The Tailor's Razor

5. Vinegar & Honey

Dinnertime
The Scheherazade, Charlotte Amalie Harbour

Eckhardt led his cops onto the ship with all the pomp and ceremony of Cromwell storming Wexford Harbour. Desiring to take no prisoners he demanded to be shown Yuri's cabin which inevitably proved to be empty. Julien and Mark exchanged frustrated looks when Eckhardt told the Second Mate he wanted guards to be placed on every exit. Why he hadn't ordered that when they first arrived was a matter for the inquest, it seemed. It certainly would have prevented Taylor from stepping aboard. There were a couple of stewards smoking on the gangway when he arrived but the way Taylor strolled in he looked like he owned the place, without all the nervousness of some urchin who'd sneak aboard to steal a necklace.

Indeed, three-quarters of acting was confidence. A drama student from Oodnadatta had told him that. She'd been a lovely girl, placing chilled river pebbles across Taylor's bare body when the air conditioner broke. His big biceps hadn't been enough to tie her down when a role in a Tennessee Williams play tempted her to Belvoir Street. It was an uncomfortably recurring problem. Not his rivalry with Tennessee Williams, that was of less concern, but the flippant reception he got from anyone who shared his bed for more than three months. It rarely surprised him; each breakup he'd seen coming from a mile off. Sometimes even he tired of missy before she got bored of his cheeky wit and comprehensive lovemaking, deigning to break it off over lunch. But with Madison... it wasn't as though she felt altogether different, there was just something about her that reminded him of the handful of beauties who had managed to tolerate him over the course of a full year. Something about her lazy confidence, the general strength of her gut, and those eyes that made a voice obsolete. It was a rare and wonderful creature that could boast all three.

"Can I help you, sir?" one of the stewards tapped Taylor on the shoulder as the guards assembled around the doors.

"Aw... yeah?" Taylor drawled, "Sorry, just wandering around inside my own head. Could you... could you tell me whereabouts the bar is? I've got a useless memory, mate."

"Yeah sure," he nodded, correcting himself, "Certainly sir; the Galaxy Hall is just behind those doors but if you want to hit the roulette wheel just head up those stairs to the Poseidon Lounge. But..." and he drew in close, whispering conspiratorially, "For a more intimate setting you should try the Rear Admiral's Log at the back of the ship."

Taylor giggled, "Right mate, I'll start with the Galaxy," slapping the steward on the shoulder as he left. The helpful crewmember, however, followed the journalist with an appalled look on his face.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah?" the Galaxy Hall was virtually abandoned so Taylor didn't have much trouble heading to the bar, "You train as a paramedic? You sound pretty concerned about my health."

"No, I..." he forced a laugh, "You didn't tip me."

Taylor halted, narrowing his eyes, "For what exactly?"

"Telling you where to drink!" exclaimed the steward.

"So... you weren't doing that out of the goodness of your heart?"

"No!?"

"I guess I'm still a country lad at heart," Taylor stretched his face in a pantomime manner, continuing his passage to the bar.

"It's got nothing to do with rural courtesy! I make half my wages in tips!"

"Complain to your union!" Taylor waved him away, ordering another shot of rye from the bartender, "And while you're at it, mate, has a Japanese girl been in tonight? Might've looked like she was in a bit of pain."