Free Wood's Harbor by Steven Becker

remember the last time he was in an elevator. He could take ten-foot seas, but this floating den of iniquity was too much for him. Trufante was looking at a pamphlet he had picked up from the floor. 
    “What in the world? They got a rock wall on a ship.” He stared at the brochure. “Damn, Mac, pools and shit too.”
    Mac grabbed it from him and hit the button for deck eight, remembering the room number of the tourist at the desk. The map in the brochure showed staterooms lining both sides of the boat. What they needed was a place to hide, not a pool to lounge in. The elevator beeped and the doors opened. A maid cart caught his attention and he looked to the left. He fought the urge to run and walked casually towards it. 
    “Wait here,” he told Trufante. “Room 8012. After she lets me in, make sure you give it some time, and then come down.” He pushed the lanky giant into a small alcove and continued towards the cart. The sound of a vacuum came from an open door. He peered into the room. “Ma’am,” he called to the maid. “My wife went ashore and took the key. Would you mind letting me into our room?” 
    She shut off the vacuum and gave him a quick look. He knew he looked bad. “Kind of had too much to drink last night and we got in a fight.”
    She nodded and pulled a card from a retractable holder on her belt. “What room?”
    He didn’t expect any problems from her. It wasn’t like you could just walk onto the ship. “8012,” he said, hoping she had already cleaned that room, and held his breath as she walked towards the door and swiped her card in the lock.
    “Thank you. I really appreciate it,” he said. He pulled the do not disturb card from the back of the door and placed it on the handle. “I’ve got to sleep this off.” He winked at her. “Don’t worry about this room today.” He closed the door and waited for the vacuum to start. It started again and he propped the door open and waved to Trufante. 
    The bulk of the two men made what was advertised as a luxurious cabin feel cramped. Trufante was looking in drawers and pawing through the luggage. “We’ve got some time. Let’s get cleaned up and figure out what to do,” Mac said and went to the bathroom. 
    “Wonder what kind of umbrella drinks they serve. Seems like the right kind of place for some froufrou.” Trufante grinned.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    TEN
    Bradley Davies leaned forward in the small cubicle and studied the documents in front of him. Even though he had practically memorized it, he read Mel’s living will again, trying to twist the words to his goals, making notes on the legal pad. This was the perfect opportunity - one he never thought he would have - to silence her. Once his student, her fiery personality and steamroller vision had helped him in his causes. She was a tool though, and never saw the back deals that lined his pockets, at least until she started hanging around that guy in the Keys. Now she was a liability, the one person that knew all the skeletons in his closet. Her view of justice was different than his, and she had apparently been placated when he was sentenced. His view had a more permanent tone to it.
    He set the will aside and started another list with what he would need once he was released. Any minute now, he expected the papers to come through.
    Another prisoner came towards him. “Warden wants you.”
    Davies stacked the papers and pad together, placed them under his arm, and followed the man back to the warden’s office. He waited outside, smiling at the secretary until called in. It was a game he played, a kind of primitive flirting, as he watched her fidget under his unwavering smile. If you stared at someone with a scowl on your face, they would likely turn away, but smiles made people react differently and he watched her constantly shifting to glance back at him. He guessed she didn’t get smiled at too often. 
    The door opened and the game ended. “You must still