”

  “You make it?”

  Ingrid pursed her lips. “Depends. Sometimes I drop by for a nightcap on my way to bed. I can’t stay up late like the passengers can. I’ve got to be up at six to give the fatties their morning exercises.”

  “Maybe it would pay to stay up all night.”

  “Not for me. I have to get my beauty sleep.”

  Liddell grinned. “Looks like you’re a little ahead of the game.”

  The blonde pouted with mock severity. “We’re not getting very far—”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Liddell told her.

  “I mean about finding someone to introduce you to. After all, that’s what I’m here for. To see that you unattached passengers get acquainted. And you’re making it pretty tough.”

  “Why don’t we do it this way? Let me look around, and if I see anything that appeals to me, I’ll ask you to do the honors.”

  Ingrid looked doubtful. “The captain doesn’t like it if there’s any trouble on his ship. He gets real narrow-minded.”

  “I’ve already met your captain,” Liddell said.

  The blonde raised her eyebrows. “Then you really are VIP?”

  Liddell shook his head. “It wasn’t exactly a social call. You see, I pulled a couple of strings to get on board and apparently he doesn’t like the idea of people trying to go over his head. He wanted to let me know not to expect any special treatment just because a vice president of the line is a fraternity brother.”

  “It’s easier to get vice presidents than captains,” Ingrid observed. “Then you know he can be a pretty rough character.”

  “I got that impression.”

  “That’s why it would be better for me to point out the ones that are available, where you won’t be stepping on some husband’s toes. Last cruise he had a passenger confined to his stateroom until we got to La Guaira, had his baggage carted out onto the dock and kicked him off the ship.”

  Liddell frowned. “He could do that?”

  “While this ship is out of New York, the captain can do anything and make it stick. And the company would back him up, vice president a fraternity brother or no fraternity brother.”

  Liddell managed to look impressed. “I’ll watch my step,” he promised her solemnly.

  The blonde studied the backbar mirror, smiled. “Don’t look over there now, but the third officer has just come on duty. He and Fran will start with cocktails and finish the night dancing in the Grand Salon.” She shook her head. “The third must be getting ready to settle down. I’ve seen him operate before but the way he stays close to Fran it looks like he means to stake a claim on Eldridge’s private Fort Knox.”

  Liddell glanced over to the white-haired man’s table. Eldridge stood talking to a tall, broad-shouldered man in an officer’s uniform, while the girl sat simpering in her chair. The third officer wore his hair in a short crew cut, his teeth were startlingly white against the deep tan of his face. Eldridge bobbed his head at something he said, started for the bar. The man with the crew cut slid into the chair across the table from the girl. She started talking animatedly.

  The white-haired man walked over to where Liddell stood with the blonde. “Ingrid, I don’t mean to interrupt, but how much time will we have on Grenada tomorrow?”

  “First tender leaves at 8:30. Last tender from shore at 2:30, Mr. Eldridge.” She turned to Liddell. “Have you met our new passenger, Mr. Liddell? He came aboard this morning. This is Mr. Eldridge, Mr. Liddell.”

  Eldridge turned a speculative glance on Liddell. His skin was like dark parchment, his lips thin and colorless. The only thing alive in his face was his startlingly blue eyes. He had the expression of a man who had been badly disappointed in life and was reproachful rather than bitter. “Liddell? Have we met before, Mr. Liddell? Your name sounds familiar.”

  Liddell considered it, shook his head. “I don’t think so, Mr. Eldridge. But it’s a pleasure.” He indicated the almost empty glass on the bar. “Would you join me?” He turned to the blonde. “Ingrid?”

  The girl shook her head. “I’ve got too much to do. Don’t forget there’ll be dancing in the Piccadilly Lounge for first-sitting passengers at 7:30 and a movie at 8:30.”

  “And the Midnight Sun at twelve?”

  “It’s been a long day,” the blonde countered. “I don’t know if I could keep my eyes open that long. Anyway, I’d better help them get set up for the dancing. I’ll probably see you both later.”

  She turned, headed across the bar. Both men watched wordlessly until she had disappeared into the companion-way. Cyril was polishing the bar in front of them with a damp rag that left oily circles. “All woman, that Ingrid,” he commented.

  “How about making Mr. Eldridge a drink, Cyril?” Liddell asked.

  “The usual, Mr. Eldridge?” the bartender wanted to know.

  The white-haired man nodded. While the bartender headed down the bar for the ingredients for a Bloody Mary, Eldridge turned, cast an appreciative eye on Liddell. “You don’t waste much time, do you, Liddell? Only on board a few hours and already you’re moving in on Ingrid, and you have Cyril jumping for you. What’s the secret?”

  Liddell grinned. “I’ve got talent.”

  The white-haired man’s eyes hopscotched across the broad shoulders, down to the tapering waist. Then he dropped his eyes to his own slim figure, nodded glumly. “It shows.”

  Cyril was back with a Bloody Mary, slid it across the bar to Eldridge. “Like me to freshen your drink, Mr. Liddell? Next fifteen or twenty minutes, they’re going to be trooping in here dying of thirst. It usually gets pretty busy.” Liddell took a deep swallow from his glass, handed it to the bartender who reached for the scotch bottle, tilted it over the glass, filled it to the brim. He replaced the bottle on the backbar, handed the glass to Liddell, shuffled down toward the service end of the bar.

  The white-haired man shook his head in admiration. “Now that’s what I call a drink.”

  Liddell held the glass up, admired the deep color of the liquor. “No sense drowning the taste in water.” He raised the glass. “Here’s to a nice cruise.”

  The old man touched his glass to Liddell’s. “There’s room for a lot of improvement as far as I’m concerned.” He looked over to where his daughter and the officer were talking, heads together. “But as long as the girl has a good time, that’s all I ask.”

  Liddell followed the old man’s eyes. “Good-looking boy she’s with.”

  “Too good-looking,” the old man grunted. “Guy with his looks could move in on almost any female on the ship. Instead, he’s latched onto Fran and has been giving her a rush that would turn Suzy Parker’s head.” He sipped at his glass. “I just hope the kid doesn’t get hurt.”

  “She won’t be. These shipboard romances are just something to write in a girl’s diary. Besides, how do you know? Maybe he’s tired of the doll-faced ones and—”

  Eldridge shook his head. “The boys who work these scows are walking Dun and Brads. They know what a passenger is worth to the penny the minute he sets foot on the gangplank. And they act accordingly.”

  “You’ve been on board the Queen before, Mr. Eldridge?”

  “Make it Carson, Liddell. There are very few privileges left to a man these days. He’s told who he can eat with, who he can’t; who he can send his kids to school with, who he can’t; who he can do business with and who he can’t. The one privilege they haven’t taken away from him is the right to decide who he will permit to call him by his first name and who he won’t. I’d like you to.” He took a deep swallow from his glass. “Yes, I’ve been aboard the Queen a few times. It’s the first time for the girl, though.” He set the Bloody Mary down on the bar. “That’s why the trip has been a little trying. You see
, Fran doesn’t live with me. Matter of fact, this is the first time I’ve seen her since her mother died ten or twelve years ago. The kid’s been living on a ranch with her grandparents.”

  “I see.”

  “When I saw her a month or so ago, I figured she could use some polishing up. So I booked passage for both of us.” He shook his head doubtfully. “I’m beginning to wonder if it’ll do any good.”

  At the girl’s table, the man in uniform looked toward where Eldridge stood with Liddell, said something to the girl, who nodded. He got to his feet, threaded his way through the tables to the bar.

  “Could I talk to you for a moment, sir?” he asked.

  Eldridge nodded, the smile on Crew Cut’s face became a little strained. His eyes flicked to Liddell uncertainly.

  “It can’t be that private. You haven’t known her long enough,” Eldridge snapped. “As a new member of our little band, Mr. Liddell here will be getting all the news along with everyone else.” He shook his head to Liddell. “You can’t blow your nose around here without everybody hearing about it by the time you get your handkerchief back in your pocket.”

  Crew Cut wasted an incurious glance on Liddell, smiled. “I’m Weston, sir. Third Officer. A pleasure to have you on board.” He turned back to Eldridge. “I’m posted for shore liberty at Curaçao on Wednesday. With your permission, I’d like to take Fran to lunch in a favorite place of mine out in the country.”

  “As long as you get her back before we weigh anchor, anything you want to do is all right with me. Within reason, of course,” he amended hastily.

  Crew Cut bobbed his head, included Liddell in a nod, headed back to the table where the girl sat waiting. Eldridge stared at his back bleakly. “I don’t know what the tab for all this is going to run, but I’ll bet it’s a doozy!”