Fishy Riot, page 2
The police, wanting nothing to do with it themselves and being drastically understaffed, had put the request through to the Public Order and Riot Squad. Joy!
“Sounds good” was what he eventually said to Clay, because at least if he had several hot green tea lattes warming his belly, when he caught socialites popping pills or having unprotected group sex by the bow, he might feel less inclined to toss obnoxious twentysomethings overboard. These things just never went well, and each one made him resent the requests for their protection more. How about kids just stop doing dumb shit so he could focus his attention on actual real-world problems instead of how you couldn’t save Fluffy the bunny because you were too busy getting high to remember to go break into his lab and liberate him?
He went and grabbed his uniform and shoved it into his work bag, putting in some muesli bars and a few juice packs as well because he wasn’t going to last the night shift without snacks. He wasn’t surprised when Clay put in a box of pizza shapes. And salt and vinegar chips. And a stick of salami.
“Really?” Taylor stared at the salami.
“What? I get hungry.”
THE “FERRY” was huge. Taylor grunted at it while Clay gaped. A long line of young rich brats with beautifully engraved invitations waited to have their ID scanned and walk through the security checkpoint. The riot squad van was parked farther down by the warehouse and security checkpoint for the port, but they could all see what they were heading toward as they strapped weapons to their belts and checked their gear. A team of eight officers in all, and not one of them looked happy. That said it all.
“That’s not a ferry, it’s a fuckin’ cruise liner,” Mendel whined softly, checking the clip on his holster and then looking over his partner, Harris. They were an odd pair. Mendel was the largest man on their team. A seven-foot brute with scruffy brown hair, an even scruffier beard, and enough muscle to bench press any other member of the team and then some. Harris by comparison looked like the Milkybar Kid, all blond surfer and straight white teeth. Innocent and usually relegated to driving the van because no one trusted him not to get shot if they weren’t watching. Not that he was incompetent, far from it, he was just… little.
“There’s gotta be at least three hundred kids getting on that thing,” Clay muttered darkly. “We shoulda brought everyone!”
“Everyone else had to go to that music festival up by Newcastle,” Jones grumbled. “We got put on this coz we finished late last night.” Jones was the oldest member of their team, a third-generation Greek Australian who looked like he’d just stepped off the boat. It had taken Taylor six months to remember his name was Jones and stop calling him Mario. Jones complained about every job they went on, mostly because he wanted to get home to his seven kids so his poor wife didn’t hang herself, but he got the job done.
“Great,” Harris grunted. “Bring in a rocket launcher. Get rewarded with babysitting duty! Next time I’ll remember to let ’em keep it.”
“Why is everyone so fuckin’ worked up about the rocket launcher?” Taylor asked, exasperated.
They were all staring at him. He didn’t get it. What did it matter if it was a pistol, a rifle, a rocket launcher, or a damn tank? Their job was to track it, find it, and confiscate it, plain and simple.
“It shoots rockets?” Mendel eventually dared to suggest, and Taylor scowled darkly enough that they all turned away from him and finished checking their gear, slamming the doors shut before heading toward ferry hell.
“Even Joel asked about the rocket launcher,” Clay reasoned with him softly. Taylor grunted, really not seeing what the deal was. Everyone had lost their minds, plain and simple.
“What time does this shit finish again?” Jones hissed, but then they were being pulled aside for security screenings of their own, signing in everything they had on them and following the security guard through a back entrance to the ferry so they could be shown around and get the layout of the ship.
It really wasn’t a ferry. It was far too large to be a ferry. Thankfully, the guests were mostly kept in two areas; the massive deck out front and a huge ballroom type space beside it in case the cold air got the best of everyone and they felt the need to go inside. There was an upper deck, but it had been reserved for media and crew. That didn’t mean there weren’t other spaces, there were. It was just that guests were supposed to stay in those two areas. The VIPs were permitted below deck, but for the most part, everyone was supposed to stay up top.
Like that ever happened.
There was an aquatic theme to the whole affair. They were raising awareness and funds for marine reefs, and the event was being sponsored by the Salisbury Foundation who were lobbying to have mining banned in and around all Australian reefs and wanted to restrict commercial fishing around the continent. All good in theory, until people lost their jobs, the price of seafood went up…. But politicians rarely seemed to think of the impact their decisions were going to have on others; they just cared about getting re-elected. Still, Taylor had to admit that if you were trying to get the young person’s vote, starting a marine conservation policy that had your face in the paper trying to save the whales was a good way to go about it. And Johnathan Salisbury needed positive media coverage. He was on the Project only a few nights ago, trying to justify yet another education budget cut. It was hard to argue why school Parents and Friends committees were having to raise additional funds just to pay the power bill in schools, but he’d somehow managed to put the blame on working-class parents who weren’t willing to pay their voluntary school contributions. He’d even gone so far as to suggest if parents wanted their children to have luxuries in their schools, they should be willing to pay for private schooling. Luxuries being things like air con and the lights turned on.
Minister Salisbury was in dire need of a positive headline in the papers, and was using his environmental foundation to do it. Ironic, since as the Minister for Environment, he’d blocked every piece of legislature designed to move Australia toward a clean-energy economy. The Foundation was an obvious media stunt. Something the Minister could point to whenever he was questioned about his commitment to saving the environment while he continued to assist oil and gas companies instead of promoting environmentally friendly options. And he almost always managed to come out of a press conference looking like a good guy, because he was so reasonable in his arguments and people were shallow enough to think a bright smile and an attractive face meant a person was trustworthy.
There was no denying the Salisburys knew how to throw a party. The ferry looked like it came from a fairy tale. They were even towing a giant, inflatable iceberg. It was hilarious.
“Extravagant, much?” Jones grumbled. Clay snickered at his displeasure, pointing to Hale at the food buffet, pinching samosas. Taylor liked Hale best. He was quiet, kept his head on straight in every situation, and was by far the best shot on the team. It paid to be nice to the guy most likely to kill you.
“Dammit.” And Jones was gone. Taylor was tempted to join Hale because he was hungry, but he had a few muesli bars shoved in his back pocket if he got desperate.
The ferry launched without hassle, and it felt like no time at all before all they could see was a distant smudge of lights on the horizon where Sydney slept. All the rest was dark water.
“Hi, Officer!”
Taylor glared down at the petite thing smiling up at him, and grunted. She was beautiful, if you went for small women with skinny legs in sparkly dresses and ridiculously high heels, but he liked a different set of plumbing with far less feminine appeal. Still he forced a smile as she held up a can of Coke to him.
“Caffeine hit?”
“Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome. It’s so great to have you guys here, thank you so much for taking care of us!”
Technically, it wasn’t their job to take care of the people on the ferry. It was their job to ensure no one did anything stupid that would require protecting the masses. As part of the Major Events and Incidents Group of the New South Wales police force, they were mandated to perform a variety of duties including riot control, search warrants, bomb searches, major incident responses, and unfortunately, in the case of the evening’s fundraiser, crowd control.
“Oh, please.” Clay came up behind him, reaching over his shoulder to snatch the can of Coke and drink it all down in several long swallows, leaving Taylor’s hand pathetically empty.
“Now who’s the asshole?” Taylor grumbled. Clay just shrugged, and the girl looked from one of them to the other and back, repeatedly, eyes wide and mouth in a small oval of amazement.
“Oh my God, there are two of you! There are, right? I’m not just really drunk already? Or seasick? I mean, you’re twins? You’re twins, holy crap! How are there two of you?”
“That’s generally what twins mean,” Clay pointed out, and she just nodded in complete agreement.
“I know, but how did two of you come out at the same time? I mean… you’re… you….”
“Huge,” Mendel laughed from behind her. “Twin tanks,” he elaborated, and she spun to look at him, nodding hard, no doubt stunned to find him even bigger. Taylor worried her large head was going to fall off her tiny shoulders.
“They’re also very gay,” Mendel whispered too loudly not to be overheard by anyone with half-decent hearing.
Her face changed immediately, all silliness disappearing. She eyed them dubiously.
“Well, damn!” And then she was gone, Clay and Taylor staring after her, stunned.
“I will never understand women,” Clay said.
“You stole my Coke,” Taylor grumbled and went off to get another.
“Oh, please, you wanted an excuse to go hide in the corner anyway.” He heard Clay laughing over his shoulder, and since he had to agree, he didn’t bother to reply, just kept walking down into the galley.
There was a small fridge there stocked with cold drinks for them to have throughout the night. He grabbed a lemonade and drank it quickly before grabbing a second and deciding to do a check below decks. He wasn’t quite ready to dare returning to the main area.
A few of the staff were wandering below decks, but he saw nothing suspicious. They’d been given a copy of a headshot of every staff member on board, and he was good at memorising faces. They were supposed to look for suspicious activity, and a large part of that was recognising when someone wasn’t where they should have been.
A young teenager lay on one of the beds in the captain’s quarters, headphones in his ears, but they’d been warned the Salisburys would have their family on board for the speeches, and Taylor recognised the kid as Micah Salisbury, the politician’s youngest son. Even if he hadn’t seen the picture, you couldn’t miss that he was a Salisbury.
They all had jet black hair and rich blue eyes, with a faint caramel colour to their skin. Clay often joked that the only reason Minister Johnathan Salisbury got elected was women had been given the vote, and he was a ridiculously pretty man. Taylor could almost be convinced to vote…. Well, in a manner that didn’t ensure his vote was as useless as everyone else’s. There were way too many options on those slips, and they were adamant something go in every box! If they expected a serious vote, they needed to dumb that shit down! Still, Salisbury was hot, and if one was inclined to vote as if it was Hottest Man Alive instead of Australian political parties, then sure he’d have Taylor’s vote.
But Salisbury Senior and Junior were not half as pretty as the man Taylor found sitting alone in one of the side rooms off the captain’s quarters. When Micah didn’t stir, Taylor checked the adjoining rooms, and sitting there, bent over a textbook, was another Salisbury; one there had certainly not been a photo of on the security list, because he would have remembered.
The same dark hair and blue eyes, but his hair had grown long, hanging down past his shoulders, cut in a classy series of faint layers that framed his face artfully. He had thick-framed Gucci glasses that matched his face shape, and high cheekbones that cast long shadows on all the right places on his face. He was dressed in tight trousers, a designer long-sleeved shirt, a vest with a brand name Taylor didn’t recognise. He looked up and gaped at Taylor, a flash of fear in his eyes before he recognised Taylor’s uniform.
“They convinced the riot squad to babysit?” Amusement was clear under the weary tone of his voice. He spoke softly, a little husky, and the sound went straight to Taylor’s groin. He was far too polished for Taylor; not what he went for at all. Too rich, too spoilt, too educated. But right then Taylor wanted to lift the man off the chair, push him up against the door, and taste him, some primal instinct waking in the back of his mind demanding he lay claim before anyone else could.
He didn’t because he was at work, and he knew how to behave. Mostly. Also… the paperwork!
“They convinced someone,” Taylor agreed wryly, staring at the man. There was definitely something to be said for good breeding. Whatever else could be said about them, the Salisburys had won the genetic lottery. The man had geeky sex mastered. “Studying?” Was he a student? He looked the right age, but where and what and how, and please could someone tell him more about the man?
“Yeah….” He leaned back in his chair, spotting Micah, and visibly relaxed a little once he knew where his brother was. “He didn’t give you any trouble?”
“Doesn’t know I’m here, I think.”
“No, he knows,” the man mumbled, gaze narrowing as he stole another glance at Micah, then shrugged as if the doings of teenagers were mysterious. They weren’t. Taylor could pick what teenager was doing drugs in a heartbeat, and which wouldn’t know what a drug was. Teenagers were horribly predictable and boring as sin.
“So you were… doing the rounds?”
“Just looking for any trouble.” Taylor knew he had intruded on private quarters, but no one had said they couldn’t check what was going on, only that the Salisburys would be there if they did.
“Did you find any?” The man arched a lean perfectly manicured brow at him, and the smile on his lips was wicked. Taylor imagined what else those lips could do and barely restrained a groan.
“Perhaps a little.”
“But not more than you can handle?”
“Never.” Though if Taylor spent enough time looking behind those geek glasses, he might find himself in uncharted water.
“Is the whole riot squad here?” He was looking Taylor up and down, his lips slightly parted as if he wasn’t sure what to make of what he was seeing, but the light blush on his cheeks told Taylor that Salisbury liked what he was looking at. He deliberately put his shoulders back and stood a little taller, making himself larger.
“Not all of us, no.”
“Just those of you who drew the short straw?” That soft chuckle was doing strange things to his insides. Very good, strange things.
“Something like that.” Taylor let the man’s gaze wander, enjoying the attention. But when those eyes settled on his face once more, it was like the man was reading a book, as if everything and anything he had ever been or could ever be was written there on his face, and Salisbury hadn’t decided if he liked it or not.
“How exactly do you draw a short straw that lands you on a ferry full of rich brats who think they’re being political activists by wasting a bunch of money on a sea jaunt and waving a bunch of banners?” Clearly he was not impressed by his own predicament, any more than Taylor.
“Oh, you successfully intercept the biggest gun haul in Australian history, arrest thirty-two people, put a whole bunch of holes in a warehouse, and blow the tyres on your squad truck. And then take too long to do the paperwork so your next shift gets pushed back and happens to coincide with… this.” He indicated the cabin they were standing in.
“Oh. Do you mean that thing on the news this morning? The one with the rocket launcher?”
For real? People needed to stop watching the news!
“Yes.” Really, what else could he say? Salisbury’s eyes went wide, and then he chuckled at the unimpressed look he was being cast.
“Sorry, I bet you’ve had a lot of that.”
“You have no idea,” Taylor muttered, but his lips were twitching, wanting to smile. The man was cute and sexy and smart, and really… those glasses were killing him.
“No, I don’t suppose I do,” Salisbury mumbled, but there was sadness behind the sarcasm that made Taylor frown and feel as though he’d punched a kitten.
“And what about you? How did you end up here? Friends on board? Hanging with the family? Stalking someone?”
“Stalking… what?” He laughed, that same dark, throaty sound Taylor was getting far too used to, far too quickly. “Uh, no. Family thing, I suppose. One of those ‘you will come and represent the family or else’ kind of things.” There were some dark undertones to that statement that made Taylor frown. It wasn’t the words, but the way they were spoken and the expression on his face, the way it changed as he spoke. He didn’t want to be there. Family things were like that, but this seemed different somehow.
A bell chimed and the man sighed, waving a hand at the door. “I have to go… give a speech, apparently.”
“Apparently?”
“Well.” His smile changed then, a wry but troubled turn of lips that never reached his eyes. “It’s been a while. Since I was in public.” He stood slowly. So much so it seemed odd to Taylor, as if he were trying out standing for the first time, or wasn’t sure his feet would hold him up. He looked pale, maybe even a little green.
“Seasick?”
The man stood there staring at him, confused for a moment before he chuckled. Again the sound did strange things to Taylor’s insides.
“Uh, sure. Seasick.” Taylor didn’t like being lied to, but he didn’t know what else to say. Drunk? That sounded insulting. Incapacitated? The guy did look sick, but no one ever liked to be told so.
