"I don't know Mac, I really don't know."

"There's gotta be somethin'...."

"All I know is that I walked to the railing to see the storm clouds blowing in.  I turned to go wake you up and somebody pushed me...that's it...that's all I know."

Mac absentmindedly stirred his coffee, trying vainly to balance it with the ship riding out the storm.  Portia sat wrapped in one of the ships's blankets.  They were still in the medical officer's quarters trying to figure out what had happened.  It wasn't supposed to be like this.  After their last case, they had both agreed it was time to get away for a while, somewhere, anywhere.  Portia had found the steamship ad and reluctantly Mac had agreed.  Up until now, the trip had indeed been quite peaceful.

"I think we should push this with the captain," Portia said, "He's got the resources, passenger lists and the detectives on board."

Mac stood up, going over and pouring more coffee into Portia's cup.

"That's all we need, some house dick nosing his way into our business...."

"Do I detect a note of cyncism coming from our esteemed Mac?"  Portia smiled, grinning at Mac.

"Doesn't matter you know," Mac laughed, "Chicago, New York, this ship, that ship...it doesnt' matter, they're all the same."

"Same as???"

"Some sloppy, overweight, shifty-eyed grifter..."

"My, my....."

Mac whirled, facing Portia.

"Dammit, somebody pushed you and I'm gonna find out now!"

He turned, and went out the doorway.........

Mac worked his way up the decks, ending up in the hallway next to the grand ballroom where dinner was scheduled later that night.  He was tired from the afternoon and his side still hurt.  Mad about the events of the afternoon, he determined to find out who had tried to bump Portia.  He saw the house detective, Gregory, standing next to the coffee urns in the side room off of the kitchen. 

An ex-New York detective who had gotten tripped up with some unexplained funds a few years ago, he had luckily stumbled into the plum job of house detective on the cruise ship line.  Mac had worked with him in the past and didn't like it when he did.  He still didn't like it now.  The man was fat, sloppy and greedy, all of which made Mac want to slug him everytime he saw him.  His face, drawn into an everpresent smirk, made Mac boil over as well.  Just thinking about it, Mac could feel his fists flexing in his pockets.  He stopped just outside the small room.

"Gregory."

"Well, well, if it isn't our own resident shamus out on patrol," he smirked, turning and laughing at the two sailors with him.  Mac saw the shifty eyes and the sloppily dressed suitcoat bulged out over the man's belt, topped off by the greasy fedora pushed back on his head.  He grimaced.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever..." Mac opened his coat, resting his hands on his belt, aware of his missing .45.  He had to stay calm.

"Coffee?" Gregory asked, reaching for a thick china mug.

"No thanks, listen, I need to talk to you about something, privately..."

Mac turned his eyes towards the sailors and then back at Gregory.  Gregory started for the door, following Mac who had already left.

"So long fellas," he waved at the sailors, "Junior G-man here needs to talk private-like..."

The sailors laughed, turning back towards the kitchen.  Mac stopped, whirled around, grabbing the detective by the shoulder and flinging him into the wall, coffee cup flying into the wall.

"Listen here you greasy flatfoot, I don't need this and I don't particularly want to talk to you, so listen, and listen good...."

Gregory didn't fight back, his breath coming in gasps, face red and shocked.

"Now just a damn minute..you can't.."

"Oh yes I can..."

Mac took a right and sunk it deep in the man's gut.

"Now shut your pie-hole and listen."

The man, breath kocked out him, bent over wheezing.  Mac grabbed his coat and picked him up, bring his face up to eye level.

"Somebody tried to knock off Portia today, who was it?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Don't give me that, you know me and you know Portia and you know something else."

"What are you talking about?"

"You've got the manifests, passenger lists, the works....now who's on the boat dammnit...tell me!"

"Shaddup! C'mon Portia, let's go...."

Mac and Portia left the hallway turning right, going up the steps to their room. 

"Hey...wait a minute...."

Gregory started to run after them.

"Scram...beat it punk...."  Mac shouted back.

"You can't do this to me..."

Mac turned, "Watch me!"

He turned on his heel and followed Portia up the ladder to the next deck.

"Watch your head hon."

"Sure.."

They walked through the bulkhead, and was in their stateroom a minute later.They spent the next hour tidying things up as much as possible, Portia collapsing on the bed while Mac paced the room.  The ship rolled slightly and Mac looked out the porthole, the inky blue-blackness revealing nothing. Portia looked at her watch.  Mac sat there, sleeves rolled up, hat pushed back...thinking.....

"Mac, shouldn't we notify someone of this?"

"Of what?"

"Our room, you know, what they did?"

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?...so they can start figuring out who did it..."

Mac leaned close to Portia.

"Ok kid, let's say we run to the captain or whoever....what good does it do?"

"Won't they start investigating it?"

"Yeah, but who do you think is gonna be doing that one?"

"Oh....Gregory..?"

"Bingo...how far do you think that palooka's gonna lean on anybody?  He's the one who probably spilled the beans in the first place."

"So we don't do anything?"

"Nope, not at this point, wait til we get to the first port and call our office...then we can start moving things."

"I don't like this..."

"Neither do I kid, neither do I...C'mon, let's go eat...."

"He ain't so tough, now is he...hahahahaa."

"What's wrong tough guy, cat got yer tongue?

Mac felt the boot impact his ribs, flipping him, over onto his stomach, pain cascading through him like a bolt of lightning.  If he could just reach...

"Lookit the rod!"

"What?"

"Check it out...lookit the action on this piece...damn....that's sharp!  Old instructor would have enjoyed this one..."  They held Mac's .45, looking at it intently.  Between the pain, Mac suddenly recognized the voices...that was it...the sailors...earlier in the day, The two sailors that had been with talking with Gregory in the hallway....that might also account for their stateroom being tossed as well....but why?  What were they looking for?  Mac lay still, trying not to attract attention as he fumbled with the object now in his hands...

"Damn, nothin'......"  The voice trailed off.

"Nuthin?"

"That's what I said, c'mon, ya dumb egg, do you have to repeat everything I say?"

"So........"

"C'mon, let's split, we need to get back and sure as hell don't want to get caught in the middle of this...it'll be the brig for sure.........."

They turned just as Mac rolled to his feet.

"Goin' somewhere boys?????"

"Hey! What............."

Mac waved the small caliber Colt, the "pocket automatic" that he had stashed in his waistband.

"I ain't laughin' boys, get your cans over here, NOW!" Mac waved them over to the back of the bow.  They looked a him sullenly, uniforms white against the darkness of the ship.

"Ok boys...this is it....showtime.  You tell me what the hell is going on and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you live."

"We ain't sayin' Jack...."

"Yeah, that's right, nothin' especially to you."

Emboldened by the talk they dropped their hands, seemingly to walk towards Mac.  He jacked the action, felt the weight of the clip and fired, rapidly, twice at the deck, the roar of the little Colt breaking the darkness stench of gunpowder in his nose.

"Shiiiiiiii...."

"Holy Hel..."

Wait a minute Mr....."

They cowered on the deck.  Mac looked to the left and right, heard nothing, but knew he didn't have much time.  Whoever else was running this operation was probably watching as well.

He walked over to them.

"Ok...spill....now, I got shots left and I know exactly where to put 'em....open up boys............just who hired you and what do you want from us?"