Pardners

by Roy F. Chandler

  The bandito was gone, and Pedro had no doubt his body was in the river. He saw the gringos scuffing at the dust and supposed they were removing marks of the beating and shooting. Soon, the Americans pulled their cart across the bridge and turned off on the path that led down to the water. Pedro judged that they had a boat and would escape on the river. Gringos were smart, he had heard—but then, they had everything anyone could want to help them.

  He remembered the gringo's hand inside his pocket. There was nothing there to steal, but he felt around anyway. Money—pesos and smaller coins. There were many. More perhaps than Pedro Estabo had ever possessed.

  He among the poorest in his village could buy many things. He could own a burro, he could purchase the best of sandals, and he could choose a ring for his beloved wife. He could . . .

  Pedro's mind settled. A bandito had disappeared, and perhaps his body would be found. Questions would be asked, and some would recall Pedro Estabo's purchases. Estabo was poor, but he did not see himself as a fool.

  The vicious bandito had caught him on the bridge where he could not flee, but that was now past. This was not the time to show money. He would bury his gift from the gringo, and leave it there for many of the moon's turnings. Then, he would spend little and wisely.

  Still, he could dream, and Pedro first imagined his wife's pleasure when he brought to their adobe a ring for her finger. Perhaps it could be silver. Gold? He hardly dared to think of such a gift.

  Chapter 9

  Byrne pulled the johnboat alongside the Noisy Oyster, and Bravo hopped aboard the larger boat to hang fenders protecting the Oyster's hull and to cleat bow and stern lines from the johnboat.

  Obviously pleased to have finished their fishing trip and glad to be back on their familiar yacht, both men stood in the Oyster's cockpit stretching and looking around.

  The two-wheeled cart had been deep-sixed a day earlier, and anyone examining the rental boat would have found the craft and its loading about as they had been upon departure. Sailbags half-filled the boat's center—still stuffed with balloons all would assume—and empty five-gallon gas cans were laid about. The captured Kalashnikov rifle was buried beneath the sailbags. The rest was fishing or personal gear. No one would bother to look, but if they did, there was nothing to question.

  The speedboat was still tied to its dock, but the craft appeared closed up and empty. The time seemed right to offload the now heavier bags onto the Oyster. It would be difficult to disguise that the bags were no longer air-filled, but no eyes watched from nearby. Byrne dropped back into the small boat and handed bags up to Bravo who placed them in the cockpit. The fishing gear, and their personal items were also moved onto the Oyster.

  Shepard uncleated the johnboat lines, and Alpha cranked the old outboard. He steered the craft to the rental owner's beaching spot and disappeared into the shacky office. After a long moment, Byrne and the owner reappeared to examine the johnboat's condition. Within the half hour, Byrne was back aboard and settling into the cockpit beside his partner.

  Shepard handed Byrne a soft drink and said, "Nobody came aboard while we were gone, at least not into our cabin."

  The innocent looking sailbags lay in the cockpit, and Byrne asked, "How long should we leave them outside?"

  "Until anyone who might wonder about them has had his look, would be my suggestion."

  Byrne felt the same. Ducking the sailbags into cover might catch someone's attention. Left in the open cockpit they would appear unimportant.

  Alpha grinned to himself. Oh, he and Bravo were clever all right, but most likely no one in the world cared about what was in the bags, anyway.

  Fine, the millions of American dollars could lay right there until dusk. They had a lot to do, and Byrne hoped that part did not become too noticeable.

  Alpha said, "No sense in waiting, I'll get started on opening the centerboard trunk. If anyone comes this way, let me know, and I will hide what I am doing. If I get too hot down in there, you can take over, but the quicker we get everything sealed away the better."

  Bravo said, "Remember to take the shotgun and the rifle out of the broken-money bag. We could need them both, and we can drop the Kalashnikov over the side any time we want to." Bravo's eyes were on the speedboat tied up only yards away.

  Byrne stepped down into the cabin. "You just take charge of this post and all of our property within view."

  Alpha yawned, and said, "Hand me up another soda, Byrne, and I am not amazed that you remember your first General Order. Every ex-soldier does." He grinned, "And what is Order Number Four, smart-ass?"

  Byrne's arm appeared and tossed a dew-speckled can to his partner. His voice came from below. "To repeat all calls from posts more distant from the guardhouse than my own."

  Shepard grinned. Byrne was probably right, but he wasn't sure. He always got Number Three and Number Four mixed up.

  Byrne assembled his materials where they were handy but out of sight from the cockpit. He tugged at a carpet corner until it loosened, got a better grip and peeled the carpet away from the cabin floor.

  The cabin deck was thick fiberglass. With Byrne's hollow below, it had to be strong to avoid flexing under heavy feet. Byrne drilled a half-inch hole. He stuck the tip of a dry wall saw through and opened the hole into an eighteen inch long cut. Eventually, the new entrance would be square, and he could push the sailbags through the opening.

  The cabin was stifling, and Alpha came up for air. Bravo was slouched in comfortable sitting with his broad brimmed straw hat shielding his eyes.

  Alpha said, "God, I wish I could trust you to do some of this, but it's got to be right, and you would surely screw it up." He pretended to glare at Bravo who barely raised his head in acknowledgment.

  Bravo said, "Sergeant Byrne, you are a competent workman. I am the trained observer-investigator—sort of the brain on the scene. I am carefully studying the surrounding terrain. My piercing vision, cleverly disguised by the shadow of my hat, is diligently searching for miscreants who might attempt to discover what dark secrets the Noisy Oyster holds." Shepard paused for a moment.

  "I am ready to report all violations of orders I am instructed to enforce."

  Byrne groaned aloud but did not challenge the General Order Shepard had quoted. He thought it was Number Three, but he got them mixed up most of the time. Every soldier memorized the General Orders, but except when pulling Interior Guard, no one needed them. Eventually, the correct sequence got away, and if called for guard duty the orders had to be reviewed,

  Byrne went back to work and opened the hole he needed. He swept all of the fiberglass dust into the hole and used wet towels to eliminate any traces. He tossed the towels to Bravo and requested, "When the coast is clear, rinse these out and hang them to dry."

  Bravo answered, "Aye aye, Skipper" and took the towels. Byrne heard him snickering "Coast is clear? We are all grade B actors."

  Alpha removed their weaponry and sealed the loose money sailbag inside a new black plastic garbage bag. Then he pushed the bag through his new hole and pressed it tightly to the bottom. The other six bags were similarly stored, and Byrne congratulated himself on having the storage space just about right.

  He mixed fast-drying epoxy with a thickener that made the material easier to control. He thoroughly slathered all edges of the sawed out square and the matching hole in the cabin floor. He carefully refitted the patch and joined Bravo in the cockpit.

  Bravo looked into the cabin and muttered, "That's the crudest work I have ever seen. That won't fool anybody."

  Alpha studied his friend. "You are the type who complains about how the house looks before the framing is finished. Just relax and leave it to a man who knows what he is doing."

  "How long will it take to harden?" Bravo obviously wanted quick work.

  "This stuff sets up fast—usually about ten minutes, but I'll give it an hour to be sure. Then I will sand it smooth and fill any dips that are left. Another coat with fiberglass cloth should make it part of
the floor."

  Bravo groused, "It'll fall through when we step on it."

  Alpha was condescending. "That is only the first step. There is a lot more to do, and we will not be finished until late tomorrow. Try to relax, pardner, you are in good hands."

  In late afternoon, Alpha smoothed and laid a fiber glass layer. Bravo went to the only store and bought local food that they ate with gusto in the boat's cockpit.

  Before dusk approached, the captain of the speedboat returned to his vessel. He again avoided looking at his neighbors. An electric pump started, and filthy water gushed from a through-hull fitting near the stern. The captain stayed below for some time, but before dark, he again walked away.

  Bravo said, "He's got a bit of a leak in that bucket. I wonder how often he has to pump it out?"

  "More often than he'd like." Byrne went below. "I'm going to get the next layer of fiberglass cloth on so that it can harden all night." He added with great sarcasm. I wouldn't want you to fall through, you know."

  Byrne again sanded everything smooth, and the patch was virtually invisible. He soaked the area and space around it in unthickened epoxy and laid on an overlarge square of ten-ounce fiberglass cloth. He used a small roller to flatten the cloth and allow epoxy to completely soak the covering.

  An hour later, and back in the cockpit, Alpha said, "Now look at it, pardner. Looks about perfect, I would say.

  "Tomorrow, assuming we don't have people around, I will drill a small hole into the treasure room and pour in three-pound expanding foam. That is what the rest of the space under there is filled with, and once it is in there will be no telling the new from the old.

  "The foam will expand and brace the patch. Then, I'll sand that smooth and add a final layer of fiberglass cloth. Late in the day, I can sand again, and the floor will be rock hard.

  "After a couple of hours, we can paint the floor. Just before dark we should be able to glue down the carpet, and we will be ready for any inspections that come our way."

  Believing it was his duty to criticize, Shepard said, "The epoxy smell will hang on for a month."

  Byrne laughed, "You will never catch up, Bravo. Epoxy has little smell, but just in case—" He placed a spray can in Bravo's hand.

  The label read, "New Car Scent."

  Before noon, Alpha went to the dock owner and announced their departure for the following morning. He paid in full and left a generous tip.

  Shortly before dusk, the captain and the crew of the fast boat appeared and prepared themselves for leaving. The bilge was again pumped, and Bravo thought more than five gallon was expended.

  "Geez, Alpha, five gallons or more every day? I wouldn't want to go too far in that tub."

  The speedboat's outboard was cranky, but it eventually started and rumbled powerfully. The craft backed from its dock, and bow high, it turned downstream. Both Alpha and Bravo waved, but no heads turned or answered their greeting.

  Bravo sighed, "We're going to see them again, Don, unless you've got a great plan for getting us through that rotten inlet without being detected."

  Alpha grinned mirthlessly. "Oh, I always have a plan, Tommy. Just like Butch Cassidy and Sundance had theirs for getting out of the barn in the movie. Only mine is not as certain."

  Bravo looked sour. "I thought it would be something like that. Maybe we should find them, pull alongside, and just shoot hell out of them."

  "You mean like we did those dope dealers?"

  "Just like that."

  Alpha snickered. "We got away with that once, but I wouldn't put much faith in that plan this time around.

  "We can't be sure these are bad people, but if they are, about the time we pulled into shooting range they would open up with a lot heavier firepower than we have. Your shotgun is so slow reloading it would be all over before you got off more than five rounds. I've got one magazine for the Kalashnikov—if the rifle will even fire."

  Bravo nodded agreement, and said, "We should watch close during our trip downriver. If they are waiting for us to pass, I think we can figure they will be following us through the inlet with seriously bad intentions."

  Alpha saw it the same. "They will want to jump us at night and out of sight of land. They won't want to shoot the boat into trash because they will plan on selling it for big money far away from here. That means they will come alongside and either talk their way aboard or shoot from as close as they can get."

  Bravo said, "Maybe we could ram them. This boat would crush that rotted-out pile of junk."

  "Yeah," Alpha had been pondering the possibility. "The problem would be to get a clean charge. I doubt they would let us power directly at them, and that speedboat can run rings around us."

  Bravo pondered, "Once they start shooting, they won't quit. We haven't enough ammo to do much. If they have any decent weapons aboard, they would win a drawn out firefight."

  Alpha nodded, "They must worry a little about being inspected, and they might not have military weapons, but they could easily have a scoped hunting rifle aboard."

  Bravo groaned, "Geez, if they chose daylight, they could shoot us into rags from so far out we couldn't even answer." They sat silently thinking it over.

  Eventually, Alpha stirred, and said, "Here's how we will do it."

  Bravo listened all the way through. He said only, "That's a pathetic scheme, but I can't think of anything better."

  Later he said, "I wish we had one of Ronnie Barrett's new .50 calibers."

  Alpha topped him. "If I had my choice, I'd go nuclear."

  Chapter 10

  They nearly missed seeing the speedboat tucked back into a slough. Alpha turned from the wheel to speak to Bravo, and an almost hidden flash of the motorboat's dirty white hull caught his eye.

  Alpha kept his eyes turning, but what he had intended to say to Bravo was gone forever. Instead he warned, "Do not turn to look, Tommy, but the speedboat is backed into that swamp off to our right."

  Bravo's lips tightened, but with his back to the hidden boat, even binoculars could not have detected the sudden tension.

  As though they had simply shared a moment, Alpha returned his attention to their passage through the shallows-cursed inlet. A moment later, Bravo joined him at the console, and they stared ahead as if trying to work out the peculiar arrangement of buoys and markers leading into the Gulf of Mexico.

  Bravo said, "Well, that tears it, amigo. We are going to have to fight them, and we haven't enough weaponry to do it right."

  Byrne nodded. "They are probably experienced pirates that have already stolen boats and killed crews. Lord knows we have heard about them all through the islands for the last twenty years or so."

  He shook his head in disgust. "I never dreamt that we would run onto such a bunch, Tommy. In all the time I sailed with Malcolm we never had a glimpse of such people, but you are right, and we have suspected them from the moment we saw their boat."

  Byrne hesitated, then, his voice flat, "We could spin around and tie up where that freighter is. There are too many people in that village for them to tackle us there. We could just wait them out, whether it took a week or a month—I suppose."

  Byrne's "I suppose," told Bravo what his partner really thought. Byrne was willing (perhaps he was anxious) to get on with it—to face pirates who were probably skilled at what they did? To try to outmaneuver and outshoot men who did this rotten stuff for a living?

  Not for the first time, Bravo wondered why either of them would consider such a risk-filled venture. They had been professional soldiers, and they had been Rangers, but since when had they become wild adventurers spitting in the face of lethal danger? If the speedboat came after them, the struggle would not be for points or the highest score, it would be life or death. Why on earth would either of them even consider it?

  Yet, Tom Shepard also felt a tingle in nerve ends. He tasted the challenge, and his spirit surged. His pulse quickened, and he reviewed how Alpha had said they would do it.

  If their plan failed? They wo
uld be dead and the wealth in the Oyster's belly lost, probably forever. Common sense demanded withdrawal to a secure zone and return at a safer time.

  Bravo said, "It's buggier than hell down here near the Gulf, Alpha. Who wants to hang around? Let's go through the pass, and if they come at us, we'll outsmart them and shoot them all into rags." Alpha's slight nod was approval, and they shared an unspoken satisfaction.

  Then Bravo frowned and added, "Do you suppose they might have picked up more men for the job?"

  Alpha's answer was quick. "Not a chance. They will expect to knock us over without difficulty. They see two dopey Yankees, and they will not want to split the loot."

  Bravo sighed expansively. "All right, let's get out into the Gulf and see what they do." He weighed the situation for a moment. "Unless they really know the water, they will have to come through in daylight. We ought to see them coming, and that will clinch the deal. We will know for sure that they have us in their crosshairs, and we will have no doubts left about their intentions."

  Alpha agreed. "They will probably delay going through the bars and reefs until the last daylight. They know we are out here, and with their speed, they can come up on us fast."

  "If they delay long enough, we might be able to lose them in the dark. They will not suspect a sailboat to hit twenty knots or so. We could swing north or something, and try to lose them."

  Alpha said, "That's not the plan, Bravo, and we have to end it now, or they may find us when we aren't looking and as ready as we can be."

  "Suppose they don't do what you think they will?"

  Alpha laughed aloud, "Then I'll let you take over the planning, pal."

  Commander Zero kept his binoculars on the gringo boat as it swept down the river. He watched the helmsman's face when he turned to his companion. It was as he believed it would be—a pair of Yankee yachtsmen, rich and helpless, just hoping (and expecting) that everything in life would go their way.

  Zero's plan was simple. Simple was good. Complicated plans often became knots, and profit was lost. He explained again to his men. They too were simple, and repetition was always wise. Even then, his crew was likely to do something stupid, something that he did not want done, but at least they were willing, and they could shoot.