Worse than a Horse Thief

The fishermen build a nice campfire. It's heat is comfortable even with the warm breeze off of the Sea of Cortez. We are sitting about ten feet in front of the motorhome, looking at the small line of white foam washing up on the beach every time the sea laps the shore. Through the licking flame of the fire I see the silhouette of Naomi. She looks out of place tied to the dock among the fishing boats and sailing yachts in the marina. I worry about her safety. Lou sees me staring.
"She's all right. No one is gonna fuck with her. Stop worrying."

Mike throws the door to the motorhome open a little too hard and it hits the side of the rig with a clatter.
"Damn, Theo... be careful why don't you." Andy tisks, "Two hundred grand and he has to slam the doors."
Mike walks slowly toward us with four plates, two in each hand, like a waiter. "Well, you could lend a hand with our guest's dinner plates instead of chewing me a new one there, Andy."

Andy stands and takes the plates off of Theo's hands and gives them out. Lou takes his and gives it a sniff.
"Holy shit... that smells great." He wipes a fingertip across the top of one of the pieces and gives it a taste. His eyes perk up. "Oh brother, you have to try this." He puts a huge piece into his mouth and devours it.
I take a bite. It is probably one of the best pieces of fish I have ever tasted. I look at Mike, "Did you cook this yourself?"
"Oh sure, Andy hates the cookin' so it falls to me. He drives... I cook."
Lou looks his way and smiles. It is enough to relay the message to Mike.
"You like that there fish, eh?"
"What's in it?" Lou manages to say around a mouthful.
"Oh... " He turns his palm up and counts off on his fingers, "olive oil, sea salt, garlic, cilantro, a little bit of ground ginger and some soy sauce." He finishes with the index finger on his left hand, "I could have sworn there was seven." He snaps his left hand and holds up the seventh finger, "sesame seeds."

Justin looks at Andy as he pickes up a piece of fish and takes a bite. "You wouldn't have a fork, would you."
Andy looks at Justin for just a moment. "Yes. I have a fork. In fact I have my mother's silverware in that rig just for show. But we are in front of a campfire, on a beach, eating fish that we caught today and drinking Mexican beer and tequila. So no, I don't have fork.
Justin is looks at Andy for a second or two longer and then realizes that the man is made of stone and fairly impenetrable, so he looks away.
I say nothing. After seeing the hostage almost lose his temper today at one of Lou's digs I don't think he is stable. He seems normal, but so did Norman Bates.

The night rolls on. What was two cases of Tecate and a half gallon of local hooch is now a pile of empty cans and a last round of the passing bottle. These boys can drink. I give 'em that. Andy smiles just a little more, and the sleeves roll up on his shirt when he is drunk. That's a nice option. He tells a couple of fishing trip tales of past trips with "Theo" as he calls him. One in particular where they caught three fish at once.
"Not three separate fish, mind you," he holds up three fingers... looks closely at them and then nods his head, "But three in one."
"What?" Lou grabs the passing and nearly empty bottle of tequila and tosses it back, then passes it on to Justin who just holds it for a while.
"Three in one." Andy repeats his claim, holding up his three fingers.
"Like one of them Turduckens." Mike adds with a wide smile.
All we need is a little weed right now and the night would be perfect. But Lou must sense the same thing that I do with these guys. It would be disrespectful.
"A... a turd what now? Lou squints at him through the firelight.
"A Turducken... thats a turkey stuffed with a duck that is stuffed with a chicken."
"The hell you say." Lou looks side to side... like he has lost something. Then he sees the bottle in Justin's hand. Justin gives it to him and Lou hits it, passing it the other way now.

I look down at the beer that Justin has near his feet. It is the same one he started the evening with because I turned the tab when I opened it like I do to mine. We are all shitfaced and he hasn't even finished one beer.

"But this was a grouper with a mackeral with a smelt I think it was." Mike tells us.
"A Groumackermelt?" Lou asks him.
"Oh now, that one is funny. A Groumackermelt." He turns to Andy and gives him a clap on the shoulder. "Groumackermelt." The laughing fit starts for Mike and makes it around the campfire in seconds flat.

The fire calms us. As the flames die down to glowing embers, so does the conversation. We are all lost in thought, or just blanking on the flames like men have done around fires for tens of thousands of years. I look down the beach and realize that we are one of the few fires left attended. Most everyone with the exception of a small group several camps down have retired for the night.
I could do this forever. Just might. But in all of this beer and tequila and world class cooking I have forgotten why we are out here.
"I have a problem, Andy."
He nods to Justin, who had decided to take a little walk on the beach, "He is a strange one."
"Not him. He isn't really part of our group. He just needed a ride toward the states so we gave him one." I scoot to the edge of my beach chair and give Andy a concerned look. "I have to get to the states as quick as possible. It could be a matter of life and death."
"Yeah, that's what you were saying on the boat ride up here. What are you going to do now that your buddy put your plane in the drink?"
"Well, that's what I am asking. I have a lot of money, Andy. If you would allow me to pay you, I would appreciate a ride into Arizona."
"Well... we weren't planning on leaving just yet." He looks at Mike, "Did you hear that, Theo?"
"Hey, Andy, it's his cousin Mitch. He sounds like he might be in a whole lot of trouble if it's life or death. Besides... Arizona isn't that far of a ride. We could be back for some afternoon fishin' or night time fishin'. Or hell, morning fishin' that next morning. These guys seem like awful nice fellas. I don't mind helpin' them."
Andy turns back to me. "I tell you what. You guys come on back in the morning and we will pull up stakes and head up to the border. You just buy the fuel. Sound good?"
I give his hand a shake, "That would be great, Andy. Just great."

We don't make it back to the hotel. That Theo can drink like a gopher makes holes. Just when we think it is time to go home, he comes out of the rig with a bottle of Acavide, some Danish liquor that is eighty proof and tastes like rye bread. It is ice cold, like the Muerte Verde.
We do shots, a couple of rounds at least. Not a one of us doesn't grimace at the taste. But it is curious enough to try it again as it passes by.
"Caraway seed?" I look at bottle in the firelight with one eye closed.
"That's right, friend. This is what ole' Thor drank before he makes the thunder." Mike says, finally slurring a few of his words.

That's the last thing I heard before the calling of the gulls in my ear and the morning sun trying to blind me as I creaked open my eyes.
I see Lou spread eagle in his beach chair, his neck at a totally odd angle from his body. I would have thought someone snapped it if it weren't for the snoring.

We slept on the beach. Just me and Lou. Justin in no where to be seen. I can see Mike in the motorhome. It smells like he is making breakfast. He turns to do something and sees me, he waives and I waive back.

"Wake up, princess."
The snoring continues. I bounce an empty can off of his skull and he opens one eye.
"If I had my skinning knife I would make a nice wallet out of your... "
His eyes open wide and he bolts up. I thought he was stung by a scorpion or something. But his hand went to his shirt, inside, and he instantly knew something was wrong.
"What?" I don't need any more bad news.
"The diamonds."
"What about them?"
"They're gone."

The Rescuers

Mike's picture of the one that got away

Our hosts are a peculiar pair. The one is from up Nort... that's right, Nort. If I had to guess I would say he would have to be from North Dakota, Minnisota, or maybe some part of Wisconsin. But I don't have to guess. He looks like a walking team advertisement for the Minnisota Vikings. From head to toe, literally. An old worn out hat with the Viking logo, and some newer flip-flops with the same logo on the sides and top. His t-shirt and shorts are no exception. If none of these things would have had any team logo, the socks he was wearing were a dead giveaway.

"You guys okay? Not hurt or nothing, are you?" The Viking asks us as he helps us one by one on board the trawler. "That was one doozy of a crash it was." He nods toward Naomi as I give a few wraps of her bow line over one of the trawler's stearn cleats. "That's one sturdy plane you got there."

"Yeah, just that cruise control that gets faulty after lunch."
"Like you haven't fallen asleep before." Lou tries to defend himself, "And don't say you haven't cuz that's bullshit and you know it."

"Let's all just settle down."
This is the other guy. He looks like he is wound kind of tight. First off he isn't dressed for a day of fishing in the Sea of Cortez. The other guy is... except for the socks. But this guy is in a flannel shirt, buttoned up to the next to the top button. Khaki pants and some kind of desert boots or something. Topped off with a ballcap that very well could be starched.
"Where did you come from?" Lou starts... still pissed that he dumped Naomi in the drink, "a Cabella's catalog?"
"Hey, fellas, if you want you can get back in your plane and wait for someone else to hassle. How does that sound." Ballcap tells us.
I put my hands up and then point Lou's way, "You'll have to excuse my friend here. He is trying to help me get to the states for a family emergency and I am afraid we are all kind of tired."
Ballcap gives a tisk and then looks back at the plane, "You got her tied off good?"
"Yeah, that'll hold her."

We make our way slowly up the coast. Ballcap's name, as it turns out, is Andy... U.S. Airforce retired. It all comes out as one line, like he is reporting for duty. I half expect him to spit out his service number. He seems a little stiff at first, but turns out to be a pretty nice guy as we find out. His buddy is Mike, from where else but Minnisota. Both of them work together out of Arizona, Tempe I think he tells us. Aviation guys, but back office stuff... not on the planes, not any more anyway.

The five us us don't say much for a short while. Andy seems a little pissed at Lou's comment and clams up for a while, leaving a tension in the air. That doesn't seem to bode well with his buddy.
"So... what are ya doin' in the states again?" He scoots to the edge of his deck chair and pulls his hat down a little closer to his eyes.
"I have bit of a family emergency. Got a message that was three days old, kind of a matter of life or death."
"No kiddin'... that's terrible." He looks Andy's way, "Isn't that a terrible, Andy. Life or death. Geez."
Andy brings the throttles up in response to the report to get us there a little faster. "Where are you boys heading?"
"Modoc county up in Northern California." I tell him, watching the shoreline at the different docks and scattered marina's I expect him to guide his boat toward.
"Never heard of it." Andy says, tisks, and then steers away from shore a bit.
"So... where are you two headed?" Our hostage speaks, taking a swallow from the bottle of water that Mike handed him when we boarded.
"Rocky Point." Andy reports, giving a look over his shoulder at Naomi as he increases his throttles.

“Never heard of it.” Lou says, a few seconds too late to matter. It was kind of the “last word”, and thankfully it was the last of his bad mood.

We motor up toward Rocky Point, a place near the North end of the Sea of Cortez, south of Arizona. I had heard of it before, so had Lou for that matter. It was a long way from where we started.

“What brought you so far south?” I ask, wiping the sweat off my brow.
“We were on a Dorado. It was fighting us for hours. Then when she got up to the side of the boat we lost her. That and our gaff hook.” Mike tells us, sucking on a tall can of Mexican beer. He sees me eyeing it and hands me one. "I got a helluva picture on my digital, though. I'll show you later."

I open the beer and take a couple of swallows. It hits the spot.
“Hard to find talls down here in these foreign countries, eh?”
I nod. Lou reaches out his hand and gives it a shake.
“Oh, sorry friend. I don’t know where the ole’ manners went.” He pulls one out for Lou and then turns to Andy, “Andy, you want a brew?”
Andy looks at his watch, then taps a gas gauge, then his watch again. He turns and holds a hand out, which is filled with a cold one.
Justin, who finished his water a while back, is a little parched. “You don’t have any wine coolers in there, do you?”
Mike looks at me, then Lou… who rolls his eyes.
“No, little fella, not a one. Alls we got in this here cooler is beer and ice. And the last of the water which I gave you a while back. This here is a fishin’ cooler. I don’t think you are allowed to put wine coolers in a fishin’ cooler.”

Lou stands and then gives the hostage a slap on the back, “That’s right, just beer. Time to be a man and suck it up.”
Mike smiles wide, “Ya, you don’t want to end up like that Nancy we heard about at the gas pumps this morning. Right, Andy?”
The corner of Andy’s mouth turns up in a smile, then he chugs his beer and asks for another.
“Tell them what we heard, Andy.”
Andy cracks the top of his beer and shakes the foam off of his hand.
“The Harbor Master up in Rocky Point was talking this morning about sharks and the like.” He takes a guzzle and then continues.
“I had asked the fella about sharks out here.” Mike interjects.
“Anyway, he tells me and Mike here about something he had heard by way of shortwave chatter about some guy that got his foot bit off by a Mako down in Costa Rica, or Belize I think it was.”
Mike scoots to the edge of his seat, “Ya, but the guy was a Nancy boy, a little light in the shoe leather. Ya know what I mean guys?”

I look at Lou, who raises his brow. I am sure I gave him the same look he gave me. How could these guys hear about Antonelli way up here?

“Get it? A little light in the shoe leather? He only had one foot, that guy. So he is light in the shoe leather.”
Mike laughs hard, and then we laugh at him laughing. There must be some pretty cold and lonely nights up there in Minnesota. Mike keeps laughing until he is crying. Even Andy is laughing.

Justin is the only one not laughing. Lou sees his spot.
“Surely you get it, son? A Nancy boy… just like you.”
The hostage stiffens… he has had enough. He tenses up like he is ready to jump. More courageous than I gave him credit for. I am sitting right next to him and throw an arm across his chest and look him in the eye just as Lou turns away toward Mike. I quickly shake my head and drop my arm. Justin relaxes as Lou turns back. That's all I need, to watch Lou skin our hostage right in front of these two.

It is sunset by the time we reach Rocky Point. Andy guides the boat up to the transient pier and we untie Naomi and secure her to the dock.
“Harbor Master is a guy by the name of Garcia. Nice guy if you treat him with a little respect.” He looks right at Lou when he says it, who looks away. “He can line you up with a mechanic for your plane.”

I look up the at the modest marina and town passed that.
“Is there a hotel around here?”
“Me and Andy are staying in that 35 footer over there on the beach, that first big one there.” Mike points at the Class A motorhome… top of the line diesel pusher.
“Ole Andy here knows how to pick `em, eh?”

Andy heaves the cooler over to Mike, who sets it on the dock. Then grabs another larger white one that was on the fantail.
“You boys want to join us for a fish dinner your more than welcome.” Andy gestures to the white cooler, “There’s enough in there for all of us.”

I open the cooler and see some pretty good sized Dorado and what look like Amberjack.
“We should be buying you guys dinner for giving us a tow.”
“Nope… we eat what we catch.” Andy says, handing out a canvas sack to Mike.
“We will supply the beer and tequila, and anything else you want to have with it. Okay?”
Andy nods, “Now you’re talking.”

We start walking down the dock. I stop and look back at Naomi, then call to Andy. “Things pretty secure out here?”
“If you mean do you have to worry about getting robbed then don’t worry. Garcia has an armed guard, his brother, that walks these docks all night long. Haven’t had a theft in as many years as we have been coming here.”

Andy points us to the local hotel in town, not bad digs for a place like this. Better than some and not as nice as others we have stayed in on our adventure.

Justin heads off with them. I think he plans on asking them to take him over the border. Not a bad idea.

As we make our way back from the hotel we stop and pick up some cold beer and and local tequila at the store in the marina. I talk to Garcia, who lives in the apartment at the back of the marina. He assures me that the plane will be safe and that he has a man in the marina shop that will know what can be done. I don't bother to tell him that I am a mechanic and that I could fix anything that is wrong with her. It is time that I don't have. Time that Mitch doesn't have.

We walk passed the marina and out to a long line of motorhomes, parked side by side along the beach. Some of them have entire yard set ups with hanging lights and fake grass. Fires dot the beach in front of most of the camps. A guitar can be heard over the subtle crashing of the waves.

Not a bad spot to spend the night. After the days events I could use a cold beer/tequila buzz and some fresh fish and conversation. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

The Sea of Cortez

Sunset on the Sea of Cortez

My ass hurts, and it is becoming clear to me that there is no position in this seat that is going to make things any better. I take a hit off Lou's Walker before it is completely consumed and hope that it relieves the discomfort. He seems a little rougher than usual. We're both pretty tired. Worn out is more like it after this seemingly endless adventure.

We have been flying now over five hours. She is running strong according to indications, and short of some catastrophe we should be able to make our fuel stop in Esquinapa, just short of Mazatlan. Jerry knows the Gringo that runs the place, a local airfield or something. This is the farthest north he has been willing to fly, and the last spot that is marked on the chart. We didn't follow the coast on our way up, not yet anyway. We decided to make a little time so we headed over land after Salina Cruz and headed northwest over Oaxaca, Morelia, and Guadalajara. Uneventful at best without the worries we had with Abigail and no markings on our trip to Mexico City. So far Naomi is a safe bet and we can land her at any strip without worries.

"This is so fucking boring... and I am stoned enough to see those guages smiling at me."
Lou reaches out and taps a couple of them in quick succession... "stop that." He says to them.
"For Christ's sake, are you that fucking stoned that you are seeing things."
"Relax, Nancy, I'm just fucking with you." Lou punches me in the arm, a little harder that I would like, but I do nothing. To play a game trading punches with Lou would certainly see me auger this plane into the ground before it was over.

"Uh... um, excuse me, do either of you have a tissue?" Our hostage calls from the back of the plane, not willing to dare make that statement from between the seats and coax a hard smack in the arm from the stoned killer.
Lou cranes his neck around and then turns half-way in his seat. "What the fuck, are you crying?"
I have to see this and turn my self. Justin's eyes are watering and he is wiping his nose as gentlemanly as possible without having any Kleenex to do it with.
"I seem to be allergic to all this smoke." He says this as though it had just showed up. The reality of it is that the cabin has been full of smoke since Lou lit the first of three Walkers. I honestly think he is related to Bob Marley or something.
"Bullshit, boy... " Lou smiles and inhales deeply, "You aren't doing it right. Just breathe in and hold it."
Justin coughs and then starts digging in his bag for something to blow his nose into.
"Hey, I think there's some TP in the storage cabinet in the back." I turn to Lou, "I could have sworn I saw some when we gave her the once over after Bear gave her to us."

The hostage turns and scoots to the back of the plane, rifling through the small storage locker until he came up with have a roll.
"FOUND IT", he calls to us as he gives it a wave.
I turn to Lou, "Go back there and pop a vent for the little guy. No sense in making him suffer if he is allergic or something."
"Awe for crying out loud, all I was trying to do was to get him to loosen up."
"So you did that on purpose?"
"You think I can smoke three of those fatties and still talk straight? I was blowing most of the smoke back there trying to get him stoned. You know the type, top shirt button fastened... that kind of guy."

We make the fuel stop in Esquinapa. While Naomi's tanks are topped off we walk to a small building emitting an enticing aroma that signals lunch... or dinner, or whatever meal this might be.
"I hope they have cold beer." Lou strides ahead of me and the hostage. "A six pack of tacos and maybe three cold ones and I'll be right."
"Wrong, champ... you are flying the next leg."
"Don't wrong me, pussy. I'll have a six pack of beer and three taco's and fly you where you want to go."
"Yeah, if where I want to go is down."
The little building is what they have for an FBO. There is a two stool lunch counter that probably looked new when the `55 Chevy was still on the drawing board. There is an old woman behind the counter who looks surprised to see us. I am hoping what we are smelling isn't just lunch for the guy fueling our plane and her. No one else in sight.
"Está usted abierto para almorzar?" Lou asks her.
She pulls out a worn pad of paper, then licks the tip of the pencil in her leathered hand.
"Cerveza fría?" One of the many important things to know.
She nods and points to an old freezer.
I pull it open and find several cases of Mexican beer and one of Budweiser. I pull out three and hand them out.
Justin holds his with two hands, like he is holding a fire hose. Then tries to hand it back to me.
"Do they have any bottled water?"
Lou gives him a back-handed knock to the arm, "Where the fuck do you think you are, the Ritz?"
"I would take that as a no then?"
I look around the place, then at Justin, "I wouldn't chance it." I hand him the beer, "You are better off drinking something that has been bottled in a sanitary environment."
"Yeah, you wish." Lou holds his bottle up and looks at it through the light. "I found one of these with a mouse inside once. It was a good thing I didn't chug it."
With that he up ends his beer and pours it down his throat until the chilled foam washes down the inside of the bottle.
Justin just looks at him.

We end up with a platter of tacos and some beans and rice. Kind of a communal thing. There are four tacos each, and more of the sides than we can eat. In the end Lou drinks his three beers with his meal and takes a fourth along for the ride. Justin drinks his beer, and leaves with half of it still in the bottle. I take one with me for good measure and we return to Naomi. An hour has passed.

Lou climbs in and heads for the co-pilot's seat.
"Hey, you're driving."
"You were serious about that?"
"Hell yes I was serious. She's your plane. Besides, you need the hours."
He looks at Justin, who is busy buckling in and making sure his tissue was close at hand.
"Listen to this guy... I need the hours. Just because someone gives you an airplane doesn't mean you need to go out and start getting legal about it. Not in fucking Nogales, anyway."
He piles into the pilot seat, sloshing a little beer on the instruments on his way in. There is a coffee cup holder on the left bulkhead that he tosses his bottle into and there is another splash.
He laughs, kind of giggles, then turns to me. "Hell, if we get pulled over this car is going to smell like beer."
"Is he all right to fly this thing?" The hostage calls up from his seat.
I look at Lou, who I know is pretty much just fucking around, "Are you sure you're okay to... "
"Don't say it. DON'T say another word or Poindexter back there will fly this thing."

We get off the ground and head for the coast. Our run will be straight up the coastline once we pass over Mazatlan. Within fifteen minutes Lou banks us over the beach so we can see the honeys baking in the afternoon sun. He keeps us at about a thousand feet and out over the water so we can see the resorts and beachfront communities off to our right. There are a lot of these retirement communities that have cropped up in the fifteen years that I have been gone. Last time I flew over this strip of land there was nothing but huts and dirt road.

The drone of Naomi's twin radials, in combination with the big lunch and beer, put me to sleep. I break my own rule about sleeping in the right seat. Lou, on the other hand, breaks an even bigger rule by falling asleep while is at the wheel.

"LOU!"
He is sound asleep, head hanging back over the seat, mouth wide open while a slight snore get's cut short when I yell.
We are low, I mean really fucking low. There are fishing boats ahead of us that we will have to pull up to avoid. I can't believe we didn't hit the water during all of this, but that time was about to come.
"PULL UP... PULL UP!" I reach for the wheel when he does and just as we do, the left float hits something and all of a sudden the plane is yawing left.
"SHIT shit shit" Lou tries to correct in the split second after the collision but it's too late. We drop into the Sea of Cortez with enough force to tear the left wing off. But she holds together.

The hostage screams. At first I think we might have a taken on a teenage girl stowaway, but no... it is just him, now wearing one of the old float vests. For all I know he might have put it on when we left our fuel stop.

Naomi dives in hard, dowsing the port engine, throwing a good ten gallons of sea water into the cockpit through the open side window. When she bobs to a stop, I have the imprint of a gauge bezel in my forhead. Lou has a bloody nose and his lip is split. Good thing she did it. I kill the number two and the constant sound of her engines is gone.

"Are we sinking? HEY... are we SINKING?" Justin screams from the back. He is out of his seat, pulling straps on his life vest. I am half expecting to see him hold his nose and walk toward the door.

"No, we aren't sinking."

I look at Lou, who has his shirt bunched up around his nose to stem the flow of blood.

"You okay?"

"Yeah... sorry about that."

"Good thing she held together."

"Good thing."

Within twenty or thirty seconds it occurs to me that we did hit something. There could be a boat sinking in our wake and we would be responsible. I can hear an engine idling toward our position.

"HEY OUT THERE."

Now we can hear every sound.

"YOU OKAY IN THERE?"

Then... "Hey Andy, I think they're gonners in there. I don't think they're among the living."

Another voice... "Grab the boat hook, Theo. Let's board her and see if they need our help."