Rex fought the urge to correct the man. He hadn’t been addressed by his full name since he’d lived with his parents, and only when he’d been in trouble for some minor infraction.
“My apologies, Mr. Johnson,” the hostess said to Rex. “I’ll need to see a form of identification.”
Rex pulled his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed the woman his driver’s license.
She made a note in her notebook, handed the license back to Rex, then smiled and waved a hand toward the gangway. “Welcome aboard the Dancing Lolita.”
Rex followed his father up the gangway onto the deck, where men in tailored suits and diamond cufflinks, and women in flashy designer gowns, dripping with expensive jewelry, milled about, drinking champagne from crystal glasses.
The tie around Rex’s neck seemed to tighten. He’d gladly left this world behind. He’d be happy to leave it again. First, he had to find Holte and learn more about his shipping business, specifically, about a missing container, the bodies inside it and the people who’d reclaimed them.
How he’d address those questions was still mulling around in his head. He couldn’t just ask them outright, especially if Holte knew all about them and had a lot to hide.
His father led him through the throng of billionaires and a scattering of celebrities, including a race car driver, an A-list actor and his wife and several Hawaiian politicians Rex recognized from the local news.
His father headed for the bar and ordered an Old Fashioned. He didn’t ask Rex what he wanted to drink.
Rex moved to the second bartender and ordered a whiskey neat.
Once they both had their drinks, his father turned toward the crowd of people, took a sip of his Old Fashioned and asked, “Do you know who’s throwing this party?”
Rex nodded. “Lucien Vaughan.”
“Vaughan has worldwide influence. If you want to increase your global presence, talk to Lucien. If you want to know where to invest in the next potential gold rush of an economy, Lucien’s your guy. Everyone on board tonight owes significant portions of their wealth to the information Lucien provides.”
“What do they give him in return?” Rex asked.
His father’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t ask.”
“Meaning, you don’t ask.”
His father’s brow dropped low. “You don’t rock the boat, unless yours capsizes.”
“So, he’s got dirt on all these people and holds it over their heads and bank accounts.” He didn’t ask. It was a statement.
A young woman dressed in a strapless, short and tight black-and-white uniform stopped in front of them with a tray of crystal glasses full of champagne. With a decidedly Slavic accent, she asked, “?ampanie?” As soon as the word was out, she covered her mouth, and her cheeks flushed red. She glanced around quickly and said, “Pardon. I mean Champagne.”
Rex studied her pretty face, noting how smooth and youthful it appeared. It was slightly rounded with no lines around the eyes. Either she had youthful genes, or she was very young.
He shook his head and held up his glass and responded, “Nu, mul?umesc.”
The girl’s eyes widened, and her cheeks grew redder. She bobbed her head and hurried away in her short skirt and sheer, black tights.
“What are you doing?” his father hissed.
“Being polite,” Rex said.
“Don’t talk to the wait staff,” his father said.
“Why?”
“Just don’t.” His father glanced around. “You wanted to talk to Holte, there he is.” He motioned with his head. “The tall, heavyset man with gray hair and a mustache. He’s standing with Lucien Vaughan and his partner, Chloé.”
The man he indicated stood with another man and a dark-haired woman in a shimmering silver gown. The other man with salt-and-pepper hair had his back to Rex and his arm around the woman in the silver dress.
Another young woman, dressed in the black-and-white, skimpy uniform, approached Holte, Vaughan and Chloé with a tray of drinks. This girl also appeared to be very young, like the Romanian girl.
“If you still want to talk to Holte, you’re on your own,” his father said and walked away.
