The Galaxy Scorpio lurched, jolting me awake in the narrow bunk. Ai Lin slept naked beside me. The digital clock on the bulkhead read 6:30pm – plenty of time to meet the others.

It was three days since Thomas’s death (You fuck wit, Stratton!) and visions of him plunging into the flames (Fuck Wit!) had haunted me as I’d sat in Ai Lin’s apartment, watching endless replays of firemen battling the blaze he had set off, followed by shots of the building’s black, burnt-out hulk. When I turned off the TV, The South China Morning Post invariably caught my eye with headlines about the fire, which had killed one policeman and seriously burned another.

Happily there was a silver lining: the police seemed convinced the "British Drug Kingpin" (they had never actually identified Thomas) and his chief accomplice (who they also had yet to identify) were dead; apparently they thought Pinky’s body was Inksy’s. There was a number one could call with information about the incident, but I doubted any of Thomas’s or Inksy’s friends or clients would use it: they’d be reluctant to deal with the police, and in as much as it could implicate me, I’d rarely met their friends and clients. I hadn’t a clue what had become of Inksy, and wasn’t in a great hurry to find him. I assumed he was lying low – he would be fool not to.

I stroked the soft stubble on my head. It would take months to fill in, but I had a black fedora I’d bought at the peak tram station after the climb from Thomas’s. I’d bought other things there as well: a razor, which I’d used to shave off my goatee in a public toilet, a red shirt, which I’d put on after discarding the white one I’d worn during my escape, and a sling bag, into which I loaded the drugs and the pistol before dropping Thomas’s backpack in a dumpster. Thus disguised I took a cab to Ai Lin’s to discover that, perhaps not surprisingly, she was reluctant to admit me given the amount of vomit I’d spewed all over her bathroom. A bag of cocaine, however, brought her around. Even better, Lena had gone back to Canada. I expected I’d never see her again, making her, from my perspective at least, as dead as Thomas.

Ai Lin moaned and snuggled up against me. It was no surprise she was tired, she’d been coking out for days. Wednesday night, after she finally admitted me, I found tears covering her cheeks and black rings lurking under her eyes. Ninety minutes (and six lines) later, however, she was running about the apartment planning a big night out with her girlfriends. She went out at 11pm and returned at 6am. She didn’t sleep, but fucked me, showered, went to work, and didn’t return until 6am Friday, when she fucked me again, repeated her ablutions, and went back to work.

Haggard, but wired as hell, she showed up at lunchtime Saturday and told me that she and her friends had tickets for a night cruise on the Galaxy Scorpio, a white, top-heavy floating casino that spent its nights taking Chinese gamblers out for 24-hour gambling binges, or, in our case, a 24-hour drug binge. The idea of spending so much time with her friends didn’t much appeal to me, but Ai Lin insisted I come (she said I could sell everyone drugs) and, in any case, I was tired of being cooped up in her apartment. So I pocketed several satchels of coke, a few dozen ecstasy tablets, and off we went.

Running late, we had rushed to the ship – down the escalator, across the roiling, wind-whipped harbor, and then through the maze of Ocean Terminal – but the sex when we got to the cabin was excellent, mostly for the novelty, as neither of us had done it sea. Immediately after, Ai Lin passed out, exhausted.

The ship lurched again; Ai Lin awoke, stretched, and kissed my chest. "Why’s it so rough?" she moaned.

"The wind kicks the waves up."

"But the ship’s so big."

I considered this. "But the ocean’s much bigger. Look at the Titanic…"

"If this thing doesn’t stop moving, I’ll be sick."

I stiffened. "Like, now?"

"No, not right now. What were we thinking? Why did we come on this thing?"

"You said the tickets were cheap," I offered, sipping my whisky. "And you and Tina have never been on a cruise."

"But it’s not supposed to be like this. It’s awful, waves and rain. It’s supposed to be nice and sunny so we can sit by the pool and work on our tans. It’s just not supposed to be like this."

I failed to understand why she had expected sunshine and calm seas: clouds had hidden the sky for over a month, and just watching the swells rocking the harbor was enough to make one sick. "Yeah," I said. "Kinda disappointing I guess."

Ai Lin was silent for some minutes, but then jerked her head up, making me spill some whisky. "Jake!"

"What?"

"Phil’s going to buy the service!"

"What?"

"He called Friday," she said excitedly. "He’ll be in Hong Kong in late June, and said he wants to visit Card Wainright/Hootens to sign. Isn’t that great!"

"Yeah, awesome," I said, but I was troubled. I’d not returned to Hootens since Axewell’s departure, and had pretty much decided never to do so again. It was clear I was set to be fired and perhaps taken to court, so I’d reckoned on making US$50,000 or so selling Thomas’s drugs before deciding what the fuck to do. But now, cruelly, the US$250,000 from United American seemed like a possibility again. If I could only stay with the joint venture for just a few more weeks - but that meant, in just two days, facing Kit Matthews and, worse, Peter Axewell.

"Are you cold?" Ai Lin asked.

"No, why?"

"You just shivered. You don’t look happy, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted?"

"Don’t worry, everything’s fine." But nothing was.

"Are you having trouble at work? You never go in."

"I work from your apartment."

"But you never work - you just lay around drinking beer, smoking pot and eating those disgusting pizzas. What do you ever do?"

"I’ve set things up, Ai Lin, so they run themselves, something I learned at Ebbers. That’s the sign of a good manager: letting people get on with things and staying out of their way - like Ronald Reagan, the greatest president ever. He won the cold war."

She sat up, her black hair spilled over her shoulders and breasts. "You’ve been fired, haven’t you?"

I sat up as well; too quickly, for I bumped my head on the top bunk. "Fuck! Of course I haven’t been fired, I’m going in on Monday. Our CEO will be visiting." I lay back rubbing my head.

"So we’ll get our money?"

"Is there any chance of getting Phil to sign on Monday or Tuesday?"

"No, he’s out of town for two more weeks. Why?"

"Can we fax him the contract?" I asked, but I knew the answer already.

"No way, he always visits whoever he’s buying from, you know that. But why can’t we wait? What’s wrong?"

I looked away from her. Only a month or two separated me from a quarter-million dollar payday. How could we pull it off if I were kicked out of the JV? Have him sign it in Ai Lin’s apartment? Rent an office somewhere for a few days just so Phil could come over and sign? Not a bad idea, but it might involve deposits and contracts, and it would need to be a real office, not a business center: outfits like Card Wainright and Hootens simply did not operate out of business centers, particularly in major cities like Hong Kong. Hell, Phil had visited Card Wainright twice and had even had cocktails in Cockbottom’s office. It was certain he’d been out to Hootens at some point. I was at a complete loss; Ai Lin eyed me expectantly. "I’ve got an idea," I said.

"What?"

"Shhh." I put my hand behind her neck and pulled her gently toward me.

* * *

Late, but in no hurry, Ai Lin and I strolled into in the "European Disco," a vast, low-ceilinged space with a large dance floor. A spinning crystal ball sent points of light probing deep into the room’s far recesses. Her friends were easily found: they had the entire place to themselves but for a group of old Chinese ladies screeching karaoke, and a bunch of little kids playing a loud game of hide and seek among the empty couches and lounge chairs.

Her friends, there were about 15, sat on an enormous red velvet couch curving around a black table. I’d met 1 or 2 - including Ai Lin’s friend Tina, who always told her to leave me – but I didn’t know the others, who were mostly guys. Ai Lin introduced me to them over the fierce karaoke, but I immediately forgot their names. To complicate things further, most of them were bald, which, of course, included me, although at least I wore my fedora.

The group squeezed in to make room and we sat down. A Filipino waiter approached, swerving to avoid a 4-year old that raced out in front of him. "Drinks, sir?"

The two of us ordered drinks, and half the table ordered drinks as well – I hoped somebody had a tab running.

"Great disco," I shouted at two bald guys opposite. I’d forgotten their names, but they seemed to be Brits and they seemed to be drunk. They had introduced themselves as brothers – one had a large cannonball of a head, the other was thin, almost skeletal, and wore a pair of those peculiar little sunglasses with rectangular lenses.

"The music is bloody shite," shouted Cannonball, raising his middle finger to the karaoke ladies.

"You the man with the gear?" said Skeletal.

Everyone looked at me. I winked at him but didn’t answer right away; Ai Lin and I had done a few lines before coming up, and I felt confident, breezy. At last, I said: "I might be able to sort something out. What do you guys want?"

"Do you have any Charlie?" said one of the girls. She pronounced it chaaaaleeeee.

"For you, anything," I said.

"Twenty pills and five ounces then?" said Skeletal without hesitation. It was clear they had talked it over before Ai Lin and I arrived.

A lot of gear, certainly, but a fraction of what I had at Ai Lin’s and about three quarters of what I had on the ship. I cared not for his tone, which seemed unnecessarily confrontational, but I was pleased with the opportunity to sell so much so quickly.

"No problem," I said.

"How much then?" Asked skeletal. "We’ll get a bulk discount…right?"

I added it up in my head: 5 bags of coke at HK$1,000 a bag = HK$5,000; 20 ecstasy pills at HK$200 a pill = HK$4,000. A total of HK$9,000. "Ten thousand," I said.

"Bollocks," muttered Cannonball.

"Well…that’s the price," I said, overcoming my strong discounting reflex. "It’s great stuff – the best."

"Ten thousand is bloody ridiculous," said Cannonball. "Seven’s more like it."

The drinks arrived, offering me a respite. When the waiter put the bill in front of me (it came to HK$490, about US$62) I shoved it toward Skeletal, who produced a big wad and stripped off a HK$1,000 note. They could well afford HK$10,000.

"Thanks for the beer," I said. "Ten."

"Ten thousand’s fine, John." said chaaaaleeee girl to Skeletal. "Where else are we going to get it? And you already have our money. We should have more than enough."

Skeletal glared at her, and I reflected on what an awful businessman I am: it was only when she spoke up that I realized that I likely had a ship-wide monopoly.

"It’s really great coke," said Tina. Ai Lin nodded and squeezed my leg.

"Ten okay with you?" said Skeletal to Cannonball, who shrugged, as if to say Bollocks. This cruise sucks.

"Deal," said Skeletal.

I almost pulled the drugs right out – the kind of dumb-ass thing coke makes one do – but realized several waiters nearby and two big Scandinavians at the doorway were openly watching us. The skandies wore navy-blue shorts, white uniform shirts, and walkie-talkies hung from their belts – ship’s crew.

"Pass the money under the table," I said. "Then come to my room in ten minutes."

Skeletal took something from his pocket, looked down – counting money – and passed it underneath the table to the girl beside him. It went around under the table like this until Ai Lin handed me a big wad of cash, 30 or 40 notes.

I pocketed the money and rose to leave. "Ten minutes."

Ai Lin and Tina came with me. At the exit, the Scandinavians blocked us. "Where are you going?" Asked one.

"Out," I said. "That’s why we’re using the exit."

"With that?" The other pointed at my Heineken.

"Yeah, that’s why I’m carrying it."

"You cannot take glass containers outside disco," the first one said, raking his eyes over Ai Lin, who wore a tight yellow dress with a high-cut skirt.

"Then get me a plastic cup," I said, annoyed.

As if by magic, a waiter appeared with a plastic cup. I handed him the bottle, and the five of us watched him pour until he handed me the full cup.

"Thank you," I said.

The two crewmembers parted. As we passed between them one said, "No trouble, eh? This is a family cruise."

I glared at him and continued along with Ai Lin and Tina. For the first time I noticed the close circuit TVs every ten yards or so on the ceilings; somebody, somewhere, could see everything.

Back in the cabin – it took 5 minutes to get there as it was 7 flights down and at the far end of the ship – I climbed onto the top bunk and counted the money. Ai Lin and Tina sat on the bottom bunk to snort coke off the Galaxy Scorpio’s framed safety rules, which we’d not read.

A few minutes later, as I counted the Es, there was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" I said.

"John."

Tina opened the door. Standing outside was not only Skeletal, but 6 others, including his brother, Cannonball. Why the hell had they all had to come?

"Well, don’t just stand there, come in and shut the door." I gestured at the packets before me and also at Ai Lin, bent over the frame. They squeezed in and closed the door. Skeletal joined me on the top bunk, two joined Ai Lin and Tina on the bottom, and the others had to stand – Cannonball stood scowling, half-in and half-out of the toilet.

I handed everything to Skeletal. "Enjoy."

He peered at the pills through his orange sunglasses. "Do you know Inksy and Thomas?" he said, and passed a satchel of coke down to chaaaaleeee girl, who was sitting right below him. She already had the frame and immediately poured half the coke onto it.

"Uh, yeah, think I met them a few times. Nice guys. Why?"

"These E’s," he said. "Thomas was the only one who sold ones with two dots."

"So?"

"There’s a rumor that it was Inksy and Thomas killed in that fire the other night."

"Seriously? No way! Are you talking about the fire that killed one cop and burned the other?"

Staring at me, he nodded slowly; I hoped I hadn’t overplayed my disbelief.

"Yeah, mate, impossible to get trough to them, and there were two foreigners killed. Had to be them. Who else?"

I shrugged.

"How did you get all this then?" Asked Cannonball, eyeing the satchel of Es, which John had passed him.

I leaned back against the bulkhead and took a sip from my beer. "I can’t divulge my sources," I said. "But not from Thomas and…who is that other guy you mentioned?"

Cannonball looked at me speculatively for a moment. "Fair enough," he said. "I’ll take these up to the others." He peered through the spy hole, opened the door, and left.

The frame was passed around. When it got to me I snorted two thick lines and passed it down to Ai Lin. The conversation became confident and animated; below, everyone was laughing at a story Ai Lin was telling, and Skeletal was boring me with a long story about some new motorcycle. The frame went around again, the first satchel was finished, everyone was restless, and it was time to rejoin the others in the European disco.

The others left, but I stayed behind to use the toilet and tidy up the cabin. Before re-hanging the frame I ran my finger over the glass to collect any residual coke and relished the numbing, Novocain-like sensation when I rubbed it along the top of my gums. I made sure there were no lines atop the small writing desk or toilet, made both bunks, dropped an E, and exited, carefully making sure the door was locked behind me.

In the Disco the grannies and kiddies were gone, and the thump drum and bass had replaced the wail of Chinese karaoke. Everyone was dancing and I joined Ai Lin, who ran her hands through my hair and rested her arms on my shoulders. "We’re going to be so rich, baby," she said in my ear. I kissed her.

Before long the E was really hitting us: a plump Chinese girl with a feather boa danced on top of our table; Cannonball, shirtless, kept dropping to the floor and spinning on his back; Skeletal moon walked (poorly) around the dance floor; Ai Lin and Tina began stroking each other and kissing. I tried making a threesome with these two, but Tina wouldn’t have it and danced off towards another guy – unfortunately, there were more guys than girls – and Ai Lin and I stroked each other for a while before Cannonball came up and grabbed her from behind, which merely amused me: E puts me in the most generous of moods.

When Cannonball was finished with her, however, she was off with Skeletal and, dancing there alone, trying to look cool, I started to feel rejected, and then, desperate for physical contact, I started to feel ostracized, and then, when she went back to Cannonball, I tried to dance with Tina, but Tina danced away, and, suddenly, I crossed the threshold to paranoia. Trembling, I stalked off the dance floor and sat down. Above me, a short guy with frizzy hair danced on the table with feather-boa girl. "Come up!" She yelled.

Without hesitating I joined them. The girl grabbed one of my hands and one of the other guy’s and leaned way back, letting us support her full weight. Then she jerked herself up, came up between us and leaned way forward; and then back again, but she did it too quickly and the little guy let go, so laughing like mad, she fell heavily to the table, knocking several drinks over. The way she rolled around giggling made it look as if the feather boa was a living thing intent on tickling her to death. "This E is great!" she laughed. "This E is great!"

Suddenly the music stopped and all the lights came on. I raised a hand to shield my E-dilated pupils.

"What happened to the bloody music!"

"C’mon then! What the fuck!"

"This E is fucking great! Heeheeheeheehee…"

"Quiet Kenzo," said the little guy.

"What the fuck?" Said Cannonball, shirtless and awash with sweat, to the six big Scandinavians who had appeared on the dance floor.

"You must calm down," said family cruise guy. He pointed up at us. "Come down from table."

The short guy and I got down, but we had to drag Kenzo off and place her in a lounge chair, where she continued giggling and nearly fell off it but for the short guy. "This E is great!"

"Shhhhh," I hissed, but it did no good: "This is great! This is great!"

"Has she taken the drugs?" said the Scandinavian, not amused. "Drugs are forbidden. This is a family cruise."

"Of course she’s not on drugs," said Ai Lin. "She’s just had too much to drink."

"Mate," said chaaaaleeee girl. "This is our family."

Family Cruise ignored her and turned to me. "It’s very dangerous to dance on the table like this; it’s getting very rough."

He was right; the ship did seem to be rocking more. A lot more, in fact; we’d been dancing too hard and getting too fucked up to notice.

"Bollocks," said Skeletal. "Of course it’s fucking rough, we’re on a bloody ship."

"What you mean saying this to me?" Family Cruise turned to him. "What you mean? Do you think I’m lying?"

"No, mate," said Cannonball quickly. "But we paid good money to come on this bloody cruise and you’re ruining it."

A Filipino came up and handed a minidisk to Family Cruise. "Who does this belong to?"

The short guy stepped forward and snatched it - Ai Lin had told me he was an amateur DJ.

"We’re not going to play this music," Family Cruise said. "The other passengers don’t like it."

As if on cue, the lights dimmed and a Canto pop ballad wafted from the speakers.

"This is shite," said one of our guys.

Shouting broke out. I, however, was silent, for the escalating confrontation had worsened my paranoia. The 2 satchels of coke and 12 ecstasy pills in my pocket felt as if they were visible to all, and I noticed that two of the dour Scandinavians had been staring exclusively at me. I was sweating like mad; I wiped my brow and found I still wore the fedora, which, I realized, clearly marked me as a drug dealer. Who but a drug dealer would wear such a ridiculous hat? They probably thought I was fresh from Colombia. Would they arrest me here? Should I just hand them everything and confess? What if they took the drugs, tied me up, and dumped me overboard? I’d read in a spy novel that a ship at sea is a very convenient place to make somebody disappear. I felt suddenly nauseated. "I’m seasick," I said to nobody in particular and walked away. Every single eye, I knew, followed my progress. Hence my surprise when, at the door, I hazarded a glance back and saw nobody was even watching me. A miraculous escape, amazing.

Fresh air. I needed fresh air. I reeled along empty corridors – all the other passengers were in the casino, I supposed – until I found the swimming pool. I went outside and found myself under an awning looking out at a wall of wind-driven rain. Beyond the sheltered area, the water in the pool rolled back and forth and splashed upwards. From below came the sound of waves crashing against the side of the ship.

I sat down on a deck chair relieved that nobody had followed me, but then, looking up, I saw a camera staring down at me. Never mind. No matter where I went on the ship I was at the crew’s mercy, and it was encouraging that they had let me leave the disco unopposed. I did, however, move to another chair to avoid the camera’s dark, unsleeping eye, and there I sat gazing out at the swirling rain.

I calmed down, but after sitting for some minutes I was startled by voices . I turned to see the outlines of 2 western men – one tall and skinny, the other tall with big shoulders, very much like myself – who had emerged from the door behind me. I turned quickly back to the rain, and listened as they moved across the deck and sat down. The wind was blowing from their direction, allowing me to hear their conversation and, annoyingly, smell their cigarettes.

"Of course The Lord of the Rings is about World War two," said the thin one, who sounded British.

"That can’t be true," said the other, who sounded American. "Tolkien himself said he had no political message. It’s pure fantasy."

"Not at all, mate, the shire is supposed to be England: the little people whose destiny is not tied that of the world around them, and who finally come through in the end to turn the tables."

"I guess," said the second one, unconvinced. "They’re making a movie in New Zealand I hear. I don’t see how they can realistically hope to…"

I listened with growing agitation. Not only did their smoke annoy me, but also their conversation, which had turned to the insanity of the author of the ridiculous book they were talking about. "You wouldn’t believe this," said the second one, "but when he got old he only spoke elvish – fucking elvish. His kids had to learn it to speak to him. One of the greatest writers ever, and he went completely insane."

And if somebody who’d actually written a bestseller could go insane, so could I. I got up; I was tired of them, and in any case I suspected they were undercover cops sent to spy on me. Back inside, a bald guy and a tall western girl stood talking in the middle of the corridor.

"No, you can’t go outside," said the girl, an Australian. "You’ll get wet."

The bald guy, whose face looked green (the ship was lurching quite a bit) turned to me as I tried to slink past. "Hey," he said, another American. "Did you see two guys out there?"

I froze in my tracks.

"One’s tall and big and the other is tall and thin," said the girl helpfully.

I thought about it. "No," I said. "It’s very wet and nasty. I suggest you stay in here."

"See, Todd, they’re not out there. If they’re together they’ll be fine – don’t worry. Why don’t we go back to the cabin…"

I tried to slip away.

"Wait a minute," said the bald guy. "Aren’t you John’s friend?"

"John?" I said.

"Yeah, he told me you could, well, sort us out."

"Nope. Wrong guy, not me. I have no idea what you’re talking about." Before he could reply I walked away. Fucking cops.

I walked along the corridor. The unmistakable sound of a Filipino band grew steadily louder, and I presently found myself in a darkened cocktail lounge that spanned the ship’s entire width. To one side was a long curving bar; to the other, beyond the silhouettes of people drinking at low tables, was a great window looking out into the slashing rain. The bar was empty but for a few couples, so I sat down at it and watched both entrances to see if I’d been followed.

"Jake Stratton!" A hand landed on my shoulder.

I whirled to see my reflection in a pair of mirror Ray bans.

"Dead soldier," the man said. "Easy, easy." He was short, dark-skinned, wearing a tuxedo, and I knew I’d met him and had the feeling I’d not particularly enjoyed it. "Are you a gambler, Stratton?"

"Not really."

"How can you come on a cruise like this and not gamble? And alone as well? You act as if you don’t remember me, Stratton."

Before I could say anything, he continued: "Let me refresh you: Malaysian narcotics, we met at Cockbottom’s office some weeks back. There are some things I’ve been wanting to discuss with you."

Captain Hussein. I swallowed hard and glanced up and down the bar to see if the Scandinavian crew was approaching, but there were none about, and nobody was paying us any attention. I fought the urge to pull the drugs out and come clean about everything.

"You look anxious," said Hussein. "Seasick?"

"Yeah, really seasick - feel like shit."

Hussein patted his tuxedo-sheathed stomach and smiled. "Pity about that. I never get ill at sea. No matter how rough it is, my appetite actually improves." He peered at me closely. "My your pupils are dilated. If we were on land I’d swear you were on drugs – ha ha. The only thing for it is a stiff whisky. Will you join us?"

"That’s okay, I’m meeting some people shortly."

"But I insist, and Cockbottom and Lavender are with me."

He gestured towards a table and I looked over to see the unmistakable dark bulk of Cockbottom, who waved. This comforted me somewhat, for through a haze of paranoia I realized that my fear of being arrested was unfounded – Cockbottom was an avid gambler and I dimly recalled him once talking about the Galaxy Scorpio. So I followed Hussein over to the table and sat down. I shook Cockbottom’s hand, but just nodded to Cozzie, Duncan and Lavender Cockbottom – the three of them were engrossed in a conversation about the Royal Yacht, Britannia, and seemed annoyed at the presence of somebody young and not sufficiently English. The men wore tuxedos with peculiar little pins on the lapels; Lavender wore a boxy light-pink evening gown.

"Interesting times at Hootens, eh Stratton?" said Cockbottom, pouring me a glass of Laphroaig. "Ice?"

"No thanks," I said, flicking a bit of water from a carafe into the golden liquid. I took a large sip, aware that the drugs made an uneven - and glaringly obvious - bulge in my jeans.

"Yes, interesting times at Hootens indeed," said Hussein.

"Indeed," I said. "Interesting times."

"Were you there the day of the raid?" asked Hussein.

"Bloody good show, wasn’t it?" said Cockbottom. "I understand they caught most everybody they needed to and got plenty of evidence to boot - all thanks to our friend Hussein here."

Ah, they were talking about the Hootens raid, which, as far as I knew, had no connection to Thomas and Inksy. I took off my hat and lay it on the seat beside me.

"Good god, Stratton!" said Cockbottom. "What the devil happened to your hair?"

"It’s much easier to take care of like this," I said, happy with the change of subject. "You like it?"

Cockbottom, one eyebrow arched, was about to say something, but a big Scandinavian in a white uniform had come over; his straight-backed, no-nonsense aura and the stars on his shoulder boards marked him as the captain.

"Captain Thorgenson!" said Cockbottom. "We’re delighted, please join us for a drink."

"Can’t have a drink, Nigel," said Thorgenson, "but I’ll sit for a while."

I moved my fedora to my knee and he sat down beside me.

"How goes the cruise?" asked Cockbottom. "Damn foul weather, eh?"

Thorgenson shrugged. "The weather is not the problem. The problem is a bunch of young westerners are running around the ship using drugs." He gave me an unsmiling glance, and I nearly dropped my glass. I’d not seen Thorgenson in the disco, but who was to say he hadn’t been looking through the cameras at me and my bloody black fedora? "We even suspected that somebody was selling drugs," Thorgenson continued, looking at me again. "But I’m not sure this is the case now." He turned to me: "Are you with the police?"

"No, no, of course not, I work with Cockbottom. Why?"

Thorgenson raised his eyebrow before replying. "Well, anyway, your friends have made a great deal of trouble. One of the young ladies is in sick bay vomiting, and one of the men punched the second mate. We detained him and found pills on his person."

"Do you know these people, Stratton?" demanded Cockbottom.

"Not really," I said hastily. "Well yeah…kind of. This girl I’m dating – I mean, just started dating – knows them. I’ve been seasick and I haven’t seen them for a while. Drugs on the ship – terrible."

"If you do see them again," said Thorgenson. "I suggest you tell them to calm down. Anybody caught with drugs will be handed over to the police when we dock in the morning."

I moved my hand over the bulge in my pocket.

"Disgusting," said Hussein. "Why can’t they be addicted to drinking or gambling like normal people? And the risks they take! At young Stratton’s company just this week there was a big drug raid – his colleagues were smuggling ecstasy from Holland into Asia inside the Styrofoam bubbles used to pack computer equipment. They’ll be locked up for years, but the amount of pain, the amount of misery they caused."

"Oh?" said Thorgenson, looking at me with renewed interest.

"Not really colleagues," I said. "I heard they were consultants – not really part of Hootens at all."

"In the Styrofoam bubbles you say?" Thorgenson said to Hussein.

"Yes," Cockbottom answered. "Each bubble contained 4-5 tablets. Since these bubbles were airtight the dogs couldn’t smell anything, and this group of Hootens people – rather, Hootens consultants – was smuggling hundreds of pills into Asia every week. By the amount of money found on them, they were making a fortune, and most of it in Malaysia. Apparently these Dutch ecstasy tablets are very popular among addicts."

"Horrible," I said. "Can’t believe somebody would do that. Think of the children."

Everyone gave me a funny look, especially, I thought, Hussein, but it was hard to tell with his sunglasses.

Cockbottom poured more whisky, and the conversation turned to smuggling in general: sealed heroin pellets shoved up rectums; cocaine packets swallowed in airplane toilets; bales of marijuana air-dropped into empty fields at night; Colombian drug cartels using old Soviet submarines to smuggle cocaine in the Caribbean; etc.

I finished my second whisky, and after some hesitation – I was still rather paranoid – rose to leave.

"Watch out for these Hootens people," said Hussein.

"I’ll keep an eye on them."

After Thorgenson’s comments, I was anxious to see what had become of the others and returned to the European disco, where I found a big group of gweilos, but not Ai Lin’s friends. It was hard to tell what this group was on, but they were definitely on something, for they staggered about the dance floor laughing at each other while Cantopop blared from the speakers. I recognized the big American and skinny Brit from the pool, the bald guy, Todd, from the corridor. A number of Scandinavians lurked watchfully in the darker recesses of the place. I continued my search and eventually found Ai Lin, Cannonball, and, to my surprise, Kenzo the feather boa girl, in the "English Pub," which was only a counter with a few folding tables. Everyone looked desultory and bored; it was a sad end to an evening that had seemed to hold such promise. To my annoyance, Ai Lin and Cannonball’s hands were entwined atop the table.

"Jake!" Ai Lin jumped up. "Where have you been? We’ve been so worried."

She hugged me and pressed her head against my chest. I looked down at Cannonball, now alone, who looked anything but happy at my return.

"Who hit the ship’s officer?" I asked.

"What are you talking about?" Ai Lin asked. "Nobody hit anybody."

"But did anyone throw up?"

"Yeah, John got seasick, but he’s left already."

Thorgenson must have been referring to the other group.

"I want to take you downstairs and rip your clothes off," I whispered too her.

And with a wave to the others we were off.

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