Spank that Monkey

The compound is in motion as the monkeys flee from their places and seek refuge in the trees. Looks like about a dozen of them. They aren't unlike racoons in their ability to get into things. Luckily, at least outside, it looks like they only got into the little bit of trash that was left here before we headed for the Amazon.

Inside is a different story. Those little bastards pretty much tossed the place. Any clean laundry I had has been spread around the place like cotton confetti. Most of my clothing is torn to bits, like they had a tug of war or something. I half wondered if I might have accidently killed one of them with the plane, or in the truck without knowing. They have a vengeful streak, I have heard.

Now Lou, he has shot a couple of them out of the trees checking the sights on a pistol or two. They weren't much more than big squirrels to him. I remembering him wishing they were squirrels... they would present more of a challenge. But all of this was away from the compound out about two miles by a parts plane. I don't know how they would have made the connection with Lou and the compound from way out there.

Never the less, it is a fucking mess and we need to clean it up. There has been someone here. Had to be the girls from the store in town. They brought several containers of goat jerky and two cases of beer, still cold, on the counter. In the kitchen area we find the trash cleaned up and the floor still wet from where they mopped it.

"Must have just missed them." Jerry tears the end off of one the cases and pulls a beer. He turns the case and slides it toward me and I stop it's progress. I pull one and offer it up to Lou, and then grab another for myself. Then it's survey the mess of torn clothing.

"They better not have torn up any of my Grateful Dead tour shirts." I walk over and pick up a handful of shirt fragments. I can already see that a few of my collection are among the dead.
"Motherfuckers."

I have lost three of my collection to the hairy ones. I will be shooting a few myself next time on principle alone. They broke the glass on the pinball machine, tore the coffee maker apart, and damaged our solar array out in the compound.

Jerry takes an inventory of what we will need. Lou is standing there with a smirk on his face.
"Something funny?" I ask him. He didn't lose much because he didn't have much here in the compound.
"This place doesn't look any more torn apart than before you left. It always looks like a few zoo animals made a mess in here."
"Is that right?" I shake my beer and let him have the spray. I get the same in return. When we go to get reloads, Jerry pulls the open case toward himself.

"You boys take your shinanigans outside. Beer is for drinking."
We both take pause for a beat or two, then grab the unopened case.
"Fuck you, Mommy." Lou is the first to fire, putting his thumb over the newly opened bottle and shaking wildly, then letting it loose to spray. He turns the bottle on Jerry, as do I. As the foam is dripping onto his shoulders I see that look in his eye that would scare off the toughest dark alley predator. A warning to Lou seems in order.
"Hey, Lou, that will be enough." I head for the door.
"Oh hell, you afraid of Jerry?"
Before he can utter another word Jerry grabs a bottle in each hand, gives them a quick rattle, and then breaks the tops off of them on the butcher block for effect.
He chases Lou out onto the deck and then Lou leaps over the railing and manages the ten foot drop rather cleanly.

"What got up his ass?" Lou stands slowly, looking up at the drop he just made.

We make quick work of the two cases of beer, minus the six that we wasted. The monkeys had pissed on the only dry firewood we have. We have no ice in the storage chests and now we need beer to put in them, so we pile into the Jeep and head into town. We don't worry about the compound now. Those hairy little bastards know we are home now and they won't do much save chatter at us from the trees. A couple of them have winged objects at us while we drive the path into town, but not today.

Not much going on in our little village. It is after 9pm and if they had any sidewalks they would be rolled up by now. We find a fire still burning at Nester's cousin's Cantina up the road, so we head over there.

Yep, a fire... and that is all we find. We shut down the Jeep and stand there looking at the firepit, wishing we had a couple of plates full of that Pollo they cook. It's pretty quiet. Usually you hear conversation or kids playing.

"Puede compramos algún alimento" Jerry calls to the living area up top. After a few moments one of Nester's cousins, Arianna, comes down in her nightgown. She talks with Jerry for a moment, he gives her a hug, and she heads back up the stairs. Jerry turns around and has a key in his hand.

We walk to the ice house out back and open it. It isn't an ice house any more, more of a storage area that is kept semi-cold with parts from an old refridgerator. Inside are the covered bowls of Pollo and black beans they have left over from their "special" tonight. We each grab some containers and move out into the dining area. Jerry takes another quick walk back to the ice house and returns with three large bottles of Tecate and a bottle of Agua Loca... crazy water. It is local tequila, repisado, and it will have you seeing things if you drink enough of it. Luckily it is half empty.

The three of us sit in the dark next to the fire pit and eat our marinated chicken and black beans. With that cold Tecate it is to die for. Lou has a grip on the Agua Loca that he won't release. After the fourth tug on that bottle, he finally reliquishes to Jerry, who takes a swig and passes it to me. Even though Lou looks ready to receive it again, I hold it this time. After a few more bites of food and a some Tecate I take another pull off of the tequila and pass it to Lou.

His eyes brighten as he grabs the bottle, like a little light came on in his head. He stands and walks over to the small table by the road, stands on it, and reaches into the rafters of the sun cover.
"Hell ya." His hand comes down holding two Walkers.

"Now when the hell did you put those up there?" I sure as hell don't remember that.
"Before we went up to the Big City to trade our gold for cash."
"No shit."
"Non given."

The sweet smell of one of Lou's original stash from his bar floats between us as we focus on the glowing coals of the fire pit. There is complete silence with the exception of us hitting on that first Walker and the occasional guzzle of Agua Loca.

Jerry breaks the silence.
"What about this Clarok? What do you suppose it does?"
My mind is no where near that conversation. I am thinking of Abigail and doing a walk-around... tomorrow, early, before it gets so fucking hot and sticky.
"Dunno" is all I can muster.
Lou on the other hand is right there with him.
"I think it is some type of device to talk to the dead or something. Like that thing on a Ouija Board." He breathes out smoke as he talks so it looks like it is thirty degrees out here. I'm already tripping.

Jerry takes the stub of the Walker as Lou passes. "What if it is something more? These Mayans were into a lot of crazy shit."
"It's just a fucking salad bowl with six hand-holds." Lou scoffs. "We'll make ole' Auntie Nellie happy and do his little experiment. If his father thought it was important, then we will do it in his memory." He takes a pull off the tequila. "Personally I think it is all a bunch of shit. Huge waste of time."

"Like you have anything important to do with your time." I down the rest of the Tecate and wish there was more.
"My calendar is full, Nancy."
"No shit?"
"Day after tomorrow we have to fly to Hautulco and I need to settle a few things."
"I'll check my calendar."
"Fuck your calendar, you're going. I don't know where that little airstrip is and I might have forgotten a few things about flying Naomi."

"Before you boys head out I need Abigail serviced and ready. I have to make a couple of runs this week." Jerry stands, cueing us that it is time to start back.

I feel like telling Jerry that we don't need to worry about runs with Abigail any more, that we have plenty of cash after all of this has gone down. But I know it's not about the money with Jerry, it's about the flying.

We ride back to the compound in silence. The jungle noise is taking a backseat to my thoughts. Thoughts about this Clarok, about this experiment. There is so much we haven't been told. I don't think it is a farce. People have died for this. They all must have known a lot more than we do or it wouldn't mean shit. I have a feeling the next thirty days will go by like cars on a freight train. And I have the strange feeling that I should say my goodbyes.

Heading Home

I love Mexican airlines. They could give a shit who you are, what you have with you. I get the feeling that if you had fertilizer and diesel fuel in two separate carry-ons that they would help you jam them in the overhead.

We literally pour Mike and Andy out of the cab and have to shoulder the both of them onto the plane. The two of them got into a tangle with that margarita machine last night and they won... if you could call it that. I do remember Mike making calls to the front desk for packages of Jello, which they delivered. I also remember everyone being way to impatient for it to set up and the ensueing slurping of half stiff jello shots had us all laughing like idiots. Before we retired for the evening there was enough colors either choked up from laughing or puked up due to overload on that balcony than you would find on a Jamaican street corner.

I did wake up in one of the rooms, as did Jerry. The rest of those idiots were sprawled on that balcony as though they had taken heavy artillery fire. Some of them on their stomachs, others on their backs. Hell, Chris ended up under a couple of loungers at the far end of the balcony away from everyone. His prosthetic foot sat on a table not far away, the top of it filled with salsa where his stub would normally fit in. Around the fake toes are piles of tortilla chips. Pretty fucking funny. Looks like Lou's handy work. I am pretty sure Antonelli won't see the humor in it.

After we get the boys on their flight and make sure it leaves for good we head over to the G-4 and make our getaway. Not a word is spoken. In fact the only voice we hear for the next several hours is the pilot announcing our take off and Chris' personal flight attendant making sure we were buckled up for the event. The rest is lost to an agave dream, seas of green and blue Jello, Mike poking a brahma bull with a big meat fork, and Lou killing everyone in a Cheese Cake Factory restaurant. It wasn't a bloody dream, he snapped all their necks. Lou hates the Cheese Cake Factory and the yuppy bastards that eat there. His words, not mine. I have no idea what dreams Antonelli or Lou had. None of us shared. I just made a mental note to never mention the Cheese Cake Factory or take any suggestions to go there.

We land uneventfully in Puerto Barrios. Abigail is fueled and ready for the run home. When we were thirty minutes out Jerry asked Antonelli to call in a special grocery order to be loaded onto Abby. Although the order seems a little strange the stuff is available and that bit of business is taken care of. I wouldn't have thought you could get some of that stuff in this place but Jerry knows what the town has to offer. The call ahead will save us the time going in and getting it ourselves. He wants to get rolling while we have daylight left.

Puerto Barrios is a blur. We hop out of the G-4 and into Abigail. I don't even have time to take a piss. Jerry says the door is always open. I guess I will piss out of it when we get in the air.

Lou's pockets rattle when he climbs on board. Turns out he found a whole cabinet of mini's on the G-4 and decided to pilfer a few. The damn plane has a full bar stocked with fifths of everything, so these little mini bottles must have been left over from some catering mistake or something. Never-the-less Lou is a walking Long Island Ice Tea.
"We got any Coke?"

Abigail speeds down the runway and we lift off with little effort. She is nearly empty save the small amount of grocery items that Jerry called ahead for. It is shortly after noon that we are airborne, heading to Tapia's for a quick visit, then home.

I wait until the city is behind us and we are out over the jungle before I relieve myself out of the cargo door. Lou is forward rummaging through a couple of flight bags until he finds an old and dented can of cola.
"We have any glasses... or cups, a cup will do."

It turns into a dangerous game. No cups, no glasses, just five little mini bottles; Tangauray, Cuervo, Bacardi, Stoli, and Jack Daniels. That and a warm can of cola.
"Want one?" Lou asks, opening each of the bottles and snapping open the can of soda, slurpping the foam off the top as it boils out. Once it has subsided he sets it next to the bottles on the deck.

"One what?"
"A Long Island."
"There isn't any whiskey in a Long Island."
"There is in mine."
"What are you mixing it in, your boot?"
"Look, Nancy, either you want one or you don't. Observe."

Lou pours a little cola in his mouth first. Then he splashes a little of each bottle in until finally he has a mouthful. A quick shake of his head to mix and he swallows. He doesn't outwardly grimace, but I can see his eye twitch. He points to the bottles and then me.

"Pass."
"Come on you pussy, try it."
"Pass."
"You fucking Nancy, TRY IT."

I follow his lead and do a little mix, shake my head and swallow it down.
"Not bad."
"See, I told you."
"We need a barber chair."
"Now you're talking."

Before we make Tapia's we have decided to make a trip in Naomi out to Lou's bar and settle things. His "wife", who is a local and they are just shacking up and not really married, has probably taken over the place and is running it. She and her family had done it when Lou was on walkabout a year or two ago. But he has a few things he wants to get before he lets her have the bar. For one thing we need to get the stock of liquor. Lou paid for some top dollar supplies and he isn't willing to part with them. Then there is some "ass kicking" that he wants to accomplish. There is a little bad blood that is leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. That little shoot out when we left Santa Cruz Hautulco with him on board was with some of his "patrons". He wants to get even.

We doze on and off until Jerry puts Abigail on her starboard wing and makes the turn to line up on Tapia's dirt strip. He is wide awake, the power thrumming through Abby's fuselage is charging him like the Energizer Bunny. He talks to her as she levels out, like a man coaxing his horse toward home after a long, hard ride. As he lines the wings up with the horizon I straighten up in the right seat and watch as Tapia's ranch passes beneath us.
"Lou... terra firma." I turn to see him sprawled out in his hammock. One eye opens and he locks a firm hand on the hammock line as we hit the dirt with a thump.

It turns out that Tapia is in the next village and won't be home until late in the evening. Mari is home to feed the ranch hands, and now us. The normal crew of workers seems thinned a bit. He has some of the men with him to aid another rancher.

Mari is excited to see us. Over a sumptious goat stew we tell her of all that has happened and is going to happen in the next month... what we know anyway. She asks about Ollie and is troubled with the news that he is still in the hospital.

Jerry has some of the boys unload the small cache of groceries and Mari looks like a kid at Christmas. These are special things that the two of them don't have at the ranch. Things that they wouldn't buy for themselves... like bubble bath, fresh high thread count cotton sheets, some special food items that they just can't get out here, like peaches and pineapple, smoked oysters and cans of chocolate syrup. It is a weird combination of things that Jerry pulled from memory. Things that he had heard both Tapia and Mari mention in passing. Things that he kept on a mental list until the time and location were right.

We are only there for an hour or so and we say our goodbyes. Jerry promises to stop on the way back in thirty days. There is an impatience to get back to El Corazon. We can all feel it.

The setting sun is bright in our windscreen. Jerry's gone Hollywood and is comfortable behind his RayBans. I have lost my good sunglasses in the Amazon and have to wear a scratched up pair of aviators while I am in the right seat.
"She's ready for a good servicing when we get back." Jerry tells me.
"I know... I owe her some time."
"Make me a list of what you need." He drops down to about five hundred feet and we ride the mist that is over the top of the hot jungle terrace.
"Not a problem. Lou and I are flying Naomi to the coast to close out his bar and I can replenish our servicing stock while I am there."

Everything I will need we have at the compound. But once that stock is used we have to build time into a delivery route to get supplies to replenish that stock. I usually can give Abby a filter and fluid change, plugs and a few other items three times before stock is depleted. I have one more change out and then I will have to restock.

Time passes. Lou joins us in the doorway and minutes later a beautiful sight appears. El Corazon... it really isn't much to look at from up here, but it is home. We buzz the runway to get the goats to move. That is a good sign though. When there are goats on the runway, that means some of the woman from town have probably been at the compound taking care of things for us.

After we scatter the livestock, Jerry tips her on her wing and we line up for our approach. The sun is down and the air is strangely cool for this time of year. By cool I mean high seventies... low eighties.

One thump later and we are down. I help Jerry with the switches and we make the turn at the end of the strip and taxi back toward the gate. Jerry stops short of the entrance and Lou bails out, opening the sliders to let us in.

As the taxi lights pan across the compound and hit the main building we see monkeys scatter like pigeons in the park. It is going to be a mess... I just know it.

Going All In

It takes a little convincing, but we at least get Andy to put off leaving today so we can talk. There is a matter of their tickets, which with a phone call we move them to the next day's flight. Before we even get into explaining why we are here and what we need them for, Andy tells us that they have be back home within the next two days... and that is that. Orders are in from the home front I reckon.

"It's not that we HAVE to be home, we told them we would be home." Andy defends himself against Lou's chiding that he is henpecked. Well... pussy-whipped is what Lou said.

Mike is nodding as well. "You boys don't know how lucky we have it. Our girls leave us be come fishin' time out here in this place. They don't have a hard time with it, as long as we get back to the old homestead when we told them we would." He looks to Andy for approval and gets a quick, military nod.

"Hey... guys, we don't want to get you into trouble. This isn't something that is going to happen right now anyway. Thirty days... we have thirty days until we need you boys." I try to ease my way into their plans.

We are standing outside on the pier. I wish we were in the coach with airconditioning and a cold Negro Modelo, but Andy has it all buttoned up for the season and isn't willing to break the seal.

"Why don't we take our car into town and get a couple of rooms. We'll have a nice lunch and dinner and talk about all of this." Chris tries to usher us toward the cab.
"Why don't you just have that cab take us to the airport, friend. We can talk there." Andy is still as stiff as a starched white shirt. The smile he had given Lou after the bear hug has been pushed to the back of the line and now that regimented sour-puss expression is back.
"Come on, Andy, I thought we had this settled. Your tickets have already been moved to tomorrow's flight." I give him a pat on the back and try to usher him toward the cab. He stands fast.
"We can still make that flight. They never have a full plane leaving this place."

Mike, on the other hand, is fine with an extended visit. He sides up with us and works on Andy.
"Come on now, Andy, we don't know when we are gonna see these fellas again." He reaches up and puts a hand on Andy's shoulder. "We'll take our flight tomorrow, eh?"

With a tisk, Andy complies and we all head over to our hired car. Our driver recommends Las Palomas and we end up with a five room penthouse overlooking the Sea of Cortez for a little less than a grand a night. It all goes on Antonelli's bill.
We mill around in the lobby while they check us in for the night. Beautiful spot that I think we will return to when we come back to visit Andy and Mike while they fish.

They send a porter up with us, his cart holding the four bags between Andy and Mike. I'm sure he thinks this might be a light tip. After he shows us the suite, Chris says something in his ear and then hands him a fifty. The young man smiles widely and then bows out as the door closes.
"What did you tell him?"
"That there was more where that came from if he could get what we wanted."
"What is it that we wanted?" Lou opens the refridgerator under the bar in the kitchen and pulls out a cold beer. He holds it up and I nod. He tosses it across the room to me and luckily I catch it as he pulls out several more. Tile floors are pretty unforgiving to dropped bottles of beer.

"A little local stuff, papers, you know... stuff like that." Chris walks says, his steps echoing off the tile as he walks the suite.
"Nice." Lou hands Chris a beer as he passes. He looks at Andy, who shakes his head.
"Ohhh, come on Andy, how are we going to have any fun with you all zipped up like this. Have a fucking beer."

"I'd rather not." Andy has his hands in his pockets, still not quite sure he likes being hijacked like this.
"Yeah, Andy likes them Mango/Passion fruit margaritas... don't ya, Andy." Mike smiles, just trying to help. You can tell by the shade of red that it was more information that Andy wanted to part with.

"Jesus, Andy, your cat was out of the bag in Vegas. I know you can party, you strippin' bastard." Lou pulls up a highball glass from beneath the bar and puts some ice in it, "Two hundred dollar a bottle Scotch as I remember."

"I don't need to get that drunk ever again." Andy says as he watches Lou, taking a seat on the other side of the bar.
"Sure you do. You aren't flying that plane tomorrow. It is a scientific fact that people enjoy their long flights more when they are passed out."
"You're an idiot."
"Let's keep that between us, okay?" Lou pours a generous amount of Jack Daniels in through the ice until there's a good three fingers in the glass. Then he pulls up a bottle of what looks like lemonade, gives a good shake, and pours it in on top.
The mixtures rolls in the glass as he pours and doesn't even need to be stirred.
When he is done he slides it across to Andy, who apparantly has dropped his objections like third period French. Lou even puts a long straw in it for him. Would have been garnished with fruit and an umbrella if there was any of that.

With a long draw on the straw he takes down half of the amber beverage. Before he speaks again he takes a long tick off of the drink once more and empties the rest of it, pushing the glass back to Lou over the granite bar top.
"Oh... shit, we're in trouble now." Lou smiles.

Their are five rooms and six of us. I am betting that at least one of us is on the patio when we wake up. Who gives a shit. I'm not here to sleep, I'm here to see our old buddies and talk them into this new journey we are going to take.

Once again we are without a change of clothing. Once again we have to call down to the lobby and find out if they have a clothier of something of that nature. It's a good thing most of these little towns have a bazaar of some kind running every day of the week. What they don't have on hand they get for us down some tourist packed alley.

We end up on the balcony of the suite with our own bartender, a margarita machine, and enough tequila to bring this town to its collective knees. There is a chef with a large open air grill cooking marinated meats and vegetables, shrimp and scallops the size of your fist. Mike can't help but stand over the guy's shoulder and watch his technique... asking him about the marinade, about where the shrimp and scallops are from. The chef happily quarters a scallop and spears one with the large fork he is turning the meat with. Mike takes the piece in his fingers.

"Shouldn't use the same fork you are stabbing through that meat, fella. Not so sanitary."
The guy just smiles as he watches Mike pop the scallop chunk in his mouth. It's a little hot, so Mike sucks air in around it before he chews.
"Oh ya, that's a good one."

I nudge Lou, "We are going die fat and happy hanging out with him."
Lou takes a draw off of his margarita, "Not a bad way to go." He holds his glass up to our bartender, "Needs more cactus juice, amigo."

Jerry produces a box of cigars that he brought from the ship and those of us who want one spark them up, letting the smoke mellow us where the tequila doesn't. With all the Muerte Verde we have consumed in the past months, the tequila they are using for these margaritas falls short.

Andy is into his second margarita before he wants some answers. We leave that to Chris, since every other word out of our mouths seems to get corrected. He doesn't cotton to the "Salad Bowl Trick" explanation. I see a lot of head shaking on Andy's part, whether it is in disagreement or just disbelief. Antonelli ends up with pen and paper, sketching out a small drawing or two to add to his explanation.

The day rolls on. Either Andy has asked a lot more questions or margaritas make him as thick as a brick. Which ever it is, he is still talking to Chris after we have given our best explanation to Mike.

"Oh ya, sounds kinda strange... six handles on a salad bowl." Mike holds his chin with a thumb and forefinger. "Ya know, I don't remember ever seeing a salad bowl with handles."
Lou chokes on his margarita, which is really a glass of ice cold tequila with a lime ice floater. Mike makes him laugh more than anyone I have seen.

Our explanation gets a quick and dirty look from Chris, who seems to have finished with Andy.
"If I hear this thing being called a salad bowl one more time I'm going to have hits put out on the both of you." He says this with a smile, but there is a veiled threat behind that friendly face. He and Andy move to the semi-circle of patio chairs the rest of us are sitting in. Antonelli sits on the edge of his seat, prompting the rest of us to scoot to the edge of ours to gather in a tighter group.

"The six of us need to keep this absolutely secret." He puffs his cigar to life and takes the last hit in deep, breathing it out as he continues. "Regardless of what you think of this little experiment, I want you to remember that my father died to make this happen."

That did it. The thought of Bear being tortured to death gives this whole project a new life. Maybe there is something to this. Maybe the Clarok holds some great mystery that the average man cannot fathom. Whatever the case, it won't be any skin off of our backs to give it a shot.

"Now Andy here has agreed to go in on this." He looks to Andy for reassurance and gets a quick nod. Chris looks at Mike, "Did these yahoos explain what is going on here?"

Mike perks up like a german shepard ready to chase a ball. "Well, I got the part about the salad bowl and the six handles. Is there more?"

Antonelli shoots us a final dirty look and then turns back to Mike and briefs him on everything. Lou and I get a lot more out of this explanation than we did on the ship. Jerry benefits as well, having only heard our convoluted version of the facts.

When Chris finishes with his report, we all fall silent. The unknown, the mystery of the Clarok, the Mayans... the Bermuda triangle, the ingredients of this new adventure promise to be either the most exciting time any of us have ever spent. Or it could be the biggest gag to be played on modern man since the opening of Capone's Vault. We will all find out in one month when we are to rendezvous back on Antonelli's ship.

Plans are made to collect both Andy and Mike from their respective homes in the G-4. Chris makes it clear to them that if their involvement in the project produces any monitary hardship that he will provide ample compensation.

As far as the three of us, we head back to El Corazon for a much needed visit. We have freight to deliver, and the compound is most likely been overrun by monkeys by now.