Infinite Loop - Chapters 6

Chapter 6

He stood there, still holding the chair for a moment, before he slowly dropped it to the deck. His hands shook with adrenaline as he fought to regain control. Growing up, he had dealt with bullies, so he knew how to defend himself. But that brute would be a problem. Warren realized he had surprised Harry this time. He would have to watch his back.

Warren glanced at a shadow cast by a person standing by the porthole across the room. Carefully, he moved closer to the opening, and he recognized the person. It was the same woman in the green and yellow dress sitting behind him at breakfast. Silently stepping away, he hurried to the cabin door. By the time the man reached the outside, the deck was empty. The auburn-haired woman had disappeared, and he could hear the echoing sound of footsteps coming from a nearby staircase to the next deck below. He reentered the cabin, his head swimming as he felt like he was doing a high-wire act, blindfolded, with no net.

I’ve got to get organized and figure out this puzzle soon.

Warren forced the cabin door shut. It took a couple of tries to get the door shut, and he even locked it to ensure no distractions. Pulling the chair upright and dragging it back to the secretary, Warren pulled out a small notebook from his coat pocket, where the original owner had left it. Somehow, it didn’t surprise Warren that the notebook contained mostly names and phone numbers of women. He saw the name Cassidy on the same line with two stars next to it, which made him grin.

She must be a looker!

The other four female names only had addresses below their names. On the next page, he found a scribbled, cryptic line.

“At 460 Laverne Terrace, real riches are the riches possessed inside,” he read the words aloud.

The next line made even less sense.

“If you wish to avoid seeing a Spanish fool, you must go behind the mirror.”

Seriously?

“Great, this guy likes motivational quotes,” Warren muttered sarcastically. “What the hell does this get me?”

Stuck on the back cover and last page, he found a red luggage ticket. It had a passage code stamped in black on the back, AML TO BTM with 460AA. Then, Warren came upon a receipt for two leather steamer trunks delivered to the ship from a store in Boston. It was stuck between two pages. He remembered old movies gave their characters only a few clues, along with plenty of red herrings. Then again, he recalled how much he disliked solving mysteries. It was a tough spot because he was fighting for his life in the middle of one story, which appeared to have subplots.

Warren made notes to himself in the notebook. After he had written out the essential items of his current story, his mind wrestled with other tidbits he learned. Cliches and obvious plot devices like MacGuffins revealed themselves in every story. His first life never showed such things.

Too bad I can’t figure out more about them out before someone kills me!

As he went through his time in this purgatory, it became obvious he was part of a script from an old film. Warren stumbled onto the idea when he realized people he interacted with would reply with familiar lines. Plus, the events used classic cliches. He found himself on a horse in a black hat while surrounded by men in white hats. They quickly took him to the sheriff and Warren found himself assassinated by another man in a black hat with a black mask.

Another part of his netherworld showed him that minor characters or unseen people on the screen created his small universe. Now he was in the long-forgotten films which he never saw. From experience, Warren knew that when he went down into the engine room of the ship, he would find a crew of fire stokers. The men keeping the old freighter moving through the ocean existed as real as some of the lead characters he mingled with. As Warren interacted with the extras, he might learn about their lives, fears, and ambitions. Millions of subplots between characters that never revealed themselves on a movie screen. Still, each character had flesh, bone, and blood, along with bad breath and body odor.

Still, he insisted his existence was real, quite unlike reality television shows that he flipped past with the remote. No cameras were filming him. No soundstage existed to walk away from when the scene finished. In fact, there were no make-believe locations.

When they reached Boston, Warren could grab a cab to Spencer Street in Boston, where he would find his mother waiting at his home. It did not matter that he would not recognize either his mom or the house. If he told the cabbie to just drive past the house and into the country, he also knew he would still be in the same purgatory world. It was a reality now, no hope of just escaping.

I tried leaving once and learned the hard way.

At one point, Warren decided to just drive right out of the scene, to leave the film behind. In a small town called Bay City, located somewhere in California, he woke up as a gas station attendant. It wasn’t long before he knew two gangsters, dressed in flashy and expensive suits, were gunning for him. Instead of hiding and waiting for the killers to find him, Warren took a car from the garage where he worked. Heading north and following signs away from Los Angeles, Warren drove all night. Just as the sun rose the next day, he smiled while telling himself that he would ditch the car and walk away into a new life. Warren figured the grim reaper would have a hell of a time trying to track him with a new name and a new town.

With a silly grin on his face, Warren reached the city limits of Realito. His rear tire blew out. In an instant, the big Ford swung back and forth across the road before it hurled itself over the steep drop of a ravine. As the vehicle tumbled end over end, his body shot through the broken front windshield. Warren felt the waves of pain surging through him while he slid down the side of the gorge. At the dusty bottom of the long drop, he listened to the rhythmic sound of the ocean waves not far away while the ink of death covered his eyes. The next morning, his reality was another world stuck inside the rolls of old 35-millimeter film.

Still, the experience gave him some hope. Maybe his odds were good enough for him to catch a break and avoid his pre-determined fate. After all, now he was on the ocean, aboard a small ship. Anyone trying to kill him would have a tough time. As long as he used some common sense, Warren might avoid the reaper. Heck, he could stay close to his cabin, and then even Harry would have a tough time taking him out.

While he might have already screwed up with his encounters so far, maybe he could make amends by finding out about the deal he had with Harry’s boss. In the meantime, Warren decided there would be no nighttime rendezvous for him.

Warren rejected the idea he would die from an accident. Some joker always deliberately orchestrated his death, relishing in watching him get his hopes up only to dash them. That meant he must change how he approached his actions and interaction with the other characters in this purgatory world.

First, you need to determine who might want to kill you.

His fevered mind suddenly wondered about killing those suspects before one of them acted against him. Instantly, he rejected the idea. He could not believe he was crazy enough to do that. At least, he did not think he was psychopathic enough at this point.

Keep your focus, he told himself.

Warren returned to his conversation with the barber earlier. Smiley Jack, the balding thin barber, also acted as the ship’s bursar as well. Their conversation revealed they were only one day out of their destination, Boston. The information surprised Warren since his starting point should have been when the trip began, not midway through the film.

“You can bet it will be on the clock with these Krauts running things,” Smiley said to him. He explained how the German company recently bought the route from a struggling British company.

“Aye, I’ll get a payday out of the old bucket; come what may.”

As for the passengers, Smiley gave Warren scant information about the other travelers. As he suspected, there were only a few extra people on board, nine in total, who traveled on the ship.

“That little guy, Professor Minchin, who’s in the cabin next to you, is quite the educated type. But he’s been running me ragged since we left Havana. Wants information about everything,” he told Warren. “I tells him, what am I, a bleeding library?”

Countess Helene Mara was in the cabin a few doors down along with her maid, while a honeymoon couple named Smith had the cabin next to the Countess. One of the final three passengers, according to the barber, was a fat nightclub owner named Krupin. He traveled with a blonde girl and a giant man who acted as his bodyguard. The Englishman liked Krupin, saying he tipped well. It was clear he feared Harry, which Warren could understand. When he asked about the woman in the green and yellow dress wearing glasses, Smiley’s demeanor changed slightly.

“She came on the boat after the other passengers. I saw her running up the gangplank just before we left. Just got her ticket and her porter, who was carrying her baggage, had a heck of a time trying to keep up with her. She was holding a lot of cash.”

The Bursar licked his lips as he remembered the wad of money she pulled from her purse as he pushed the reclining chair into the upright position. Smiley hinted at the extra service he was giving to Warren, who pulled a twenty from his pocket. As he handed it to the barber, he asked for the name of the woman.

“Something unusual,” Smiley told him, reaching for the money. Warren held on to the bill.

“Ah, I know, it was Amber, like the rock,” he said. “Yes, that’s it. An unusual name, I told her.”

Warren let loose of the bill. “Let me know him know if you hear anything that relates to my name,” he told Smiley.

As he left, Warren thought about Amber and decided she might be a bit of a recluse. Perhaps she only stepped out occasionally. She was listening in to his fight with Harry. Either way, the woman didn’t appear much of a threat to him. He had others on the list to monitor.

While sitting at his secretary, Warren looked for a motive behind someone trying to kill him. It was obvious that his character associated with some unsavory people and they were involved in something involving money. But, so far, Warren looked to be one of the main characters in the plot. That was the difference. One thing he knew for sure was Harry would be on top of the list of those wanting him dead, at least after the ship docked.

“Perhaps the blonde named Mary,” he said under his breath as he added a column of the names to his list. Warren knew he screwed up by indicating she was a prostitute. Then again, maybe she was not as upset as the thug told him. She might have sent Harry to the cabin for a little extortion money. Whatever the motive, he would not trust her.

When Warren considered the professor, he nearly laughed. Somehow, he could not make himself believe the nervous-looking short man could hurt anyone, let alone commit murder.

“Not unless someone tried to throw one of those Spanish paintings overboard,” he chuckled.

Chapter 7

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.”

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Chapter 8

After dinner, which was only slightly better than breakfast, Warren restlessly paced his cabin. His head down with his jaw nearly on his chest, he tried to put things together. He had just spent the last two hours sitting with the countess as she regaled him about her younger years. After realizing her intoxicated state, Warren initially rejected the idea of dining with her. Nonplussed, the woman took him by the arm and steered him back to his table. As the woman directed the young waiter to take their orders, Warren decided it was an opportunity. Helene might have information about the Andes and her passengers.

It was an instinctual move on his part, which he nearly regretted. The woman gave out her thoughts and suppositions concerning his social class in Boston and their related social circles. In short, she was nothing more than a rumor mill. Aggravated he could not guide the conversation where he wanted, Warren nevertheless remained cordial.

Getting brief glimpses into his character and background as Helene spoke about his family, Warren doubled down on the initial plan. He ordered glasses of champagne for the old girl, and she sucked them down like water. Diligently interrupting his victim with innocuous questions about the passengers on the ship, the countess replied with rumors and innuendo. Unfortunately, her tales flowed faster than he could keep up. He wasn’t sure what might be accurate, but he tried to remember everything.

Upon returning to his cabin, he made notes on what he had learned from Helene. One thing was evident in his conversations; she refused to give any detailed knowledge concerning Warren’s family, specifically his mother. The lack of detail from the woman was frustrating, leaving him with more questions than answers. His character must have done something unseemly in the way Helene acted, and she seemed determined to obscure the answers. Either she didn’t know as much as she showed or there was a dark secret, not fit for a decent society.

Still, the information was more than Warren had at the start of the day. He knew he had limited options. He remained a puppet mostly tied to the strings of long-dead writers. In his netherworld existence, Warren tried to survive in a world of make-believe tied together with bits and pieces of truth, lies, and guesses. He felt alone on an open raft in the endless sea as he leaned back in his chair.

Deep inside, Warren wondered about the notion he was getting deserved justice for his treatment of others. When he stopped to think of it, he was never close to anyone. In his first life, Warren had no real friends and only stayed married because there was nothing better to look forward to. He sometimes wondered how his family reacted to his death.

Were they relieved more than upset at his passing?

Warren realized it was a sad commentary on his life. He wasn’t a good husband or even a sufficient father, despite some of the halfhearted attempts he made. In a heated argument, Victoria, his wife, once described him as a person filled with charisma and confidence which he carried around in the soul of a snake.

The funny thing about purgatory was the recollections. At first, Warren didn’t remember the past. Instead, he just played the role as if he had the script embedded inside his head. Gradually, he discovered his memories returned to him in bits and pieces. Now, he held the images, people, and words in minute detail.

Like when Warren wore up the first time in this purgatory. It was a hot, stinking place. Lying on an uncomfortable bed in a small hut, he found himself drenched in sweat in Panama. Thoroughly confused in this new place, Warren quickly found himself in the middle of a murder mystery set on a banana plantation in a no-name jungle. His character was engaged to a frigid woman he did not know. However, he found out that he had plenty of enemies in the men who worked for him.

As the day progressed, Warren could only gain a brief background of his purgatory character. Everyone in the small village knew and loathed his character, so they weren’t sociable. By the end of the first day, the man was back in bed, painfully dying from ingesting poison given by his dear wife. As he listened to his fiancée and her lover plotting their alibis, his last memory of that script was hearing the lovers making plans to leave for America.

When Warren awoke following that death, he found an entirely different setting. Instead of a bed, he was lying on the sand at a river’s edge. Dressed in the black-and-white striped uniform of an escaped convict, his new character found he had one ankle shackled to a ball and chain. While he tried to get his bearings, the man suddenly heard the baying bloodhounds on his trail.

Instantly horrified at his situation, Warren stumbled to his feet. The prisoner ran along the water’s edge while awkwardly hanging on to a heavy iron ball; the baying dogs were getting closer. He struggled across the shallow water to a sandbar near the middle of the fast-moving river. Then, he saw the first dogs relentlessly heading in his direction. Trapped between a watery grave and his capture, Warren fell to his knees to pray for the first time in a long time. After making his atonement for a terrible life, Warren stood, holding his hands above his head. The condemned man suddenly felt something slam into his back and he tumbled into the water. While he struggled to pull himself up using a tree limb over the water, he heard one of the prison guards hollering congratulations to another. They shot him in the back. From their accents, he realized he was somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line. His prayers continued aloud while a small crowd gathered to watch the struggling man vainly trying to pull his body from the water.

“Darn shame. He only had a couple of more years left for killin’ that girl.”

Warren overheard one trustee state as his strength abandoned him. He fell under the water. Then, the blackness enveloped him. Instead of harps and angels, his cycle of existence within this celluloid world continued.

Warren stopped his pacing inside the cabin. He took a deep breath, still affected by the drowning sensation he recalled. As the air rushed into his lungs, Warren forced himself to forget the intense agony of each death.

He turned on a light as the darkness of the evening finally filled his room. When Warren sat at his desk, the light revealed the edge of a red piece of paper in his notebook. Pulling out the luggage ticket, he sat down while carefully looking at the stub of the cardstock. The number 460 AA printed on the back reminded him of something from his conversation with Krupin. It nagged at him.

He was supposed to deliver an item, but he did not know what it was. Harry mentioned it as well. When he leaned back in the chair, Warren’s thoughts turned to the sound of footsteps going past. The battered wooden entry reminded him of something Harry said about a crate. Instantly, a plan was formulated in his head.

A man of his means would carry full wardrobes of clothes and possessions in travel trunks. Traveling on a ship meant more than a few suits and one leather travel bag in his room. Perhaps what he stored something in the hold where the cargo would be. Finding out what he carried for Krupin held might help him understand what he needed to do.

At least it’s better than sitting here speculating.

Quickly searching through the small drawers of the desk, he found the pen-style flashlight he noticed during his hunt for his gun. Neatly clipping the item into his inside suit pocket, he headed to the door.

Outside, the darkness revealed a vast expanse of stars. The ship’s lights shining down on the deck were few and far between. The dim rays created a path for Warren to navigate his way to the bow. He stopped at one point, pulling himself into the shadows near the ladder, when he heard footsteps above him. The clicking tap of leather soles on the steel steps passed him as one of the ship’s crew came down the ladder, walking by while the sailor went toward the stern. Silently, Warren came out of the shadows, observing the uniformed man disappear into the darkness. He followed the sailor’s path. At the end of the passenger deck, he found the ladder down to the cargo deck. There was a light next to the ladder, so he waited for a moment. He surveyed the area. At first, Warren thought someone was behind him, but he dismissed the feeling after glancing back.

It’s now or never, he thought.

Chapter 9

Swiftly, he went down the ladder as silently as his leather shoes would allow. At the bottom, Warren paused again when he saw movement on the other side of the platform. A door opened and closed near the bow of the ship. Then, he heard whistling as one of the ship’s crew came out of the crew berths. There were indistinct patterns of light and shadow which revealed a closed hatch leading to the hold where to the ship’s cargo.

Crouching down behind the cover, Warren waited until he saw the faint outline of a man walking around the bow area. The glow of the man’s cigarette made it easy to follow his patch. Carefully watching the figure walk across the ship to the port side, Warren suddenly realized he had no idea which hatch to use. He pulled the metal penlight out and held it out while trying to keep the light partially shielded with his other hand. He discovered a series of letters and numbers painted on the cargo hold just a couple of feet away.

Extinguishing the light, he crept to the next hatch. Stopping several times at any perceived sounds, he continued to glance at the cigarette glow coming from the sailor across the deck. Crossing over to the other side of the steel hatch, Warren found the next cargo number, which made no sense either. The disappointment crossed his face. It would not be obvious where he would find his luggage using the numbers from his ticket.

Then, Warren heard the faint echo of metal striking metal. Instinctively ducking behind the hatch, he gradually lifted his head to glimpse the sailor walking back from the port side of the ship. He watched the man re-enter the crew’s forward berth. He heard some friendly, but garbled words before the door shut, leaving the area dark and quiet except for the sound of the ship pushing through the ocean.

As he remained crouched next to the hatch door, Warren debated his next move. He heard a soft metallic tapping nearby, but he could not place the source. At first, he thought someone was walking on the darkened deck. However, a quick look at the area revealed nothing to him. Then he heard footsteps, muffled and distant. He tilted his head and realized the sound came from the cargo area below him.

The noise stopped, leaving only the waves splashing against the hull. Then, Warren swore he heard an indistinct voice that turned into a sort of yell. A hollow, metallic bang followed the noise. He scanned the deck again, but the clank noise came from below him. Nothing moved in the surrounding darkness. Warren let out a breath and used his penlight to find a partially opened hatch leading below. The steel door creaked lightly, causing him to pause. With the opening just wide enough to look inside, Baker saw the faint outlines of the ladder leading down to the cargo deck. When he opened the hatch enough to slide his body through, a faint yellow light shining below quickly disappeared. A chill went up along his spine when he realized someone else was already in the cargo hold. He waited for a moment, trying to decide what he would do.

The soft sound of footsteps approached from the outside along the main deck made the decision for him. Expecting one sailor on watch was inspecting the area; Warren carefully closed the door behind him and secured the latch. The slight screech of the steel on steel caused him to hold his breath. He expected the watchman to come running towards his hiding place. Instead, the dark black surrounded him in an eerie quiet. As his senses expanded amid the darkness, he heard the slight back-and-forth squeak of a chain swaying somewhere in front of him. He also noticed a faint acrid metallic smell which reminded him of fireworks which puzzled him.

Feeling his way down the ladder, Warren reached the steel deck after what seemed like fifty steps. Inside the hold, it was quiet, still but for the gentle creak of the ship when it rolled and the occasional clinking sound of the chain, now coming from above him. Pulling his penlight again, Warren fumbled around with the device before getting the light to shine. Bulky and small wooden crates lined the area in rudimentary rows, each line strapped down with cargo nets. Circling around, he turned sideways to squeeze through and navigate the narrow aisle between two rows until he reached the center of the hold. On the other side of the cargo area, he could just make out another ladder leading upward. Seeing no movement as he flashed the beam of his light around, he decided whoever might have been down there must have left.

Along the railing holding some of the cargo, he discovered handwritten labels, which appeared like the letters and numbers on his tickets. After spending several minutes trying to decipher the meaning, Warren began recognizing a pattern. He walked deeper into the line of covered items and large boxes.

Suddenly, he stopped. He thought he heard light footsteps walking nearby. Yet, from the way the noise echoed inside the steel hall, the sounds could have been on the other side of the hold. Immediately, Warren shined his beam of light past several large crates. Pointing the beam around, he could see nothing moving in the shadows.

He clicked off the light and held his breath. The only noise was the gentle creaking of the ship along with the now distant sound of the chain swaying above. Warren released his breath, believing he must have imagined the sound of footsteps. Continuing on his path and feeling a sense of relief, the row opened up. At the end of the path, he stopped and trained his flashlight on a nearby row of crates. The gray tarps covering some of the cargo did not help tone down the eerie feeling of being watched. The place reminded him of a scene from one of those cheesy horror movies he liked to watch as a child. An unsettling eeriness filled him as he followed the trail of handwritten symbols on the metal racks next to him.

Above, a harsh grating metallic sound of the cargo door suddenly opening echoed throughout the hold. Warren immediately crouched while he pushed the penlight into his coat pocket. The surrounding area went black, and he noticed the faint beam of moving light flashing and bouncing as someone shined their flashlight on the cargo.

When that happened, on the other side of the cargo crates, Warren unexpectedly heard footsteps near him rushing away. Someone began climbing a ladder on the other side of the cargo area, apparently trying to leave. He guessed someone must have been waiting, watching him on the other side of the row where he stood.

What the hell is going on?

Warren felt caught like a rat in a trap. Another person was coming down the ladder by the only other entrance. He guessed the night watch might have noticed something was wrong with the way he shut the hatch. Warren expected there would be many unanswerable questions if they found him.

The man scrambled along a row of racks, ducking around the first turn he could find. Using the faint light coming from the watchman who strolled his way, Warren pushed up next to a long tarp covered piece of cargo. Feeling the contours of a wheel and hub pressing into his back, he quickly recognized a vehicle was under the tarp. As the sound of footsteps drew closer, the man pulled himself under the tarp at the front of the car. He felt around the large piece of cold steel, which he deduced was a car bumper before finding two large bulbs. His hiding place was in front of a large car.

Carefully, Warren lifted the canvas tarp as he crouched near the wheel, watching the beam of light grow stronger as the person came closer to his position. Soon, the footsteps stopped next to him, and Warren froze as he watched a pair of legs walk by his position. The open-toe high heels, nylon stockings and the hem of the dress made it clear the person was not one of the crew. Warren waited until the sound finally receded before he carefully emerged from under the tarp. The outline of a tall woman snuck along in front of him, turning at the end of the row while Warren quietly followed.

Something isn’t right!

Questions filled his mind with so much interest in this cargo area of the ship. Tension mounting in him, Warren followed her while trying to watch for any others who might be in the area. All he heard was the tinny echo of the woman’s heels as she tiptoed along. Warren quickly stopped when the woman shined the beam of her flashlight around the area. He saw her take a deep breath and slowly headed in the direction she pointed at with her light. He heard a terrified gasp.

As Warren turned past stacked wooden boxes, he recognized Amber in the light she carried. Her deathly pale face matched her white dress in the dim glow. Then, Warren followed her stare to the object on the floor.

Krupin stared back at him with open eyes. His fat body lay sprawled next to a large open trunk. Even in death, he carried the same expression of disdain. Between his beady eyes, a small round hole stood out on his white forehead with a slight trickle of blood drying as it fell away. On the metal deck below the dead man’s head, the blood already pooled. Warren noticed the embossed gold letters showing the initials WP engraved on the leather strap hanging from the trunk lid.

Trying to get a better angle, Warren’s foot stepped down on something hard which crunched under his leather sole. Amber immediately turned the light on Warren, blinding him as he threw up one arm. Before he could say anything, she began running, crying for help. Instinctively, he ran after her, cutting her off before she could turn to the ladder.

Warren tried to quiet her, but the woman’s yell turned into a screeched panic when he grabbed her arm. She swung at him with her flashlight, nearly striking him in the head. Anger and fear shot through Baker, and he slammed his fist into the woman’s jaw. She fell back into one of the steel support beams. Watching her drop to the deck like a rag doll, he instantly thought he killed her. His mind screamed at him to run away. Instead, Warren grabbed the woman’s flashlight from the floor and crouched over her. He was about to check for a pulse when he saw her move, slowly lifting her hands to her head. She moaned.

Chapter 10

“Listen, I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you freaked me out,” he explained. “What’s going on? Why are you down here?” His voice was as shaky as his hands.

Her blue eyes gave him a blank look at first until she remembered what happened.

“Don’t hurt me,” she stammered as she tried to sit up and slide away from him at the same time. It was an ungainly attempt that might have made him laugh any other time. But it was clear she was terrified of him.

“I’m not going to hurt you, damn it,” he growled at her. “I wouldn’t have hit you if you’d just shut up and listen.” Warren still had an adrenaline rush going. He forced himself to take a deep breath as he backed away from her.

“Ok, I know you didn’t kill the guy since you walked by me. I’m pretty sure someone else is down here in this area. That’s why I came down; I heard people talking along with strange noises.”

He slowly scanned the area with the light in his hand. He could see no one on the ladder closest to them.

Amber gave him a suspicious look.

“I want to get the captain,” she insisted.

“I agree. That makes sense.” He replied.

As he turned the beam of light on her, her expression shot venom at him when she raised her hand to shield her eyes. Warren didn’t like the look.

“Hold on! Before we go anywhere, I want to know why you’re down here,” he growled. “Now that I think about it, you’ve been hanging around my cabin. I have a sneaky sensation you have been following me. In fact, I feel you might tell the captain I did this. Listen carefully, I’m not frying again.”

Amber gave him a curious look at what he told her.

“No, we go to the captain,” she declared and started toward the ladder.

Impatiently, he grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. He pressed his fingers hard into her arm, wanting to shake some sense into the woman.

“Listen, if I was the killer, wouldn’t you be dead already? Now, think about that.”

Her hostility dropped slightly.

“It would have been simple to just walk out of here, leaving two dead bodies here. But I’m not that way,” Warren stated. “Now come with me.”

He pulled her back over to the ladder, where he heard someone climbing earlier. Her defiant look remained, but she quit fighting his pull.

“I thought you said someone else is down here,” she told him in a mocking tone, which made him grit his teeth. He trained the beam of light up and down the ladder to the hatch above.

“I’m damn sure someone was down here since I heard them running away when you came down,” he insisted. “They must have escaped this way.”

After several seconds of staring at the closed door above, he glanced at her. Her smirk made him replay the events in his head.

“I know I heard footsteps,” he said mostly to himself, finally convincing himself whoever was waiting in the cargo hold with him was now gone.

“Pretty convenient for whoever it was,” Amber said. The skepticism was evident in her voice made him angry.

“Shut it,” he snapped. “It’s not like you’re clean here. You still haven’t told me why you’re down here,”

He pushed her back to the murder scene. When they got near the body, he swept the floor with the flashlight beam, immediately finding the item he stepped on earlier.

“What the hell is this?” He asked as he crouched down, picking up a piece of stone like material.

As he examined the unusual piece, he realized he held a broken finger from a good-sized statue.

“That’s weird.” She stared at the item in his hand.

Warren glanced back at her, surprised at her choice of words.

“Have you seen this before?” Warren asked while standing. She shook her hand and put the item into his pocket. The man turned the light toward the body.

“Come on, I want to see what’s in the trunk,” he told her as he focused his attention on the box next to the body.

“No, I’ve seen enough,” Amber refused to follow.

“Yeah, you and me both,” he admitted quietly, then stepped away.

“Just stay there and don’t move,” he warned her with a glance back. Amber gave him a defiant look, crossing her arms, but she remained still.

Warren slowly passed the dead man, trying to avoid the staring eyes as he kept glancing back at Amber. The first thing he noticed was the box lay on its side, partially opened. As he carefully stepped over the body, Warren saw that someone had cut the leather straps that wrapped around the trunk. Someone also forced open the lock.

Shining the light on the inside of the trunk, he observed a white canvas bag with lettering on it. Unable to get a clear view, he lifted the lid of the trunk wider. The chest is heavier than he imaged, and he had to hold the lid with one hand. His stomach twisted into a knot when Warren recognized his name on the tag attached to the handle. Then he looked inside. At first, he could not grasp what he was seeing.

“What the—hell,” his question went silent as he clumsily pulled the bag inside the trunk. The bag contained a gray-white powder. Warren stood up, scratching his head.

“This thing is full of clothes and a bag of cement,” he told her. “Why the hell would someone put a bag of Portland cement in a trunk with clothes?”

Warren glanced at Amber, who wasn’t paying attention. Instead, she focused her eyes on the ladder he had inspected earlier. Just as he was about to ask what she was looking at, the grating metallic sound of the hatch door opening behind them filled the cargo area. Warren sprinted over to Amber as he turned out the light.

“What is this? Times Square?”

Warren caught her arm, pulling her away. In the distance, he heard someone climbing down the ladder.

“I… don’t understand.”

Amber whispered, and from the sound of her voice, Warren heard the fear. He put the flashlight in his coat pocket and turned it on. Using the bit of light sneaking out of his pocket, he led them back to his hiding spot under the tarp by the car.

The footsteps stopped only a row away from them, then they heard the rustle of clothing followed by the striking of a match. The smell of cigarette smoke drifted to them. Warren pushed up the canvas, and he saw a crewman in blue dungarees holding an electric lantern. The light filled the area around the man. He turned away and stepped toward the other side of the hold.

“It’s the night-watch,” Warren whispered to Amber, coming close enough to smell her perfume. “He’s heading away from the body. Do you still think you want to have him find the body with us down here? That will mean you are in this with me.”

In the dark, he could almost feel the wheels turning in her head. Warren hoped she would think he was the lesser of two evils.

“I have an idea,” he whispered to her. “Let’s go back to the ladder and get out of here before he finds Krupin. We can go to the captain. I’m willing to bet you don’t have a good excuse for being down here, either. But I’ll guarantee you we won’t have a leg to stand on if they find us here.”

“Alright, I’ll go with you, but only to get the captain,” she told him reluctantly.

“Then take off your shoes and follow me.” He told her as he slipped off his leather shoes.

Quickly, he tied them together and put them over his shoulder. Pressing forward, he slowly put his head out. The light moved away from their area as the footsteps diminished.

He held the tarp up for the woman, and she crawled out. The night watch’s light gave off enough ambient light over the cargo hold for them to find a path back to the hatch above. He reached over to hold the woman’s arm to guide her, but she pulled away.

“Fine,” Warren whispered bitterly, then he pushed past her.

He followed a row of crates and boxes. As they snuck along, they glanced over at the watchman’s light, which was now visible on the far side of the cargo area. Soon, it was too dark to see, and they felt their way using the pinprick of light coming from his pocket. Warren finally found a narrow spot between the rows, which led them to a place where the entrance ladder went up.

As they emerged from the row, Amber glanced back and noticed the light slowly moving along a row closer to the body. The faint echo of whistling reached them, and Warren nearly walked into the steel ladder. He felt the woman stumble onto his back when he stopped.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered. “You go up first. I’ll be right behind you,” Warren moved aside.

Quickly and quietly, she started up while the man gave her a couple of seconds before he followed. Using the sound of the rhythmic swaying of the chain above them as a guide, he tried to gauge their distance from the top. Occasionally, he looked back at the light, which was now close to the area where the body lay.

As they got to the top, he congratulated himself on the escape. Then, Warren caught the dim shadow of Amber hurrying to finish the climb. Almost immediately, he realized she decided to ditch him.

Hurrying up the last steps as fast as he could, he reached the top of the ladder and scrambled across the small steel platform. Amber scurried to the hatch and forced it open.

Striking his knee on the metal edge of the platform, Warren let out a loud grunt and limped across until he reached the steel door. Amber closed it on him.

Suddenly, the beam of light from the crewman below lit up the surrounding area. Oblivious to the yelling from the night watchman, Warren used his full weight against the hatch. He pushed through despite the frantic efforts of the woman to keep him inside. Warren fell through and quickly turned to close the door. Pulling Amber’s flashlight from his pocket, he jammed the metal between the handle and the latch to ensure the sailor remained locked inside.