"A mite too cold out there for ya, eh?" Tommy Ryan laughed, catching the eye of several of his cabinmates as they entered the third class common room, their cheeks and hands chapped and curdled red with cold. It had been warmer out earlier, but the day had become overcast and the wind stronger, making the temperature drop steadily. Now, midafternoon, the room was crowded with steerage passengers who had been turned inside by the bitter wind and cheerless day. "I'll say." Derek O'Malley shook his head ruefully. "It's enough to turn the bravest man indoors." Derek, also, was Irish, and he and Tommy got along quite well. Derek was in his late twenties, a typical Irishman with dark red hair and a face covered with freckles. His ruddy cheeks now matched his hair as he slid into the hard-backed chair opposite Tommy and rubbed his hands together, shivering. "Maybe some spirits to warm you up," Tommy suggested, offering a flask which Derek accepted gratefully. The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, surveying the action around them. It was really an incredible scene, Tommy reflected. People of all nationalities, thrown together into this small, cramped room, and yet somehow having fun together. A good example of that were Fabrizio and the blond he'd been chasing after, Tommy thought with amusement, noticing his friend across the room with her. Fabrizio gestured animatedly, his mouth going a mile a minute, and it was obvious the blond didn't understand a word he was saying, but she nodded and smiled, tapping her foot to a tune that someone was banging away on the piano. The noise in the common room had risen to a dull roar, and Tommy found it hard to make out the piano above the blending of voices and languages. He frowned in concentration, and soon could begin to hear a beat . . . And then something happened. He could suddenly hear the tune quite well, because the room had suddenly hushed, as quickly as one snuffs a candle. The piano player looked up, startled, and the piano music ceased abruptly. Tommy turned his head toward the doorway, and he felt his jaw slacken. Two men stood there, shoulder to shoulder, but it was obvious from the way they were dressed and the arrogance of their stares that they held first-class tickets. One stood to the side; he looked strong and grim, not someone to cross. The other was not quite as intimidating physically, but there was something about his sneering face that unnerved Tommy. Then the sneering, dark-haired man stepped forward, and cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said in a pleasant voice that somehow wasn't pleasant at all. "I'm very sorry to have disturbed you. But I must ask for your help. I have a . . . situation that I must contend with, and I'd be very grateful if you could be of any assistance to me." He smiled charmingly. Tommy's eyes narrowed. He had no idea who the two men were or what they were doing there, but he knew immediately that it had something to do with Rose, the red-haired princess that Jack had been so smitten with. Across the room, Fabrizio's dark eyes met his. He knew too, Tommy realized. They tensed, waiting. "I am looking for a man," he continued. "His name is Jack Dawson and he holds a third class ticket. He is about my height. Young, probably twenty, with blond hair. And an artist; he carries around a sketchbook. Probably quite the ladies man." You mean your lady's man, Tommy thought sarcastically. He stared coolly at the intruder. Hell if he was going to say anything. He'd not known Jack Dawson for very long, but he was a friend, and he liked both him and the girl from first class. He met Fabrizio's eyes again, and knew that Fabrizio would let himself be hanged before he turned Jack in. No one spoke. Many of the people were staring at the dark-haired man in confusion. Probably they had no idea what he was saying because they didn't speak English. Just as well, Tommy thought. The silence thickened. The man made an impatient movement, glancing toward the door. The other man lifted his eyebrows. Then the dark-haired man sighed, as though this was suddenly much to hard for him to contend with, and reached into his pocket. "Of course, if you do have any information, I'd be more than happy to...compensate you for your troubles," he added, producing a pocket watch. It glittered in the dim lights, and Tommy figured it was solid gold. Probably worth more money than all the men in this room had ever had put together. Fabrizio scowled at the dark-haired man, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture of defiance. The man appraised him, and walked slowly toward where he sat. The blond girl edged away, pulling her shawl closer around her. The men sitting with Fabrizio glared. The women pulled their children closer to them, frowning. The dark-haired man stopped. "Could you, perhaps, help us, sir?" he asked, his voice low, polite, but deliberate. The gold watch swung back and forth, back and forth in front of Fabrizio's eyes. Fabrizio stared at the watch for a moment as though hypnotized. Then he spoke, his eyes sliding past the watch. "No, sir," he said quietly. His dark eyes were malevolent, and he refused to look up at the dark-haired man. "I could not." Tommy felt relief rush through him like a breath of fresh air. He stood slowly and edged toward the other exit. The dark-haired man was still staring at Fabrizio. The other man was watching him. Nobody but Derek was watching Tommy. Holding his breath, Tommy slid noiselessly out the door, leaving the tension of the common room behind. He had to find Jack and warn him before someone else found him first. Unfortunately, he had not the slightest idea where to look first. |
