I'll Take Two
"Oh... you son of a bitch." Jerry allows the hand on his shoulder.
I have already thrown his arm off of me and don't know whether to hug him or hit him.
"Come on boys. You're glad to see me, admit it."
"I should have let those little Indians take you on a tree ride."
I can't help but smile. I give him a pretty hardy hug. There is no way to be mad at the deception when I am so relieved he is okay.
"Easy, Nancy, I may be walking but that poison shit still has me aching."
Good. I give him a final squeeze.
We all sit and then Antonelli and Loco come from around the corner snickering.
"You should have seen the look on your face when we drug him up those steps... like someone smacked a bunny with a tack hammer right in front of you."
Loco smiles and lets out a stoned giggle, "You very funny... I think I see you lip quiver. It a good trick on you." He starts to laugh and can't seem to stop.
"Payback is a bitch, Loco."
He laughs even harder. This boy is stoned out of his mind.
No matter how bad we were burned by the joke we don't let it ruin the moment. Words cannot relay our relief at seeing him. He seems completely recovered with the exception of aches and pains. But that is something to which we can all relate.
"Hey, where's Ollie?"
Chris takes a seat at our table. "He will be released in the morning. That spear he took in the thigh actually scored an artery pretty bad. They had to do a lot of preventive surgery so it won't tear out later."
He tells us that he has arranged for the lawyers to collect Ollie when he is released in the morning and have him taken to the ship. We are all to go there after we are done with our little reunion party so we can enjoy Chris' hospitality.
For now I predict a severe hangover sometime the day after tomorrow.
Dominican's knows the drill. Where we are sitting and several tables around us are claimed with velvet ropes and stanchions. Without anything being said the first of countless skulls of Muerte Verde appear along with pitchers of Negra Modelo. Chris makes a quick call on a cell and one of his lawyers pulls up in a hired car with a box of Cohibas fresh from Havana and a second box that he hands over reluctantly. As Chris takes it from him, the lawyer... I think it's Stinkle, shakes his head.
Antonelli hands the second box to Lou. Like a kid at Christmas Lou rubs his hands together and a wide smile breaks over his face before he opens it.
"Oh, sweet Jesus..."
Inside are dozens of Walkers, perfectly rolled as though Chris had been working at it for hours.
"Hey, I didn't get you anything."
"We'll share."
And so the night rolls on. Antonelli doesn't dismiss Stinkle and before the clock strikes eleven he is as stoned as the rest of us. Lou eats two lobsters and a stick of butter to dip them in. Even though Chris had a bite to eat on board before bringing Lou to us, he still gets a twenty four ounce Porterhouse and a tail to go with it. Loco orders some local dish that looks like seafood and rice... smells excellant.
The Muerte pours and the ritual is renewed once more. If I was foggy walking over to this place then I am in a virtual storm front by now. Luckily Jerry and I ate something before these guys showed up. The beer is cold and the Muerte Verde even colder. A local band plays in the main room. By the time the sound reaches us it is mellowed and hangs in the air like the smoke from our Walkers and Cohibas.
Girls appear on laps. I know this because there is one on mine and I don't remember her arrival. They are American girls... college girls I suppose, breaking ground for a new "spring break" destination. The noise of our conversations drown out everything around us.
Lou feeds a young red head bites of lobster. While she eats it Lou stares at her ample breasts. Actually there is a tattoo of a butterfly. She sees him examining it and pulls her entire boob out of its holder.
"Now that is what I call a tattoo."
Lou puts a hand under the "D" cup breast and holds it out for my inspection like a butcher displaying a pork roast.
"Nice likeness."
While Lou hands the girl's breast back to her, the girl in my lap... green eyes and brown hair, stands and shimmies her jeans half way down her ass. I am hungry again. On the top of her ass is a tattoo of two women's faces locked together at the lips, their bodies fading into a mist down the top of each ass cheek. My mouth drops open and my knees are weak even though I am sitting down. When she turns and displays the artwork to the rest of the table she looks at me and giggles.
I am properly aroused and she grabs it like a joystick... ironic.
"I'm glad you like it." She says to me, hiking her pants back up.
I am speechless.
"I have another, but it is for private viewing only."
"More private than the one on your ass? Pencil me in for a 3am viewing."
"You're funny."
"Oh... I am much more than that." I pull her back onto my lap and she wraps an arm around me.
Walkers pass in both directions. My beer is never empty. Muerte shots are reloaded and set down in front of us every five minutes or so. Invariably there is some sort of toast before we down each one. This means that everyone has to stop what they are doing or talking about and pay attention. Lou toasts Chris, Chris Lou, Me Lou, Lou me, Jerry Lou, Jerry me and Lou Chris, Ollie shows up in several as well. At one point Chris stands, an emotional moment as he raises first his beer and then a fresh shot of Muerte Verde to his father, Bear. We manage an appropriate period of silence in his memory. Somewhere along the line the band inside has stopped playing, probably on a break and that lends to the moment as well.
Lou, slurring greatly, toasts KOZANOSTRA, and recalls our rescue. He stops his rambling and turns to Loco, who is pretty much passed out in his dinner.
"To you my friend." Lou grabs the mop of hair on Loco's head and lifts him out of his spent dinner bowl.
"HEY."
Loco creaks open his eyes and then smiles.
"Hey... "
Lou lets him drop back into the bowl and turns to me.
"Where's Whitey?"
Chris downs his latest mug of beer and hands it to one of the girls hanging on his shoulders to fill.
"Blanco? He is out on a charter."
"A charter? What... tourists?"
"No, I hired him."
It turns out that Whitey is out with some special sonar equipment to pinpoint KOZANOSTRA's location on the bottom. He won't talk about it now, but there are several things aboard that need to be recovered... if possible. Blanco is using the old Morgan rather than the new boat he has purchased. It is less conspicious than the CARIBBEAR hovering over the site, a lower profile. There are others who will be seeking out the ship's final resting place. Chris intends to get there first.
But all of this will wait until tomorrow. Apparently we are going aboard for more than just hospitality.
A young man with a guitar hanging upside down on his back from the strap walks up behind Chris and puts a hand on his shoulder. Chris looks up at him and then back to us.
"Hey guys, I want you to meet Mike Hedges."
We all nod our greetings. Lou pours a shot from a nearly empty skull and hands it to him. He up-ends it and hands it back. Lou gestures to the guitar.
"Gonna play something for us?"
"I am. Mr. Antonelli invited me here to play for your party." He gives Antonelli a pat on the shoulder and heads toward a corner of the patio where a stool and small sound system have been set up.
"I saw this guy playing a bar in Costa Rica."
We all kind of wait for a moment or two, but when we realize he won't be playing in the next moment or two the buzz of conversation begins anew and soon we are back to our prior noise level.
When Mike starts to play, it is just background noise. He says something into the microphone and Chris waves back at him from our table. The tune sounds familiar, but the exact song eludes me. Once he starts to sing, the words instantly identify the Stones tune "Gimme Shelter".
One by one the conversations on the patio and inside Dominican's stop and we are all watching and listening to this man's rendition. It is fucking awesome. One song after the next he proves worthy of any invitation from Antonelli. Lou backhands my shoulder.
"This guy is good, huh?"
We pass the Walkers around, a few shots washed down with Negro Modelo, and listen. The next song out of the gate is Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower".
Slowly the conversations roll, gaining momentum. Whenever Hedges finishes a song, the place comes alive with applause and whistles and then he starts in on another tune.
I sit in the warm breeze on the patio, surrounded by my friends, women, good booze, good smoke, and good music. Hard to top a night like this, but I know it is possible and more than likely will be attempted if I know this group. Tomorrow we go to CARIBBEAR. I predict at least a day of recovery before we find out what is really going on.
I have already thrown his arm off of me and don't know whether to hug him or hit him.
"Come on boys. You're glad to see me, admit it."
"I should have let those little Indians take you on a tree ride."
I can't help but smile. I give him a pretty hardy hug. There is no way to be mad at the deception when I am so relieved he is okay.
"Easy, Nancy, I may be walking but that poison shit still has me aching."
Good. I give him a final squeeze.
We all sit and then Antonelli and Loco come from around the corner snickering.
"You should have seen the look on your face when we drug him up those steps... like someone smacked a bunny with a tack hammer right in front of you."
Loco smiles and lets out a stoned giggle, "You very funny... I think I see you lip quiver. It a good trick on you." He starts to laugh and can't seem to stop.
"Payback is a bitch, Loco."
He laughs even harder. This boy is stoned out of his mind.
No matter how bad we were burned by the joke we don't let it ruin the moment. Words cannot relay our relief at seeing him. He seems completely recovered with the exception of aches and pains. But that is something to which we can all relate.
"Hey, where's Ollie?"
Chris takes a seat at our table. "He will be released in the morning. That spear he took in the thigh actually scored an artery pretty bad. They had to do a lot of preventive surgery so it won't tear out later."
He tells us that he has arranged for the lawyers to collect Ollie when he is released in the morning and have him taken to the ship. We are all to go there after we are done with our little reunion party so we can enjoy Chris' hospitality.
For now I predict a severe hangover sometime the day after tomorrow.
Dominican's knows the drill. Where we are sitting and several tables around us are claimed with velvet ropes and stanchions. Without anything being said the first of countless skulls of Muerte Verde appear along with pitchers of Negra Modelo. Chris makes a quick call on a cell and one of his lawyers pulls up in a hired car with a box of Cohibas fresh from Havana and a second box that he hands over reluctantly. As Chris takes it from him, the lawyer... I think it's Stinkle, shakes his head.
Antonelli hands the second box to Lou. Like a kid at Christmas Lou rubs his hands together and a wide smile breaks over his face before he opens it.
"Oh, sweet Jesus..."
Inside are dozens of Walkers, perfectly rolled as though Chris had been working at it for hours.
"Hey, I didn't get you anything."
"We'll share."
And so the night rolls on. Antonelli doesn't dismiss Stinkle and before the clock strikes eleven he is as stoned as the rest of us. Lou eats two lobsters and a stick of butter to dip them in. Even though Chris had a bite to eat on board before bringing Lou to us, he still gets a twenty four ounce Porterhouse and a tail to go with it. Loco orders some local dish that looks like seafood and rice... smells excellant.
The Muerte pours and the ritual is renewed once more. If I was foggy walking over to this place then I am in a virtual storm front by now. Luckily Jerry and I ate something before these guys showed up. The beer is cold and the Muerte Verde even colder. A local band plays in the main room. By the time the sound reaches us it is mellowed and hangs in the air like the smoke from our Walkers and Cohibas.
Girls appear on laps. I know this because there is one on mine and I don't remember her arrival. They are American girls... college girls I suppose, breaking ground for a new "spring break" destination. The noise of our conversations drown out everything around us.
Lou feeds a young red head bites of lobster. While she eats it Lou stares at her ample breasts. Actually there is a tattoo of a butterfly. She sees him examining it and pulls her entire boob out of its holder.
"Now that is what I call a tattoo."
Lou puts a hand under the "D" cup breast and holds it out for my inspection like a butcher displaying a pork roast.
"Nice likeness."
While Lou hands the girl's breast back to her, the girl in my lap... green eyes and brown hair, stands and shimmies her jeans half way down her ass. I am hungry again. On the top of her ass is a tattoo of two women's faces locked together at the lips, their bodies fading into a mist down the top of each ass cheek. My mouth drops open and my knees are weak even though I am sitting down. When she turns and displays the artwork to the rest of the table she looks at me and giggles.
I am properly aroused and she grabs it like a joystick... ironic.
"I'm glad you like it." She says to me, hiking her pants back up.
I am speechless.
"I have another, but it is for private viewing only."
"More private than the one on your ass? Pencil me in for a 3am viewing."
"You're funny."
"Oh... I am much more than that." I pull her back onto my lap and she wraps an arm around me.
Walkers pass in both directions. My beer is never empty. Muerte shots are reloaded and set down in front of us every five minutes or so. Invariably there is some sort of toast before we down each one. This means that everyone has to stop what they are doing or talking about and pay attention. Lou toasts Chris, Chris Lou, Me Lou, Lou me, Jerry Lou, Jerry me and Lou Chris, Ollie shows up in several as well. At one point Chris stands, an emotional moment as he raises first his beer and then a fresh shot of Muerte Verde to his father, Bear. We manage an appropriate period of silence in his memory. Somewhere along the line the band inside has stopped playing, probably on a break and that lends to the moment as well.
Lou, slurring greatly, toasts KOZANOSTRA, and recalls our rescue. He stops his rambling and turns to Loco, who is pretty much passed out in his dinner.
"To you my friend." Lou grabs the mop of hair on Loco's head and lifts him out of his spent dinner bowl.
"HEY."
Loco creaks open his eyes and then smiles.
"Hey... "
Lou lets him drop back into the bowl and turns to me.
"Where's Whitey?"
Chris downs his latest mug of beer and hands it to one of the girls hanging on his shoulders to fill.
"Blanco? He is out on a charter."
"A charter? What... tourists?"
"No, I hired him."
It turns out that Whitey is out with some special sonar equipment to pinpoint KOZANOSTRA's location on the bottom. He won't talk about it now, but there are several things aboard that need to be recovered... if possible. Blanco is using the old Morgan rather than the new boat he has purchased. It is less conspicious than the CARIBBEAR hovering over the site, a lower profile. There are others who will be seeking out the ship's final resting place. Chris intends to get there first.
But all of this will wait until tomorrow. Apparently we are going aboard for more than just hospitality.
A young man with a guitar hanging upside down on his back from the strap walks up behind Chris and puts a hand on his shoulder. Chris looks up at him and then back to us.
"Hey guys, I want you to meet Mike Hedges."
We all nod our greetings. Lou pours a shot from a nearly empty skull and hands it to him. He up-ends it and hands it back. Lou gestures to the guitar.
"Gonna play something for us?"
"I am. Mr. Antonelli invited me here to play for your party." He gives Antonelli a pat on the shoulder and heads toward a corner of the patio where a stool and small sound system have been set up.
"I saw this guy playing a bar in Costa Rica."
We all kind of wait for a moment or two, but when we realize he won't be playing in the next moment or two the buzz of conversation begins anew and soon we are back to our prior noise level.
When Mike starts to play, it is just background noise. He says something into the microphone and Chris waves back at him from our table. The tune sounds familiar, but the exact song eludes me. Once he starts to sing, the words instantly identify the Stones tune "Gimme Shelter".
One by one the conversations on the patio and inside Dominican's stop and we are all watching and listening to this man's rendition. It is fucking awesome. One song after the next he proves worthy of any invitation from Antonelli. Lou backhands my shoulder.
"This guy is good, huh?"
We pass the Walkers around, a few shots washed down with Negro Modelo, and listen. The next song out of the gate is Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower".
Slowly the conversations roll, gaining momentum. Whenever Hedges finishes a song, the place comes alive with applause and whistles and then he starts in on another tune.
I sit in the warm breeze on the patio, surrounded by my friends, women, good booze, good smoke, and good music. Hard to top a night like this, but I know it is possible and more than likely will be attempted if I know this group. Tomorrow we go to CARIBBEAR. I predict at least a day of recovery before we find out what is really going on.
posted by Jake Allen at 6:05 AM
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