The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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βAye. Okay if I text Shaan and tell him where I am?β
βYes, of course. Sorry to disrupt your morning.β
βNo problem. Glad tβbe of help.β
Niall gets busy with his phone; I take the moment to send a text to Emily.
Niallβs in my cabin. If you need anything, knock three times.
She doesnβt respond and I take that to mean sheβs asleep.
Feeling like Iβve covered my bases as best as I can, I leave Niall watching the morning news while I head to the bridge.
Bureaucracy is my least favorite thing. Well, maybe my second least favorite thing after real-life pirates. But itβs pretty far down there. I hate forms. With the stifling bureaucracy of the modern armed forces, youβd think Iβd be used to filling out forms. But I still hate each and every one, and I expect to fill out a lot of them this morning. Complaint forms, incident forms, waiver forms. Whatever it takes to make our cabins safe again.
But Captain Lopez surprises me. As soon as I give my name to a purser, she appears, crisp and professional, despite the early hour. She listens attentively when I explain why Iβve disturbed her, then escorts me down to maintenance. There, she gives precise orders to the man who answers the door: a pot-bellied bloke who canβt be much taller than Emily and looks as rumpled as though heβs slept at the little desk in his office. He nods in response to the captainβs orders and offers me a thick-fingered hand, each nail outlined in black grime.
βEarl,β he grunts.
I shake. βLogan.β
βLetβs fix yer door.β
Captain Lopez nods at me. βIβll leave you in Earlβs capable hands. If thereβs anything else you need, let me know.β
βThank you, Captain.β
I wait while Earl puts some tools and two spare locks in a canvas bag. Out of his little den, he moves at a trot, forcing me to stretch my legs to keep up with him. He eschews the elevator and trots up the four flights of stairs, pausing at each landing to catch his breath.
βMisses says I could stand the exercise,β he explains, patting his belly, which makes my lips twitch. βYer a big feller. Military?β
I nod. βNavy.β
βEh? You should be right at home on a boat, then.β
βSubs and gun-boats are a little different.β
Earl grins, showing teeth that have seen many years of both coffee and cigarettes. βThatβs the Godβs honest truth. Cβmon, letβs fix yer door.β
I almost point out that itβs not broken but leave it. Iβm guessing in Earlβs mind there are two states of being: broken and fixed.
The door locks turn out to be horrifically easy to remove. Thereβs one long screw that Earl whips out with an electric drill in less than ten seconds. Then he touches a little fob to the plate of the lock, and it falls off on either side of the door while Niall and I watch with dismay.
βMagnetic,β Earl explains. βSupposed to be the latest in security.β
Iβm not feeling very secure.
He fits my door with a new lock even faster than he removed the old one and hands me a keycard. βFor VIPs,β he says. βOnly the captainβs master key and that key will open this lock now. Youβll need to let the cleaners in every day. Their keys wonβt work.β
Only the captainβs master key, the key in my hand, a reversing drill, and a magnetic fob, that anyone might be able to duplicate, will open the new lock.
βYou had the lock off in less than thirty seconds,β I point out.
Earl shrugs. βLatest and greatest. Soβs they tell me.β
Fuck.
βOkay, thank you very much. Iβll need to open Emilyβs door. Give me just a minute.β
I leave him packing the old lock in his bag.
Niall trails me. βThatβs nae safe,β he says, his brogue so thick I can almost see it in the air, like a spill of malt whiskey.
βI know.β Iβm cursing myself for believing my client when they told me they had serious security aboard. βWeβll use the manual latches when weβre in the cabins. Better than nothing.β
βAnd when yer out?β
I shrug. I donβt have an answer for that yet.
Niall puts his hand on my shoulder. βLogan, this is nae safe. Emily is nae safe.β
βIβll rework her schedule so sheβs never in her cabin when Iβm not here.β
He runs his hand through his hair, looking troubled. βI donβt like this. Yeh donβt know meh wellββ
βI called you,β I point out. βI could have called security.β
I didnβt because I donβt trust anyone who reports to Dan Reyes.
βAye. Will yehβwould yeh check in with me every two hours? I know thatβs nae reasonable, but this is all wrong. Searchinβ yer room, with Emily right next door? Fecking nightmare, that is. Itβs what I ask me crews to do when theyβre workinβ in bad areas. I knowββ
He doesnβt need to convince me. βNiall, Iβll check in every two hours. I appreciate it.β
The fight drains out of him. He went into Dom overload for a minute there, and I donβt blame him, because I did the same thing, whipping out my baton like I was going to beat down the motherfucker who threatened my baby girlβs safety. Itβs instinct, and that instinct doesnβt stop screaming just because the room turns out to be empty.
βIβll spell yeh keepinβ an eye on Emily,β he continues. βWhenever yeh need meh. Just say the word.β
βThank you.β I hold my hand out. βIβm glad to have a security buddy. Tell me if it becomes an imposition.β
Niall shakes, the lines on his forehead lightening. βGlad I didnβt have to knock yeh inta agreeing.β
I chuckle as I open the connecting door. βDo I really look like that kind of idiot?β
Niallβs chuckle echoes mine.
Emilyβs cabin is cool and dim. Sheβs still curled on her side, tucked around her bunny, when I wake her for the second time this morning. I hate
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