“You’re right, Dublin,” he replied, “I don’t know how you do what you do. Nor do I have any idea what it takes to pull it off.”
He paused and drained the last of his coffee.
“I’d say that’s partly because I’m rather busy doing my own job. As you may have noticed, my job can also be somewhat demanding at times. Mostly because of the type of people I deal with from day to day. You know the sort – those cold, slimy types that can stare right through you without blinking.”
Dublin twitched nervously as his colleague looked up at him, his dark brown eyes as frigid and hard as two stones.
“But mostly it’s because I don’t give two shits what it takes to do your fucking job, as long as I know you can do it.” He calmly examined his empty coffee mug for a moment before suddenly hurling it towards the sink. Dublin barely lunged out of the way before the ceramic projectile exploded against the granite backsplash, showering countless fragments across the countertop.
“Are you feckin’ daft mate?” Dublin shrieked breathlessly.
“Well, at least you’re still quick,” he replied as a slight grin appeared on his face.
“You’re goddamn right I’m still quick. And you’re goddamn wrong if you think I can’t still do the job.”
“That’s not for you to decide. Unfortunately we don’t have time for other options.” He stood and walked over to the Irishman, pausing just a few inches from his face. “You know the protocol in this kind of situation as well as I do,” he said as he rested his hands on Dublin’s shoulders. “And you know what I have the authority to do if you royally fuck this up.”
Dublin nodded solemnly.
“But let’s not worry about that just yet. Right now, I just want to know one thing.” He pressed his hands deeply into Dublin shoulders. “Is my package going to be delivered on-time tomorrow night or not?”
Dublin raised his head and met his stare directly. “Fookin’ hell, Chilly. Have I ever let you down before?”
“Is that a ‘yes’?”
“Yes, for fucksake. That’s a yes.”
He stared at the Irishman for a moment before abruptly releasing his grip.
“Great. Then there’s nothing else to worry about.”
He patted his Irish colleague affectionately on the shoulder and walked into the salon. Dublin watched curiously as he opened a cabinet door and removed two large blankets to reveal a safe. He quickly spun through the correct combination on the dial and opened the heavy door.
“How in feckin’ hell did you know there was a safe in there?” Dublin asked, dumbfounded.
“I’m going out for a while,” he replied, grabbing something from the safe and shoving it into his pocket before closing the door and returning the blankets back inside the cabinet. He then threw his backpack over his shoulder and started up the stairs to the main deck. Halfway up the stairs he turned and glanced at Dublin. “Clean up that mess in the galley, will you? And while you’re at it, put some new sheets on my bed. I didn’t travel halfway around the world to clean up whatever your drugged-up ass farted into my Egyptian cotton.”
“What do you mean your bed?” Dublin muttered. He looked at him with a puzzled stare, then his bloodshot eyes abruptly widened in surprise.
“Are you fookin’ telling me that this boat is–”
“There’s over fifty pounds of plastic explosives expertly fitted into the corners and crevices of the Lorelei,” he interrupted. “More than enough to ruin your day ten times over. How the hell you managed to get on board and deflower Puerto La Cruz’s ugliest prostitutes without blowing half of this harbor into next week is beyond me. I guess you’re one helluva fixer after all – meth or not.”
Dublin grinned sheepishly.
“Of course,” he continued, raising his eyebrows as he gingerly patted the object in his pocket he’d taken from the safe. “That’s not to say I can’t still ruin your day. You have until 2pm tomorrow to get me the package. In the meantime, I want you to shower, sober up, and move your shit out of my room. You and Tall Tommy can fight over the guest cabins.”
Dublin stared absently as his colleague disappeared up the stairs and quietly slipped off the boat. The sharp tendrils of a soon-to-be massive headache were beginning to work their way deeply into his head, and his stomach suddenly felt as if the boat were pitching in high seas. He looked over at the shattered remains of the mugs strewn across the galley and shrugged resignedly. “Feck it,” he muttered to himself as he stumbled into the salon and fell heavily onto the couch. His eyes were barely closed before the tapping of footsteps across the Lorelei’s top deck echoed painfully in his skull. He looked up to see a perfectly built young man in white slacks and a polo shirt gliding down the teak stairs, a leather satchel hanging casually over his shoulder.