Desperado Dale (Scenic Route to Paradise)

by Andrea Aarons

  The pale green bag hung on his left arm. Dale’s mind raced even as his eyes looked steadily toward the exit. His legs carried him forward mechanically slower than normal.

  There are so many guards! All of them armed.

  It was the tense times that were unfolding which caused the weaponry to surface publicly. Also, this little island was a crossroads for drugs, contraband, illicit meetings and human trafficking. It came to mind as he reconnoitered above the ceiling tiles, that the island authorities were looking for a pink bag carrying a specific illegal something... drugs, stolen goods or whatever. When he thoroughly inspected Bean’s carry-on there was nothing but the usual travel paraphernalia.

  About the time, Bean was scribbling her heirloom cookie recipe and Gwyneth was napping in the dappled afternoon sunlight, Dale was approaching two brawny guards standing on either side of the glass framed airport terminal exit. After a brief glance, Dale commanded his eyes to look away from either guard. They didn’t appear to be the same ones who had initiated his earlier pursuit but they looked just as thick and mean. His heart pounded and his mouth became very dry but he knew that he knew he would get past these authorized thugs without harm. Dale had a strange surreal calm that he recognized as God’s hand, resting upon him. Even so, Dale remembered that more often than not these God allowed situations turned quickly into on-the-job discipleship training or testing. Whether training or testing Dale wasn’t sure which - but the calm dovetailed with a surprise, frequently enough.

  A God orchestrated scenario evolved just as Dale had suspected it might.

  The sliding glass doors hadn’t closed behind Dale when he heard, “Hey, you!” The words were in English and not Greek which should have kept Dale from panicking, but no. Jerking his head around, even as his feet pressed forward to sprint into the slow airport traffic, Dale saw that the man wasn’t shouting at him. His eyes travel rapidly to the guards but only one was looking through the now open doors and he wasn’t looking at Dale; not until a horn honked and the brakes screeched as Dale stepped from the curb.

  The pale bag went flying from Dale’s grip as the front bumper caught it. The car missed Dale by inches, stopping just before the driver’s side mirror came in contact with his right hand which extended beyond Dale’s torso. In fact, Dale grabbed the mirror to keep himself from toppling backward.

  Through the open window, the youth behind the steering wheel was cursing in Greek but a sincere concern shown in his face for what might have been a bloody, bone snapping accident.

  Looking behind, Dale saw the observant guard pressing forward. Without forethought, Dale asked hurriedly, “Speak English?” When the young man quieted, Dale repeated the question in Greek.

  The driver’s eyes went wide and he nodded. Now the guard was screaming at the traffic as he picked up the contents of Bean’s bag spilled across two lanes.

  “I’m in a real fix. I need to get out of here quick. Tell the guard something... anything! And I need a lift beyond the airport vicinity, pronto!”

  Chapter 5 Zeff

  West and south of Dale Merriweather’s coordinates, just off the coast of western Morocco, Zeff came above decks, adjusting his green eyes to the sunlight to find Mac. The sea was choppy. The sun was setting. A hot wind blew upon the Serendipity. “What’s this about swinging wide of the Canary Islands?” He asked Captain Mac after running his fingers through the tangle of his ebony colored hair as was a typical gesture when Zeff was frustrated with life.

  Zeff had seriously thought of reconnecting with his parents at the planned stop. There had been the makings of a family rift that was finalized when Zeff was beat up and thrown into the Puerto Vallarta Bay - left for dead back in May. Mac had fished him from the Mexican waters and Zeff had been traveling with Mac as a crew member ever since.

  Initially, Zeff assumed in his drunken stupor, he was easy prey to a gang looking for mischief. Furthermore, because of the heated argument earlier that same day with his father - Zeff had decided to wait to call his family back in Mexico City, to reassure them of his safety and whereabouts. It was later, maybe a month or more after Zeff had reworked warning laced hints dropped by his older brother in the weeks before his mishap when he concluded that his supposed death was a possible assassination attempt by his family’s business associates.

  It had been wise not to call home Zeff decided but now... after the loss of face he experienced leaving St Helena and Kate Merriweather behind, Zeff wanted to return to the familiar: Mexico and family. But if the Serendipity didn’t stop for a few days as planned, Zeff would need to wait to call Mama. Zeff stood hanging onto the handrails. His thick shouldered physique tensed in the rough Atlantic waters as he waited for Mac’s response.

  “Step lively! Junior, step lively,” Mac called toward the bow getting the desired reaction from the teen. He turned his attention to Zeff.

  Mac, tall and slim having thick black hair cut short. Both men were tan from the months at sea. Mac’s brown eyes looked black compared to the unusual bright green of Zeff’s, although the men’s eyes were presently screened behind the darkest of sunglasses.

  Mac said, “That’s right. We don’t need to stop although I usually do when returning home to D’Almata but this trip has had many exceptions and swinging wide of the isles will be just one more.” He then asked with a sigh, “Why? What’s up?”

  With his heavy Spanish accent, Zeff told him that he had been thinking of calling home and arranging for some real cash to be wired, so Zeff could catch a plane back to Mexico City in the near future. “I wasn’t planning on flying back until we reached Gibraltar but I think I need to at least make contact,” Zeff explained meaning that he could get off after the Serendipity passed the Rock of Gibraltar at the entrance of the Mediterranean Sea.

  Mac rubbed his chin. “Zeff, don’t get me wrong but from what you’ve told me about your family or more specifically about the family business, I should say - you might be in some real danger by letting them know you are alive. I know eventually you’ll need to do it but... Well, anyway, we’re not stopping until we get to Greece. An emergency has come up,” Mac said with finality.

  Mac was six years Zeff’s senior and the same height although 40 pounds lighter. Zeff had learned that Mac was tough and yet, thoughtful - a thinker and a doer. Mac was a new Christian having made his choice less than six months ago, just months before rescuing Zeff from the warm Puerto Vallarta waters. Mac had grown to view Zeff as a younger brother while Zeff looked respectively to Mac for advice. Although, Zeff couldn’t understand Mac’s penchant for following the Christian way, he viewed Mac as a man’s man.

  Zeff nodded. “That’s what Tino said... an emergency. I suppose I can call ship-to-shore and have money waiting for me in Greece.”

  Rubbing his grizzled chin again, Mac said, “Can you give it a couple of days? We’re trying to stay below the radar, if you know what I mean. These waters have never been like this in my lifetime but it’s anarchy out here.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Zeff responded and they both thought of the previous mishap with pirates north of St Helena some weeks back.

  “The nasty boys are mostly looking for big money items like fuel and weapons. We’re small and in a way that makes us a non-target but it also makes us very vulnerable,” said the captain in his distinct Adriatic accent. Mac put out his hand and Zeff took it as he stepped up to the navigation area.

  “Yeah. So you think my call will be intercepted or something like that? I was targeted once and I might be again?” Zeff asked, his forehead creasing with worry lines as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I’m not sure but it is a possibility,” Mac replied. “That’s why I want you to give me a couple days to think on it and to pray about it.”

  “Yeah, bueno,” Zeff responded with a thoughtful nod.

  Chapter 6 Play it Again, Sam

  Dale looked over his shoulder for the umpteenth time. There was traffic, a lot he decided for a small island in the
middle of an economic armageddon - plenty of bicycles and motor scooters but no sirens or flashing red lights.

  The driver glanced Dale’s way before saying, “No one is following. The guard bought my story and fortunately for you, he did not come over to take a better look.” He had begun in Greek but switched to English. And then he said by way of introduction, “I’m Samuel Animas. They call me Sam and you?”

  “Um, Dale Merriweather. Please, call me Dale. I’m an American. I got stuck in France with my family the day America took the hit,” Dale explained. “We’re on our way to D’Almata...”

  “D’Almata? Really?” Sam said with genuine amazement followed by a smile. “Well, where is your family?”

  Dale thought Sam was skeptical of his explanation so far but he said, “After we landed at the airport, my wife and grandparents went to use the restrooms. I went in search of my grandmother’s missing bag and we were suppose to meet at the rental car lot. Instead, the next thing I know I am being chased through the terminal by the port authorities. I didn’t want to be arrested and have to go through the whole rigmarole when I knew that they were more than likely looking for someone else. I’ve got a squeaky clean record. I’m sure it is a case of mistaken identity.” He went on to detail his escape from the ladies room to the unintentional collision with Sam.

  Sam shook his head and said, “So you hid in the ladies’ lavatory? Or more specifically, in the ceiling tiles of the privy and then just walked out with a bunch of gals? Well, there aren’t too many American men running around the island dressed like old women… although there are a few dressed like young women. So, I don’t know how they could have mistaken you for someone else.” Dale had taken off his scarves and the gaudy clip-on earrings.

  “I didn’t get off the plane looking like this! I had retrieved my grandmother’s carry on. This is her stuff,” Dale explained with some irritation. He was hungry and thirsty. Taking a better look at Sam, Dale concluded the young man extremely feminine. We both look very feminine! Dale decided matter-of-fact.

  Out loud, he said to Sam, “Excuse me but I’m going to see if I can get through to my wife. She’s Greek and headed north toward her family’s village.”

  Sam responded by pulling over. “It’s tricky calling as we head west. You’ll lose reception right away.”

  Sam and Dale got out of the car. It was an older two door, smallish silver BMW. Dale noticed there was rust but then he realized the salt water and humid climate would produce rust on any susceptible metal. The boulevard had narrowed to two lanes as the city of Kerkira was left behind. Sam stood leaning against the driver’s door, arms folded, watching the sparse traffic. His dark straight locks were blonde at the tips. He wore a profusion of blingy jewelry and the tattoo at his neck bespoke of his sexual preference.

  Very feminine!

  Dale walked back and forth trying to pick up a signal on his phone. As he came back to the car, he noticed another car slowing to look at them. Dale still wore the skirt and black boots; his moppy blond afro, facial hair and height gave a peculiar appearance, he realized.

  “No signal?” asked Sam.

  Dale leaned on his arms which crossed under his chin looking across to Sam, the car roof between them. “No and don’t ask me about Anna’s family... There is little cousin Tina but I know very little of her people over here and cannot even remember the village name... I’ve never been there and Anna hasn’t traveled back since we married.”

  “Anna’s your wife? And her village is north. This is a small island but there are dozens and dozens of villages north,” Sam commented dryly. “You’re welcome to come with me. The cell reception at the Villa is exceptional. You can have some dinner. Get a good night sleep and meet up with your Anna tomorrow or the next day.” Sam got in and Dale reluctantly followed suit. They were headed west but Dale needed to go north.

  Slamming his door, Dale said with resignation, “Thank you for the invitation. It appears I need to take you up on it. I’m sorry as you’ve done so much for me already and you don’t even know me. You’re very kind.” But Dale wanted to go north.

  As they pulled back onto the two lane highway heading for the west coast, Dale reflected on the generosity and hospitality he and his traveling companions had met up with since March when their American life-line failed. Once again, a complete stranger stepped up to offer assistance and shelter without securing even the hope of remuneration.

  Dale said, “I suppose a lot of Americans were stranded here on Kerkyra back in March. We ran into quite a few in Calais and Lyons... Marseilles had a tent city set up.” There were some wealthier travelers caught without functioning credit cards but the majority of the Americans they met were students and young travelers, backpacking and riding the excellent European trains. These young people, shocked by the sudden and complete failure of American finances were extremely resilient. Also, Dale realized traveling with his grandparents had been somewhat of a boon during the disaster, as both elderly people carried all sorts of valuables to be exchanged and pawned besides a surprising amount of cash... and not just American dollars which had immediately lost value.

  One day the American buck was king and the next... only paper and no one was accepting dollars.

  For all the complaining, Dale’s grandfather, Bernie Adams voiced about the French, he had a healthy supply of the new temporary French francs when the dollar failed.... Also, Grandpa Bernie carried the revised global currency that had replaced the Euro.

  “Americans stranded? Yes, and everyone else too. For the most part the tourists have gone but there remain a lot of American vagabonds. They have no place to go and so they are surviving here in paradise rather than trying to return to the states or elsewhere.” Sam’s reply was frank and unemotional.

  They came around a bend and the sinking sun was a spectacular show where sea meant sky.

  “Wow! It’s difficult to deny the existence of the Great Artist, God when you see such a picture painted across the horizon,” exclaimed Dale.

  There was a pause but then Sam said, “We have a saying here on the island where the sunrise and sunset are unique and magnificent seven days a week: Sunrise is God’s greeting and sunset His signature.

  Dale nodded and pulled his eyes away from the colorful blend to look in the distance where miles of creamy beaches sprawled north and south. The orange afternoon glow, looking the color of peach sherbet, lingered about the landscape. It was easily understood, Sam’s reference to the island being paradise. The BMW swung to the right climbing a lonely weed pocked highway up a small mountainside. After about thirty minutes of winding side road with meager glimpses of the beaches and waning sunset, they emerged on the other side of the hill.

  Night had officially arrived. There were dozens of lights, near and far before them but the area seemed very rural to Dale. The Ionian Sea was a black expanse with no moon and the few stars not glimmering against its rough surface.

  After driving through a black little town with few yellow flickers piercing from behind drawn curtains, Sam turned into a well groomed gravel drive, inadequately lit on either side of the entrance by large brass lamps.

  A very long driveway wrapping wire-like around a bluff brought them to the front steps of “the villa” as Sam had labeled the house. The front porch framed a large bubble-like chandelier type light hanging before and above the double doors. The light was on but the long windows upstairs and down revealed a dark interior.

  “I’m the caretaker slash butler slash chauffeur for this place. I just dropped the owner’s niece off at the airport so it’s just me and the old lady here.” Sam told Dale as he pulled on the emergency brake and gave a nod toward the mansion. He hopped out before Dale could comment.

  “Cozy place,” murmured Dale. He plucked his phone from his pocket to check the reception strength only to find the thing lifeless. The battery was dead.

  Sam was pulling groceries from the trunk when Dale joined him. “I need to charge my phone but in the meantime,
can I help?” he asked. Sam handed him a basket loaded with city goods.

  “Come on,” Sam directed as he closed the rear hatch and turned toward the steps.

  Something moved at the front left window but when Dale focused, he saw nothing. Once Sam had the front door opened, the something Dale had not seen came bounding toward them... a dog. Two dogs; one tall and grey and pony-like while the other was very small, imitating Dorothy's Toto traveling the yellow brick road. With the lights now on, Dale saw the Villa’s front hall was a polished elongated hallway with archways and rooms leading off left and right. A stairway which divided at the midpoint landing was the central focus.

  The miniature Toto was yipping and yapping as he danced in circles around the men while pony-dog inspected first Dale and then the basket of food Dale carried, before the gentle giant turned to Sam.

  Dale was an unabashed dog lover and so he couldn’t but notice how thin the animals were and yet he said, “Beautiful dogs. Are they yours?”

  The dogs alternately followed and led them through the hallway and to the left as Sam replied, telling Dale about the dogs and their master who owned the estate.

  “This place was quite a zoo when I was hired over three years ago but since then... Well, the owner has only been here once in that time although his family members continue to visit quite a bit. I’m sure you read about our country’s economic woes. Austerity and all that? Of course, you did!” Sam said fiercely as he tossed two long loaves of bread up on the kitchen counter. “The food lines, the riots and the notorious New Dawn thugs helping the common person get back what was rightfully theirs... It was all over the news. Anyway, that was the reason I took this job... Athens was stagnating and then violent, and then things just got worse. Everyone was moving out of the cities and going back to the towns and villages where they were born or where their parents were born. I was born in Athens but we moved to the U.S. when I was an infant. Most of my family had already immigrated. I came back on a lark and stayed.