This year the Chamber of Commerce unanimously had voted to dedicate the event to Sparky Harper’s memory. On the night of December 29, four weeks after Sparky’s murder, a crowd of 750 gathered at the Port of Miami and listened as the mayor of Miami read a brief tribute to the slain public-relations wizard. Afterward the crowd streamed up the gangplank and boarded the SS Nordic Princess, where an orgy of eating and drinking and banal joke-telling commenced.
The SS Nordic Princess was a sleek cruise liner, and nearly brand-new. Built on a fiord in Norway, she was 527 feet long and carried a gross tonnage of 16,500. She had seven decks, four hundred cabins, two heated swimming pools, five restaurants, eight bars, a spa, a library, a bowling alley, fifty slot machines, and a video arcade. There was also a branch of Chase Manhattan on the gambling mezzanine. The Nordic Princess was served by a crew of three hundred, mostly Dominicans and Haitians, with a few obligatory white Englishmen to serve as bell captains and maitre d’s.
Many of the passengers on the Friendship Cruise had never before sailed on an ocean liner. One of them was Mack Dane, the new travel writer from the Tulsa Express. Dane was a spry and earnest fellow in his mid-sixties who had spent most of his newspaper career trying to cover the oil industry. As a reward for his thirty-two years of service (and also to get him out of the way to make room for a young reporter), the Express had “promoted” him to the travel beat. The Orange Bowl was his first assignment, the Friendship Cruise his maiden voyage.
Like most of the guests aboard the Nordic Princess, Mack Dane was tickled to be in Miami in December. He had just spoken to his daughter back in Oklahoma and learned that there was three feet of fresh snow and a wind chill of forty-two below, and that the dog had frozen to the doorstep.
As the ship glided out of Government Cut, Mack Dane found his way to the top deck and strategically positioned himself near a tray of fresh stone crabs and jumbo shrimp. Christmas lights were strung festively from the ship’s smokestacks, and a live salsa band was performing a medley of Jimmy Buffett tunes in a fashion that no one had ever dreamed possible. A strong breeze blew in from the ocean, pushing clouds and a promise of light rain. Mack Dane grabbed another banana daiquiri. He was having a grand time. He wondered if any of his fellow travel writers were young and pretty.
Two tourists stood at the rail and waved at the tiny figures of snook fishermen out on the jetty. Mack Dane watched the tourists for a few minutes and decided to interview them for his story. They looked like a reasonable couple.
“The Gilberts,” they said warmly. “Montreal.”
Sam Gilbert was about forty years old. He wore pale yellow slacks and an expensive toupee that was having a rough go of it with the wind. Other than that, he was a handsome-looking gentleman with a pleasant smile. His wife appeared to be in her late thirties. She was dressed in a tasteful beige pantsuit, a sheer silk scarf tucked around her neck. Her hair was so unnaturally blond that it was attracting fireflies, but other than that Mrs. Gilbert looked like a friendly and decent person.
“This your first cruise?” Mack Dane asked.
“Yes,” Mrs. Gilbert said. “We had to book four months in advance. This is a very popular trip.”
Mack Dane told them he was a travel writer, and a guest of the Chamber of Commerce.
“You didn’t have to pay?” Mrs. Gilbert said.
‘Well, no.”
“What a great job,” said Sam Gilbert.
“First trip to Miami?” Mack Dane asked.
“Right,” Gilbert said. “We’re here to see the Irish stomp the Huskers.” Notre Dame was playing the University of Nebraska in the Orange Bowl football game on New Year’s Day. According to many sportswriters, the game would determine the national collegiate football championship.
“I don’t like football,” Mrs. Gilbert confided. “I’m here for the sunshine and shopping.”
“We just bought a winter home in Boca Raton,” Sam Gilbert said. “Not a home, actually, a condominium.”