by Ed Teja
"My. I don't think that is soon enough at all," Simon said. "My employer will not be pleased."
I lifted my glass. "It isn't soon enough for anyone, it seems. So I'll start looking for Walker's boat tomorrow morning," I told him.
He looked at me. "Really? If the man went off sailing to parts unknown, how in the world is it possible to find him?"
I laughed. "When weekend sailors say they are going sailing, usually they simply mean that they are going off somewhere on their boat. Sometimes they don't sail at all, just motor out a ways and find a quiet spot to anchor. This area is riddled with beautiful bays. He led us to believe that he was intending to spend time with the new love of his life. That much might be true. If it is, he won't want to waste time underway so I don't think he will have gone far. If it was me, I'd head for a familiar anchorage where we could dine ashore and replenish basic provisions, like rum."
"How does any of this delightful information help you find him?"
"It means that there is a chance of finding him from the sea. I'll hire a small boat and start exploring the bays, looking for his boat. A local fisherman will know which bays have restaurants and a decent anchorage. He might even know of a boat that frequently anchors in one spot. I don't mean it will be easy or quick, but I can cover a lot of ground in one day. I might be able to find him, and spending my time trying beats the hell out of sitting in my room, waiting for Monday."
Simon scratched the bridge of his nose. "I think you are no amateur concerning those things. As I know nothing about them, I am convinced we make an excellent team. So we play to our strengths. As I am more information oriented, I will nose around the city and see if I can find out what information on sneaky gringos might have come on the market recently, even exploring secondary passport markets. I'll get the word out to nearby cities as well, in case he has decided to show his lady the joys of other glamorous places."
I thought of every action movie I'd ever seen. "So, when do we compare notes and all that sort of thing?"
He took a slip of paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table. I saw it had a telephone number written on it in ballpoint ink. "Call me when you finish your search. Whether or not you find him, we can get together for another session of sharing and caring."
I picked up the paper and turned it in my fingers. "Seeing as you are the professional, and I don't want to offend the protocols, I better ask: Am I supposed to memorize this and then eat the paper?"
"If you like," he said, sounding serious. "I know that I'd need another drink to get it down, though. In fact, I'd probably choose just to have another drink and keep the paper in my pocket, so I didn't forget the number. That's what we professionals usually do."
I knew James Bond would be proud. "I'll just keep it in my pocket then."
He nodded. "Good thinking. It pays dividends to be adaptable."
"I like dividends," I said.
Simon raised his glass. "Then we should drink to a successful working relationship."
We drank. Our conversation stopped for a time as we watched a thin reed of a woman come into the bar and take a seat a few stools down from us at the bar. Long black hair cascaded down the back of a short, light-blue summer dress that accented her stunning figure. She crossed long legs, accented in dark stockings, and lit a cigarette.
"A rich girl slumming?" I suggested. Simon shrugged but didn't take his eyes off her. I doubt he had that sort of curiosity.
I took a large sip of my drink. "It's good to keep exploring the documents angle. I know if I intended to run, especially from trained professionals, I would want a passport with another name in it."
Simon grinned without completely turning to face me. The woman had ordered a drink and that proved far more interesting.
"Fine," he said absently.
I chuckled. "I guess you've gone off the clock, here."
He smiled and turned his attention back to the svelte female sitting with her back to us. She had noticed us noticing her and it must have pleased her as she turned slightly on the barstool, making it easy for us to admire her curves.
"Don't misjudge me," Simon said, reading my thoughts. "I could learn to love her for her mind too."
"Very modern of you."
"As long as she doesn't talk too much."
"Naturally."
Suddenly I was tired. My face felt heavy and I wanted to sleep. It had been a long, confusing and inconclusive day. It felt as if our business, such as it was, had been finished. So, when Simon ordered yet another martini, I declined a drink.
"I intend to side with discretion and slip back to the marina," I said. "The bartender said that night watchman was likely the last person to see Walker before he cast off. It's another long shot, but he might have some useful tidbit of information that will help me narrow my search. Anything would help."
"Fine," Simon said.
I realized that it was definitely time for me to leave. The discussion was over, and I had become a distraction.
As I got up to leave, he stood. We shook hands and then, as I walked out, I saw him turn his full attention and his most charming smile on the woman. She returned both the smile and the rapt attention.
Outside, the cool evening air washed over me, refreshing me a bit. Under a full moon, I walked a street empty of any footsteps except my own. I enjoyed the quiet, and the darkness was calming.
Still, in an odd way, the emptiness of the streets, the intense darkness in the shadowy corners reminded me exactly how far I was from any help if I needed it.
That's how it had been for Walker, I knew. Despite years in the country, despite a working knowledge of the language, when he was up against any serious problems, he would have been on his own.
Venezuelans tend to be friendly and helpful people, but in any country, a foreigner in trouble is, first of all, a foreigner. In extreme situations he has to look out for himself.
As I crossed the empty main street, I heard a hoarse whisper, a soft calling came from the sidewalk at the intersection. I turned cautiously and saw a thin woman, dressed in a slinky black dress and high heels pretending to make a phone call. When she saw that I was looking her way, she thrust her hips forward and licked her brightly painted red lips suggestively.
"Want a date?" she asked me, her English shaky but serviceable. I sighed. It wasn't her fault, but after seeing women like Consuela and the girl I had left Simon pursuing in the bar, her offer was a bit of a comedown. It didn't help that she didn't even try to speak to me in Spanish.
I smiled, shook my head, and continued the lonely walk to the marina where I met with a bored José Renaldo. We chatted amiably for a time and, for a small donation, I learned that the sum total of everything he knew came down to Walker arriving with one girl and possibly leaving with two girls, one being a gringa, on board.
I learned that he (José, not Walker) was jealous of rich gringos who had expensive boats, even if they were foolish sailboats and the money to attract pretty girls. The only other thing he could tell me for certain was that the boat hadn't come back yet.
In short, except for the presence of a gringa, I learned nothing Pierre hadn't already told me.
The gringa was a puzzle. Two chicas wouldn't have been a surprise. Had his wife left Margarita and followed him to the marina? It was an interesting possibility.
Duty done, I headed for my hotel, where an empty room waited for me. I hoped it would be empty. I had no reason to think it wouldn't be, but the day had offered enough surprises that I couldn't count on anything.
CHAPTER FOUR
Searching
Once we'd made contact, the first words I heard from Ugly Bill over the radio were typical. Pierre changed from the hailing channel to a nearby one and I ordered a beer as the deep voice rang out.
"'If one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable.' So, Junior, now that the good guys have arrived on the Spanish Main, headed toward you at about te
n knots, inquiring minds need to know whether you want reinforcements ashore there in PLC or if you have some master plan that needs shoring up in another place?"
Ugly Bill was on board our ship, Irreparable Harm.
That morning, I'd dropped in at Walker's office. I learned that Consuela had located Evelyn Walker's hotel and that I had received a fax.
The fax came from Ugly Bill and announced that he was delivering the cargo. He and Sammy would have HARM in the waters off the north coast that morning and he would shout me up on the radio.
Walker's office didn't have a radio, but I knew where I could find one.
As I needed to get looking for Walker's boat anyway, I left a contented Consuela engrossed in the grueling task of doing her nails and headed down to the marina.
Because all the marina customers use VHF radios to stay in touch, the marina bars always have a radio on. They monitor the hailing channel—channel 16. When you wanted to talk to someone you just called for them by the name of the boat or station. When they respond, you change to another channel for a somewhat private conversation.
It makes for a rather community-based party line.
When the call came through, Bill was loud and clear.
"If I am going to tell you what port you should sail to, I need to know where you are now," I pointed out. "The Spanish Main is a fairly large area, mate."
"We are on a Westerly course, as you might guess. From the bow, if I squint, I can see the pretty ladies of Isla Coche standing on the shore and waving at us real friendly like. We are surrounded by a passel of fishing boats. Since we are playing detective down here, based on the evidence I would guess that this means we passed by Carúpano a ways back. That puts the lovely tourist destination of Isla de Margarita a bit northwest of us and the city of Cumaná right around the Araya Peninsula to the south of us. And where are you?"
"In the bar at Bahia Redonda."
"Good news. Hey Pierre," he called. "I know you are listening," he said. "I haven't forgotten our bet."
I looked over at Pierre and saw him flinch. "The America's Cup race," he said sheepishly. "I thought I had inside information, but it would seem that Ugly Bill did."
I couldn't remember Bill ever losing a bet. I'd quit taking his bets long ago. Mostly. Once in a while, I would think I had a sure thing and try to break his streak, but it always cost me.
"He probably had an inside tip from Chaucer," I told Pierre. "I can't believe how much stuff he is tapped into."
Pierre grinned. "I think he said it was Oscar Wilde."
I pushed the talk button on the microphone.
"I think it would help these valiant efforts to right the wrongs of the world the most if you headed straight for Isla Margarita. Do the official check-in there. Have a cold beer and then see if you can track down Walker's wife, Evelyn."
"Any thoughts on where to start looking? Margarita isn't huge, but not as small as Coche."
"The office manager said she has a room at the Entero Hotel in Porlamar, so that would be a logical place to start. I don't know if she is still there for certain. "
"Does the Entero Hotel have a swimming pool?"
"I know it has a bar." I laughed. "I can't believe that after all this time at sea you want to go swimming in a pool."
He laughed. "I know it has a bar. That is, I believe a legal requirement laid down by the UN Commission on Human Rights. But it is no obsession with water that drives me to desire a swimming pool, Junior. I was thinking that hotel pools, especially those that are muy turistico, are often surrounded by a variety of women wearing little but skimpy bathing suits. They seem to grow delightfully skimpier every year. That single factor can make the tiresome chore of waiting around for someone far more pleasant."
"I'm sure it does, Billy boy. I can't answer the question, but if it doesn't have one you can call James and tell him to have them install one for you."
"I'll just do that, Junior. Jimmy can be an obliging sort of guy."
"He obliges you, at any rate. Before I forget, who were you quoting back there about needing to know the port?"
"My old friend Lucius Annaeus Seneca, of course."
"Oh yes, another of my favorite sailing gurus."
"Okay, maybe he was a politician and a friend of Nero, rather than a blue-water sailor, but a lack of time spent at sea should never cause a person to discount wisdom when he hears it. Some lubbers aren't entirely stupid. They just often seem that way."
"Did you say, 'a person'?"
Bill chuckled. "In case you haven't noticed, we are seeing a large increase in lady sailors among our sad lot. It pays to shift your thinking to keep pace with current events."
"This from a man immersed in the sexism of classical literature?"
"I don't understand the idea that a classical education and interests would keep an intelligent person from staying in tune with the times he or she lives in. More to the point of our mission for Jimmy, however, what exactly am I supposed to do when I find the lady?"
"Introduce yourself. See if she is okay. Find out if she has been there the whole time. Tell her that we are looking for her husband and find out if she has any idea where her husband might take his boat. He might have some places he likes better than others."
"In other words, get all the gossip then. Sure, I can do that."
"I'll be hiring a boat to go off on a sweep of some of the close bays today. I hope anything she can tell us will be old news by the time I get back, but if I strike out, anything she knows might help. I have been told that she is not big on sailing, so that might be a dead end."
"You know, I'm thinking that all this chatting and making nice stuff sounds like a good job for little Sammy," he said. "The kid needs practice sweet talking the ladies."
I laughed, picturing him sending Sammy off to meet with Evelyn. Sammy was his protégé—a kid in his early twenties. He'd done some work for us in the boatyards in Trinidad and turned out to be a wonderful guy.
He'd been a street kid, hustling work. Bill decided to make a sailor of him, and he'd taken to it with enthusiasm. Of course, Bill's ideas of what it took to make a true sailor couldn't be contained in a little tome like Chapman's Piloting and Seamanship, which was the bible for sailors.
After all, the 66th edition is a mere 927 pages and woefully lacking in some areas near and dear to the overly large and enthusiastic heart of Ugly Bill.
"You are the mission leader over there. Use your discretion. I'm sure Sammy will be more pleasant for her to look at. And now that you mentioned him, how is Sammy doing?"
"His basic seamanship is coming along wonderfully. He already knows more knots than you, which ain't too rough. He made me a decent sword mat last week."
"Great."
"But he still doesn't quite have the handle on poetics that I'd hoped for. He doesn't yet appreciate the beauty of interlocking Rubaiyat as well as he should."
"That is a rhyme scheme, right?"
"Bonus points for you, boyo."
"Well, I'm sure Sammy will get the hang of it eventually."
Bill laughed. "Long afore ye, Captain."
"Stay in touch. I want to know when you've found the wife."
"Evelyn Walker, do you mean? The lady has a name."
"My politically-corrected apologies to the universe at large."
"You know, if you spent more time aboard your ship, being the sailor you claim to be, and less gallivanting about ashore I'd have the chance to improve your social skills."
He always got me with that. He knew damn well that most times I would have preferred to be on the ship. It just seemed that I got stuck with the shore side tasks a disproportionate amount of the time.
"How am I supposed to contact you?" he asked. "Are you going off to scout bays, or changing the agenda to hang around the marina bar until I call in again?"
"Call the office telephone when you have anything. Leave a message with Consuela if she is there, or on
the answering machine if she isn't. She is keeping things running. I'll try to call in for messages before she goes home for the weekend."
There was a pause. "Consuela?" His voice sounded odd.
"The office manager."
"You have a Consuela there?"
"Yes."
"And you are sending me to Margarita to meet an Evelyn? On that basis alone, life seems extremely unfair."
"Consuela will still be here when you are done in Margarita, I imagine."
"She better be," he mumbled. "Consuela..."
I should mention that, as a full-time, 110-percent, over-the-top sailor, Bill sees omens in all things. I sometimes forget that he considers names as omens. Consuela was obviously a good one.
"To Margarita then."
"Tally ho," he said and broke the connection. Despite his obsession with cultural mores, sailing knowhow, proper radio protocol had never made Bill's list of important things.
"Bahia Redonda back to channel 16," I said.
"How long until Bill comes here?" Pierre asked.
"A few days, I expect."
"Good. I need some time to collect on a few debts owed me before he arrives. I might have what I owe him by then."
"He wouldn't hurt you over money," I assured him.
Pierre looked insulted. "Of course not. Not physically. But I couldn't endure the inevitable torrent of erudite insults he would heap on my head, most likely in front of customers."
That, I agreed, was a likely scenario.
"I need to hire a fisherman," I told him.
Pierre smiled. "Can I go with you?" he asked. "Fishing sounds good."
"That wouldn't do you any good, Pierre. I'll be back long before Bill gets here."
"It was a thought. So, you are going fishing?"
"No. I want to hire someone with a boat who knows his way around so that I can scout the bays for Walker's boat. I was thinking that if he was just going off to be with the girl, he might not be that far away. Besides, it's a better use of my time than sitting here and drinking expensive booze until he gets back."
Pierre shook his head as if my decision was the most foolish thing he'd heard in ages. Maybe it was. Grumbling, he turned his attention back to the inevitable and interminable bartender's task of cleaning invisible dirt from wine glasses for a time, then sighed and gave me a resigned look.
