Amber looked down at her hands. For the life of her, she could not figure out if the man was just slightly crazy or a full-blown psychopath. Neither thought made her feel any better.
“Well, you know the truth. Now, do you want something even crazier?” He asked.
“I don’t know what more could be.” There was a careful resignation in Amber’s voice.
Warren held out his hand to her, giving her the white item. “Tell me what you think this is?”
Doubtfully, she took the object. At first glance, it looked like stone, but it had a design to it. As she turned it over, the woman realized it was a broken-off piece of a statue, beige in color with a slightly glossy sheen. Shrugging her shoulders, she gave it back.
“Looks like a finger from a statue,” Amber told him. “What does it mean?”
“I’m not sure, but that’s what I stepped on when I saw you standing over Krupin,” he said. “Now tell me why it was there?”
“I don’t know. Probably just something left there from a box that broke or something. It doesn’t matter right now.” She told him, handing him the object.
“No, it has to be something to do with this whole mess,” he stated forcefully. “Nothing else was out-of-place down there. Think back to what we saw. Remember, the sailors lashed down every crate and covered other stuff over. Yet someone pulled away that single trunk from the rest and opened it. That tells me someone pulled it for a reason.”
“Yes—I guess so,” Amber said with a slight shiver.
“I can’t really remember now. It’s—I just remember his eyes and that blood.”
“I know what you mean. Looking at death is something you never forget,” Warren agreed.
He leaned back against the headboard as the day’s events swept past him. Then he remembered he needed to know about her.
“Ok, you’ve heard my story,” he said. “Now, let’s hear yours?”
There was a long pause, and Warren caught Amber eyeing the door.
“It’s late, and I want to sleep,” she told him.
Warren smiled at her. “Do we have to parry back and forth all night? Who knows, maybe your story is crazier than mine?”
~~~
On the other side of the ship, Harry Jennison waited for Warren. The long wait was getting on the big man’s nerves. He never liked rich people and especially didn’t like the little pipsqueak who surprised him when he grabbed Harry by the balls. It was a dirty blow. He knew how to take care of guys who fought dirty. When he was in the ring, he might rabbit punch an upstart here or there but never a low blow. He might take a dive occasionally to grab dough for the boss, but Harry the Bull always came out on top. Then, those rich pipsqueaks running the boxing commission got all high and mighty. Telling everyone they kicked out all the rotten apples. He could have been on top, but for the rich bastards keeping ol’ Harry the Bull down. Yes, the big man decided. It would be a pleasure to get his chance for revenge on one of them smart mouth pipsqueaks.
While Harry fantasized about the harm he would inflict, his attention turned to the sound of heels. A feminine figure staggering along toward Phillip’s cabin. It was Mary, walking alone. He stepped from his hiding place.
“He ain’t there, I checked. Boss won’t like you hanging around the queenie’s cabin,” Harry told her, his eyes fixated on her white cleavage showing in the dim light.
The drunk female turned to him; her face soured as she recognized him.
“You shouldn’t be so vulgar,” she said with a slur. “Who says I was going there? Why are you following me around?”
Harry shook his head.
“Boss says to watch for him. I keep an eye on him. Boss says he doesn’t trust him.”
“Hell, that’s not news. The wealthy boy’s got ideas, I can tell that.” She said as she opened a silver flask, taking a drink. “But I hate rich kids. They’re not men. They’re only good for their money.”
She stared at the dark cabin for a moment before turning back to Harry.
“Tony puts you out here all night and leaves me with four walls to look at. And you don’t know where Baker is, so you’re waiting for him.”
The woman nodded to herself before she took another drink.
“Boss went somewhere. I’ve checked around,” the big man said.
“Now, isn’t that a shame? But then, you always do what Krupin says.” Mary scoffed as she glanced at him.
Then she arched her back slightly, delighted in the response she saw in his eyes.
“You’re such a pill,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve seen ya sneaking peeks at me. Y’all like what you see, but you always stay Tony’s little lapdog.”
He closed in, his enormous frame casting a shadow over her.
“Stay away from that Baker,” he warned. “He’s not man enough for you. Boss says he won’t last long after the trade.”
She gave him a pouty face.
“And who would be man enough for me? Indeed, not Krupin’s little poodle,” she said with her native Southern accent. “I reckon you only come when he calls, my little man.”
Harry grabbed her arms and lifted her from the deck like a child.
“Don’t call me that,” he warned.
“Damn you, you let go of me now. I’ll have Tony send you to the bottom of the Charles River,” she told him furiously.
Mary’s face turned from surprise to anger. Harry had never touched her before.
He brought her face close to his, and she turned away as she felt his hot breath on her cheek.
“Maybe I tell the boss about your whoring on him again. Then, what do you do?” He asked. “He’d kill you and your pipsqueak. Ol’ Harry remembers where the boss found you.”
He gently let her down on the deck again, his enormous arms hardly straining at the effort.
“But I don’t let that happen to Mary,” he insisted.
She backed away, but something in the way Harry spoke caught her attention. His attitude gave her ideas.
“And why not?” she asked.
“Because boss might not be boss forever,” he said. “Harry is not as dumb as some people think. I hear the names they call me, but I see things and remember.”
It took a moment for Mary to consider the words coming from him. He seldom talked much, but he knew all the secrets about Tony. He was rough, but then, she liked it that way. When she called the shots, Mary Bristol would have every slob at her feet, scraping and groveling. She understood what men wanted, and she used that knowledge to get what she wanted. The slobs were a means for her to get out of poverty, lead her to a life like the stuck-up bitches on Park Avenue.
“You have some ideas?” She asked. “Do I fit into some of that thinking?”
Harry nodded.
Instantly, Mary brightened, giving him a smile.
“Maybe you and I need to talk. Seems you just can’t be too sure about folks. We might have more in common than I thought.”
Mary curled her hand inside one of his biceps.
“Come on, let’s see how much.”
She tugged on his arm, but at first, Harry refused to move. His scarred face staring at her with desire, but he was unsure about Mary. She seemed smart as his boss, which put him on his guard.
“Oh, so you’re still boss’s poodle,” she purred sweetly.
Harry huffed at her; his eyes narrowed for a moment. Then he led the woman back to her cabin.
Mary’s gonna be surprised!
~~~
Just as the sun spread the first rays of light on the horizon, Warren left Amber’s cabin. He was tired, and his head spun. Mostly from trying to sort out the lies from the truth, Amber fed him during the night. She told him she let Havana at the last minute to get out of a sour marriage engagement with a local count.
According to her, she had been born and grew up in Boston, but had left her hometown for Cuba over a year ago. Warren Baker kept his poker face when he observed her ring finger lacked the usual white line that shows an engagement ring. A year in the sunny climate would have given anyone a bit of a tan.
The other odd aspect was her accent. She sounded more Midwestern, not northeast. While she confirmed his family, the Bakers, were blue blood in the city with some influence, Amber was hiding something. But the more they talked, the more she showed acceptance of some of his ideas. However, he suspected it was only because of her need to keep clear of the authorities. Still, he liked the way Amber handled herself. In the end, Warren was sure the woman was as much a fraud as he was, but he thought neither could admit it to the other.
As he walked back to his cabin, he mulled over their agreement. Somehow, they convinced each other to remain silent about the body in the hold. After they had landed later that morning at the dock, Amber convinced him to go directly to the district attorney in Boston. She insisted that once on shore, he could get the DA to have the police investigate Krupin’s people.
At first, Warren thought just explaining his story to the customs officials involved would be sufficient. However, Amber made a strong case for him to use his family’s influence once they got into port. He surmised she could be correct. His family could get the right lawyers if he needed them. But he remained anxious. Whoever wrote the script to his life might just be setting him up. He remembered his missing gun. As they said in the movies, there were too many loose ends. While it wasn’t a brilliant plan or even that good one, in his mind, it was the best they could come up with at the moment.
