Weecho twisted the handle. It turned. 

Let him into an empty dining room. He ran past the table and high-back chairs to a swing door at the other end, pushed through just as Lynch came in, could hear the footsteps behind him.   

In the kitchen now, cooks and waiters too busy keeping the party fed to pay him any mind. He slid past a big black guy at the stove, past choppers at the prep table, pushed through another door. 

Into the garbage room. Full pails ready for the dumbwaiter. Obvious escape, the dumbwaiter, sitting there open and waiting. Obvious to Weecho, obvious to Lynch. Weecho hit the dumbwaiter’s Up button, sending it off to an upper deck, like he’d gotten onto it. Looked around for another way out. Saw just walls and an open porthole too tight to squeeze through. Looked back at the open dumbwaiter shaft, at a pair of dangling cables.  

Ducked down, reached into the shaft and grabbed one of the cables. Like grabbing a greasy snake. Jumped in and wrapped his legs around the cable, started sliding down into the dark, still with the camera around his neck. Even if Lynch came into the room and looked down the shaft, he couldn’t see Weecho now, just blackness.    

Of course Weecho couldn’t see a thing either. Had no idea where he was going. 

Slid until his feet hit the deck. Or bilge, since he’d landed ankle-deep in wet garbage. His hands were greasy and stung, probably bleeding, couldn’t tell in the dark. He wiped them off on his tux pants and looked around for how to get out. Saw nothing but blackness. No sense of direction. Started inching through the bilge water, could hear rat chatter over the sloshing – Easy guys, just passing through. Went maybe three feet when he sensed some presence behind him.   

Turned around. 

Almost screamed. 

Nina Galleon’s ghost. 

As burned and bloody as she’d looked before, it was nothing to how horrific she looked down here, shimmering in the dark with her smoldering aura. 

“What are you doing here?” All he could think of to say. 

“My kind of habitat now. And I didn’t want to miss the party.” 

He could picture the pandemonium if she actually made an appearance. 

“I’m glad it’s working for you with Alex,” she said. 

“Alex is a little disappointed right now, you and Lynch and the smack.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll have a shot at redemption.” 

“Like how?” 

“Like helping you keep his fashionable ass solvent.” She nodded toward the bulkhead behind him. “Starting with how to get your ass out of here. Grab that wheel.” 

He looked at where she was pointing. Her aura was giving off just enough light so he could see there was a watertight door in the bulkhead, with a wheel in the center to open it with. He grabbed the wheel with both hands, tried to turn it. 

Didn’t happen. 

Nina said, “Wipe your hands off. Grab it tighter.” 

He wiped them on his tux pants again, gave it another try. 

Still no give. 

“This is your only way out,” Nina said, “so you better make it work.” 

He braced his feet, called up an extra jolt of juice, kept twisting hard as he could. 

Suddenly his feet slipped, Jesus, and he went down in the muck. Got up so quick he almost lost his camera.  

Grabbed it, spit out garbage, wiped rancid muck off his face. Braced himself again and regrabbed the wheel. 

“Come on,” Nina said, “do it!” 

“I’m trying!” And with all the muscle he could muster he got it to budge. Squeak. Little by little the wheel started to turn. It loosened up and he gave it a spin. Pushed on it. Opened the door. 

Stood there panting. Turned to say thanks. 

Nina was gone. 

He caught his breath, stepped over some coaming into a dim, smoky gray light. Saw he was in a narrow passageway, empty except for some steel steps over to his left. He went up them slow and quiet. Came to another door, this one easier to open. Just a crack. Stood there and listened. 

He heard a cough, a woman, young it sounded. He pushed the door open a little more, could see into some kind of big hold filled with hazy layers of smoke. Sweet smoke. Still not a lot of light. 

Just enough to see he was in another world. 

Along both sides of the hold were rows of bunk beds attached to the walls, three high, maybe fifteen bunks to a side. Most had girls lying in them. Asian girls, beautiful girls, some in short little night things, some not wearing anything at all. None were much older than he was from what he could see. 

They were smoking pipes, opium. The real stuff far as he could tell. A smell he knew from a Vietnamese party he’d been to in Flushing.   

All of them were out of it. Zonked. Hooked. No interest in anything but what they were doing.  

Weecho stepped inside and the Asian girls hardly gave him a look. Already he was getting a floaty feeling just from the smoke in the air. 

If the world still had harems, he was in one. Yoon’s private collection. The crowd upstairs should get a tour. Maybe some of them had. Or would. 

A bare-breasted girl drifted over in a cloud and offered Weecho her pipe. He took a puff so as not to offend her, gave her the pipe back, realized when she nodded toward a pile of cushions that she thought he was here to be entertained. She didn’t seem to notice how filthy he was, or how bad he stunk from the bilge. Or care. 

He still had the camera, took a bunch of shots of this girl and the others, switched formats and got some video. The girls didn’t seem to mind a bit, a few getting into it now, bending themselves into some randy contortions. At least he’d have the pictures to show he wasn’t making this up. 

There was a commotion at the other end of the hold. A man had come in, had to be Lynch, Weecho knowing without even turning. Lynch hadn’t seen Weecho’s face upstairs, hadn’t seen him here yet, but when he did he’d know right away where he’d seen him before, would place him at the crash, maybe at the pet store. That wouldn’t be good for Juna, wouldn’t be good for him either, considering the situation – Lynch could just tie him onto something heavy and drop him overboard. 

Weecho wedged himself under one of the bottom bunks, hoping to buy time, even if in a couple of seconds the girls would turn him in. 

But they didn’t. One of them even sat on the bunk, dangling her bare feet in front of his face, a green and purple bird tattooed on one of her ankles swinging back and forth.       

 Lucky for him she’d put herself there, because Lynch came and stood right in front of the bunk, shoes less than a yard from Weecho’s face, him hoping the man wouldn’t catch a wiff of his fumes. 

Weecho hearing him ask for the girl’s pipe. Sounding different. Different language.  

Weecho watched the shoes step back from the bunk. Twisted his head up to see between the girl’s legs, caught a glimpse of the face up there drawing on the pipe. 

Not Lynch.  

It was one of Yoon’s goons, come to check on the girls. 

Apparently not a person they liked – huge Asian guy with a shaved head, like you’d expect in a harem – else why’d they let Weecho stay put down here when they could’ve blown the whistle?  

The big guy hung around, getting high, started getting it on with the girls, them making enough of a fuss over him to keep him occupied. He was wearing an ear wire and somebody called him, must’ve wanted him for something. He grunted and got up, zipped and tucked himself back together, went out the way he came. 

Two minutes later, Weecho made his goodbyes and took the same exit, opposite from the way he’d come in. Went up some stairs, took a passageway to some more stairs, went up them and around a corner. His party clothes reeked and he was looking for the gangway to get himself off the boat. Trying not to run into Lynch. 

Ran into Dara instead. 

“What happened to you?” 

“I got diverted,” he said. 

They’d both come around the corner fast and she was just as surprised as he was.  

“I got worried when you didn’t come back,” she said. “Did you find a place?” 

Meaning for the mini-cam and mic. 

“The library, his office. I almost got nailed.” 

“What do you mean?” 

 “Lynch is here.” 

She asked why and Weecho shrugged – Who knows? She looked at his ruined tux, made a face at the smell. 

“You can’t go back inside,” she said. 

“My tie crooked?” 

“Let’s just get you out of here.” Familiar words. 

She took him by the arm, seemed to know where she was going. Pushed through a door and led them outside, to a narrow deck that ran along the side of the boat. Weecho could see the gangway ahead of them, lit by the superstructure lights. When they got closer, he could see somebody standing in the shadows.  

The person’s back to them. Watching the gangway. 

Weecho tugged Dara’s arm. “It’s Lynch.” 

She’d spotted him too. They turned around and went back the way they came. 

“He’s never seen you,” Weecho said. “But if he sees me, it’ll blow the whole deal.” 

They didn’t go back inside, climbed some stairs to the next deck instead. Weecho looking over his shoulder when they got to the top. 

“He must’ve heard us, he’s coming.” 

Dara didn’t bother to look, was checking out the dark open deck. 

“Over there,” she said, nodding toward Yoon’s helicopter sitting on its pad. 

She’s going to fly us?

 But he wasn’t to have it that good.  

They went up a couple of steps to the pad and stood in the dark on the other side of the helicopter. The Hudson River side. Dara looked down, maybe fifty feet to the water. 

“You’ll have to jump,” she said. 

“What?” 

“Give me your camera.” 

Weecho didn’t move. Dara slipped the camera off his shoulder. 

“You’ll swim to one of the ladders at the pier,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the car.” 

“But I can’t…” 

“Shhhh…” 

She was looking across the deck, at the shadow that had just come up the stairs. 

“Point your toes,” she whispered, “and hold your arms straight over your head.” 

“But you don’t under…” 

“Just go,” she said, and gave him a shove. 

Sometimes it’s best not to think. Weecho got a running start so he’d clear the side and launched himself off that skyscraper boat. 

Hung in the air for a second – then down, down, down… 

Through the dark. 

River rushing up to meet him. 

And that’s how he learned to swim.