The Captain’s Bar was a sorry affair with all manner of polished brass about the place, ropes tied in knots and a big old bell sparkling for all the world to see. A man with a duster in his hand was rubbing away at the bell so hard that little chimes were heard in time with the jerk of his elbow. The place was empty of customers but that wasn’t going to put him off, thought Joey. The thirst was back with him – wasn’t he pure blue mouldy for a drink.
There were people heading off for breakfast all over the ship, happy people on their holidays. The sight of them put the heart crossways in Joey. If he heard one more, “Grand day,” or “Fine morning,” he was liable to kick someone’s arse into their neck. A drink was needed and all he wanted was a quiet spot to get down to business alone.
“Howy
