Barracuda by Mike Monahan Page A

anyone for ten thousand miles who doesn’t know I’m a
cop?” He smiled as he heartily shook each man’s hand and sat
down.
    “We know you’re a policeman on holiday
recovering from a gunshot wound,” Tom quipped. “You’re all we
talked about at the bar last night.”
    “I’m glad I went to bed early,” Micko said with
a laugh. He could only guess that when Sharon made all the
bookings, she let it be known that an injured cop was her client.
Of course, she had meant well, and the notoriety did usually
provide extra attention and benefits.
    “So, how did it happen, Officer?” Eddie
inquired. “Are you all right?”
    Micko gave a dismissive laugh. “I’m fine, and I
would rather not bore you with the details. Instead, I’d like to
discuss our upcoming diving adventure.”
    “Fine, Detective. Diving it shall be,” Tom
declared.
    Eddie asked, “Are you staying at the Bikini
hotel?”
    “No, I’ve been booked at the Majestic.”
    “Our group and another dive club are booked at
the Bikini resort,” Tom stated.
    The three divers spoke excitedly about their
expectations while Albert served them a light breakfast of tropical
fruit and croissants.
    “This coffee is exquisite,” Eddie commented.
    “Have you ever been to the South Pacific
before?” Tom inquired.
    “Yes, this coffee and this island remind me of a
trip I took to Papua, New Guinea,” Micko started. “I was diving
with a pretty diverse group of thirteen divers, and we stopped at a
beautiful grotto. Our ship’s captain told us that his good friend
Dickie Boyle was the owner of a coconut plantation and a copra
factory on the island. The captain sounded his horn, and shortly
thereafter a couple of natives pulled up in dugout canoes. One by
one, they transported us to shore, and Dickie gave us a tour first
of his plantation and then of his lovely home. He had it built on a
bluff overlooking the gorgeous bay.”
    Micko was warming up to his storytelling. “Now,
Dickie was a bit of a character. He was a short, slender fellow
with flaming red hair and freckles on every exposed part of his
body. He had a quick wit and loved to cuss. He served us delicious
coffee while amusing us with enchanting tales of how he came to be
in this exotic land. He told us the charming story of his island
lovers, his prosperity, and his loneliness. After we remarked about
how splendid his coffee was, he told us he had a special treat for
us.
    “It was about this time that I realized that
almost all the younger workers on the plantation and in the house
had slightly lighter skin tones than the other natives, and their
hair had a reddish tint to it. I was about to ask Dickie about this
when we were served a sweet smelling grog that Dickie declared was
a local drink to consummate new friendships. With that
introduction, we all drank deeply. Dickie forgot to mention,
however, that the herbs and roots that were ingredients of the
friendship grog caused hallucinations. None of us remembered
getting back onboard the ship that night, but I remember that I
dreamed I was a tap dancing walrus. The rest of the divers
adamantly refused to tell me what they did or did not remember
about that night.”
    Eddie and Tom laughed hysterically and promised
not to drink any unsolicited intoxicants while in Bikini or
anywhere else in the South Pacific.
    Soon the shuttle bus hustled everyone aboard for
the final leg of the journey. This time, Eddie introduced Micko to
each of the members of his group, and they all had a vivacious chat
about past dive trips and the one on which they would soon
embark.
    As the bus pulled up to a small terminal, the
divers unloaded their gear and went to the check-in line. Micko was
surprised to see that there was a group ahead of them, a dozen of
the rowdiest divers he had ever seen. They looked like members of a
motorcycle gang—and they even wore colors. Looking more closely, he
could see that each member was wearing something that indicated he
or she was a