Chapter 1

The biggest drawback to living in Tampa is the freaking heat. It was 10:00 in the morning and it was already 35 degrees C with the humidity pushing its way up past 90 percent. Still, it beats the shit out of Indianapolis, or anywhere else up north for that matter. Beats the jungles of South and Central America where I spent the better part of ten years, that's for damn sure! There I had the heat, the humidity and someone trying to kill me on a daily basis. I'll take just the heat and humidity, thank you very much!

I suppose I could have lived on one of the Great Lakes up north but I prefer the ocean even if it is just the Gulf. I've found running a charter out of the Bay suits me just fine. Keeps the beans on the table and the beer in the fridge. What more could anyone ask for?

Anyway you get used to the heat but it still makes you feel old when you haven't slept for 48 hours or so. Sure, I know they say the AI's (Artificial Intelligence) can con the boats better and safer than us mere humans, but it's my ass and my passengers' asses on the line so I stay up anyway. Call me a throwback if you want, I don't mind. I've sure been called a lot worse. You don't stay alive in the jungle by being careless and I see no reason for being stupid now.

So there I was, bone tired, stubble on my chin from where the depilatory was wearing off, sitting on the covered deck of my 15-meter cruiser, firing up a Mexican Marlboro and minding my own business. Okay, I was minding the business of the cleaning crew working their magic on my 50-meter charter yacht sitting across the pier from me.

Not that I have to. After five years I've found the best way for them to get the job done is for me to stay out of their way. Not that I would ever tell my cleaning contractor who he should put on my crews but it seems like most of them ended up coming from Honduras, Guatemala or Venezuela. They seem to like working on my boat and that's fine with me. I wasn't even born yet when the lazy bastards up here in the States started to complain about the brownies moving up here and taking all their jobs. Like those lazy shits would do them anyway. My little brown-skinned brothers and sisters may have learned a lot up here but thank God they didn't learn the NorAm work ethic! I may be prejudiced but I'd probably never hire anyone but a brownie if I had my choice. Damn, do they work hard! Of course, now I hear them complaining about the Chinese coming in to take their jobs. Go figure.

Anyway, there I was relaxing or employing "distance supervision" if you prefer, when I look up and see this vision staring at me over the railing. If she stood over 160 centimeters and weighed more than fifty kilos then I'm a poofy-boy, which I'm not. Bright blonde hair pulled back behind her head in a ponytail, long slim legs and hands on her hips sporting a mildly disgusted frown on her face. I knew that look and if it had been on my wife, or my mother for that matter, I would have known there would be hell to pay soon, and you can bet who would be writing the check. I guess I am a throwback because I love old 2D vids, especially the animated ones, and seeing her there brought only one thing to mind immediately.

"What can I do for you, Tinker Bell?"

"Isn't that illegal?" Her sun shades were perched on the top of her head so I could see her eyes narrow and her nose wrinkle up, very cutely I might add. Now I was pretty sure what she was talking about but one can never tell. There were a number of things around me that might not be construed as precisely legal. The Scotch was legal; you can still get a drink in the States, wonder of all wonders, although I might have forgotten to pay the import tax on this particular bottle when I brought it in with me, along with the other fifty or so cases that came with it. The 2-millimeter needle gun resting in the small of my back was very legal. As ex-U.N. SpecFor I was authorized to carry pretty much anything I could hold anywhere the hell I wanted to. Now the cigarette was illegal as hell, but she didn't look like a TEA-cop (Tobacco Enforcement Agency) so I wasn't going to get broken up about it. If she was packing anything except for a nice pair of tits under that tail-tied top and skimpy shorts I sure couldn't see it. I never did figure it was any of their fucking business what I smoked anyway; marijuana was okay, tobacco wasn't. Screw 'em.

"You have to be more specific, Tink," I answered.

"That thing," she said, nodding her head at my cigarette. "And who are you calling, Tink? What's a Tink?"

"Tinker Bell, Peter's fairy friend."

"Peter? Fairy?" her nose scrunched up again just as cute as the first time. She muttered to herself, listened with her head slightly cocked and suddenly comprehension shown on her face. "Oh, Peter Pan! I remember seeing that one when I was young. I liked it. You think I look like Tinkerbelle?"

"Dead on," I nodded. "Yes this is illegal, no I'm not worried that you see it and other than brightening up my day, what is it you want?"

"I'm looking for a Captain Mayhem," she said grinning.

"Well, this is both our lucky days, it seems. I'm who you're looking for."

"Are you sure?" she sounded a little reluctant to believe me. "Captain Mayhem, the charterboat owner?"

"'Fraid so, Tink," I smiled. "Impressive, eh?"

"Impressive, no," she actually giggled. "May I come aboard? I said that correctly? Come aboard?"

"Well enough," I admitted. "Spread your wings and flit on over here." The walk-through was just a meter or so from where she stood but she leaned over, placed her hands on the rail and vaulted over it and onto the deck. She walked over to me and stuck her hand out. Either the scotch or the butt had to go so I flicked the cig over the side. I didn't have to worry much about water pollution; the paper and the filter were hydro-degradable and would dissolve in less than a minute into perfectly harmless constituents. Very eco-friendly and if you happen to be a smuggler you can just dump it over the side and the evidence is gone, poof!

"I want to hire your boat for a trip the weekend after next, Friday to Sunday," she said as I took her hand. It was cool and smooth and my hand felt like a paw around it. It felt like I was handling fine china although given that vault and a general feeling I was sure this was no delicate little flower.

Now I could have been a smart-ass and asked if she wanted it for her sweet-sixteen party and how the hell was Daddy going to pay the 20K New Dollars per day I charge, but I didn't. There was something more to this little honey than met the eye and besides I may seem a bit rough around the edges but I've always made it my policy to treat people as I would like to be treated until they show me otherwise. If she thought she could afford the charter then maybe she could.

"Let me check the schedule," I answered releasing her hand. "Sara," I said to nobody in particular, "are we available then?"

"Yes, Daniel," a low, throaty contralto answered seemingly out of thin air. It was my wife's voice; she had given it to our AI only months before she was killed. She jokingly told me she wanted me to know who was boss even when I was out at sea and she couldn't be there. After she was gone I couldn't bear to change it. Sure it hurt like hell hearing it especially for the first few months but it soothed me, made me feel like she was still there somehow looking after me like she did for our seventeen years of marriage.

"You are scheduled until that Thursday, but available for the time period requested," she continued. I know some people get huffy when I anthropomorphize an AI and call her a she but screw 'em. Sara is smarter than a lot of humans I know and more real to me than most others.

"Thank you, Sara." I looked back at Tinker Bell. "Looks like we're available, Tink. What did you have in mind?"

"I have a new comp (that's compilation; we used to call them albums) that's going to be released next quarter and Mom and I thought it would be good if we could get some of the big muckity-muck distributors together for a little jaunt. Actually I don't think it's really necessary, but it couldn't hurt and besides it sounds like fun."

"So, you're a singer, vid artist?" I asked. I didn't recognize her, but then what do I know about today's music? Music like anything else goes in cycles and today's music was mostly soft, soothing and delicate. Nice if you're riding in an elevator, but otherwise it gets old, after maybe two seconds.

"Antigua Delmar," she said and cocked her head as if wondering when the light was going to blink on over my head. Unfortunately I wasn't going to be able to give her the satisfaction; I'd never heard of her that I could remember. Still, if she thought it was a name I should know then it probably was. I could ask my daughter; she'd probably know, if she were talking to me that is.

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Delmar,"

"You have no idea who I am," she stated. Now from somebody else that would have sounded pretty pompous, or maybe patronizing, like I was a half-civilized troglodyte living under a rock, but from her it didn't. It was just a statement of fact. She did seem somewhat amused by it, though.

"Sorry, I haven't a clue," I admitted. No sense in lying about something stupid like that. "I take it you're somewhat popular and I'm displaying my incredible ignorance by not knowing it."

"Yep, but then I'm guessing you're one of those old time rock and rollers," she grinned. "Most cavemen are." Great! A freaking mind-reader.

"Got me in one, Tink. So anyway, you serious about a charter?" She nodded. "You have a business agent you want me to send the contract to?"

"We can do it now, if that's okay."

"Sure, if you can..." I stopped myself. This little elf may look sixteen but that didn't mean she was. She made it sound like she could sign her own contracts and if that was the case then me and my big mouth could easily piss her off. Under most circumstances I consider it bad form to piss off a client. " ... if you can wait until I open up the office."

"Good catch," she grinned again. "Yes, I'm old enough to settle it right now. I may look fifteen but I'm actually twenty-one, almost twenty-two if truth be known. I'd like you to keep that a bit quiet, if you would. My demographics are the twelve to seventeens and they wouldn't be happy listening to an old lady."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"That's all right," she interrupted. "It happens all the time. I know I look young, but that's all part of the shtick. Most people, especially the old farts, try to pat me on the head and tell me to find my mommy." She flashed me a big toothy grin and chomped her teeth together a couple of times. "I wouldn't try it, though. I bite." I had to chuckle at that. I think I could really like this little munchkin.

"I'll remember that," I answered dryly. "My office is just down the road about a klick. If you have a few minutes I'd like to wash some of the grime off. Smelling like an old barnacle may sound nautical and romantic, but it's not very professional. Won't take me more than five minutes or so."

"Go ahead, take your time," she answered with a wave. "Is this your boat? I understood you could sleep thirty; this doesn't seem big enough."

"It's my boat, but not my charter. The Gulf Dream is the charter. It's across the pier there and yes, she can handle thirty if that's what you want. If you'd like we can have a look at her before we head down to the office."

"Ow, pretty." I have to admit the Dream is a pretty sight. "Maybe later if it's all right with you. But go ahead, I'll wait right here." I slapped some dipli on the whiskers, sprayed the body wash, a minute under the water, a clean shirt and pants and I'm ready to go. She was waiting for me when I got back up on deck, just sitting in my chair watching the cleaning crew carry the trash off the Dream. I will say, I'm not normally attracted to the young fluff, something about a girly being the same age as my daughter just doesn't sit right, but I will say she had some killer legs!

"Right, I'm ready," I said. "I assume you have a car. If you want you can follow me; it's not far." I could have followed her lead and vaulted the rail but I took the easy way and walked over the gangplank as she followed. My bike was parked just a couple of meters away so I just strolled over and mounted.

"This is yours?" I swear she almost squealed. I get that a lot, hell it one of the reasons I keep the old brute. "This is so kold! What is it?"

"A 2010 Harley-Davidson Road King Classic," I answered proudly. I really was proud of that old bike, forty-four years old, just like me, and still ready to kick ass, same as me. I'd picked it up for a song when I was in school and spent a couple of years restoring it. Of course it wasn't stock. Shit, back then they still used gasoline! Now it ran on CA (Condensed Alcohol) and the electronics are all new, but it looks stock, sounds like it too. Kathy used to joke that it was my pussy lure when I was trolling for strange and I suppose it would have been good for that except I'd never even looked at another pussy the whole time we were married. Still, I did like the reaction it got. Nothing like a hog or a puppy to make a woman coo and giggle and while I like dogs I like my bike better; it doesn't shit on the deck.

"Icy! Can I get a ride?" Now I like having a nice set of seat covers hanging on the back of my bike as well as anyone, but Tinker Bell is probably worth some serious jack and I'm betting whoever her handler was would have some severe problems with me taking her for a spin in the open as it were. But then again she's an adult and if she wanted a short ride it certainly wouldn't bother me any.

"Sure, if you want," I shrugged and opened one of the bags to pull out two cranium covers. I may like to act the macho-man but I'm not a complete idiot; when I ride it's with a brain-guard. Of course it's not like I used those old fiberglass or steel behemoths of yesteryear. My bike may be a classic but that doesn't mean my safety gear has to be from the Stone Age. I like the modern reactive gear just fine, thank you. It's a light-weight plastic mesh that inflates when struck. Most of the time you don't even know it's there, but it'll do the job if needed. She didn't argue a bit when I handed it to her, just pulled the shades down over her eyes, slapped it on and fastened the strap under her chin.