Goldfarb, Stinkle, and Abramowitz

The Caribbear, Antonelli's new Mega-yacht. Hard to believe there is one bigger than KOZANOSTRA




"Goldfarb, Stinkle, and Abramowitz." The greeting is definately American, a young lady... sweet.
"Yes, can you hear me okay?"
"Yes... how can I help you?"
How can you help me... don't sue me.
"We were presented with this fax when my associates landed with a message to call this number."
"And you are?"
"Jake... Jake Allen."
There is silence for a moment, "Can I place you on hold, Mr. Allen?"
"I guess. Not too long, I am on a third world phone system and I don't know how long this will last."
I couple of clicks and I am listening to an orchestral arrangement of a Seals and Crofts tune.

We have flown to Coban on a run from Tapia's... goats. I hate flying livestock. It makes Abigail smell like shit and hay. We could have landed hours before this to make this call, but the phone system is unreliable the further you get into the rural areas.

"Mr. Allen?"
"Still here."
"I have Mr. Stinkle for you."
I choke on a what might have been a laughing fit.
"Mr. Allen?"
"Mr. Stinkle?"
"Yes, Hiram Stinkle. My partners and I represent the Antonelli Family and their concerns throughout the world."
"Oh... how is Chris? We just saw him a few weeks ago and... "
"Mr. Allen, that is why we have been searching for you and your associates. Mr. Antonelli has not been heard from for quite some time now."
"Oh, hey... he's not with us, man. Last time we saw him he was alive and kicking, flying to the Caribbean with a plane full of catered food."
"You are not suspect in his disappearance, Mr. Allen. We need your help in locating him."
"Okay."
"Are you familiar with a coastal town there in Guatamala called Puerto Barrios?"
"Pretty familiar."
"Is it possible for you to meet us there?"

I look over at Abigail and the off-loading of goats. After a quick hosing and a top off on fuel we are going to be ready.
"I guess so. We are a few hours away."
"That will be fine. We will have a man meet you at the airstrip."
"What is this all about? What do you need us for?"
"I am prepared to fill you in on all of the details when you arrive."
The line goes dead.

Ollie is hosing out the cargo bay as I return with the news. Jerry looks up at the sun like a Cherokee checking his watch.
"If this weather holds we should be there before lunch."
"Chris is missing?" Lou's concern creases in the lines on his face.
"Well, that's what this Stinkle guy says. They haven't heard from him."
"You guys saw him in Vegas, right?" Jerry pulls a crumpled pack of Backwoods cigars out of his shirt pocket and opens it.
"He saved our asses in Vegas," Lou adds.
Jerry fishes through the selection and pulls one out and sparks it. He tosses the pack to Lou who does the same.
"Well, we go then." Jerry watches as the fuel truck shows up and they begin to top us off.

We stand to the side while they fuel. Now all three of us puff on the Backwoods cigars. Ollie has a liter bottle of Coke that he plans to drink while we stand here.
I think about the last time we came to the aid of the Antonelli family, like last month. Not dull, let me tell you.
"I wonder how long this is going to take?"?
Lou blows a perfect smoke ring, "Why, got a hot date we don't know about?"
"No, but the way these things go we won't be home for a while."
"It will still be there when we get back."
"I just wish I would have packed some clothes and stuff."
"You're a pussy, you know that?"
"Fuck your momma."

The flight from Coban is about four hundred and fifty miles. We bank it in over the bay and see a huge ship at anchor outside of the smaller craft.
"You don't suppose... "
"An insurance replacement?" Lou smiles.
"Could be." I line Abigail up and begin our descent to the airstrip. Jerry and Ollie had flown her into Coban, Lou and I took her out her to Puerto Barrios. The two of them were napping in the hammocks. We had a pretty good barbeque last night that only ended when we decided to fire up the old girl and go to make our phone call. It was only when we were airborne that Jerry remembered Tapia's cargo. He was going to schedule it later this week, but we would kill two goats with one stone by taking them today.

The guys at the airstrip remember us. They chock us up and give us the thumbs up to shut her down. It is a rainy day here in Puerto Barrios, but sunny skies outside the bay indicate the weather to come.
There is a small helicopter, rotor idling, is off to our left. When we motored up to our spot, I saw a man in a suit step out of the chopper and head our way. Now he is walking up to us as we stretch the last couple of hours out of our bones.

"Mr. Allen?"
I hold up my hand.
"Mr. Allen, I am Mr. Stinkle. We spoke on the telephone this morning."
Lou smiles and then puts his hand over his mouth and nose and turns away.
"Mr. Allen, I will need you to come with me."
I look at him and then gesture to my friends, "We are all here for this, not just me."
He looks at the four of us, then focuses on our Aztec giant. "We may not have the capacity to take all of you."
Lou looks over at the chopper, "That's an AS350,Stinkle, it has a fifteen hundred pound lifting capacity... we'll be fine."

There are the four seats in the back of the chopper, blue leather and very accomodating. Me and Lou sit facing Ollie and Jerry. The two of them fall asleep again as soon as we are airborne.
"Jesus, what light-weights."
"I don't think they have been spending the last several weeks drinking their days away like we have."
"Yeah, that's their problem. We don't need anyone slowing us down."
"Whoa there, slick. Where are you going that they are going to slow you down?"
"Wherever we need to go to save Chris' ass."

We watch the airstrip and Abigail as we lift to about a thousand feet and then head out into the bay. As I suspected we head to the mega-yacht out in the bay. I look down at the marina as we fly over and wonder about Blanco and Loco. No time for memory lane right now. We are on approach to the mega-yacht within minutes and the pilot lowers us down to the deck with ease.

Another man in a three piece suit ducks below the rotors and opens our door. It is at least ninety degrees with matching humidity and these guys are in their monkey suits. Totally out of place in paradise.
"Gentlemen," he calls to us over the sound of the helicopter, "I am Mr. Goldfarb. Welcome aboard the Caribbear." He shakes each of our hands as we file out of the chopper.
"No shit." Lou punches me in the arm, "CaribBEAR... get it?"
I just shake my head.

We are led from the helipad to a roomy salon where the third name in the fax is waiting at a long table. He stands and holds his arms wide.
"Welcome aboard, gentlemen. I am Stan Abramowitz, head council for the Antonelli family."
We introduce ourselves, and Jerry introduces Ollie because he doesn't know what is going on.
"This mainly concerns the two of you." He gestures to Lou and me. "I will need you gentlemen to wait in the bar, which is in the next room. Have the bartender make you a Puerto Loco, a delightful beverage from one of the local constables in town."

I look at Lou, "How about a couple of those in here."