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Set aboard a 1920s cruise ship, and inspired by the game The Ship.

 

In the pitch black of the room the flare of light from the end of his cigarette stung his eyes. He was sitting on a large leather armchair in one of the bedrooms of the first class deck, trying not to fall asleep he snuffed out the cigarette in the ashtray to his side and kept his gaze on the door.

As tired as he was he had started to worry that he would no longer be as alert as he needed to be when the time came, but he couldn’t afford to go to sleep, not when they were only nine hours from port and he had yet to find his quarry. So there he sat, with his hand gripping his revolver underneath the jacket laid across his knee trying to get as much rest as he could without dozing off.

He came onto the ship with no luggage, nothing but $250 in cash and a letter. Since then he’d had to scavenge for everything, from an engineer’s toolbox in the engine room to the boot of a Bentley in the cargo hold, he’d broken into everything for some kind of item of value. Three weeks prior he found himself in the employment agency after his previous job was outsourced to cheaper labour in China, he then lost everything as his wife walked out the door with his entire life packed in her bag. He found a make or break chance in a ‘cleaning’ job for Mr X. Soon after applying for the job he received a single ticket for a three day cruise in the mail, and the day after that a very concise communiqué from the same address,

“Kill

Donov L. Mayer

$600,000”

 

The door banged open flooding the room with light, wincing at the glare he shielded his eyes with his left hand and cocked the hammer with his right.

“Oh, terribly sorry old chap, didn’t think there’d be anyone in my room...” A balding, tubby faced man in a shirt and a striped v-neck sweater bumbled uneasily to his bags across the room.

“Walt, don’t forget the seven iron!” A voice called from outside.

He gently squeezed the trigger and slowly lowered the hammer back into place before pulling himself to his feet and striding through the door.

Shoving the revolver in his pocket and putting on his jacket he pulled out a little tub of amphetamines he salvaged from the chemical waste bin in the sickbay, he threw back a couple of pills and grabbed the handrail taking the stairs up two at a time. Entering the luxury lounge he was alone save for a haughty looking barman wearily cleaning a highball glass, and a young lady in a body hugging red dress meticulously applying scarlet lipstick.

He told the barman he wanted a double whiskey as he sidled up to the bar.

“I’m afraid one must be at least second class to partake in-”

He replied that he was in room 209, and repeated the words double whiskey.

“At once, sir.”

He couldn’t tell how long it took the barman to make the drink, insomnia had stolen his ability to affectively grasp the passage of time, and being aboard the ship was beginning to feel more like watching a film at the theatre, it all happening through someone else’s eyes.

“I said, are you quite alright?”

He looked at the woman next to him, a fox like stare assessing him from under a layer of heavy eye shadow.

 He said yeah, he told her that he was great.

She offered her hand in a perfectly lady like manner, palm down, fingers together, “Ms E. Glass.”

He shook it, V. Law.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Law.” She placed the lipstick back in her handbag and pulled out a purse to pay for a crystal clear cocktail. “May I ask, business or pleasure?”

He told her dryly that he was there for pleasure, and that he just loved the sea, then knocked back too much Whiskey.

“You’re ever so lucky, I’ve been spending the entirety of the cruise fretting on the deck, trying to decide if I should accept a certain job I’ve been offered.” She pulled out a couple of letters, only one opened, and an elegant steel letter opener, and then proceeded to open the untouched letter, “It would be for the best, one must find some means of paying for two dozen Mickey Slims each day.” She let out a tittering laugh with her hand to her chest. He mutely finished his drink and fished out money for another.

“Employment is an entirely new concept to me. My father, being a very wealthy stockbroker, has always ensured that I’d be well catered for, leaving me to enjoy the finer pursuits of my class. I play the piano here in the evening, have you seen me?”

He told her he hadn’t.

“I do enjoy it ever so terribly, I’m quite proud of my attempts at 'Alla Turc. Are you a fan of Mozart?”

He told her he wasn’t.

“Oh that is such a shame,” she continued to tell him, “I second him only to Beethoven himself.”

At that moment three men in their early thirties walked in from the promenade laughing and carousing, carrying an assortment of golf clubs they headed for the other end of the bar where the barman promptly slithered over to serve them.

“I was to be a heiress you see, I was all ready to inherit a fortune when my ever so charitable parents decided that my sister needed it more.”

He asked if that was so while looking sideways at the men down the bar.

Ms Glass unfolded the letter and glanced at it, eyes widening briefly she kept herself in check and replaced the items in her handbag. “But I must concede, she leads a far more demanding life than I. She has this husband, quite an estranged fellow, damaged in the war they say.”

“Those Princeton saps won’t forget us in a hurry!” Bawled the tallest of the three men further down the bar, slapping another on the back.

“Only because you were such a rotter about it.” Chided one of his cohorts, to more roars of laughter.

“Now, now, Donov, I’ll have none of that, I can out drive each of them with one arm tied behind my back.”

He placed his whiskey down, unfinished, and began to pay for it.

“That I’d like to see. Listen old boy, I’m off for a shower, freshen myself up a bit, save a drink for me will you.”

“Sure thing, seeing as the next round’s on you!” As the hilarity subsided Donov took a towel stuffed inside the golf bag and downed the last of his drink before leaving.

“And I tell them not to worry, but they care about her so dearly.” The woman in red continued.

He told her he’d see her around as he began to follow his quarry.

“Oh, goodbye, Vincent.”

 

He turned the corner to see Donov enter the first class shower and toilet facilities, when he followed him in he dropped to his hands and knees to check all the cubicles, the only occupant was in a shower removing his shoes. He stood and looked at his reflection in the mirror while fingering the revolver in his pocket, the gaunt and unshaven face staring back at him looked more haggard than he felt. He walked over to the sink and began to wash his hands, the water was ice cold and splashing it on his face was instantly refreshing.

Looking back into the mirror he saw an image loom behind him, he quickly ducked left, a flash of silver where his neck was a moment before. With adrenaline fuelled speed he grabbed a wrist and smashed its owners face into the mirror. His vision blurred he didn’t see the foot kick out, stumbling he slipped back on the wet floor and cracked his head on the tiles, the room swam and everything was red. He tried to get up but a body landed on him, he grabbed the shoulders and with a twist rolled over on top, then he started punching. He kept punching long after the body went limp, all he could feel was the burning on his knuckles and the fire behind his eyes.

Dizzy and breathing heavily he used the sink as support while he staggered to his feet and ran the faucet, he submerged his face and brought it back gasping for air. Coming down from the adrenaline rush he noticed the long slash wound across his arm, and began to feel blood trickle through the hair on the back of his head. In the broken reflection of a smashed mirror in front of him he could make out a person standing far behind him, he turned to see Donov dripping wet and face aghast at the far end of the showers.

At his feet lay the girl from the bar, pearly white eyes staring from a face so cut, broken and covered in blood that the matching red dress was the only way he knew it was her.

He looked up at Donov and reached into his pocket, retrieving his mostly empty pack of cigarettes, placing one between his lips he began to rummage through his pockets for a match. Donov took a step back, with nowhere to run tears began to well up in his eyes. He gave up searching for a light and discarded the cigarette, taking one last look at Mr Mayer he walked out the door.

Reviews

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I liked the story a lot! I found it very interesting and unique. It definitely held my interest the entire way through. You have a great way writing so that it's easy to picture and it flows well.

I think the story could benefit from learning Mr. Law's name sooner, such as in the first couple of sentences. It lets the reader feel like they are getting to the know the character a little better. Also, I would suggest putting Mr. Law's dialogue into the actual conversation using quotations instead of just telling the reader what he said. It doesn't flow quite as easily. Plus, I think in that particular conversation, his tone could say a lot more than his words, which we don't get enough information about. When he says no, he isn't a fan of Mozart, is it in a polite way, a detached way...? The end was a little confusing. Who is Mr. Mayer and when did he enter the bathroom?

Lastly, be careful of your sentence separation. Ther were many run-on sentences throughout. You're such a great writer that it really isn't a big deal. The sentences are great, you just need to add a few more periods where there are commas. Easy fix.

Overall, I really enjoyed it and I can see this piece turning into something longer and more detailed. Do you have bigger plans for this story? Could it become a book?