A skull of Muerte Verde will take your minds off of your troubles and put it in another place all together.
It is mid morning. We are exhausted... the three of us drift in and out of sleep as the warm Caribbean breeze blows through our sea washed hair. For small moments, I hear our new guest trying to talk to Blanco as he sails us back to Puerto Barrios. Loco keeps watch from the alcove seats in the stern, behind the ships wheel. His shotgun is on his lap, cocked and ready to go if this new guy makes a move that he shouldn't.
In the last few weeks I have been party to mayhem that I thought I would only see in a Tarentino movie. But it became life, my life. I try not to count the souls I dispatched trying to stay alive. Fighting for new friends, for revenge... fighting to escape and get back to a normal existance. Well, as normal as it can be when you are running guns and smoke from dirt runways. But as soon as it seemed like it had ended, we were back in it again, the fast-track to adventure, danger, and death. All of a sudden I am a force to be reckoned with... maybe in my own mind. I never thought I could do it, kill a man. But it turns out it is a lot easier when they want to skin you alive and watch you squirm. I don't feel sorry, sad, guilty, or like I'm going to hell if there is one for the deeds I have done in these past weeks. If you grade this whole thing on the curve, I am one of the good guys.
Lou, what a suprise it has been getting to know him. This whole thing started when we went to him to trade a little of Nester's gold for gas money. How we all ended up here on this sailboat with almost ten million in diamonds is frogs in a blender... a blur. But now it seems to be over
with. It is time to drink, eat, smoke, and toss back enough tequila and rum to dull the memory of this battle.
"Hey." Lou croaks, one eye open... the sun closing the other.
"Hey." I look at him as he sits across from me, both of us stretched out on the cushions of our perspective sides of the Morgan. Jerry must be inside the cabin. I look at Lou's hair, there is something bloody.
"You have something in your hair."
He reaches up and grabs it up with a couple of fingers, the flings it overboard rather quickly, like he was holding a piece of spleen or something. "Fucking pirates."
"What was it?"
"Don't ask."
"So now what?" I straighten up. That cat-nap did me good.
"Lets party." He sits up and winces at the movement of his wounded arm.
"You need that to be sewn up."
"Yep. That and a nice hot shower. Fresh clothes and about a dozen Walkers and we are on."
There is a brief silence while we ponder the thought of clean clothes and a shower. It occurs to me that we haven't had a chance to shower since we landed at Tapia's on the way home from Cali. Just the ocean to wash away the blood and sweat and the dirty deeds of the day.
The new guy is running his mouth. A long disertation about the Morgan and weighty sailing craft of this nature, the currents and tradewinds. It is all lost on Blanco, who seems to be able to understand plenty of English when he wants to. But right now, I don't think he wants to. He looks like he would if he were listening to a yammering mother-in-law, if he had one. Smile and nod, but he doesn't smile, and nods only occasionally.
"Blanco... mi amigo." I call to him and get a smile.
"I am going to buy you the biggest steak and lobster dinner you have ever laid eyes on, my friend."
Again a big smile and a nod. "And Muerte Verde?"
"Shit, brother, we get every skull they have in that place... what do you say?"
Lou perks up. "I say hell ya."
"Muerte Verde."
The sun is out in force today. The heat saps us of any remaining energy. The one beer we drank, the one Walker we smoke, it all but put us away for the remainder of our voyage back to Puerto Barrios. It wasn't until we were tied up to the dock that I woke up and found myself alone on the deck of the Morgan.
"What the... " I look around. At the end of the dock I can see Blanco talking with someone in uniform, might be the Harbor Master.
"Lou?"
I get no answer.
"Jerry?"
A grunt reassures me that Jerry is still on board. I climb down the three steps into the cabin of the Morgan and see him on one of the bunks, his head under the pillow.
"You okay? Jerry?"
I see him lift the pillow just slightly. "I'm shot."
"Yeah, right. Let's get you up to see the doctor."
As I get Jerry up on deck, Blanco comes back down the dock with a garden hose and a five gallon bucket. For what I don't know.
"Senior Jake, you take him to medico?" He asks in his cavern deep voice.
"Yes, Blanco... where is the doctor?"
"Louis he is there now with Loco."
"Where is it?"
Blanco sets his gear down and walks with me and Jerry to the end of the pier. He points to a freshly painted building up on the main street.
"That's the hospital?"
"No ehospital, medico... doctor."
"That'll work. Thanks, Blanco."
The doctor's office shares a building with what looks like office storage. Next to dusty old desks and bookshelves is a couch and a couple of old magazines, and then an actual receptionists window. When I get up to the counter, I hear Lou's voice somewhere in back. I let the older woman in the nurses uniform that we are with him, and she lets us go back.
"You sure that's sanitary, Doc?"
A middle aged man with salt and pepper hair and a department store suit works in rolled up sleeves on Lou's arm. He smiles and nods as we walk in.
"Got another victim for you, Doctor." Lou tells him as he sees the two of us.
The doc uses a curved needle to sew up Lou's arm. Lou looks on like he is watching someone sew up a hole in his jeans or something.
"Was a graze... deep one." He nods toward the doctor as he snips off the suture. "He's good. Didn't feel a thing." He looks at Jerry and gives him a wink.
Jerry looks at me and then the doctor.
The doc dresses out Lou's wound and then pulls a big bottle of pills off a shelf in a metal cabinet with a huge padlock hanging off the hasp. He dispenses about ten of them into a small paper envelope and then hands them to him, telling him something in Spanish which I can only assume was the details of the hurried prescription.
It is about an hour later when we walk back to the Morgan, still unwashed and in bloody clothes. After treating Jerry, the doctor put a couple of stitches in my ear for good measure. We were told not to get the wounds wet, and to come back in a few days so he could check our progress. Well... not mine necessarily, but Lou and Jerry for sure. The doc told us that Antonelli had been sent to Belize City to be treated. He would be okay, with the exception of losing the foot of course.
Blanco has the boat all cleaned and the bedding changed. Although the head on the Morgan has a small shower, he arranged for us to use one of the cabana's near the Dominican Bar and Restaurant. Once we got up there, we find that there are three sets of white clothes that Jerry refers to as Panama's. Big white button up cotton shirt and drawstring pants. Top that off with some flip-flops and we are looking like most of the locals.
Me and Lou have finished our showers, have donned our clothes and are out on the deck of the second story room, leaning on the rail and looking out over the restaurant and the marina. Jerry is still drying off and singing in the tiled bathroom.
"Those pain pills must be taking the edge off, huh?" I didn't get any for my two stitches, and as so far have not had any offered to me.
"Really nice. That is a good doctor right there." Lou opens his paper pouch and looks inside. "Want one?" He folds the envelope open so I can see inside. Instead of the pills I see the glitter of diamonds. Although they are beautiful and perfect in everyway, they are also a little repulsive considering where they have been hiding themselves these past days.
"You didn't have that whole envelope up in there, did you?"
Lou chuckles and then pulls a couple of pills out of his pocket and hands them to me. "We need some beer." He folds the top of the envelope back over and stuffs it back in his pocket. "And we sure as hell need to find a place to keep these."
"HOLA! SENIORES!"
We see Loco walking back from the Morgan. He has spotted us on the balcony and is waving.
"Didn't recognize him without his uniform." Lou smiles and waves.
Jerry comes out now, squeezing the water out of his hair with one of the white towels. "Who are those guys anyway?"
"Those are our new best friends." I tell him
"They saved our asses twice now. We are going to buy them one hell of an evening tonight. And when we get rid of these stones we are going to make sure they don't have to worry about money ever again."
We reunite with Loco and he greets us like long lost relatives. He walks us back to the Morgan so we can get some money. With all you hear about getting ripped off and robbed in the third world, these two guys are as honest as the day is long. We get back to the boat and our money is there... untouched. Blanco is dressed pretty much like we are. Lou has a quick word with him and they both disappear into the cabin. When they emerge, Lou has a little leather pouch on a cord around his neck. He tucks it into his shirt and gives it a quick pat.
"That'll work."
I can only assume it is the diamonds. But knowing Lou it could be smoke as well. I quickly learn that the pot is in his pants pocket. He pulls it out and proceeds to roll a half dozen fat Walkers.
"Jake, you better be ready to get clown-legged. You too, Jerry." He looks up at Loco, "You already look like you're stoned out of your mind." Then at Blanco, "Fuma usted con nosotros, Whitey?"
Blanco nods, shooting a quick nod up toward the spot where he spoke to the Harbor Master.
"You careful, Louis?"
"What... with this? Haven't been busted yet. Not in thirty eight years of smoking this shit. I won't get us busted, Whitey."
Blanco smiles and seems to relax about ten notches. He is officially off of work.
It is a little after two in the afternoon. The Dominican is just about empty of the lunch crowd and not quite ready to set up for dinner. We walk in by the empty hostess station and through the dining room into the bar.
"Hola... "
No one answers. There is music playing through the speakers in the restaurant, local stuff that might be something you put on when your are not expecting customers. We walk out on the patio and see the three people we thought were customers when we walked up from the marina. Now we see that they are the bartender and two of the waitresses.
"Hola, senior... senioras." Lou gives the girls a collective wink.
The bartender smiles and nods and the girls give a little giggle and blush.
"Where is everyone?" Lou pulls up a chair and spins it around before he sits, wresting his good arm on the back of it.
"Today we are close until four. Then we open for dinner."
We all look at each other. I pull my share of the cash that we pulled up off Montoya's boat and hand it to Lou, who plops it down on the table.
"How about you and these fine young ladies throw us a special party."
The bartender looks at the cash for a long two seconds, but doesn't touch it. Then he looks up at Lou, then the four of us.
"These are my sisters."
"It's not that kind of party."
"Then the bar is open."
"How many skulls of Muerte Verde do you have back there?"
"We just have delivery. Someone drink all of our Muerte Verde last few days. All new, maybe six."
Lou rubs his hands together, "Those would be ours, okay... ?"
"Gilly."
"Okay, Gilly." Lou pushes the roll of cash in front of Gilly and then smiles. "Is the bar open?"
"Si, Senior... the bar is open."
"There is enough money there for us to buy this place, Gilly. All we want, though, is a corner of this patio roped off for a private little party. I mean private, no one... not even cops. Then we want all of the Muerte Verde and anything else my friends order, and anything else we want off of the menu." He looks at the girls, "And these two fine young ladies to serve it to us."
"This will not be a problem, Senior."
It is funny what almost seventeen thousand will buy you. It sounds extreme, I know, but I know where Lou is coming from. After all we have been through the past couple weeks it is worth a small fortune to have everything we want for this one afternoon and evening to totally unwind. Especially when we have more money than we know what to do with. We just spent three times what Loco earns in a year on lunch, dinner, and drinks. It is not lost on Loco, who hasn't been party to our finding of Montoya's stash.
"Loco... " Lou sees the look on his face, "Come over here for a second."
He takes him over to the railing around the patio and reaches in his pocket for his share of the cash. "This is for you, Loco. We will have more for you and Whitey when we see you again."
Lou puts the wad of cash in Loco's hand. "That's just about seventeen grand, American."
Loco holds the cash and then looks at Lou, and then me. He is a proud man, just like Whitey, but there is a feeling of involvement in this that allows him to put the money in his pocket and shake Lou's hand. Later in the evening, after a few skulls stand empty on the table, that hand shake will turn into bear hugs and a bond of friendship will form that will stand the test of time.
The afternoon begins with chilled shrimp piled high on a big platter set in the middle of the round table. These are two bite shrimp... to big to stuff all at once. Believe me, we tried. There is a huge mug of the local dark beer for each of us with a slice of lime floating. While we down shrimp and beer the first iced skull of green tequila makes its way to our table. Shots are poured and toasts are made. Loco calls out something to the bartender and a familiar album begins the background music for our celebration. Los Lonely boys.... the same album that played in Naomi on our trip down here. It is Loco's favorite, and now one of ours.
Before the next mugs of cold beer come, the sweet smell of the first Walker floats up from our table. It is passed between us, making the rounds as we relate our individual stories of this adventure. Loco had a time getting Antonelli into the hospital in Belize. It was Whitey's share of the money that payed for his care. Something we didn't know about.
Lou interrupts Loco's story and questions Whitey about him spending his seventeen grand on Antonelli's hospital.
A nod from Whitey.
"I will give you that money back before we leave, my friend. That was a helluva thing you did."
Lou claps him on the back and then grabs his hand in a hearty shake. He looks at me and I see it in his eyes, the fact that you don't find people like this just anywhere. I nod. Loco passes the Walker my way, then chokes on his exhale.
The afternoon becomes a bit of a blur. More beer, more shots, the shrimp are gone and now a platter of grilled scallops and a small dish of ceviche and torilla chips. The ceviche is a seafood medley that is basically raw shellfish and herbs in a citris marinade that cooks it. No matter, it is quite tasty. As we drink and hear and tell stories of this adventure and others. More beer, a couple of different shots of local tequila that we are told are presidential tequila's that are only provided to heads of state. By this time we could be drinking rot-gut and it wouldn't matter. But none of these measure up to the Muerte Verde, and we switch back.
Three skulls, empty and warming on our table. A fourth frozen skull emerges. There is a continual passing of Walkers that hasn't seemed to stop since the first one rolled by several hours ago. I am so fucked up it feels like someone rolled me up inside of a matress and tied the ends shut. I can't feel my arms. I look over at Lou. Blanco must have told him something pretty funny because it looks like he has laughed so hard that he puked a little.
Nope, no puke, just laughing like a motherfucker. I feel a tap on my shoulder, it's Loco and yet another Walker making the rounds. I look at the smile on his face and the blood red eyes.
"eWalker, Mi Amigo?"
"Yeah... " I take it from him, "I'll take that, pal."
My eyes open and it is sunset. I can smell beef grilling. The patio is filled with people now. A few look our way, but most are involved in their own conversations. Everyone at our table, with the exception of myself, is talking up a storm... a debate on tourism or something. I straighten up in my seat and wipe my mouth and run my fingers through my beard. What the fuck?
In front of me is a cup of what I would assume was hot coffee. Everyone elses is empty, mine the only one untouched. I feel like a tremendous lightweight.
"You awake, princess?" Lou takes himself out of the conversation and looks my way.
He sees the question.
"Drink that shit and join in on the conversation. That is some wicked speed, man. But it is all natural, some root that Whitey and Loco had them brew up for us." He leans in over the table a bit. "You better hold your nose and down it in one gulp. Tastes like absolute shit and that was when it was warm. No telling when it is cold like that."
I shoot the beverage in a couple of gulps, then before I allow air into my nose, I chase it with a few swallows of beer. He is right. Nasty shit.
Twenty minutes later I am buzzing... drunk off my ass and my hair is crawling.
