Death to Blonds

“Yeah, this is the Larnaka Star,” he answered in a pure New York accent that indicated he may never actually have ever been to Bermuda himself. “It’s not Greek, though. The name pegs it as Cypriot, as does that flag up there. Not all that much difference, though. Both are just flag-of-convenience registration states. From the language I’ve heard coming off this freighter’s decks, I’d say it was more East European or Russian.”

“So, do you know who owns it?”

“Nah. I can tell you who the supplier is—Falzone Holdings. But I don’t know who owns it.”

“Sounds like an Italian name—Sicilian even,” Clint said, having been drawn over to the conversation.

“I wouldn’t know. But what’s this interest? If you’re the Feds, all the paperwork is in order. And we do this like every two weeks. Nothin’s going on here to raise eyebrows. It’s just regular weekly supplies out to Bermuda. Places is pretty much a barren rock, you know. Most everything has to be shipped in. Even a lot of drinking water shipped there.”

“No, no, nothing questionable about your paperwork,” Danny said quickly. “Some of the guys are just thinking of taking a trip to Bermuda. Hitting on the casinos there, you know—and we’ve heard that freighters sometimes rent cabins to travelers. You know if this one does?”

“If it does, it would be a pretty rough way to get there,” the guy with the clipboard answered. He paused to take down the number of a box going up the gangplank. “And if you know where there’s a casino in Bermuda, I’d sure like to know where it is. I’ve been there three times in the last ten years and every time I’ve been there casinos have been illegal. Take Royal Caribbean. They got casinos right on the ship. But they have to close down when they’re in port in Bermuda.”