Titanic 2012

“Thing you’re chasing?”

“Rats!” said Thomas in a knee-jerk reaction to the old man.

Ransom countered this with, “We need your dog to hunt down a… a missing person… for us, Mr. Farley.”

“A missing person aboard ship?”

“It’s a big ship, sir,” replied Declan.

Ransom asked, “Is your Varmint… is he any good at sniffing out bad odors?”

“He’ll show ya how smart he is. Catch every rat aboard Titanic, he will. I warrant it’s true! How much’re ye willing to pay?”

“Send a bill to the Belfast Royal Constabulary care of Belfast, Ireland. It’ll get there. I’ll sign it to authenticate your claim.”

“You gotta be joshing! An IOU? Do I look like a man who takes IOU?”

“You can name your price, Mr. ahhh…”

“Farley, Robert Eugene Farley. You say I can name my price?”

“You set the price, Mr. Farley.”

“Well now you’re talkin’, Constable.”

“Good… good then, and if you don’t mind lowering that pig sticker, I’d be obliged.”

Farley frowned at he knife he’d forgotten was in his hand. “Took me for a good fall up on deck, Constable, when you snatched my pine leg out from under.” He reminded Ransom, pointing to his cane. “Sure a damn, pretty cane.”

“I’ll see to it you get a decent replacement leg when we disembark in New York.”

“Do I have your word on it?”

“My solemn word, yes, and hey, Mr. Farley, I am sorry about earlier—tripping you up, taking advantage of your leg.”

Farley scrunched his face. “Not even my leg. Won it in a poker game. Still, it serves me well.”

“You remind me of a fellow in Chicago who was my snitch, Old Bosch… had a wooden leg like yours in fact, but the man could disappear in a wisp. Worked the streets for me, he did.”

“Well, no harm done,” replied Farley.

“Give you my word, I’ll return Varmint to you as soon as we locate the wee varmint we’re after.”

Declan’s head spun around at this, and he stared at Ransom. “That dog is not going to follow your lead, Constable—and Thomas is no good with animals, and I’m not much better. I think we will need Mr. Farley to lead the dog.”

Varmint had understandably taken an instant dislike to Ransom given Alastair’s treatment of his master, so he had not completely settled down, still barking and snarling at Alastair whenever the big man neared. Farley simultaneously soothed him with petting and whispering in the dog’s ear, and at the same time cooing. “He’s not goin’ to work for ya, Constable. The boy’s right; you’ll hafta comman-deer me, too.”

“What about we all commandeer some eggs and bacon first, like we talked about, eh?” asked Thomas.

“We’ve no tickets, Mr. Farley. Mind if we take turns using yours?”

“By all means, you’re my guests!” The old man laughed like a washer woman on Sunday.

“I like the cut of your jib, Mr. Farley,” Ransom said. “Thomas, you first with Mr. Farley’s compliments. As it is third class berth food, they are unlikely to pay the least notice of you in the eatery.”

And so each of them fed and replenished themselves while Farley regaled them with stories of the old sod where he had ‘come up’ as a boy in Northern Ireland but had always dreamed of the honeycombed land called America.

By the time Declan had finished a meal, Farley had convinced Ransom and Varmint that they should set aside their differences. A shaky truce was made, Ransom having to shake the dog’s paw, and then it was Alastair’s turn on the meal ticket. He found the third class saloon to be as pleasant and as clean as any restaurant in Chicago, and once seated, he soon had coffee, three eggs over easy, pork sausage, potatoes, gravy, and biscuits. But in the middle of his meal, he noticed a steward had begun whispering to an officer who had come into the room, a fellow Ransom did not know, but to be sure every officer was on the lookout for Constable Ransom, a man with a watch fob, a wolf’s head cane, and a three piece suit that had seen better days.

Ransom could move fast for a big man when circumstances warranted he do so, and he did so now, the napkin still below his chin. He not only upended his table to slow the chase, but he hooked a waiter carrying items to a table by his ankle, sending him and his dishes flying at the white-suited officer on his heels,

Leaving the saloon in chaos and shambles, Ransom rushed down the several flights of stairs, puffing madly, his breakfast still in his mouth, until he found the cargo hold filled with animals and his waiting companions, shouting, “They spotted me! They’re on my heels! We’ve got to move out, now!”

With the uproar of men on the stairwell coming down after them, Farley took charge of Varmint, Declan and Thomas racing ahead, Ransom at the rear, overturning crates and barrels to slow anyone’s following them, and out a back way they fled.

“God but I wish I had a gun,” complained Ransom. “In Chicago we have guns. They wouldn’t be pursuing us so vigorously if they knew we were armed.”

“Who are you people?” asked Farley, shaken now by their being chased by men in white coats for messing with him and his dog.

“You just get that dog in search of a bad, really bad, stench, Mr. Farley. That’s the only reason you’re here.”

“What then? Will you release us then? Are we your prisoners, sir?”

“As sure as we’re all aboard Titanic, yes.”

With the Titanic’s officers, pursers, porters, perhaps even chefs on their heels, Alastair Ransom and the others gambled on the dog being led by Mr. Farley. It was a long shot, he knew, but given their need for a quick resolution—to find and cut open Davenport’s body in order to prove their case to Captain Smith—it seemed their only course of action.

Varmint seemed eager to go to work, going right out the gate when the lift they’d found and hopped aboard opened on the bottom corridor of Titanic. “This way!” Ransom turned them all in another direction, found a set of stairs, and said, “I think I’m beginning to get the lay of the land here.”

“Where’re we going?” asked Thomas.

“To the only safe place at the moment!”

Ransom led them directly back to the Specie Room.

“Oh, no, not that!” cried Thomas.

“It’s only temporary! Get inside.”

“There’s no escape hatch,” complained Declan.

Varmint was first to rush in ahead of them. “Obviously, the only one of you with any brains,” said Ransom, waving the rest inside. “Back of the room, should they look inside, that L-shaped crook behind the cabinet.”

Once everyone had settled back to where they had begun, Declan said, “Told ya we’re going in circles.”

“Full circle,” agreed Thomas.

Farley, looking confused, asked, “For how long we gotta be here?”

“As long as it takes.” Ransom peeked out, hearing rumblings just outside the door. “God but I wish I had my gun.”

The noise, the racket, the commotion around them did not wholly subside, and at one point a purser with freckles, red hair, and a beautifully starched white outfit entered the room. The young man whistled a popular tune as he located items from one of the safes. Finding exactly what he’d come for, the purser quickly left and re-locked the door behind him.

“He was within inches of us.”

“How could he not hear our breathing?”

“Thank God Varmint was asleep,” added Declan.

But Declan merely observed, “Quite trusting of the authorities aboard to have a kid like that entrusted with so many peoples’ valuables.”

“That’s a hoot, Declan,” teased Thomas. “Things go on as they are, there won’t be a thing left on this ship of value save a seat in a lifeboat.”