“Where did all these girls come from in the first place?” Mehmet asked.
“Bernard hired them from that brothel he forced all of us to go to last night,” Colin mumbled through his pounding headache.
“You know, I think he was genuinely shocked when we turned down the girls he had procured for the night,” Mehmet remarked.
“Poor bastard. We’ve completely ruined his bachelor weekend, haven’t we? We didn’t want to go to the dogfights, we didn’t want to make sex videos with prostitutes, and we turned up our noses at his fancy Peruvian cocaine.” Nick laughed.
Screams could be heard from the upper deck, followed by much panicked yelling. “I wonder what’s happening now,” Nick said. But none of them could muster up the effort to get out of the plush club chairs. The yacht began to slow, and several crewmen could be heard running along the lower decks.
Alistair strolled into the room, carefully balancing a white cup and saucer with what appeared to be a very frothy cappuccino.
“What’s all the screaming on the deck?” Colin asked with a groan.
Alistair simply rolled his eyes and sat down in one of the chairs by the Regency drum table. “One of the girls slipped overboard during the oil-wrestling contest. Not to worry, her breasts make an excellent flotation device.”
He began sipping his coffee, but then made a face. “The Aussie bartender lied to me. He told me he could make the perfect flat white, and this isn’t even close. This is just a lousy latte!”
“What is a flat white?” Mehmet asked.
“It’s a kind of cappuccino that they only do down in Oz. You use the steamed, frothy milk from the bottom of the jug, holding back the foam at the top so that you get this smooth, velvety texture.”
“And that’s good?” Mehmet continued, a little intrigued.
“Oh, it’s the best. I had to have at least two a day back in my uni days in Sydney,” Alistair said.
“God, now I’m craving one too!” Colin sighed. “This is a fucking nightmare. I just wish we could get off this boat and go have a decent cup of coffee somewhere. I know this is supposed to be one of the coolest new yachts in the world and I should be so grateful, but frankly, it feels like a floating prison to me.” His face darkened, and Nick looked at him uneasily. Nick could sense that Colin was slipping fast into one of his deep funks. An idea began to take shape in his head. He whipped out his cell phone and began scrolling through his contacts, leaning over to Mehmet and whispering in his ear. Mehmet grinned and nodded eagerly.
“What are the two of you whispering about?” Alistair asked, leaning over curiously.
“I just had an idea. Colin, are you ready to bail out of this pathetically lame bachelor party?” Nick asked.
“I would like nothing more, but I don’t think I can risk offending Bernard and, more important, his father. I mean, Bernard pulled out all the stops to entertain us in grand style this weekend.”
“Actually, Bernard pulled out all the stops to entertain himself,” Nick retorted. “Look how miserable you are. How much more of this do you want to endure, just so the Tais won’t be offended? It’s your last weekend as a single man, Colin. I think I have an exit strategy that won’t offend anyone. If I can make it happen, will you play along?”
“Okay … why not?” Colin said a little trepidatiously.
“Hear, hear!” Alistair cheered.
“Quick, quick, we have a medical emergency. I need you to stop this boat, and I need our precise coordinates right now,” Nick demanded as he rushed into the yacht’s pilothouse.
“What’s the matter?” the captain asked.
“My friend is suffering from acute pancreatitis. We have a doctor below, who thinks he might have begun bleeding internally. I’m on the line with the life-flight rescue chopper,” Nick said, holding up his cell phone anxiously.
“Wait a minute, just wait a minute—I’m the captain of this ship. I’m the one who decides whether we call for medical evacuations. Who’s the doctor below? Let me go see the patient,” the captain gruffly demanded.
“Captain, with all due respect, we don’t have a moment to waste. You can come look at him all you want, but right now, I just need the coordinates from you.”
“But who are you speaking to? Macau Coast Guard? This is highly irregular protocol. Let me talk to them,” the captain sputtered in confusion.
Nick put on his most condescendingly posh
accent—honed from all his years at Balliol—and glowered at the captain. “Do you have any idea who my friend is? He’s Colin Khoo, heir to one of the biggest fortunes on the planet.”
“Don’t get snooty with me, young chap!” the captain bellowed. “I don’t care who your friend is, there are maritime emergency protocols I MUST FOLLOW, AND—”
“AND RIGHT NOW, my friend is below deck on your ship, quite possibly hemorrhaging to death, because you won’t let me call for an emergency evacuation!” Nick interrupted, raising his voice to match the captain’s. “Do you want to take the blame for this? Because you will, I can guarantee that. I’m Nicholas Young, and my family controls one of the world’s largest shipping conglomerates. Please just give me the fucking coordinates now, or I promise you I’ll personally see to it that you won’t even be able to captain a piece of Styrofoam after today!”