Just a Happy Camper

by Jinx Schwartz

  “What’s he saying?” Craig asked.

  “That dental office we spotted on Google earth will work,” I told him.

  “Then we will be there soon,” I said into the radio.

  “Bon. We will see you soon, Maman.”

  Craig grinned broadly and mouthed, “Mama.”

  I gave him a snarly face and told Antoine, “À bientôt.”

  Craig and I returned to the others, and, as we had discussed that morning, he and Roger crossed and met up with the Frenchmen. Becky and I pulled the RV and her car into the specified parking lot and drove to the far end, where there were no other cars.

  Figuring we would get attention by parking where we did, we got out, set up a table and chairs, and Becky put out a picnic lunch, while I took Po Thang for a stroll along the fence. At one point he stopped and stared at the wall and on point. Bingo.

  I nodded for Becky, who also speaks French, to go inside the RV and contact Jean Luc and Antoine by radio. By the time we returned to the RV, she was smiling from ear to ear. “Looks like we’ve nailed their exact location. We just have to wait until the right moment.”

  We ate our picnic lunch as casually as we could, what with how tense we were.

  After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably five minutes, the radio in Becky’s pocket clicked three shorts and one long, signaling an all clear; there was no one watching the guys on the other side.

  When they blew the whistle, even I heard it, so I opened the lid on a large picnic basket and Trouble took wing, soaring straight over the wall, for his Oberto treat.

  Six fast clicks told us the bird was safely in Mexico, so Becky and I packed up and joined the line of vehicles waiting to cross. As I figured would happen, I was waved into secondary by the Mexican officials, but Becky and Scruffy were not, so they waited for us a short distance away.

  When two uniformed officers approached us, I said, “Okay, Po Thang, show time. You look rabid and I’ll play Dumb Gringa.”

  “Woof?”

  “Oh, hi,” I said through my open window. “Can you tell me where to find the Molar Depot?”

  They exchanged a look and one said, “Dentista,” to the other.

  “Si. Dentista!” I shrilled, knowing the men would wince at my horrible accent.

  “Do you mind if we inspect your vehicle?” said one in perfect English.

  Rats.

  “No problem. Come on in, I’ll unlock the door.”

  I shut off the engine, walked to the one door of the RV, and opened it.

  Po Thang bounded out, growling lowly.

  The men sprang back, but Po Thang sat and smiled, tail wagging. No one was more surprised than me.

  “What a nice dog,” the English speaker said, patting Po Thang as my vicious dog leaned up against his leg.

  “Uh, well, he is a very good dog.” But a lousy bad guy actor, I said to myself.

  The officer took a step into the RV and glanced around as Po Thang pushed past him to get in, almost knocking him over. The man caught his balance, stepped back out, and said, “Welcome to Mexico,” and gave me directions to the dentist office.

  Becky, who’d kept her distance, joined us. “That went well. I just told the team we were about ready to roll.”

  “Woof?”

  Still puzzled by Po Thang’s friendliness toward a man in uniform, instead of trying to eat his pants like he usually does with strange men, I was still watching the officers as they walked away. Why did Po Thang like him? The mystery was solved when he sat down on a bench, pulled what looked like a large burrito from his pocket, and unwrapped it.

  “Carne asada, right boy?”

  Po Thang wagged his tail.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Becky, asked, “Thought about what?”

  “Po Thang was really nice to the officer who wanted to search the RV, and I now know why; the guy had a burrito in his pocket.”

  “Hey, buddy,” Becky said, waving in the man’s direction, “is that a burrito in your pocket or are you just glad to see us?”

  “Sheesh! You have spent way too much time with Jan. Let’s go find our guys and get this show on the road.”

  “Okay. I just wonder why I wasn’t waved into secondary?”

  “Are you kidding me, Becky? Have you looked at Scruffy lately? He’s as big as a horse.”

  ❋

  In the name of saving time and possible trouble, we skipped getting Becky or anyone else a Mexican Tourist Permit at Immigration, and convoyed out of town, headed south. I’d never driven this particular route, nor had Craig or Roger, but we let them lead in that combat-mobile of theirs, figuring no one would mess with us.

  We made decent time, despite multiple dog walking and weeing stops.

  At what we figured was the last rest stop before finding Chino and Jan’s kayak camp in San Felipe, Jean Luc and Antoine wanted to ride in the RV with me, so Craig drove their car for the final few miles.

  I called Jenks while I had a strong cell signal and filled him in on our day, he chuckling at the burrito-in-the-pocket charm of the customs officer. “Sounds like Becky is being corrupted by you and Jan.”

  He gave me the coordinates on Raymond Johnson, told me there was no change in Nacho’s direction, and added, “Looks like he’s headed straight for your area. And I see you are in San Felipe.”

  “Okay, I gotta ask. How are you tracking me?”

  “The RV has a tracker on it.”

  “Silly me. Of course it does. By the way, you should see the vehicle Craig and Roger bought. I want one.”

  “Me too, but I’m three-hundred and fifty thou short.”

  “You know about that vehicle?”

  “I put them in touch with the seller.”

  “Of course you did. You tracking them, as well, Sherlock?”

  “You betcha.”

  “I dunno about this big brother thing. Seems a little invasive to me.”

  He barked a laugh. “Are you kidding me? You and Jan bug people all the time”.

  I had zero defense. We’d planted more bugs than an exterminator.

  ❋

  After speaking with Jan to get her location, we held another quick meeting before rolling again.

  Becky gave everyone the directions to the kayak camp and added, “Jan says we’ll need to get hotel rooms here in town for tonight unless we want to sleep on the beach.”

  “Craig and I have camping gear, as well as a bed that drops from the overhead,” Roger said.

  “Of course, you do,” I said with a laugh. “That thing probably transforms into a one-bedroom high rise that uses a rocket launcher casing as a fully stocked bar.”

  Everyone laughed, but I was sort of serious; I hoped there was a built-in rocket launcher. And a well-stocked bar.

  “And, I have an RV that supposedly sleeps six,” I said, albeit reluctantly. I considered Becky and I and two large dogs a crowd.

  “Hetta,” Becky said, “I’ve seen the inside of your RV. Where does it sleep six?”

  “Twin beds in the master, a sofa that makes out into a double, and the overhead drops down over the driver and passenger seats.”

  “Impressive. So, everyone has a place to sleep. Does Jan have food service?” Craig asked.

  Becky frowned. “I don’t think they were expecting six extra people and two chow hounds. Not to mention a bird that devours fruit and jerky.”

  “And,” I said, “he’s almost out of jalapeños. Let us divide, shop, and then reconnoiter before joining Jan’s kayak camp.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jean Luc and Antoine volunteered to buy hors d’oeuvre fixings and wine. I secretly wished them good freakin’ luck with that; they wanted the Mexican experience and they were about to get one. Luckily, I had four boxes of wine in the RV, should they be reduced to such barbaric circumstances.

  Becky and I were off to the two largest grocery stores in San Felipe, and to find an RV park where we would pay just to dump the tanks and re
fill with water.

  Craig and Roger headed for the purified water store to buy as many gallon jugs of drinking water as they could fit into their combat-mobile, thus sticking me with both dogs and the bird, since I could run the genset to keep them cool while Becky and I shopped. It wasn’t that warm and the RV didn’t heat up inside as fast as a parked car would, but it’s always better safe than sorry.

  By late afternoon, my tow car, Becky’s car, and every nook and cranny in the RV were filled to bursting with provisions, so we drove to the kayak camp.

  Craig and Roger had already arrived and set up our camp, complete with internet services, thanks to them deploying a satellite system. Kayakers surrounded the combat-mobile, frantically working their phones, taking advantage of this unexpected windfall. Heaven only knew when they’d next have service.

  Jan rushed over to meet us, and after lots of squawks, barks, joyful circle-running, and handshakes, she, Becky, and I went into the RV to sneak a cold beer, as alcohol was not allowed to the kayakers.

  Jean Luc and Antoine showed up just before dark, disillusioned after the indignity of buying three cases of Argentinian Malbec. Evidently there was not one single bottle of French wine to be found in the whole of San Felipe. I took pity on them and unearthed a bottle of Beaujolais I’d been saving for a special occasion.

  “You’d best enjoy it, gentlemen,” I told them. “After this, you’re stuck with boxed Malbec or bottled Argentinian Malbec. By the way, how did you do in the hors d'oeuvre department?”

  Antoine shook his head. “Not so well. Not a single tin of pâté de foie gras or caviar in this town.”

  “One might wonder how they manage to exist!” I quipped.

  Mexico’s culinary honor was saved when Chino joined us with a huge platter of shrimp ceviche, smoked marlin, lobster chunks, and freshly fried homemade tortillas. I added a container of H-E-B Texas caviar, a dip made with black-eyed peas, corn, red bell pepper, and red onion. Served with the warm fried tortilla chips? Fantastic.

  Jean Luc and Antoine gave their approval, asking for recipes as they chowed down.

  Preying on my mind the entire afternoon was having Jean Luc sleep in my RV, even with three chaperones on board to ensure there was no inappropriate behavior. On my part.

  I know, I am in love with Jenks, but little snippet-memories popped into my head of that passionate, wildly romantic month Jean Luc and I lived together in Paris. It was, without a doubt, the giddiest and, in the end, most devastating period in my entire life.

  The intensity of a young love like that can never be recaptured, nor did I even want to; Jenks and I had a steady, but not even close to dull, relationship. With none of the drama, thank goodness.

  On the other hand, it was impossible to ignore the elephant in camp, so to speak. He was staying in the RV with his birth parents. A living reminder of those steamy Paris nights.

  When the time came, I lowered the bed over the driver’s seat, showed Jean Luc how to unfold the sofa bed, threw sheets, pillows, and blankets at them, and pulled closed a folding door shutting off the women’s quarters from the rest of the RV. I was only willing to go so far with this communal living thing, so if those guys needed a midnight pee, they’d have to find a sand dune.

  To make room for myself, Becky, and two large dogs, (Trouble was bunking with Roger and Craig) I put the extender on the bed, transforming the twins into a king, which would guarantee at least a foot of space for us humans crammed against the walls.

  If any of us got a good night’s sleep, it would be a miracle.

  I was out approximately two seconds when my phone rang.

  “This better be good,” I growled.

  “And a fine morning to you too, my lovely.”

  I noticed the sun was shining outside. “Oh. Hi Jenks, sorry. You know how grumpy I get when anyone wakes me up. Hold on, someone’s banging on the side of the RV.”

  Reaching over to shake Becky, I realized I was in bed by myself. No dogs. No Becky. I spread-eagled kitty-cornered across the bed, and sighed at the luxury.

  “Whoever it is, I’d rather talk to you, Jenks. Let’em knock.”

  “It’s probably Roger. I can tell you what he’s going to say,” Jenks said. “Raymond Johnson has speeded up, so I told Roger to wake you and Jean Luc up. If I were the jealous type…

  “Wait, what? How fast are they going?”

  “Twelve knots.”

  I jumped up, put the phone on speaker, and slid into my pants. Okay, slid is not an accurate description. No more pizza for me.

  “Give me a run-down while I brush my teeth.”

  “How romantic. According to my calculations, they should get into your general area within four hours.”

  “Jenks, can you narrow down that ‘general area’ thing?”

  “Nope. You guys are going to have to spread out and try to get a visual when you can. After Gonzaga Bay the road gets really bad, so I’m hoping whatever they’re up to, they’ll keep it within a few miles of there.”

  “Shall I state the obvious here, which is that Raymond Johnson don’t need no stinking road?”

  He laughed. “No, but my instincts tell me they’re meeting someone. Keep a lookout for other boats, but my guess is something is going down on land.”

  “Not in San Felipe?”

  “In my experience, nefarious acts, which I suspect this is, don’t happen in populated areas. Nacho is after something or someone, and it is important enough to steal your boat for.”

  “Call Roger back, will you? Tell him I’ll be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  I hung up, pulled on a tee and a windbreaker, slapped on sunscreen, attempted to make my hair look like I hadn’t slept on my head, gave up and jammed on a hat, then slid open my cabin divider. The sofa was folded up, but someone—Jean Luc, I presumed—still slept on the overhead. Jet lag is a bitch.

  Slamming the door on the way out, to rouse Jean Luc, I was met by two enthusiastic pooches and Jan, who handed me a large cup of Chino’s famous coffee.

  I gratefully took the mug. “Jan, I think I love you. Why the hell can’t we be lesbians?”

  “Because we’re not. And besides, even if we were, I wouldn’t be attracted to you.”

  “What? I have a big yacht. That works for guys.”

  We giggled on the way to what now looked like a military command post, complete with a center table sporting maps and charts of the Baja and the Sea of Cortez. Roger was relocating a push pin, moving it closer to our position.

  He looked up and threw his arms in the air in mock-horror. “It’s alive! It’s alive!”

  “Rog, do you have any idea how fortunate it is for you that I’ve had a caffeine fix?”

  Everyone chuckled at our antics. “Jenks said you’d be joining us living beings. You get enough sleep?”

  “Slept the sleep of an innocent.”

  Jan howled with laughter.

  I ignored her and asked Roger, “Do we have a plan?”

  Taking the last slug of coffee, I shoved the mug at Jan for a refill. “Extra sugar, please.”

  Jan refrained from telling me where to put my mug, snatched it from my hand, and walked over to the coffee station to fetch me another slug of awake-juice.

  “Well,” Roger said, “according to Jenks, we should be looking at this area,” he pointed to a circle drawn on a nautical chart. He tapped the land, “That’s a thirty-mile stretch of coast, and it’s still all guess work. Although, I suspect Jenks is a pretty good guesser.”

  “Yes, he is,” I agreed. “I wish he would suddenly materialize.”

  “Who should materialize, ma petite chou? Me, I hope.”

  “No, Jean Luc. Go get some coffee, we have work to do.”

  He feigned hurt and sad puppy-dogged over to the coffee hut.

  “What a ham,” Roger said.

  “Yeah, but what a looker,” Becky cooed. “No wonder you fell for him.”

  I chose my next words carefully, because Antoine was look
ing at me expectantly. “We were young, and in Paris, the city of love. Our time together was magical. And just look at the result,” I said, reaching over and hugging Antoine.

  He beamed.

  Jan mouthed, “Doo-rah.”

  I shot her a shut-up look. Doo-rah—French phonetic pronunciation for “that rat”—was my nickname for Jean Luc for disappearing, leaving me heartbroken and pregnant. Of course, Jean Luc didn’t know about the preggers part until very recently, but obviously Jan had not forgiven him any more than I had.

  But, for my newly-found son’s sake, I played nice. “Yes,” I drawled, “and here we are, all together. Isn’t that spay-shul?”

  Jan gave me an evil grin and a high-five.

  My sarcastic quote of the church lady, a skit on Saturday Night Live, wasn’t familiar to Jean Luc and Antoine, but my immediate friends all smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Roger, who was prepared to lead our morning meeting, waited for us to find a place to sit or stand and said, “Okay, team. Let’s get to the mission. Jenks tells us Hetta’s boat is headed in our direction, and while we don’t have an exact ETA, or where she’s going, I’m tracking Raymond Johnson in real time.”

  “Is that as opposed to un-real time?” I asked, earning me a few titters, but a stern look from Roger.

  “Can we stay on track here, Hetta?”

  I’ve never quite grasped the concept of smartass-ism reaping little reward. “Sorry.”

  He nodded forgiveness. “Assuming Jenks is correct about where Raymond Johnson is headed, and I think he’s right, how are we going to cover a thirty-mile area of beach? And, other than spotting the boat we don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

  Jean Luc asked, “Why do we not simply take that panga,” he pointed to one of the expedition boats, “and go out and reclaim your Yacht when it gets close enough?”

  We had not shared all the details with Jean Luc, so I could understand his questioning of our reluctance to do what he suggested.

  I looked around and saw that no expedition members except Jan were within ear-shot. “Jean Luc, you met Nacho in France. Do you think he’s dangerous ?”