Just a Happy Camper

by Jinx Schwartz

  Roger nodded. “Great, and if that doesn’t work, we’re discussing—” I shot him a warning look, waved my arms in an overhead stop sign, and shook my head side to side, fearing he was about to tell Jenks my idea of kayaking out to Raymond Johnson in the dead of night during an elefante —“uh, our options,” Roger concluded before ending the call.

  “Okay, Hetta, what was all that drama about?”

  “I can answer that, Roger,” Jan said. “If you tell Jenks our idea of kayaking out, he’ll tell Hetta that under no circumstances should she attempt such a ridiculous thing, she’ll pitch a hissy fit and hang up on him, and that’ll drive another nail into their romantic coffin.”

  “Really?” Jean Luc asked with glee. “In that case, I insist Hetta go with Antoine.”

  “Is everyone finished talking about me? I’m here, you know. And I have to admit, Jan summed up the situation perfectly, while you, Jean Luc? Fuhgeddaboudit! Now, everyone get the hell out of my RV. I vaant to be alone.”

  ❋

  Trouble was still squawking his version of fuhgeddaboudit when the last person left.

  “Put a lid on it, bird. Here, have some jerky.”

  “Woof?”

  “Oh, okay, you too. Ah, it’s just us three. Wonderful. I’m going to call Jenks, so you,” I tapped Trouble’s beak, “be silent.”

  Jenks sounded tired. “Hi, sweetie, how’s that RV doing in the elefante?”

  “Amazingly well. I’ve got her rear to the wind, but once in a while it feels like we might go Mary Poppins. Reminds me of when you and I were caught by an elefante at Bahia de Los Angeles. But what’s really driving me nuts is the horrible noise.”

  “Wind howling?”

  “No. Trouble’s singing.”

  “Ha! So, what’s your take on this whole thing?”

  “I agree with Roger. Nacho and Jeff might be here to interfere in a big gun deal.”

  “Sounds like it to me, especially since Jeff might be a fed.”

  “DEA?” I asked.

  “No, I did some checking. I suspect he’s ATF.”

  “Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, right? What’s the United States gubmint’s beef with at least three of my favorite things?”

  He laughed again. “You always cheer me up.”

  “Do you need cheering? Want some phone sex?”

  “I probably need sleep more.”

  “I’m insulted. However, I know where you’re coming from. When I was working in Tokyo, the San Francisco office called me at all hours. This thing will be over, one way or ’tother, very soon. I heard those narcos grumping about how being delayed by the elefante was screwing up their weekend plans.”

  There was a long pause. “Did I lose you, Jenks?”

  “No. How is it you were so close to the narcos that you could hear them?”

  Crap almighty.

  “Hey, you know about my awesome hearing. Get some sleep. Love you. Bye.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  After I hung up with Jenks, I realized I was bone-tired. Again.

  Picking up my radio, I announced to the group, “Hetta is leaving the world for at least three hours. Disturb me only if you wish to meet a grisly end. Out.”

  “And that, includes both of you, as well. You hear?” I told Po Thang and Trouble.

  “Woof.”

  “Ack.”

  I crawled onto the bed, put in my ear plugs, and pulled a comforter over me. Po Thang did his customary circle routine and settled by my side with a contented sigh. I was too tired to wrestle Trouble into his cage so I left him free. He cuddled up to my neck and we all commenced a snoring contest. The next thing I knew, Jan was standing at the end of the bed.

  “What a friggin’ racket. I could hear the three of you from ten feet away, even in this freakin’ blow. And, Hetta, your three hours are up. In fact, way up. It’s been four.”

  I looked at the window and saw it was dark out. “Wow, I guess I needed that nap.”

  “I think everyone managed a snooze. Becky and I went to the hotel, as did Jean Luc and Antoine. Roger has called us all there to eat something and get ready to rumble at midnight.”

  “Anything new from Jenks? He needs some sleep, as well.”

  “Only a text that his techies were unsuccessful at turning on the listening and video abilities on your SeaCurity System so they can see and hear what’s going on inside Raymond Johnson.

  “Phooey. Sure would have been nice. Remind me to give them the permission they need to turn it on in the future.”

  “Are you sure about that, Miz Hetta? Jenks could check on what you’re up to any time he wants.”

  “I trust him implicitly.”

  “Yabbut, does he foolishly trust you?”

  I had to think about that.

  “Let’s get a move on.” Jan threw a worse-for-the-wear diving gear bag at me. “Not so sure how the stuff in there smells. You left it at the fish camp last year.”

  “Thanks, I think.” I opened the rusty zipper and dug out a moldy Lycra body suit, a ratty wet suit, and a pair of small flippers. And they did smell like they’d been in a bag for a year. Maybe with a fish and a couple of oysters.

  Jan waved her hand in front of her nose. “Whew. But better than nothing, I guess.”

  “Jan, we’re going kayaking, not scuba diving.”

  “In your case, Chica, they are not mutually exclusive.”

  I think I’ve already established that I am probably the worst kayaker ever. I hate it. Oh, and did I mention I can’t swim worth a damn? I can snorkel for hours wearing fins, but without them, I sink like a rock. Luckily the Sea of Cortez has a very high salinity content, so I do much better, but I still panic without my fins. And I live on a boat? Go figure.

  “Do I have time to wash this stuff?” I asked.

  “Nope, Roger wants us to meet at the hotel in a few minutes. Low tide is coming up and he wants to make sure the narcos aren’t going to use it to get their shipment out to the sub. And, he thinks it also might be a good time for us to go out to Raymond Johnson.”

  “I’ll be right out, soon as I brush my teeth. You want to take Po Thang for a quick walk?”

  “I’ll just let him out the door. He’s not stupid, you know. Even he doesn’t like running around outside in this wind. When he’s done his thing he’ll hightail it back and we’ll take him with us to the hotel.”

  “Okay by me.”

  A gust hit, feeling like an earthquake. “I really, really hate this wind,” Jan growled. “And it’s damned cold out. Bundle up, Chica. Go on, Po Thang, and make it quick.”

  Po Thang set a record for doing his thang, and was in Jan’s nice warm jeep by the time I climbed in. Before leaving I put Trouble in his cage with some jerky, and for once he didn’t protest. I think that howling gale outside had something to do with it.

  Jan and I were the last to arrive at the hotel.

  Only Craig was missing. He was in the combat-mobile, parked on a high spot with a view of the narco encampment, and enjoying some protection from the wind, thanks to a handy cliff at his back.

  As soon as Jan and I found a place to sit, Roger radioed him.

  “Doc, you read me? Status, please. Over.”

  Craig answered immediately. “Two more fishing trawlers have anchored by RJ, but that’s about it. Just so you know, they’re lit up like Carnival Cruise ships, and our boat is smack dab between them, with only an anchor light showing. Over.”

  “No sign of movement by our friends from the beach? Over.”

  “Nope. Looks like all hunkered down for the night. Over.”

  “Excellent. Standby.”

  Roger put down his radio and made a couple of marks on a chart he’d laid out on a table.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. We only have two shots to get out there under cover of night. You go in soon and carry your kayaks out to the water line, or we wait until early morning for a high slack tide. Thoughts?”

  Chino, who was very famili
ar with all the tidal flows in the Sea said, “I think perhaps mid-ebb. I checked and there is a fifteen-foot differential tonight, so if the kayaks launch within three hours, they can use the ebb and wind for an easy paddle. Won’t be much fetch. However, the last thing we want is for them to get caught in the turbulence between an incoming and that wind. Very treacherous.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “If we leave in three hours, how much time will we have to paddle out to Raymond Johnson until the tide starts coming back in?”

  “Maybe two hours. There isn’t much of a slack tide here at times and, quite frankly, the incoming can start almost immediately. We don’t want to chance it,” Chino told us.

  “What would you do, Chino?” Roger asked.

  “I’d get those kayaks going as soon as possible. But do not rush, take time to prepare properly, and stash water, hats, sunblock, and mosquito repellant. How many waterproof radio pouches do you have, Roger?”

  “Five, now. Hetta managed to lose a radio and its pouch.”

  “Hey, I was staring down The Creature from the Black Lagoon’s shaft.”

  “Do tell, Hetta? Just how big was his shaft?” Jan asked, bringing down the house.

  “Matter of fact, it was friggin’ huge. I gave him your phone number.”

  Antoine looked confused by all this repartee, so Roger said, “Just ignore them, they get all carried away with their ownselves.”

  Jean Luc grinned. “I am quite familiar with Jan and Hetta’s fencing. All fine and well until they form an attack team. I was once a victim of such and ended up pig-tied in my bed.”

  “Hog-tied,” I corrected him.

  Of course, everyone wanted to hear the story, but Roger said, “Hey I want to hear it, too, later. Don’t some of you have kayaks to launch?”

  ❋

  Jan, Antoine, Jackie B, and I went to the RV, where Chino was already piling wet suits, and other kayaking gear inside. Antoine and I were to be team one, and Jan and Jackie B, both strong kayakers, would follow us.

  Thank goodness I had doubled-bagged a large container of baby powder and put it in that dive bag before leaving it at the whale camp months before. As I liberally powdered my bod before cramming myself into the stinky Lycra suit, and then powdered that suit so I could get in my wet suit, I longed for my new, state of the art dive equipment resting in a locker on Raymond Johnson. At least the scented powder helped with the stench.

  Once we were suited up in neoprene from head to toe, I insisted on wearing the only scuba rebreather vest Chino had with him. If for some reason the kayak were to dump me, I could just hit a button to both breathe and float. Of course, I might float to Mazatlán in this blow, but oh well. I know what happens to me in aquatic emergencies, and the fact that we were carrying survival gear like water, sunscreen, and even bug repellent alerted me to prepare for the worst.

  Mermaid, I ain’t.

  Every woman for herself.

  Antoine, who was very aware of my lack of kayaking skills, told me to sit in the bow and he would do all the paddling. “It is better if you do not try to paddle, because if we are not synchronized, we could turn broadside to the wind. We do not want to do this.”

  “Fine by me. I’ll take the radio, so if we perchance end up in the water, swim to me. I’m all set to float back in on the incoming.”

  “How about if I go in the drink?” Jan asked.

  “Then you better start swimming, Chica. I can only save two of us. Blood is stronger, and all that stuff.”

  Jackie B laughed. “And what about me?”

  “Shark bait,” Jan and I cawed.

  We so love it when someone falls for our setups.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Holy crap, how much does this damned thing weigh?”

  “Lower your voice, Hetta, and it weighs a damned sight less now than when you get in it.”

  “Shhhh,” Antoine shushed us. “Your voices will carry out on the wind.”

  “Good, that way I can tell Nacho what’s happening without setting out in this…this…contraption.”

  “We are almost to the water’s edge,” Antoine encouraged.

  “And, Miz Coffey,” Jan said, “might I remind you this was all your idea in the first place. Crap, I stepped on another sharp shell.”

  “I told you to wear your reef runners over your dive boots. God only knows what lurks out here.”

  Jackie B stopped suddenly and held up her hand. “I hear something.”

  We all froze, and sure enough we heard a heavy-duty diesel motor, and it seemed to be coming our way.

  “Fast, everyone, get into your kayaks and paddle for all you’re worth,” Jan whispered. “We gotta get out of sight.”

  I didn’t know I could move so fast, especially hauling my end of a thousand pound kayak. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that heavy, but it was a far cry from the sit-on-top light ones I’d ever been foolish enough to try out. This one was an older sit-in model, designed for kayaking in oceans and in the unpredictable Sea of Cortez and therefore, built like a tank. Antoine was pushing, so all I had to do was hold up my end until she floated, but it was taxing my physical abilities to do so.

  As soon as the kayak floated without grounding out, Antoine lithely jumped in. “Stay there, Maman Hetta, I will be back for you.”

  Jan and Jackie B were close by, already in their kayak. Jan said, “We’re leaving, as much as I would love to stick around and watch Mother Coffey turn that kayak over. Last one to Raymond Johnson is a rotten egg.”

  Antoine sharply turned our kayak around and put my end on the beach so I could get in easily, but I was fighting the water-keeper-outter thingy—technical term—that cinches up around your waist like a skirt. I’d never been in a sea-going kayak before, so I was still fiddling with it when Antoine gave us a shove and began paddling like the maniac I think all kayakers are.

  We overtook Jan and Jackie B in no time and I shot Jan the finger as we whizzed by. However, when I looked back to do so, I made out the outline of what looked to be the narcos’ hummer slowly approaching the beach, headlights out, thank goodness.

  I signaled for Antoine to let Jan catch up, and told them what I’d seen, and we both ducked behind one of the big fishing trawlers, just out of the deck light’s glow. The rust bucket’s generator was seriously loud, so between that and the wind noise, I was pretty sure no one on board could hear us. I also knew from experience that they didn’t post a lookout, and most likely they were all taking this opportunity to catch up on sleep and porno flicks.

  And just how do I know about those movies? I buy them and trade them for shrimp and lobster.

  At any rate, they most likely couldn’t hear squat, and certainly not us paddling.

  That was a royal “us.”

  We let the ebbing tide take us out a bit, further away from the trawler’s lights, and the seas got lumpy enough to make me wish we had a toilet on board.

  Jan paddled up to us. “So, Hetta, what next?”

  “You go on over and pound on Raymond Johnson’s hull. We’ll stay here and man the radio, just in case.”

  “How very noble of you. You do recall that I saw the AK-47 and I know Nacho. They don’t have any lights on and can’t see who we are before slinging hot lead. Your boat, you go first.”

  I didn’t argue because I wanted out of that bucking kayak, ASAP.

  I directed Antoine toward the swim platform on the aft of Raymond Johnson, but she was swinging wildly in an arc as the wind blasted her. Even getting close was putting us in danger of getting whacked by several thousand pounds of fiberglass when the wind loaded one side and she sailed off until the force on the anchor chain stopped her with a jerk. Then the weight of the boat dragged the bow back through the wind line, in the opposite direction. Over and over. Getting caught in the wrong place and time was problematic, to say the least.

  However, this was not my first rodeo. Over the years I’d had to drive my dinghy alongside many-a-time in such situations. I hand-signale
d for Antoine to wait for the end of an arc and paddle us abreast of the swim platform. I pointed to a horseshoe-shaped man-overboard (or in my case woman or dog overboard) sling float tied to a stainless steel ladder, and let him know I was going to try and grab it.

  Antoine maneuvered the kayak alongside with perfect timing, during that momentary stall when the boat stopped. I grabbed the line and hugged the float with intentions of tying us off to it, but was jerked so hard sideways my shoulders felt like I’d tackled a raging bull.

  “I can’t hold on for long! Too much torsion,” I hollered. So much for a stealth landing.

  Antoine nodded and leapt onto the platform, painter in hand, and attempted to hold on to Raymond Johnson with one hand while cleating off the line with the other. My heart jumped into my throat because if he didn’t manage to secure his end, and I had to let go of my painful and therefore tenuous hold, I was going to be left in a set-adrift kayak alone, blowing out to sea.

  Just as I thought one of my worst kayaking fears was about to happen, he secured his end to Raymond Johnson and I could release the float.

  My ride was far from over.

  Like a dog shaking a toy, Raymond Johnson arced one way, then the other, towing the kayak with enough force to send water cascading into my lap. No, I had not cinched the canvas skirt snug enough around my body to prevent water intrusion.

  Raymond Johnson reached the end of its arc, and the kayak was walloped broadside by the platform hard enough to loosen a couple of fillings.

  Getting out of that kayak from hell was tantamount to my survival, but I simply didn’t have the strength to do it. I was fiddling with my rebreather, certain that the kayak was going to end up in splinters and I’d hit the cold and briny deep. I was on the verge of tears when suddenly both ends were tied up, and strong arms plucked me onto the swim platform.

  “Quite an entrance, Hetta,” Nacho said, holding me a little tighter than I thought necessary, but damned if I was going to tell him to let me go. “I would have returned your boat, you know.”