Chapter 3

Gossip rags are like cockroaches: there are millions of them everywhere and you just can't kill them. The names change from "Galaxy" to "Nova" to "Star Struck" but they're all the same. I never saw the cameras nor the low-lifes behind them but starting the next day there were pictures of Tink on the back of my bike all over the bloody things.

Apparently I was her sex-slave, or she was my kidnap victim or some other outrageous bullshit. It was annoying. Luckily I don't answer my calls and I never programmed Sara to be nice. I wonder if the creeps even knew they were being so cleanly and exactingly eviscerated by an AI. I doubt it; my guess is most of them would have lost a battle of wits with a sponge. They were persistent however, I'll give them that. When the second one almost got onboard the Katherine I asked Marmaduke and Binky to come down and help keep the pests off the pier.

Marmaduke and Binky, a.k.a Sergeants Samuel and Stanly Kolbe are two more members of the Lost Boys. They're fraternal twins and about as different as two sides of the same coin. They're big boys, about ten centimeters taller than I am but that's where the similarities end. Sam is as dark as Stan is fair and built like a brick, kind of like me. His body doesn't slope down from broad shoulders to a cute narrow waist like the heroes in the vids, no, they go straight down, just like a brick. And let me tell you there isn't a gram of fat on that boy anywhere, just solid muscle. I've seen him out-arm-wrestle Crystal's Bob without breaking a sweat. Remember Bob, the one who bends rebar? I think Sam could straighten it out again. Bob wanted to get him a tryout with the Bucs but Sam wasn't interested. I think he was afraid he would really hurt someone and he was probably right.

Stan is fair as I mentioned; blonde with the narrow hips and handsome as a vid star. He's also, as Mike so delicately puts it, "Queer as a three peso gold piece." Sexual orientation doesn't mean that much to people nowadays and even less to me than most. I couldn't care less who my team members climb in bed with just so long as it's not me and that goes double for Mike. Yeah she's pretty, even beautiful but I'd rather sleep with a live grenade with the pin pulled; it's safer. Anyway, Stan doesn't have Sam's muscle but he's the best at what he does: blowing things up. He just purely loves making little tiny pieces out of big things; it's good to see a man enjoy his work.

The brothers were in between jobs so they came down to help keep the pests off the pier, usually by seeing how far they could throw them into Tampa Bay. I swear I actually saw one of them skip. Sam used the brute force method, Stan had more finesse. They squabbled like a couple of old maids over who got the best distance but I refused to get involved. Besides it wasn't really a contest; brute force has a finesse all its own. Sure the marina has its own security but for the most part they just hung back and watched. I think they were making side bets themselves.

After a few days it all died down. I hadn't been seen with Tinker Bell since that bike ride so the public was probably getting bored with it and besides it must have been getting pretty expensive with all that camera equipment ending up in the bay.

Anyway it was a huge pain in the ass and I was glad when the day for the charter came. I'd been out for two days before that so we needed a quick turnaround to get ready for the Friday-night sailing, but that wasn't a problem for the cleaning crew. They were real pros and we'd done this many times before. Sally was going to help me out for the weekend cruise along with a couple of other girls we often brought on part-time for bigger crowds. She generally didn't like doing that during the season but since the Bucs were out of town and I promised we'd be back in before the game, she agreed.

She helped me greet our guests at the brow and direct them back to the lounge while the rest of the guests were arriving. I told you before I liked having pretty women work for me. Well pretty doesn't quite cover what Sally looks like. Try pure sex with red-hair, creamy white skin and more curves that a country road. I keep telling Bob he doesn't deserve her and he agrees, but then I'm not sure any mundane man deserves Sally. But she loves him like there's no tomorrow. No accounting for taste, right?

As I said before I work the higher end of the trade so I'm fairly used to the rich and their hangers-on coming and going but I don't think I've ever seen that many limos piled up at the end of the pier like I did that day. If that's the kind of money you find in the music business then I am definitely in the wrong line of work! There were the obligatory old rich men with their arm candy ― either trophy wives or weekend rentals ― old rich men with their pretty boys and a few old battleaxes with either arm candy or pretty boys. Quite a mixed bag all around, but no Antigua Delmar as of yet. Not that it mattered all that much to me; her guests could wait with the rest of us and drink expensive hooch (smuggled of course), eat off the buffet and schmooze with each other and try to keep their hands off the girls and their eyes on Sally's ass.

According to the guest roster everyone was aboard except the hostess and it was getting close to the scheduled sailing time when the biggest limo of them all pulled up right onto the pier. I figured it had to be Tinker Bell so when she popped out of the rear of the land yacht I wasn't surprised. The woman that got out after her did surprise.

I told you Antigua Delmar was pretty, more than just a cute kid and Sally is a knock-out and my wife Kathy, the love of my life, was a very handsome woman; none of them even came close to this vision. She appeared to be a little taller that Tink, shoulder length honey-blonde hair, perfectly proportioned body and get this, the most perfect legs I have ever seen in my life! She should have been under glass in the Louvre. I think my heart stopped.

"Breathe, Danny, breathe," Sally chuckled and nudged me with her elbow.

"Huh? I don't know what you mean," I gasped.

"Sure you don't," she smirked. "And next you'll be telling me you didn't even notice her."

"Notice who?" I had her fooled, I'm sure of it. She kept chuckling, annoyingly so, until Tink stepped over the brow and threw her arms up to me.

"My sex slave!" she hollered. I groaned.

"I thought you were my kidnapping victim," I answered as she hugged me.

"You read what you want; I'll read what I want," she said. Turning she introduced the goddess standing behind her. "Captain Chaos, this is Cynthia, my manager and my mother."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," I said. At least I hope that's what came out. It could have been incoherent guttural noises but if it was I didn't want to know. "And that's Mayhem, Daniel Mayhem."

"So you're the one who kidnapped my daughter and ran off with her on that ancient death machine and then forced her into that den of iniquity." Touching her hand was like holding onto spun silk.

"Den of iniquity? Oh, Bennie's. I'll have to remember to tell him you said that; he'll like it." I think she pulled her hand back, I'm not sure I could have let it go by myself. "As for the bike ... Well, she forced me to."

"I'm sure she did," she said laughing. Her laugh was like the tinkling of small silver bells, the sound of water over stone in a meadow brook ... What? Oh, yeah. Okay it does sound corny but I don't think my brain was functioning all that well right then.

"Shall we show the ladies to the lounge and prepare to get underway, Captain?" Sally prompted.

"Um, of course. Miss Delmar?" I offered my arm to Antigua; I didn't trust myself with Cynthia. Together we strolled into the lounge.

When we entered there was a general uproar and I don't think I've seen more kissing and hugging since the last orgy we chartered. Orgies are fine with me, by the way, so long as I'm not obligated to join in; it's one of the reasons everything we have is leather: it's easy to clean. As expected, Tink was the center of attention although where I saw a pretty young woman, I think these sharks saw nothing but dollar signs; but such is business.

I gave my obligatory welcome aboard speech; blah-blah-blah, happy to have you; yada-yada-yada, everything is here for your pleasure except the girls, Brian and me; play nice, have fun, don't fuck with me or you get hurt. Okay, I don't say that last part with exactly those words, but they get my meaning and it was time to shove off.

I forgot to mention Brian, or Cubby as we know him, the last of my Lost Boys, Staff Sergeant Brian McNaught. Brian works a lot of my charters, especially the larger crowds, as extra security. He's not as big as some of the other LBs, not quite so imposing; has a pleasant demeanor, doesn't get excited, reacts appropriately and is as deadly as a pit viper when needed. I've seen Cubby put down a pro wrestler almost twice his size with a simple wrist lock and calmly explain the error of his ways while almost tearing the recalcitrant grappler's arm out of its socket. He's one of reasons Bob has no problems with Sally over-nighting with us, and the other girls feel safer here than at home in Tampa. As with the rest of my team money seems to mean nothing to him but if I asked him to toss a troublemaker over the side the only thing he'd ask was if I wanted him dead before he hit the water. They say the mark of a true friend is not that they would help you when there is trouble but they also help you bury the body afterwards. My team would ask how many bodies and if it would be easier to rent a backhoe.

I finished my speech, shook a few hands and kissed a few cheeks then left the feeding and care of the passengers up to the professionals, i.e., Sally and the girls assisted by Sara, my AI. I made my way up to the bridge to "help" Sara with ship's movement. She doesn't need my help but she's a good girl and tolerates me. I actually have two bridges although I could just as easily con the boat from my cabin. The navigation bridge is totally enclosed and is the second highest deck on the boat. The flying bridge ― the place I usually like to stay ― is the uppermost deck and is mostly open with the exception of a canopy. The view is better and I like the feeling of being outside in the breeze. If the weather's bad I can always go inside.

We had boarded late in the afternoon so by the time we got underway it was pretty close to dinner time but after a quick consultation with Cynthia ― that was nice ― I decided to postpone the meal and leave the buffet open until we exited the bay. I've found the passengers generally enjoyed the transit out of the harbor and seeing the city as we glide by. After that my job becomes pretty much to sit back and look important.

To tell the truth my job is the least important onboard. Navigation and ship handling is so automated these days with the AIs it could be done by the man and a dog routine. You know, where the only living creatures on the bridge are a man and his dog. The man's job is to feed the dog and the dog's job is to bite the man if he tries to touch anything.

Nice work if you can get it.

I usually just stay up there for most of the trip, especially the fully automated ones. Lets the passengers do what they want and not feel embarrassed by me walking in on their fuck-fests. Sara will tell me if there's any trouble and on this cruise I have Sally and Brian to mediate any of the small glitches. Lighting up a smoke I watched Tampa and then Pinellas Park slide down our starboard beam and tried not to think of Cynthia down below.

I truly do love the open sea and even though the Gulf is usually little more than a big pond I still enjoy being out in the open air with the sea all around; it sometimes feels like it's just me and the sea. I wonder what it would have been like if I had taken the appointment to Annapolis instead of the Point. Back then I was just a kid from Indianapolis and didn't know the affinity I'd feel for the open water. I think I would have made a pretty good naval officer if I do say so myself. But then it probably wouldn't have mattered. The Muslims had nukes but no navy to speak of; the wars were down and dirty land fighting and the Navy was stripped of both officers and crew to feed the meat-grinders both in the Middle East and SA. In all likelihood I would have been just another squid handed a rifle and sent out into the jungle or the sandbox to die. The survivability of those "lateral conversions" proved to be about the same as the chances of winning the state lottery: not good.

As strange as it seems probably the only reason I survived was the fact I chose Army and was selected for the UN Special Forces. True, the casualty rates in the SpecFor were even higher than the normal grunts but for some reason my team survived intact, with the exception of one very early on. It was what they called a "statistical anomaly," which is brass-speak for "fucking impossible." Oh, we got more than our fair share of the really nasty little jobs, the kind they don't expect you to return from, but we were always able to come back alive and reasonably whole. I think it was a fluke ― read miracle ― or karma or whatever else you want to read into it but the UN somehow threw together a team that meshed like no other that I'd ever seen. We were tight, still are I guess. After the wars we all retired at the same time and when Kathy and I moved to Tampa to set up a charter business they all came with us. I think they hurt almost as much as I did when she was killed in that bombing. I think she had become their surrogate mother, even to Top who was just a few years younger that we were.

"So this is where you're hiding," someone said from behind me. I must have been zoned out because normally I would never have let anyone sneak up behind me like that ― getting old I guess. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Tinker Bell pulling herself up the ladder and stepping onto the deck.

"Permission to enter the bridge, Sir!" she mimicked with a snappy salute.

"Permission granted, sailor," I growled. "Somebody's been watching old movies again."

"Never stopped," she said plopping herself down in the chair across from me. "I love them. They're fascinating and who knew you could make something that entertaining and without a dick or tit in sight."

"It was a different era I'll admit," I answered. "I think they would consider what's usually made today nothing more than porn with a plot."

"Sometimes they don't even bother with a plot." She added and I could only nod. "So what is it you're doing up here?"

"Running the ship of course," I replied.

"Yeah right," she snorted. "With your feet propped up and smoking that ragweed. You look really busy."

"I work smart, not hard."

"Your AI does all the real work," she pointed out.

"That's working smart," I responded. "All of us in high leadership positions learn to delegate tasks to those most suited for the job."

"Okay, you delegate," she giggled. "So what else do you do?"

"Supervise mostly," I shrugged, "and evaluate the tactical situation."

"What tactical situation?" she scoffed.

"Well, for instance, that fellow following us," I pointed to the charter boat off our port quarter at about 500 meters. "If this were a combat situation I would be wondering who they are and what they're up to. They've been stuck to us like stink on a fart since we left port."

"Okay, I can see that," she said looking at the aforementioned vessel. "But this isn't combat so what are you doing?"

"Wondering who they are and what they're up to," I answered. "Sara, who is that off our port quarter?"

"Charter Vessel Ocean Breeze, Daniel," Sara immediately replied. All vessels had the mandated IFF (Identification, Friend or Foe) screamer installed that allowed anybody to ascertain the name, speed and course of any vessel underway. "Registered to Captain Charles Brennen, Port of Tampa." I knew Chuck, a decent enough guy but he usually trafficked in the lower end trade. It didn't answer my question as to what he was up to.

"Sara, open up the ship-to-ship. Ocean Breeze, this is Gulf Dream, what are your intentions, over."

"Gulf Dream, this is Ocean Breeze, we are steady on, no maneuvering intended, over"

"Brennen, this is Mayhem, you're dogging my wake, what the hell are you up to?"

"It's a free ocean, Mayhem, I'm just out on a charter making a living same as you."

"Fine, how about you back off another half klick or so? I don't want you spoiling the view for my passengers."

"Sorry, no can do. Your passengers are the problem, Mayhem. You got Antigua Delmar on board and I've got a boat load of reporters that want to know what's going on."

"Too bad. They should have wangled an invitation. Since they don't have one how about you back off a bit?"

"I can't do that, Mayhem," he sounded nervous for some reason. It wasn't long before I found out why.

"Shit!" Tinker Bell muttered. I looked over and saw her looking at the Breeze through one of a pair of binoculars I had spread out around the bridge. "Fucking floaters!"

"Language, little lady," I chided. "What do you mean floaters?"

"Remote cameras," she said, she started shaking and I thought she was going to cry. "I can never get away from those fucking things! They follow me wherever I go! Now I'll have to spend the rest of my time inside. God, I hate those things!" I picked up another pair of eyeballs and took a look at the Breeze myself. There was some motion on the rear deck; there were a couple of people with a number of boxes spread out around them. Suddenly a number of dark, plate-shaped objects floated up and started coming our way.

"Settle down, Tink," I chuckled. She had started to head towards the ladder but stopped and looked back at me. "Sara, get me Brian."

"Yes, Cap?" came his voice from mid-air.

"You busy?"

"Not so you'd notice," he replied.

"Get your boom-stick and get to aft-deck, port. Incoming, hostile, not critical."

"Sir!" His voice cut off suddenly.

"What are you up to?" Tink looked at me suspiciously.

"Just a little target practice," I grinned and walked over to the locker on the bulkhead. I pressed my thumb on the lock and it opened, elevating a 6mm standard infantry rifle out for me to grab.

"Oh, shit!" Tink hissed as I lifted it up and looked through the scope checking its true.

"What's the matter, lamb chop? Never seen a rifle before?"

"Not up close and personal," she admitted.

"Welcome to my world," I grunted and looked over the back rail seeing Brian already there at ready arms. A few of the guests must have seen him grab the piece and go outside because five or six of them were standing behind him looking confused.

"Sara, tell our guests standing outside there is nothing to worry about but I'd like them to back away from crewman Brian a few more meters." It took a second or two but the message must have reached them because they did just that.

"Brian," I started, "those objects coming towards us from the vessel port-aft of us are cameras. They intend to bother our guests with them and that annoys me. You take the three to the left and I'm going to take the three to the right. I want them splashed."

"Maybe I should take all of them, Cap. You know you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if you were standing next to it." Even as he spoke he lifted the rifle in one smooth motion, shouldered it and squeezed off three quick shots in succession.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

One of the cameras exploded in mid-air; another flipped end over end and smashed into the sea while the third nosed over and gently dove directly into a wave.

"Show off" I muttered. His crack about the barn hurt. Okay, so I wasn't the best shot in our team, not with a rifle anyway, but I wasn't that bad. I lifted my own piece, sighted the first floater and squeezed off my shot. It started tumbling so I shifted to the next one in line. Again the squeeze and the gentle recoil pushed back into my shoulder as that one disappeared from the scope field. I lined up the last one and ripped off another shot just as the damn thing jigged on me. A complete miss!

"Shit," I hissed and looked down at a grinning Brian giving me that I-told-you-so look. I flipped him the finger and sighted the last floater as it headed back to the Breeze.

"Not so fast, baby," I whispered. I sighted in and as it tried to jig again blew it apart, the pieces coming down about a hundred meters from the Breeze.

"What the hell is going on here, Captain?" I heard behind me and I turned to see a thoroughly pissed off Cynthia Delmar hoisting herself up the ladder and onto my bridge. She'd changed into what they probably call a cocktail dress or maybe a strapless evening gown although to me it looked more like a gown-less evening strap for all it covered. I mean yeah it covered all the unmentionable parts but it was skin-tight, silky and left nothing to the imagination. I think my heart stopped again for just a moment.