Connor disappeared. We turned left, turned right, and looked puzzled around us. No trace. Until a sudden movement behind a pillar on the other side of the bar, Connor had walked up to one of the young shipmates, of whom I later realized were undercover DEA agents. He exchanged a few words with them, and soon after turned around and disappeared into the men’s bathroom where apparently goods were discussed. At this point, Cian threw a fit and couldn’t believe the reckless behavior of Connor and the amount of disrespect he showed by doing this. Connor could not resist his coke-habit, it ruled him, and his life and he had put us in harm's way. They circled closer. I grabbed my Prada purse, jumped on the dancefloor nodded to the bartender to hit me up with another round, while I swayed to the rhythm of "Murder She Wrote" by Chaka Demus & Pliers. The crowd was dancing while the Palm trees swayed and the BBQ by the oceanside dock was grilling up Jerk Chicken, I sipped my drink and followed the crowd when they lowered themselves in commotion of the beat to the dancefloor. At that point all the undercover DEA agents circled the dance floor, they were young guys in Bermuda Khaki shorts.