Medusa's Lair

by Kenneth L. Funderburk

  “What you guys here for?” he said in broken English.

  “Sir,” said Danny, “we are here fishing for a few days, and we wanted to check in with you and make sure we’re okay to do that. My name is Danny, and this is Chic. I always like to clear in with the harbor master.”

  “You’re a very smart man, Mr. Danny,” said George. “Most people don’t understand that they need to keep me happy. You boys are clear. Just make sure if you have any problem, you check in with me. I’m the guy keeping things moving around here.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Danny with his best posture that said, “I’m the little guy, and you’re the boss.”

  “Danny, you can call me George if you like. All my friends do.”

  After a minute of chatter about what his office did and discussing the functions of a harbor master in Central America, Danny sensed that he could open up with George about his real line of work.

  “George,” he began, “Chic and I are here fishing on vacation, but we both also work for the Pensacola Florida Sheriff’s Office. I’m a full-time detective, and Chic is a clinical psychologist. Let me show you my badge.”

  Danny and Chic both presented their badges to George.

  “Well, hell,” was the response from the harbor master. “Who are you guys investigating down here?”

  “We really aren’t on official business,” said Danny. “Somebody at the hotel where we’re staying mentioned that there was a big forty-meter yacht in Fronteras named Angel. It just so happens that I was investigating such a yacht in Pensacola that caused a lot of damage at the local marina and left a big bill for damages. I didn’t think I would ever see that boat again. Now it would be a gift from heaven if that yacht showed up down here in port at Lake Izabal where I just happened to be fishing. I need a few words with Angel’s captain.”

  “Son, I’d say you’re the luckiest and unluckiest guy I have ever met,” said George. “I was told by the people at the marina that Angel came through here headed east toward the gulf about four this morning. By now, they’re long gone.”

  “Well, if it weren’t for bad luck,” Chic said, “we would not have any luck at all, George. Do boats have to report to you when they come and go? Do you have any information that might help us find them?”

  “If they’re going to stay here, then they would need to check in with me,” George answered. “But they only passed by here and headed for the western part of Lake Izabal. We did record their name as Angel and the owner’s name as Echeneis. Both names are a little stupid in my opinion.”

  “Marie,” he said to his secretary, “did you hear anything about that yacht Angel?”

  “Not really, boss,” she said. “If I remember right, the captain’s name was Captain Hayes. At least that’s the way he reported it on the ship-to-shore radio transmission. Some of the guys said on the way out this morning they picked up some radio communication between a Captain Roberto with somebody. It was about a Captain Hayes and a crewmember embarking from Fronteras. That’s about it.”

  “We appreciate that information,” said Chic. “At least we now know the Angel is located in the western Caribbean. If the sheriff is interested in following up on it, that will be up to him. Today we are going to enjoy the rest of our vacation. There is fishing to do and good food to eat. We will let somebody else take care of the world’s problems this week.”

  They shook hands, and while going out of the door, George gave them the names of a couple of his favorite places to eat.

  “Okay, Danny,” Chic said, when they got clear of anyone hearing the exchange, “as an experienced lawman, what do you think the chances are of that yacht leaving Lake Izabal the very day we arrive, and the two people we’re looking for are no longer on the ship?”

  “The odds of it being pure luck are nil,” replied the detective.

  “Only a very few people knew about our trip, and even fewer knew the purpose,” Chic continued. “It is very hard for me to believe someone double-crossed me on this. I really would like to believe it was pure chance, but my brain tells me differently. Boston was warned about our mission here.”

  “Let’s look at it this way, Chic,” Danny replied. “If the Angel was still here, what could we find out that we don’t already know?”

  “That’s a good question,” said Chic. “If any of them were still here, we would get a picture of the boat as well as the owner’s name. We already have the name of the probable owner, which will help us for sure. We can assume that Captain Hayes and Doug are dead. No big problem to our investigation since we didn’t anticipate we would get to talk to them anyway. We do have the name of the new captain. All we lost is the opportunity to photograph the crew of Echeneis and maybe pick up information with our other equipment. My strong belief is that Ken, Captain Hayes, and Doug are all dead. We can’t prove it, but based on history, I believe they would have left them on the Angel if they intended for them to live. A search of this area, even if we could pull that off, would be a waste of time. What information we can dig up from locals is still valuable to us.

  “I think we got here quicker than they anticipated. Knowing now that there is a new captain and that the other two guys are gone is solid information.”

  “I agree,” said Danny. “Knowing the name of the owner of the yacht will allow us to obtain more details, and it may be the only hard evidence we’re going to need to find a solid lead to identify the criminal syndicate.”

  “Well, then we could drop our front and just act like the snoopy detectives that we are,” said Chic. “What really bothers me is our need to identify the person leaking information to Boston. If it’s not someone close to me or you, that only leaves the Renfro family. It’s possible that they accidentally spilled the beans to someone else. If I believe that, then I have to assume Boston is keeping a close eye on the Renfro family. Otherwise, this information could not have filtered to Boston this quickly. One thing for sure, Captain Hayes and Doug were probably killed to keep us from getting to them or even taking a photograph.”

  Chic had a bad feeling about this. Is Suzy in danger? What should he do with the Renfro family? Should he call Suzy and warn her to stay alert? Chic finally concluded that it was not time to call home and warn everybody, at least not yet. In fact, who would he warn? There was only one member he could identify who could be involved with the Boston crime bosses. What really bothered him was Boston might actually get word of his warning. Ideally, he had to get home and do his investigating. He couldn’t trust the Renfros, so it was probably better not to warn them. He and Danny would stay one more day and spend the rest of the day talking to the people on the waterfront there in Fronteras to see if they knew any more about the Angel and her crew.

  So they took off on the south side of the river until noon. After noon, they covered the north side. Danny led the way with his Spanish, although what he spoke was not classical Spanish. By day’s end, the two tired puppies once again sat on the veranda of the hotel.

  In its way, it was a grand place—a combination bar and palapa. Throughout the Caribbean, a palapa is a place where all the sailors gather to tell their tall tales. To a guy like Chic, it was a marvelous opportunity to study human nature. The history of the nautical orator was not lost on this crowd. Central casting in Hollywood couldn’t match the cast of characters seated on this deck. Many times Chic kicked himself for not taking a recording device to the verandas and around the marinas. He often considered gathering from his memories the stories for a book. He recognized, however, that the narratives of the sea and the islands were full of life in that environment when recited by real sea captains. The accounts and legends would probably fall flat in print.

  The usual suspects were present and accounted for. The New York lawyer who claimed his sailboat originally belonged to Earl Flynn. Then there was a sail maker who built his own boat while living with his wife and three kids in Seattle, Washingto
n. He told his family he was going sailing for a long weekend and never returned. There were a couple of retired teachers who got tired of watching their friends check out of this life, one by one. They wanted to enjoy life a little before they died. They sold all their worldly goods, bought a boat, and had been here living the good life ever since. There was the wealthy couple, who one day simply chose to live this way rather than play at “normal” life. Once in a while, they would fly home to see their kids, but overall, they were indistinguishable from all the other marine nomads. The drunken sailor with a peg leg and parrot along with a crowd of unidentifiable people completed the picture.

  Chic had always been at ease with people of this breed. The well-to-do couple that lived on a boat was well adjusted with a firm understanding of their place in the universe. Living at sea had a way of humbling the most arrogant. He couldn’t help but notice that the older couple was in excellent physical condition. Climbing around a boat, large or small, does make the body trim and flexible.

  Everybody at this palapa had a real, deep life story to tell, some tragic, some inspiring. All of the stories were spellbinding.

  As usual, Chic warmed up quickly to the gathering. Eventually, he felt comfortable enough to tell a few of his own favorite yarns. He began with his adventures in Maya Cay.

  “Some of you fellows probably remember an island just north of Belize City called Maya Cay,” he said.

  “You bet,” growled a black-bearded sailor leaning against the rail. “Maya Cay, yes. In fact, I met the prettiest girl I ever saw there. Man, I thought I was in love until I picked up a paper one morning, and there she was, right on the front page, arrested for doing certain unmentionable acts in a public park.”

  A lady sailor looked up at Black Beard and with dazed eyes said, “You’re so damned ugly she wouldn’t even sell you any.”

  “Okay, children,” said Chic, “you keep this up, and I’ll have you all singing ‘Kumbaya’ together.”

  The crowd snickered, amazingly, in unison. Their eyes spoke the same language: who in hell is this asshole?

  “Well, if you know the island, then you know it was an old Mayan burial ground. In Belize, a man with a gun is usually to be feared. About two in the morning, a man came out of the woods and told me he was guarding the island. He said there used to be evil spirits here, but he killed them all. I asked the guard, whose name was Ling, how he was able to kill the evil spirits.

  “Ling told me his mother was a shaman, and it was she who taught him how to kill the evil spirits. He then went through the entire ritual with me. ‘First,’ he said, ‘you rub your clothes with garlic. Then you rub your hands and face. Then you rub the shotgun shells and the gun. Then you put on a necklace of garlic.’ He then mumbled some magic words and pronounced he was ready. He explained how he would go out and wait until the spirits called his name: ‘Liiinnnggg! Liiinnnggg! Liiinnnggg!’

  “‘I would then shoot them,’ said Mr. Ling.

  “Mr. Ling told me it took him about a month, but he eventually killed all the evil spirits. He told me it was then safe on the island.

  “While Mr. Ling was dead serious, I couldn’t help but recall the trade winds blowing through the dead prawns on the trees, which produces a zinging sound. Mr. Ling might believe that the spirits were calling him: ‘Liiinnnggg! Liiinnnggg!’”

  “Yeah, man,” said Black Beard. “Strange shit happens in the jungle.”

  Danny spoke up. “By the way, we heard that there was a big forty-meter yacht anchored somewhere in Lake Izabal. Have any of you seen it? Its name is Angel.”

  “Yeah,” said the retired teacher. “I saw it when it came through, but it didn’t stop here. I don’t believe the captain ever came ashore in Fronteras. At least I never saw him. I heard every now and again they would have a meeting on the boat. One or two times I saw a helicopter headed out toward the lake. I heard various people would fly in here and then be flown out to the boat.”

  “From what I heard,” said Black Beard, “that was a real bunch of bastards on that boat. Never talked to us locals.”

  What Chic and Danny heard simply confirmed what they had heard all day. The only useful information was that no one had heard that Captain Hayes and Doug had departed the boat or that it had passed through Fronteras, headed for the gulf.

  Chic and Danny decided the next day they would explore Lake Izabal and see what they could see. Fronteras to El Estor at the western end of the lake was approximately twenty-five miles. They could easily make the trip in a day.

  Chic had especially liked the retired couple from Florida. They had to be in their late sixties or early seventies, but life had made them look like a pair of forty-year-old athletes. The man had his story about how he was rich, as rich as the richest man on earth. He said he had the one thing the rich man didn’t have. Chic took the bait and asked the old sailor, “And what would that be?”

  “Happiness, son,” said the old man. “When was the last time you met a happy rich man?”

  “Well,” said Chic, “I don’t have an answer for that right off the top of my head. I’m going to have to think about it.”

  Later that night, Chic lay in bed pondering the day’s activities. The old man’s words kept coming back to him. What about the men who ran the grand criminal enterprise he was investigating? They had to be rich men. So, what exactly was their motivation? How much money, toys, and power were needed to satisfy their greed?

  Chapter

  12

  At 6:00 a.m. Chic and Danny were eating breakfast. They were on their way by seven. They took their time, checking out the interesting foliage on shore along the way. They didn’t expect to see anything relevant to the investigation, but you never know. They pulled into the peer in El Estor at eleven thirty. Since El Estor was the only populated area beyond Fronteras, it seemed reasonable that if the crew of the Angel came ashore, it would be in this isolated place.

  It was a crappy little place. The people were friendly enough, but it was simply a small, remote village with a couple of open-air places to eat.

  Chic knew from experience in Central and South America that the best and safest food was at the outdoor vendors. Here you could see your food being prepared and cooked. The beef stew and rice were excellent. The vendor was more than happy to introduce the boys to the two local whorehouses. Every sailor confined to a boat for a long time will visit a local whorehouse at the first opportunity.

  Chic and Danny picked the cleanest one to start with. The madam was most helpful. She retrieved a beautiful young girl, who could have been anywhere from fifteen to twenty-two years old to talk to Chic. The girl remembered the captain and his friend. She said he was a nice guy, treated her well, and gave her a big tip. She would be happy to have him back.

  She said her little brother was down near the pier that night. He saw the two guys from the big yacht get shot. Two men were hiding in the dark, and as soon as the captain and the other guy were shot, they fell into their dinghy. The men took the dinghy and sped off with the bodies inside.

  Chic had the girl get her brother, Pee Wee, who told the same story with a little more emotion. Pee Wee explained he was hiding in the dark, drinking beer. He was only twelve, so he knew he had to lay low. He also confessed that he smoked a little cigar. He was about to light up when he heard the shots. He showed Chic and Danny where he was hiding, where the shooters were, and where the dinghy was tied to the dock. He told them that they headed out across the lake without their lights on. Next morning, the big boat was gone.

  Pee Wee made Chic promise not to tell his mother about any of this. Chic patted Pee Wee on the head, gave him ten dollars, and swore his secrets were safe.

  “Danny, what’s the chance of finding the bodies?” he said.

  “Absolutely no chance. We may as well go back to the motel. We might even get a little fishing in tomorrow.”

  “You got it. Th
ere’s no point in looking for Doug and the captain. They have gone to collect their great reward. Let’s spend tomorrow fishing and then head back to Florida.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  As they walked down the street toward their boat, Chic noticed a rough-looking dude at an outside bar, trying not to be noticed. Chic couldn’t really explain how a person trying not to be noticed in an open situation was, to the trained eye, waving a red flag. Chic nudged Danny’s arm and without turning his head asked, “Did you notice that tough-looking guy at the bar on my left?” He’s not a good guy. Did you bring your weapon?

  “Yes, it’s in my backpack secured in the boat locker,” said Danny.

  “Good. I have mine too, along with extra clips. We need to assume we’re going to be attacked before we leave Lake Izabal.”

  They tried not to look too obvious about getting out of there, but their pace quickened. As they pulled away from the mooring, Chic saw the guy at the bar leave the area. Chic didn’t like the way this guy looked or the way he was carrying himself. He exited the bar area like a man on a mission.

  Chic told Danny to take the helm and he would retrieve their 9mm Glocks along with extra clips. Chic had no doubt that the killers were going to attack before they could get to safety, if there was such a place in this area of the world. Chic made ready for battle as much as one can be on a moving boat.

  “You know, Danny, the fact the crooks could get these two killers in place this fast has to be through a leak. If that’s not so, we got here in the middle of their planned operation to take out a couple of important witnesses. Had we been able to catch Doug and Captain Hayes, we may have been able to identify our true enemies. So, we show up, and the bosses get a chance to kill witnesses as well as the law men who are after them. Awfully convenient, don’t you think?”