Soon as they were gone, he turned to Kevin and said: “So, what’d you wanna warn me about?”
“Had his hands full, didn’t he?” Kevin said, staring at the wet footprints the girls had left behind. “I was certainly willing to help a bloke out. All he had to do was ask.”
“I’m with you,” Shy said, and he began dragging white lounge chairs back where they belonged, pulling off discarded towels, readjusting seat backs. There were over two hundred chairs, and every morning, before the sun came up, they had to be perfectly aligned.
He rounded the second row and veered toward the housekeeping room, saying: “The warning, Kev.”
“Right,” Kevin said, picking up a towel Shy had dropped. “So, after I board the ship this morning, I go directly into the bar to do my prep. But the cellar door’s locked, which is a pain in my ass. I have to hike it all the way up to Paolo’s office to get the key and— You’ve met Paolo, right?”
“Head of security.” Shy pushed open the door to housekeeping and heaved the stack of towels off his shoulder and into the wash bin. Kevin tossed in his towel, too. Claudia, a German woman Shy had met on his first voyage, waved and wheeled the cart toward laundry.
“I forgot,” Kevin said. “You spent a few hours with him after the suicide, no? Anyway, I can’t go in his office right away because someone’s in there. A man in a black suit. And guess who he’s asking Paolo about?”
“Me?”
“You.”
Shy stopped. “Why?”
But he had a feeling he already knew why.
The comb-over man.
“Like a good mate,” Kevin said as Shy resumed straightening lounge chairs, “I wait behind the door, out of sight, and listen. Black suit wants to know about this Shy bloke. Who is he? Where’s he from? What did he and the jumper discuss before things went bad? And he’s using tough talk with Paolo, which I’ve never seen on board a Paradise ship. Paolo outranks almost everyone, you know? So this guy’s probably not crew.”
Shy shook his head in frustration. “How many times do I have to explain shit?” he said, facing Kevin. “I gave the guy a water. When he tried to jump I grabbed his arm, but he was too heavy. I couldn’t hold on. What else do they wanna hear?”
He was leaving out his strange conversation with the comb-over man, of course. Had yet to mention that part to anyone. But it didn’t make any sense. And he figured the less interaction he said they had, the quicker they’d let him get on with his life.
So much for that theory.
“Easy,” Kevin said. “Don’t go shooting the messenger now. Anyway, sounds to me like Paolo relayed the right information. But the man in the black suit wasn’t satisfied. He wanted your file. And your work schedule.”
Shy yanked a damp towel off a chair. “This is crazy, Kev. Did Paolo give it to him?”
“Don’t know,” Kevin said. “Sounded like they were wrapping up at that point, so I stepped away from the door.”
Shy shook his head some more and walked a last handful of towels to housekeeping, dropped them into an empty bin. How was he supposed to put shit behind him when everyone kept bringing it back up?
He turned toward the fancy Jacuzzi, flipped off the jets and the waterfall and the heat, started covering it with the special lid. All Shy wanted was a summer job before his senior year. And when his counselor brought up the connections she had with Paradise Cruise Lines, it sounded different, exotic. If he had it to do over again, though, he’d apply for something more normal instead. Like Subway or Big O Tires. No one tries to kill themselves while buying a set of damn Goodyears.
“Don’t you get it yet?” Kevin said, shadowing Shy. “These aren’t regular cruise ship passengers we’re dealing with. They’re the richest of the rich. We’ve had ex-presidents. Actors. Donald Trump was on my first voyage.”
“What if I went and found this dude first?” Shy said. “Maybe I could talk to him. Get it out of the way.”
“Could try that,” Kevin said, glancing over Shy’s shoulder. “I’m thinking he must be FBI, something important like that. And if the jumper didn’t say anything to you before he went, you have nothing to worry about, right?”
Shy moved over to the infinity pool, pulled the fancy skimmer out of its holster. He didn’t know what to think as he fished out a tiny scrap of paper, a hair band, a couple small bugs. The FBI? Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He wished he could fast-forward through the rest of this voyage, get back to his simple life in Otay Mesa—though even that was messed up now that his grandma had passed.
Shy noticed Kevin glancing over his shoulder again, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Well, that’s a bit odd,” Kevin mumbled.
“What?” Shy said.
Kevin stared at the ground, shaking his head. Then he spoke to Shy in a quiet voice. “Don’t go turning around or anything, but I think someone’s been watching us this whole time.”
“Who?” Shy said. “The guy in the black suit?”
Kevin shrugged.
“The one you saw?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
Shy froze, pool skimmer in hand. He could feel his heart start beating faster inside his chest. Things seemed more serious all of a sudden. Like maybe he was actually in trouble for something.
“Look,” Kevin said. “Handle your business out here and go to your cabin. First thing tomorrow morning I’d have a chat with Paolo.”
Shy put away the skimmer.
He could feel the guy’s eyes burning a hole in his back. Or was his mind making it into a bigger deal than it really was? Either way, he didn’t feel like being out here alone. “Hey, Kev,” he said in a quiet voice. “You think you could hang for a few more minutes?”
Kevin shot him a look that said he had his back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
4
Insomnia
Shy couldn’t sleep.
Again.
He tossed and turned on his cot, listening to the rise and fall of Rodney’s snoring, watching the digital numbers switch places on his clock radio. He stared up at the ceiling, unable to stop his mind from spinning….
He imagined the man in the black suit sneaking into his room, wearing a ski mask. Inching a machete closer and closer to Shy’s exposed neck until it pierced his skin and blood ran all over his sheets and his blankets and his flat-as-shit pillow.
He imagined the comb-over man slipping through his grasp, only this time they were handcuffed together and Shy was pulled overboard, too. Both of them falling falling falling toward a swirling ocean that sucked them in and held them in its clutches like the Bermuda Triangle.
Shy pictured the last few hours of his grandma’s life. How she started clawing at her own skin in the hospital bed. His mom crying from outside the quarantine room. Pounding her fists against the thick glass and screaming at the nurses. Shy unable to move or speak or even breathe.
It was almost three in the morning when Shy finally gave up on sleep. He threw off his blankets and went to Rodney’s computer to check his email.
Only one message in his in-box.
From his mom.
Could they please Skype tomorrow? Between his shifts? She had some possibly worrisome news she’d rather not share over email. “Please, Shy,” the email read. “I know you’re busy on your ship, but find a few minutes for your mom. I’m a bundle of nerves right now and I really want to talk to you.”