Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

than the guys with guns,” Ty claimed.
    “It is not Dolce and Gabbana!” Norina cried as she waved her purse threateningly. “White ostrich leather hobo, it is the only one of its kind, and look! Ruined because of your face!”
    “I’m sorry!” Ty cried helplessly, holding up his hands to ward off more attacks.
    “Not helping!” Zane hissed at them, and Bianchi managed to calm Norina enough to save Ty another whack over the head with the ostrich leather.
    They filed out, trying to act casual. Zane led the way back into the promenade, though they stayed to the far side against the wall, moving toward the main staircase and elevator that would take them up toward the bridge. That was the only place Zane could think of where they’d be sure to find real security with firearms. They couldn’t just grab any random crewmember to get effective help, and a frantic phone call wouldn’t help either.
    By the time they made it to the central entry to the promenade, Zane had calmed enough to be able to start thinking further ahead. They’d have to get on a satellite phone to call in. They’d need to get jurisdictional approval, and as much as he hated it, what passed for the local officials would have to be involved, at least to shut down their attackers.
    As they stopped at the foot of the staircase, Zane glanced around them and turned to look right at a man raising his arm to point a gun at him.
    “Down!” Zane exclaimed, grabbing Bianchi and Norina’s heads and dropping to the floor just as the gunshot rang out and ricocheted behind them. Screams rang out through the gallery, and Zane chanced a look at their attacker, only to have to duck immediately as the man shot at him again. This time the bullet clanged off the metal embedded in the staircase wall.
    “Out, out, out!” Zane urged, pushing Bianchi toward the door that would let them out onto the open-air deck.
    Zane could hear Ty complaining as he brought up the rear. “If that bastard shoots at me one more time I’m gonna shove that gun up his — ”
    “Right!” Bianchi called out as he grabbed Norina’s arm and pulled her in the direction Zane pointed, heading for the bridge just as Zane wanted. What Zane didn’t want was for the man to barrel right into a group of vacationers who squawked and hollered, slowing their progress as Norina tried to apologize and help people up.
    “Take her and go,” Zane said as Ty stopped at his side. Ty grabbed Norina by the hand and began jogging on ahead. As they hurried off, Zane yanked a profusely apologetic Bianchi away from the women now laughing the accident off. “Not the time!” he insisted, pushing the Italian ahead of him. Bianchi followed Ty and Norina around the corner to a deck walkway that ran along the length of the ship, and Zane paused to look behind them. He saw three men run out of the promenade and start searching the crowd, and Zane let out a slow breath. They might have dodged a bullet again… until the group of ladies Bianchi had steamrollered pointed in his direction. One of the men yelled at him, but Zane turned on his heel and ran after the others.
    After a half minute’s hard run, he was close on Bianchi’s heels and chanced a glance over his shoulder as they ran along the deck on the port side of the ship, still in the public areas. The thugs chasing them hadn’t pulled their guns and shot at them again, probably because of the mass of people enjoying the music and nighttime activities along the open decks. But every time Zane checked, they were losing ground, and he wasn’t sure just how far they’d be able to run.
    Norina yelled something in Italian, and Zane turned his attention back to where he was going: inside and up a flight of stairs, rather than the wide, open-air staircase that would skyline them by the large swimming pool, now open to the moon in the warmer Caribbean weather. Good thinking on Ty’s part, leading them into some kind of shelter. Zane just hoped it didn’t dead-end them.
    They pounded up the stairs, climbing two decks before the next exit. When Zane skidded through the fire door, Ty, Bianchi, and Norina were waiting for him.
    “Block it,” Ty ordered, winded but not gasping for breath like the poor Italians. He was already moving to a heavy teak lounge chair to try and block the door, but he cursed creatively when he discovered the chairs were bolted to the deck. Zane checked the door and heard the thuds of heavy treads on the stairs. “We’ve