Troubled Sea

by Jinx Schwartz

  Marina del Cortez, with its deceptively funky atmosphere, appealed to Xavier’s traditionalist spirit. He found the wooden, but well-constructed, docks more to his taste than the concrete sterility of newer marinas. He didn’t trust a dock that didn't sway in a wake.

  “Well, hi there, sailor,” Martha said when Bill entered her office. “Heard you were in town.” The phone rang, she held up her thumb and finger in the momentito salute, rattled something in Spanish, switched VHF radio stations, and glared at a dinging fax machine. All at once. November was a month of chaos for the marina staff. Bill spotted a Warning to Mariners notice posted on the wall regarding the Hot Idea incident, and was reading it when Martha came out from behind the counter.

  “Welcome back,” Martha said, sticking out her cheek for a peck.

  “Good to be here. Place looks great, Martha,” Bill commented, “as usual.”

  “It’s a battle. One hurricane gave us a few days of cleanup this year, but it was nothing like Marty.

  Bill frowned. "I heard what happened. I'm amazed at how fast you've rebuilt. That was some hurricane.”

  "Thank goodness no one at the marina was hurt, but we lost a lot of boats along with the docks. So, what are you up to? Still looking for that dream boat of yours?”

  Bill nodded. “Got time for a walk?”

  Martha smiled. “Certainly not. But I’ll take time.”

  They strolled the docks, Martha’s sharp eye inspecting as they went. She ran a tight ship and little escaped her attention. A slack line, a carelessly placed bicycle, and an unleashed dog were quickly squared away. Bill saw her eyebrows shoot up, and figured she’d spotted another transgression. Following her glare, he saw a couple of dinghies parked in an area clearly marked No Parking.

  Xavier chuckled. “Same thing every year, huh? New class to slap into shape?”

  Martha, an ex-schoolteacher, laughed softly and asked, “Anything you can tell me about Hot Idea?”

  “Hey, that was my line,” Bill said. The Jenkins’s revelations were being held under tight guard, so he added, “Nothing new. You knew the Goodalls?”

  “They stayed here for two years. No trouble. Drank a little too much at times, but basically nice people.”

  “No drugs?”

  “Not that I heard, and as you know, I hear almost everything. When we do have that kind of problem, they usually move on,” Martha said, indicating the anchorage with a tilt of her head. “You just looking at boats? Or working?”

  “I guess a little of both. Goes with the job. Any boats around I should be interested in?”

  Martha stopped walking and lowered her voice. “You might take a sharp look at a Westsail 32.” Then louder she added, “Well, I’d better get back. Nice to see you again.”

  “Thanks, Martha. Tell Mark hello for me. And thanks for the info.”

  There were three thirty-two foot Westsails in the marina, but it didn’t take Bill long to figure out which one Martha thought might pique his interest.

  Buzz “Gibby” Gibbs, his longish sandy hair stuffed into a rolled red bandanna, lounged in the cockpit of Water Witch, a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other. Still slightly drunk from the night before, and logy after only four hours sleep, he was trying to decide whether to get more sleep or just get drunk again.

  “This a Westsail?” Bill asked, looking at the boat, but also sizing up its owner.

  Gibbs squinted at him through red-rimmed eyes. “You wanna buy it?”

  “Maybe. Is she for sale?”

  “All boats are for sale, just depends on the offer,” Buzz said, eeking out a smile. “Wanna beer?”

  “Little early for me. How long you been down here?”

  “Couple of years.” Gibbs lit a fresh cigarette from the old and tossed the butt overboard. “You?”

  Bill watched the cigarette filter float by, marring otherwise pristine water. A couple of sergeant majors checked it out and swam away. He wanted to smack the SOB, but kept his tone casual and friendly. “I’m just visiting, but one day I’m gonna buy me a boat and head out. Maybe come down here.”

  “Shit, I’ll sell you this one, and it’s already here. Save yourself the trip.”

  “Sure wish I could, but gotta do that ‘W’ thing for a while longer. But just in case, why don’t you give me a name and maybe a number in the States. I’d give you mine, but I’m kinda between places, if you know what I mean.”

  “Sure do, buddy. Been there, done that. Hold on a minute.” Gibbs wrote down his name and his mother’s address and phone number in Los Angeles. Not that he really gave a damn about selling Water Witch, but a yacht salesman, ex or not, never lets a live one get away.

  Continuing his walk, Xavier made a few mental notes to add to Mr. Buzz “Gibby” Gibbs’s info. As he ticked them off, something nagged at him, something he could not quite put his finger on. Something that screamed bad apple. Chastising himself for not being able to leave his work behind, he sighed and was turning to go back to Endeavor when he saw All Bidness, sterned in. He whistled under his breath. The sleek fifty-eight footer, with an almost twenty-two foot beam, dwarfed the sailboats flanking her. Pam and Bud sipped coffee on the “verandah.”

  “Mornin’,” Xavier called.

  Bud nodded and smiled. “Mornin’.”

  “Are Hetta and Jenks on board?”

  “Naw, I put ‘em on a bus for Puerto Escondido early this morning. They were anxious to get back to HiJenks. You a friend of theirs?”

  “Sort of. We belonged to the same yacht club back in the Bay Area,” Xavier improvised.

  “The Jack London? I guess you and me never managed to meet. I was a member for a few months before I came on down here. Well hell, come on aboard and have a cup. Or a beer.”

  “I’d love to, but can’t. I’m on the Coast Guard cutter, Endeavor, and I gotta get back.”

  “Well, it’s real nice to see you boys down here. If you get a chance, come on back and we’ll have a drink or somethin’. What’s your name?”

  “Bill Xavier.”

  “Sorry you missed Jenks and Hetta, Bill. My name’s Bud Killebrew and this here’s my little filly, Pam.”

  Pam cut her eyes at Bud, shot Xavier a saccharine smile, stood, and sashayed away, offering the men a good view of long tanned legs below very short shorts. She’s a looker, Xavier thought. Surly, but a looker.

  Bud watched her leave and sighed. “I wish she was as long on temper as she is on legs, but shoot, a man cain’t have everything.”

  You couldn’t prove it by me, Bill thought.

  “Anyhow, Bill, like I said, we’re open for drinks or even dinner anytime you want. How long’ll you be around?”

  “Not sure, maybe a week. Or we could sail anytime. Thanks for the invite. If it works out that I can drop over, I’ll give you a call on the VHF. You staying around?”

  “Me and Pammy’ll be here at least a couple more days, then we’re going north. If we see HiJenks, I’ll tell them you was looking for ‘em.”

  “Thanks, Bud. Well, duty calls. If I don’t see you again, have a nice cruise.”

  “Likewise and—” the distinctive ring of a cell phone interrupted him. “Pammy,” Bud bellowed, “that’s your phone.” The ringing stopped.

  Bill waved and turned to leave when it hit him. Gibbs had a fancy cell phone in the cockpit of Water Witch. That was what was bothering him: a bad apple with an expensive toy. He turned back to Bud. “I thought most folks came down here to get away from phones and the like. Cell service must cost a pretty penny down here, huh?”

  “Not as bad as it used to be, but still ain’t cheap, so of course we’ve got two of ‘em. Do your bank account a favor, Bill, and stay away from leggy blondes.”

  Bill chuckled. “Good advice, I guess. It was nice meeting you, Bud.”

  Xavier messed around the marina a little longer, chatting with cruisers readying their boats for the winter migration to the Mexican mainland. He could almost tell by talking to them which ones were in
danger of becoming Coast Guard statistics. Many of them should never have left their marinas up north. They sailed south in flotillas for safety, but then, left on their own a thousand miles from home, some became potential problems for the Mexican government and the experienced cruising fleet. Amateurs looking for a place to sink.

  “Cap’n, have a good walk?” Arrington asked when Xavier returned to Endeavor.

  “Yep. La Paz is growing, but it’s still a real nice place. I went over to Marina del Cortez. Am I just getting old, or does the cruiser crop get greener every year?”

  “I blame it on the GPS. Folks who wouldn’t even think about sailing down here a few years ago buy a boat and sail off into the sunset. Half of them don’t have any idea how to dead reckon. I know plotting your course and estimating your position is old fashioned by today’s standards, but it’s still a useful skill. Some boats have a spare in case their GPS goes out, but heaven help us all if something happens to the satellite signal.”

  “I saw that boat the Jenkins were staying on, All Bidness. She’s a beauty. Owner’s a typical good ole boy Texan with the mandatory young blonde on board. This one’s a real looker.”

  “The boat or the broad?”

  “Hey, the boat’s not bad either. But the blonde....” Xavier whistled and waggled his hand in appreciation.

  “Yeah? Tall, legs for days, bright green eyes?”

  “How’d you know?”

  Arrington shrugged. “How many of ‘em can there be in town? Saw her last night in a bar on the malecòn. She was all over that Texan of hers. Heck, we were making bets whether they were gonna strip down and do it right there on the table.”

  “Really? She sure wasn’t that friendly this morning. Maybe they had a few too many tequilas last night.”

  “Could be, there was a lot of that going around,” Arrington admitted. Then wistful, he said, “Don’t you just hate guys who have it all? Big boat, big-boobed blonde. How does a fella as young as he is get enough money to drop out and buy a yacht? Some guys got it made.”

  “Young? He’s gotta be in his mid-sixties. How many tequilas did you have last night?” Xavier laughed.

  “Not so many that I couldn’t see straight. The guy is tall, thin, dishwater hair. Good lookin’ I guess, in a California kind of way. Has a beard.”

  “Bandanna headband?”

  “Sure as shit. Let me guess. Bandanna Head is not your Texan, huh?”

  “Not even close. I’d say that ole Bud is riding for a fall. As the saying goes, there’s no fool like an old fool.”

  “Hope that Texan doesn’t get wise and shoot bandanna dude through the balls while we’re in town. For a semi-official visit, looks like we’ve already got our hands full,” Arrington said, handing Xavier a piece of paper. “The Jenkins’s report gave the DEA enough evidence to tie the Hot Idea murders to drug traffickers. That cavalry you called in is about to cross the border, and we are officially on alert pending further orders.”

  Xavier read the message, then sighed. “Jerry Fisher, huh? I thought he'd retired from the DEA by now.”

  “You know him?”

  “Sure do. He’s a good guy, as well as an excellent agent. We’ve worked together on a couple of busts,” Xavier said, digging into his pocket. He took out Buzz’s scribbled address and phone number, and added, Water Witch, Westsail 32, California Registration, CF4838GC. He handed the piece of paper to Arrington. “Send this to your buddy, Jerry.”

  Arrington read the note. “Buzz Gibbs? Who’s this?”

  “Bud Killebrew’s worst nightmare.”

  Chapter 25

  By the prickling of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.—Shakespeare

  Operation Aguas is a go,” Hector said into his cell phone, “and on schedule.”

  The man on the other end bit back a sharp comment and thought: Operation Aguas? Jesus, this clown is starting to sound like a B movie. “No problems I should know about?”

  “Nope,” Hector told him. “Everything’s copacetic, dude.”

  Copacetic? Dude? Goddamed Beverly Hills beaner. “It’d better be.”

  “Like I tol’ you, man, I know how to fix things,” Hector said, struggling to choke back a snigger. Like I fixed that pilot and like I’m gonna take care of that runt Pedro if the little bastard even thinks of waking up before this is over. But no use getting this Gringo bastard’s bowels in an uproar with such details. He stifled another giggle over what a funny fellow he was, and barrio-whined, “I got it all under control, bro.”

  “Good, you’d better. And keep your nose clean. I trust the fly boy got off all right?”

  “Sure did. I took care of it myself.” Then, no longer able to maintain his cool, he laughed and wiped a trace of white powder from his nose. “I gotta go,” he barked out, and hung up quickly before he lost it completely.

  The line went dead, and the American stared at the phone as if it had grown scales and fangs. “The son of a bitch is high,” he muttered, wondering what he should do about it. He threw the phone on a boat cushion and downed a shot of Wild Turkey. Christ, if our connection finds out Hector’s using, they’ll shit bricks. Maybe even delay the drop. And they’ll have my ass for not staying on top of him. He poured another shot to steady his nerves. Well shit, it’s too late now. Aguas will be a done deal in a few days and we’ll all be rolling in it. Even that idiot Hector.

  Leaving the boat, he went to find a pay phone. The call he had to make could not be entrusted to the airwaves.

  Chapter 26

  Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange and unnatural.—Shakespeare

  Jaime and Jerry were already eating breakfast when Nicole trudged into the hotel dining room. Jerry looked up from his oatmeal and warned, “Uh-oh Jaime, this doesn’t look good. Good morning, Nikki. I was considering sending a maid to your room with a mirror.”

  Jaime looked puzzled. Nicole nodded to him and gave Jerry’s gaudy Hawaiian shirt a once-over. “Good morning, Jaime. You too, Lava Lava. And now Tiki-Boy, I shall ply my weary body with the goddess caffeine, and you may clarify your pathetic attempt at adolescent wit to Jaime.”

  While Jerry explained he was making a joke about mirrors that cloud if the victim still breathed, Nicole grabbed a carafe of coffee from the table and filled her mug. She caught two women at another table casting sly glances their way, checking out the men. Nikki turned a critical eye on her companions, trying to see them from another woman’s perspective. Jaime, tall and handsome, dressed in a casual white shirt and chinos, epitomized the Latin playboy. And with his cherubic face and curly white hair, and in spite of the loud shirt, Jerry exuded his own aura of teddy bear charm. On the whole, she’d give them an eight on a scale of one-to-ten. The women admirers had no way of knowing that one was just her best friend, and the other was off-limits. She took another gulp of strong Mexican coffee.

  “Soooo,” Jerry teased, “looks like someone got up on the wrong side of her bed this morning. Someone who, if I recall, promised yesterday evening she’d be in a better mood today.”

  Nicole growled, “So sue me. I thought I’d sleep like a log, but I kept waking up. I do that when I sleep in strange places.”

  Jerry’s eyes twinkled with mischief, then he slapped his own cheek. “I shall refrain from the obvious.”

  “There is a God.”

  Jaime was having a little trouble following the repartee, even with his excellent command of English. Learning to use and understand sarcasm and humor, he knew, was the pinnacle of mastering a second language. Right up there with insults. The wordplay made one thing obvious though; even with Nicole’s surliness, he was going to enjoy working with these clever people. If, he added to himself, Agent Nicole Kristin will give me a break. Puzzled by her peevish attitude towards him, he wondered, Have I offended her? And if so, how?

  Jaime and Jerry made small talk while Nicole polished off a bowl of papaya and mango slices, eggs scrambled with peppers and onions, a pile of steaming corn tort
illas, and a mound of refried beans. Jerry watched her eat with envy, popped a Tums into his mouth and asked, “Now that breakfast is over, Nikki, which forest do you choose to cut down this morning?”

  Nicole gave him the look and condemned him to explain his lumberjack joke to Jaime. And although Jaime seemed to be eating up the humor, she vowed to take Jerry aside later and tell him to cut the crap or they’d spend half their time explaining his lame jokes.

  After a last swig of coffee Nicole said, “I believe you said the boatyard was within walking distance, Jaime. I need to stretch my legs.” Unfolding from her chair she stretched and her shirt top lifted to reveal a hint of flat belly. Jaime gulped. Nikki added sweetly, “And Jerry, I’m sure you, too, could use the exercise.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful, Jaime, that such a lovely young woman worries about my health?”

  “Zactly. Very fortunate, indeed,” Jaime agreed, admiring Nicole’s retreating form and the way her beige cotton outfit set off her coloring. Then he sighed, “I have observed that, for the last few years, those of Nikki’s age and beauty give me, or my well-being, small notice.”

  “Hell, with me they never did. I think I was born old,” Jerry said sadly, then the two men sighed collectively and plodded after the object of their admiration.

  Nicole strode ahead for two blocks, then turned and waited at a road junction for the men to close the gap. Pointing towards twin peaks dominating the skyline across San Carlos Bay, she asked, “Is there a path to the top?”

  “Yes, but in my opinion, only best used by goats,” Jaime told her. “The footing on the Tetas is very treacherous.”