Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

tight around him, and after a long moment, he realized Zane was actually talking to him.
    “…was no way I could let you know to get out of there,” Zane was saying, lips moving against Ty’s ear and hair.
    Ty pulled his head back and looked at Zane almost frantically. “What? No, shut up — stop talking. Did you drink anything?”
    “What? Drink anything? We all had drinks with dinner,” Zane said as he clasped Ty’s upper arms. “Why? You’re practically freaking out.”
    “Did you drink your drink, Zane?” Ty nearly shouted, grabbing Zane in the same manner and shaking him violently.
    “Jesus! No! What the fuck? I told you I wouldn’t drink anymore if I didn’t absolutely have to!” Zane exclaimed, hurt clear in his voice.
    Ty took Zane’s face in his hands and shook his head, struck speechless with relief. He allowed a moment to calm himself before trying to explain, and finally he just came out with, “Armen’s dead.”
    Zane’s confusion was clear, but he didn’t snap at Ty about it. “How?” He stepped back enough to look Ty up and down. “You’re okay?”
    Ty shook his head. “I didn’t kill him! He came back from dinner before I got out, talking about not feeling well and having shared your Scotch. Then he dropped dead in his room. Classic poisoning. I thought… are you sure you’re okay? You didn’t even have a sip?”
    Zane cupped one of Ty’s cheeks in his palm. “Not even a sip. Came close, but there was a very distracting attraction out on the dance floor.” Ty hugged him again in relief. Zane huffed quietly but pulled him close for several deep breaths before starting to relax. “As great as this is, we’ve got problems, baby.”
    “Big problems,” Ty agreed without letting Zane go. “Armen’s dead because he drank your drink. So not only was he not the one trying to kill us, but someone’s still fucking trying to kill us!” He pulled back and looked Zane over yet again to assure himself that he was fine. He nodded grimly. Zane was right: they had work to do. “And the Bianchis are either guilty, or they’re in danger too.”
    “Or dead on the goddamn dining room floor,” Zane said, his voice rough. “Bianchi drinks like a fucking fish.” Then he crossed his arms. “Wait. If Armen drank my drink, and it was the one that was poisoned, then Bianchi would already be down,” he said, looking at his watch. “We had those drinks almost from the time we sat down, and Armen didn’t take mine until a good ten minutes after you left. But he took off really quickly after you. Call it… five minutes onset, maybe fifteen minutes to death?”
    Ty closed his eyes and waved his hands through the air. “Stop doing math!” he shouted as he grabbed his jacket and moved around Zane to head for the door. “Come on, we have to find them.”
    “I left them in the dining room waiting on the entrees,” Zane said as they practically ran out of the stateroom.
     
     
    Z ANE didn’t even think to slow down as he and Ty ran through the promenade, skidding around Christmas trees and dodging through groups of people. He knew Ty was beside him, and they both knew what had to be done: find the Bianchis. As he swung around the last corner before the restaurant, Zane found himself hoping Lorenzo and Norina were both breathing and innocent. For criminals, they were pleasant company, rather unusual in Zane’s hardcore Miami drug scene experience.
    Neither he nor Ty stopped moving when they entered the restaurant. After noting the absence of screaming, EMTs, or any other unusual excitement, Zane immediately scoped out the left side of the restaurant from where he stood inside the door, spotted Bianchi at the bar without any trouble, and cut past the hostess. Zane sensed Ty heading off in the other direction; he knew without asking that he was going after Norina.
    Zane reached the bar and set a hand on Bianchi’s shoulder. “Signor Bianchi?”
    Bianchi turned, a wide smile on his face. “Ah, Mr. Porter, you must have hurried to return to us so quickly from checking on your Del. Scotch?” he asked, holding up a bottle.
    “Not yet, thank you,” Zane said smoothly as he reached out to take the proffered flask. He watched Bianchi carefully, looking for a tell. Was the man trying to poison him? “I’ll wait for dessert, I think.”
    “A sound idea,” Bianchi said, sounding approving. “Bring it to the table, and we’ll all finish the bottle off.”
    Zane nodded slowly, and