“Pleased to meet you,” said McCracken.
The Narcissus had the look of a ship long out of love with its own reflection. The freighter was a giant, long and wide, a whale of a ship whose flesh was rotting with death and decay. Barnacles hugged her hull, which was rife with fresh repair patches and plenty more spots in need of the same. The letters proclaiming her name were cracked and peeling, the dot of the i missing and the final s with only a lower half. She held on to the dock the way elderly people dying alone and unwanted grip the handrails of their cold beds.
Blaine saw the first of Sebastian’s guards when the limousine was thirty yards away from the Narcissus’s darkened slot on the pier. Four of them stood in a spread before the wooden planking leading onto the ship. They showcased their automatic weapons openly, as if a different set of laws applied down here on the docks, and Blaine supposed to a great extent it did.
“Holy Christ,” moaned Sal Belamo. “You ask me, we shoulda stopped and grabbed my piece. What the hell’s going on?”
“Pull up slow,” McCracken instructed him. “Act like their presence here doesn’t bother or surprise you.”
“Their fuckin’ presence has me shittin’ in my pants, pal.”
“I’ll spring for a new pair of undies, Sal. Just do what I tell you.”
Belamo obliged, but his hands tightened hard around the steering wheel.
Blaine knew he was in the FBI’s sights right now and had to hope visits to the mysterious man on board the Narcissus were not unheard of. He hoped his modest disguise would eliminate the need for further investigation on the Bureau’s part. A well-dressed man arriving in a limousine should appear to be just another of Sebastian’s exclusive customers.
Belamo pulled the limousine to a halt just before the dock. McCracken could see the guards at the head of the walkway stiffen, hands starting to slide toward their rifles.
With a deep breath Blaine started to open the door.
“You ask me, pal, you’re makin’ a big mistake. Lots of people come down here end up as fish food and nobody gives a shit. Know what I mean?”
“Thanks for the comfort, Sal. Just keep the engine warm.”
“Blazing, pal, blazing.”
Blaine stepped out and closed the door behind him. He moved slowly and calmly forward, then stopped in front of the four guards. They watched him with cold intensity, eyes as black as their flesh, all layered with muscle thick as shoulder pads.
“I’d like to see Sebastian.”
“He ain’t here,” said one of the men, and Blaine was honestly not sure which.
McCracken fingered his beard, edged a little closer so that the top of the plywood walkway complete with rope handrails was visible. More guards were up there standing watch over the gunwale.
“He’ll be here for me,” he said calmly.
“Write what you want to tell him in a letter. I’ll make sure he gets it,” said the shortest black with a chest the size of a beer keg. The man showed his rifle.
“Look, boys, I got business with the man. If he doesn’t want to see me, I’ll climb back in my car and beat it out of this rat hole, but I want to hear it from him first.”
“You might lose your balls in this rat hole, shit for brains,” the shortest guard charged, and his gun came up farther. An M-16, Blaine noted. The guard had the look of a man who had used one plenty of times before.
“You want to play with guns, friend, do it after you tell Sebastian that Madame Rosa bought it today and there’s a spot on the farm waiting for him unless he sees me.”
“Sebastian knows what happened to the old bitch.”
The voice came from the top of the walkway and McCracken turned toward it along with the guards.
“Sebastian knows everything,” the voice continued.
Blaine couldn’t make out the speaker’s features clearly in the misty darkness but did see him rest his hands on the rail.
“It’s all right, Henry,” said Sebastian, “send him up. But search him first and make sure he’s clean inside and out.”
Blaine submitted to the shortest guard’s rough, callused hands without complaint, all the time wishing he had his Browning or even Sal Belamo’s piece to poke down his throat like a tongue depressor. Finding no weapon, Henry led him up the plank walkway, where Sebastian was waiting at the top in the center of a half-dozen more guards.
“Let’s take our business inside,” he said. “I been out long enough for one night.”
The dapper Sebastian looked clearly out of place among his butcherous legion. His Afro was finely sculptured and rode just over the tips of his ears in slight ringlets. His skin was coppery light; his eyes were caramel brown and definitely scared. He was wearing a silk shirt and a pair of obviously expensive trousers. Chains, bracelets, and rings chimed and glowed everywhere about him. His fingernails were neatly manicured.
“This way.” Sebastian beckoned, and Blaine followed him down a narrow staircase into the bowels of the ship with three guards and their guns shadowing his every step. Two more stood in front of a doorway and the larger held the door open when Sebastian approached. Blaine followed him inside, ducking his head a little under the low frame.
The light stung his eyes and then the setting itself made them widen. Sebastian’s private quarters on board the Narcissus had been converted into a luxury apartment done in colonial woods and rich brown fabrics with a touch of nautical styling tossed in for good measure. A couch was bordered on both sides by end tables layered with coarse seaman’s rope. Sets of leather-bound books were held up in three large wall units by various gauges that might once have occupied positions on some captain’s bridge.
The door closed behind them and Blaine was surprised none of the guards had entered. Sebastian seemed to read his mind.
“If you try anything,” he warned, “you’ll be dead before you finish it.”
“Your men that fast, Sebastian?”
“This is,” the black man said, revealing a derringer he had been palming the whole time. “Two bullets loaded with hollow-point grains. Especially effective at close range. Please excuse me for holding it on you while we speak.”
“Be my guest.”
“Pull up a chair. Or would you prefer the couch?”
“A chair will do fine.”
Blaine pulled one up. Sebastian crossed his legs on the couch.
“You’re a well-protected man, Sebastian,” Blaine opened, not worrying about the gun pointed at him.
“So was Madame Rosa and they got her.”
“But you let me up.”
“Because you’re not black. When they try for me, the man will be black. Besides, I’m heading for Europe tomorrow at dawn. The ocean’s got lots of hiding places.”
“And, of course, you’ll be filling more special orders once you reach land again.” McCracken could not disguise the sarcasm in his voice.
Sebastian leaned forward. “I don’t know who you are, but if you’re aware of what happened to Madame Rosa, I figure you’re as marked as I am and maybe you know something that might be able to help me. Now I’m realizing there’s nothing that can help me so long as I remain in the States.”
“Then you don’t plan on returning. A lot of kinky assholes will just have to go wanting, I guess.”
Sebastian squeezed his features together. “Mister, things are gonna start changing pretty fast in this country before long, and I don’t want to be around for it.”
Blaine felt a stirring in his stomach. Sebastian was scared, all right, but of more than just the threat to his own life.