Warren pushed away from the desk in disgust at how little he knew. He realized he would need to talk to the countess, the newlyweds, and, of course, Krupin. It would have to be in public, and Warren would have to play it smart. Otherwise, he could walk into his own death trap.

Warren stood, his mind suddenly intrigued by an idea, and he searched his wardrobe. Maybe this Baker character carried a gun. Perhaps the screenwriter screwed up, which could even the odds.

He pulled out the dresser drawers after going through the wardrobe. He only found a penknife in a leather kit that contained his toothbrush and a bottle of powdered toothpaste. Just as he was about to give up, he had an inspiration. He lifted the mattress on the bed where Baker found an empty holster. It had his initials, WB, embossed on the beautiful leather. Immediately, he felt the sweat running down his back as he thought of Harry. Then he wondered if Mary came back to get the gun after she left his cabin.

“Hell, it could have been anyone,” he grumbled aloud.

Warren noticed the knot in his stomach tighten as he thought of the implications of the missing weapon.

The bastard set me up!

The dead writer of his script had either given away the murder weapon to the murderer or left him defenseless against the bad guys. Either way, the odds of protecting his life just dropped.

Damn it!

Nervous at the implication of his discovery, Warren decided to find the bar to get a drink. Lost in thought, he came out of his cabin and nearly knocked over an old lady passing by his room. Not that he could have missed the overly loud screech emanating from the gray-haired lady after he grabbed her arm to keep the woman from falling to the deck. He quickly tried to apologize, but the wrinkled woman in the long dress would have none of it.

“You buffoon, you nearly ran me over. What type of moron are you?” The woman asked, standing in frozen horror.

Warren nearly burst out laughing. Her dress, designed for a far younger woman, exposed wrinkled cleavage just before she wrapped her arms together. The mink cape over her shoulders looked uncomfortable in the fair weather. He caught the elaborate golden headdress, which appeared out of place with her shingle cut platinum hair. The man glanced over at the woman’s young female companion, who held her fist to her mouth in shock. In a split second, the man realized he must have created a major breach of etiquette, as he recognized the panic in her gray eyes.

Warren suddenly bowed.

“I sincerely apologize, madam,” he told her grandly. “Had I known such an extraordinary woman was coming near my cabin, I would have made sure the porter notified me ahead of time.”

While there was obvious sarcasm in his voice, only the young lady who accompanied the other passenger caught it. Her blue eyes flashed happily, and he saw her round face suppress a smile. The offended countess let her icy demeanor warm somewhat to his over-the-top performance. She haughtily insisted he should use caution when leaving his stateroom.

“Mr. Baker, please try not to lose your manners, even with your unseemly associations on this unfortunate journey,” she reminded him.

After her reprimand, she threw up her nose, quickly stepping away. The woman’s young companion hesitated, staring at Warren. He winked at her, which sent a slight blush across her cheeks, and she scurried after the older woman. 

A worried look crept back to his face as Warren slowly proceeded along the starboard side to the combined lounge and dining room. The stuck-up lady revealed something interesting. She apparently recognized him. The thought left him unsettled. He would need to find out more about the Countess Helene Mara from his book of suspects. Then he remembered the standard troupe from the old movies. Odd characters often held the most important clues.   

Inside the lounge, nothing much changed except for an unfamiliar face at one table talking with two characters that Warren knew. A puffy-faced fat man was talking to Harry, who had his back to the door. Leaning up next to their overweight leader, Mary cast an evil glare at Warren. She whispered something to the fat man who Warren guessed was Krupin.

Puffing on a large cigar, the boss looked up with a flash at Warren as he went to the bar. He used the mirror behind the bar to monitor the table. Only about a minute after he told the bartender he wanted a beer and glass, he saw the gorilla coming. Harry dug his powerful fingers into the man’s right shoulder, but Warren refused to react.

“What do you want?” He asked casually as he could muster after the bearded man behind the bar left the bottle and a mug. Warren considered the heft of the thick, clear mug in his hand.

“Boss wants you.” The menacing gravel voice told him.

“Too bad. You tell Krupin I’ll come over when I’m ready,” he replied. Harry grabbed Warren’s arm, spinning him around. He placed his ugly face close enough for Warren to smell his foul breath.

“Listen, your boss won’t want you to make a scene here,” Warren warned him as he tightly gripped his glass mug. “Now get back to your table.”

For a moment, Warren thought he might need to use the beer mug, but Harry pulled back slightly as he considered the words. He noticed the glass in Warren’s hand.

 “Ok, you got the hand now, but this ain’t over,” the thug informed him. He gave Warren a rough shove before leaving.

Hands slightly shaking, Warren turned back to the bar, sliding on the stool. He took a drink, glimpsing the bartender, who was shaking his head at the exchange.

Warren considered his action. His initial thought was to act as the superior to Harry and his group. That’s how a blue blood from Boston would act. However, he wondered if he might have just loaded a gun and handed the weapon to his potential killer.

Quickly finishing his beer, he ordered another. Warren took his mug after Hans put it on the counter, then slid off the stool. In the other corner of the room, Warren noticed the mysterious woman named Amber sitting at a small table alone. As he stared, she turned her gaze away while she rummaged inside her purse.

Warren came to the table where Krupin’s round face observed him like a cat appraising a mouse. The man’s reddish hair mirrored his chubby red cheeks, gave the massive man gave an affable front. He nodded to Harry, who grunted and left the table. He went over to the bar.

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Baker,” the man with the cigar piped up.

“If you say so,” Warren replied. “It’s been a long trip.”

“Try thirty days on a freighter out of Murmansk, then you can complain,” Krupin told him with a bitter laugh. “The cold bites you all the way to Huelva, I swear.”

He took a drink from his highball glass, shivering inadvertently.

“That’s too cold for me. Is that’s why you got your comrades with you?” Warren asked carefully. “To keep you warm?”

“Hell, no, smart mouth. I’m not a commie. I’m a businessman.” Krupin’s face turned red, and Warren realized he rubbed Krupin the wrong way with the comment.

Glancing at Harry staring at their table, he could not resist the urge to smile.

“Still, as a businessman, you should keep an eye on your employees. Your man is barely housebroken and a pain in the ass.”

The fat man’s eyes narrowed.

“You should quit acting the part of high society. That’s not healthy for you,” he warned. “Your family can’t save you if you screw this up. You’re getting close to upsetting me. I might need to have my man beat some manners into you.”

Krupin clearly noticed something changed about his partner across the table and he didn’t like it.

“You could try to do that, but I wouldn’t suggest it,” he told him. “I’ve been doing some thinking since your thug dropped by my cabin today and pissed me off.”

Warren looked over at the blonde, who glowered at him. She shifted in her chair while she took a quick drink from the glass in front of her.

“What does that mean?” Krupin blurted out.

“Just this, I seem to hold all the risk in this… ah—I’ll call it an endeavor. And I’m tired of your monkey watching my every move,” Warren said.

He took a drink and glanced around the room. The tall girl with the fine legs was trying hard not to appear like she was interested in their table. Something about her presence kept knocking around in his head.

“I don’t care if you’re a little nervous about our friend. Harry is taking care of my interests. That doesn’t break the bargain we have.”

The fat man spat out the words, and Warren turned back to him with a sly grin.

“Maybe I don’t like the bargain now and think I deserve more?” He asked.

If he had a camera at the time, Warren would have taken a picture to capture the expression from Krupin when he bit through his cigar. As the tobacco roll fell apart in his mouth, the boss leaned forward, brown saliva running down his chin.

“You fuck with me, little man, and I’ll have Harry rip you apart,” he raged. “Your ass is on the line with the coppers already, so you better remember who the hell your friends are. Got that!”

His beefy hand slammed down on the table, startling everyone in the room. Warren forced himself to remain calm as he suddenly wondered if he might have overplayed his hand. But he had to know more. He was betting Krupin would do nothing in front of so many people staring at their table. So, he leaned back in his chair.

“All I said was I’m taking the risk, so I need a bit more,” he said agreeably. “Not much, mind you, just a little more for putting my neck out. What do you think that’s worth?”

“You’re not getting a cent more than the ten thousand like I said before. We know you can’t pay off those friends who are looking for you. And I’m willing to hang you by your thumbs if you think of crossing me. Now quit wasting my time!”

Krupin’s voice carried throughout the room as he slammed his fist down again.

“You better remember what I told you back in Boston. My friends don’t like people who forget their agreements. You will meet me with the stuff tomorrow, or you can see what Harry has in store for you.” 

“Either way, I’m coming out on top.” He said as he stood, his enormous belly tilted the table, sending empty glasses crashing to the steel floor where they shattered. Krupin stormed to the entrance. Mary scrambled past Warren, trying to catch up. Harry was already at the door, holding it open for his boss.

While the rest of the room stared at the lone passenger remaining at the table, he turned back to look at his empty glass. One busboy was already clearing the glass from the floor. Warren looked down at him.

“That man has a bad temper,” he said. “Get me another beer.”