Just for the Birds

by Jinx Schwartz

  A Mexican to-go order is never simple. When you order tacos, you end up with another large bag of cucumber slices, salsa—at least three kinds, all hot—shredded cabbage, jalapeño peppers, hot pickled veggies, guacamole sauce, tortilla chips and pico de gallo. An order of thirty-five tacos with an order of fries—I always get an extra taco or two for Po Thang—took quite some time, and both of us to heft our dinner upstairs.

  After dinner we called Roger and Craig, who were staked out near the dock at Puerto Escondido, waiting for the first load of birds to arrive. They said they’d text when it did.

  Cholo was in no mood to baby-sit, so he, Jan, Po Thang, Trouble, and I went to my boat for the night, leaving Topaz with the teenagers. They all wanted to sleep in Rhonda’s king-sized bed, which they’d never seen before, and to watch her king-sized television. If they were homesick or traumatized, they sure didn’t show it.

  Topaz had been interviewing the girls one by one, gathering as much information as she could from them. Every one of them came from impoverished villages on the mainland, where gangs have taken over many rural areas. Topaz was well-schooled in the fates of the villagers’ children under cartel control; young men are initiated into their gangs, and the girls sold into prostitution.

  Of course, these children didn’t know that. They thought they were being taken to work as waitresses in posh resorts, and so did their families. Not that the villagers could do anything about it, even if they somehow knew otherwise.

  Topaz told us, from stories reported by rescued children in the States, that soon after they are taken, the girls are forced to write cheerful letters home. and send small amounts of money, so the parents don’t suspect their true fate. With no possibility of returning these girls back to their villages under the current conditions, Topaz was busy on the phone and computer when we left, searching for a solution. At least a temporary one.

  I called Jenks as soon as we boarded Raymond Johnson, trying to remember what implied prevarications I told him last time we talked. Exhausted by the past three days of driving, hiking, spying, and suspense, I didn’t want to screw up. Again. Besides, he’d be in La Paz in a couple of weeks, and I’d be able to tell him the happy ending. I hoped.

  Jenks was once again off to some meeting, but he had time to fill me in on his schedule and ask me to send him a list of what he could bring down from California. “And, give Po Thang a hug for me. I can hear him panting.”

  We ended the call and I wiped dawg drool from my phone.

  “Hetta, that had to be the most boring conversation I’ve ever heard between two people who are supposed to be in love.”

  “I was afraid I’d drop some kind of hint of what was going on here, so I purposely kept it neutral. He can’t do anything about it from Dubai, so why worry him? Besides, by the time he gets here, it will all be over. All’s well that ends well.”

  “Or as well as your crap ever does.”

  “Oh, come on, Janster. We’ve got this.”

  “Yeah, well I gotta hankering for another cocoloco in my life. Let’s get that.”

  Cholo, finally off his phone, joined us on the aft deck. He opened a beer from the mini fridge and sat. He had a frown on his face, but then again, that was normal. After our time in France together, working as partners, I was quite familiar with his stone face. After we met I looked up the Mayan gods, and zeroed in on Ek Chuaj, the god of chocolate.

  “So, Ek Chuaj, what’s up?” I asked, startling him. He grinned that gorgeous grin that changed him from scary to downright darling. “You have been studying my culture? And of course, you chose chocolate. I like it.”

  His face returned to stone, and he took a hit of beer. “I am afraid I have bad news.”

  “Oh, great,” Jan said with a groan. “We just have not had enough of that lately. Okay, let’s have it.”

  “The plan you have made, to follow Doña Esperanza and perhaps discover where the birds are being shipped might be a good one, with one major problem. One I should have thought of.”

  I gave him a finger twirl to get with it, not needing any more suspense in my life right now.

  “My sources tell me both the Doña Esperanza and its captain are known to have cartel ties. He has never been arrested for a good reason; there is never any evidence. He weights everything he smuggles, and if he even suspects he is being followed, he throws the contraband overboard. In Mexico, no evidence, no crime.”

  “Those cages will sink like a rock! I have to let the B team know about this, muy pronto.”

  I sent Roger a message telling him about this turn of events. Within seconds I received a return text, acknowledging the new information on the captain’s crappy practices.

  “Roger says the truck just arrived, and the first load of birds is being stashed below decks. He estimates this shipment is about a quarter of the total, so we might have three more nights before anything major happens. Drew was in the truck with the old man, Eli. The captain helped unload; still no sighting of any more crew on the boat.”

  Texting him back, I ask what he thought about the depressing information I gave him about the captain’s way of dealing with his cargo. I immediately got an answer: SB. That’s Roger-text for Stand By.

  After a few minutes, my text alert chimed. Not good. Thinking about an alternative plan.

  I told Jan and Cholo what Roger said, then I asked Cholo, “How about you? Do you have any ideas? Looks like we can’t take the chance of letting that boat leave Puerto Escondido. But how do we stop it without endangering the birds?”

  Cholo gave me the famous Mexican shrug. Not exactly the reaction I wanted.

  Jan unfolded her annoyingly lanky body from the settee, strode to my dinette/office in the galley and returned with a large chart book. Flipping it open to Puerto Escondido, she spread it out on the table.

  I tapped my finger on the dock’s location. “This is where Doña Esperanza is side-tied to the muelle.”

  Cholo picked up the chart, went to his cabin, and shut the door without saying a word.

  “You’re welcome!” Jan shouted at the door.

  What can I say? Good help can come in surly packages.

  Cholo rejoined us several cocolocos later, and asked, “What is your fuel level?”

  “Mine? Or the boat?”

  He eyed the empty pitcher and shook his head. “The boat.”

  “Topped off.”

  “Can you reach Puerto Escondido without refueling?”

  “Yes, and it’s a good thing. There’s no other place between here and PE to get diesel.”

  “We leave at dawn,” he said, and left the boat.

  Jan hoisted her drink. “Looks like we leave at dawn. Should we run to the grocery store?”

  “Yep, I have a feeling we’ll have to feed the entire team soon. Especially if we have to leave PE in a hurry for some reason.”

  “In that case, we’ll need several cases of wine.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  AFTER ORDERING US to prepare Raymond Johnson to make way for Puerto Escondido at dawn, Cholo left for parts unknown, and we hired Rafael Taxi to take us to Walmart, since they have one of the best wine selections in La Paz. And if Rafael drove, we could take our drinks with us.

  “I hope to hell Cholo comes back with a boatload of large guns, or guys,” Jan whispered while Rafael chauffeured us in his van.

  “Or both. Well, at least Roger and Craig have the gun stash Topaz lifted from Rancho Los Pajaros. Meanwhile, we have to get my tub ready to sail. When we get back, it’s stash time, bilge to bridge. Gotta secure anything that will move. If it can, it will. You know the drill.”

  She gave me a mock salute. “Aye aye, mon capitan.”

  Back on the boat, with enough boxes, bags, and crates to provision the Queen Mary—note to self: do not drink and shop—I handed Jan a copy of my GETTING UNDERWAY checklist.

  “I’ll take numero uno; CHECK THE WEATHER. Not that it matters, because w
e have to leave, no matter what. This time of year, we could get lucky and catch a southerly.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said. “When pigs fly.”

  “Say, Jan,” I said as we motored by the islands north of La Paz early the next morning. “Are those sea gulls out there, or pigs on the wing?”

  She took a sip of her third cup of coffee and grinned. “Smart aleck. Did we get lucky or what? This weather is perfecto. Oh, look, we have company.”

  Po Thang, who’d been snoozing at my feet, jumped up and put his paws on the helm. Spotting the source of splashing, he took off for the bow and began barking friendly barks at a small pod of dolphins. They responded by turning on their sides, looking at him, and then leaping into the air.

  “I’m always afraid he’ll fall in,” Jan said, taking in what looked like Po Thang’s precarious stance on the bowsprit, which projects over the water a good three feet.

  “Never has. He’ll settle down in a minute.”

  As if on cue, Po Thang stretched out on the deck, head on the toe rail, and watched the show, only barking when one of the frisky dolphins splashed him.

  “What is the matter?” Cholo yelled as he rushed to the flying bridge to join us.

  “Sorry we woke you up. It’s nothing but dolphins. Have some coffee. I put the carafe, cream, and sugar in the aft deck sink, just in case we hit a wake. I doubt it though, we haven’t seen another boat since we left La Paz.”

  He took a look around and sighed. “It is so beautiful.”

  And he was right. The Sea of Cortez is always an amazing sight, but on a day like we were having, the combination of the clear turquoise water juxtaposed against red cliffs, and perfect white sand beaches? The stuff travel brochures are made of.

  The hoped-for southerly was light and predicted to last for at least another day. Plenty of time to get to Puerto Escondido and…do what? We still weren’t certain, but at least we would all be there on scene, ready and willing to act.

  After some time, the dolphins lost interest in us and peeled off, much to Po Thang’s disappointment. Jan went below to make sandwiches, and Cholo joined me on the bridge.

  “This is a fine vessel. You are lucky to be able to enjoy our beautiful country from the sea.”

  “I know I am. I just wish Jenks could be here all the time with me.”

  “Soon enough, I am sure. I miss Rhonda, as well.”

  I had only seen Cholo once or twice since we all returned from France, but it was obvious he and our friend Rhonda had a thing going. Exactly what kind of thing, I wasn’t positive, but this was the first time he spoke of her this way.

  “When is she coming back to Mexico?”

  “Soon. Her mother’s house is now sold, so she is only storing some items, and packing a few to bring. Our speed is good for a dawn arrival,” he said, pointing at the GPS display while abruptly changing the subject.

  I spent the next few minutes familiarizing him with the bridge’s instruments, and we worked out our watches. I made the decision, since I couldn’t stay on watch all day and night, to take us outside my normal route, and instead of threading between the Baja mainland and a smattering of islands, we’d be at sea, clear of everything. We’d cut back in toward land at dawn the next day, and on into Puerto Escondido.

  An overnighter anywhere in the Sea of Cortez under an almost full moon and flat seas is a magical experience, so I didn’t plan to miss most of it by sleeping. I chose to take one-or two-hour naps. Jan is familiar with the boat, but not comfortable taking the helm alone at night, and while Cholo was probably more qualified than I to operate a large vessel, he didn’t exactly jump at the chance to take over.

  Trouble, who had taken a few voyages aboard, was seemingly content to stay in his cage in the main cabin. Probably had something to do with a past dustup with a sea gull or two while underway.

  Cell service was ever more sketchy the more northward we traveled, so after we left La Paz we switched to my bajillion pesos a minute SatFone. Cholo was very impressed that I had such a high-tech gizmo and pleased that we could keep in touch with everyone involved while underway. I didn’t tell him I’d gouged Nacho for the system when he hired me for a project he was ramrodding involving giant squid.

  We had no idea who Cholo was in constant communication with, but little did he suspect we have a tracer on my system that has saved our bacon on occasion when tracking down suspicious characters, or anyone who makes a call, sends an email, texts, or even farts while using my SatFone.

  Just kidding about the farting; it’s almost always Po Thang anyhow.

  That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

  We all stayed up most of the night, despite our plan to change watches. It was just too fantastical outside to sleep. We had to bundle up against the cold, but with a waning moon still bright enough to allow reading a book on the flying bridge, flat seas, and an abundance of critters to entertain us, we figured what the hell, we’d catch up on sleep once we arrived at Puerto Escondido. The slight southerly and incoming tide gave us a push, and we actually arrived at the outer islands early, so we slowed down and enjoyed breakfast before arriving in PE at dawn.

  Roger and Craig, who were keeping watch on the Doña Esperanza, told us Eli had managed to leave a note for them at a pre-designated spot, alerting to the fact that tonight’s load would be the last. And that Drew planned to accompany the shipment.

  There went any hope of those naps.

  At first light we hovered outside Isla Danzante, watching the morning show. The clear water teamed with diving pelicans, jumping dolphins, and a manta ray or two looking like Batman soaring from the water’s surface, flapping their enormous wings to knock off parasites, then plunging back with splashes large enough to rock our boat.

  To the east, the blood red rising sun painted the western Gigante mountains pink and red, including King Kong peak, named for its resemblance to the big gorilla’s profile.

  Cholo, who said he’d never seen Puerto Escondido from the water at dawn, was snapping photos and singing its praises. “It is magnifico,” Cholo said. “We Mexicans sometimes forget, or take for granted, the beauty of the Baja peninsula.”

  “It never ceases to amaze me,” I agreed. “When I was anchored over there,” I pointed to the northeast end of the anchorage through a low berm, “I didn’t have to get up early, but I did, just to see this.”

  Jan, who was also snapping photos, said, “I hate to be the party pooper here, but we’d better get underway.”

  “Agreed. The waiting room is usually pretty much packed this time of year, but I’ve made contact with friends who have a large ferro cement sailboat anchored very near Doña Esperanza. They say we’re welcome to side tie to them temporarily, so unless the weather goes to hell we’re set until tomorrow morning. That way, we’ll have the port side of the smuggling boat under surveillance, while Craig and Roger have his starboard in their sights from land.

  “Yep,” Jan said, “we’ll have the bastard surrounded.”

  “Are we ready to smite the enemy?” I said.

  “You bet your sweet bippy.”

  Cholo nodded, then asked, “What is a sweet bippy?”

  Jan and I laughed and she told him, “We have no freakin’ idea. It was from an old TV show. I think it’s a polite way to say your sweet ass.”

  “Ah. Then yes, I am prepared to bet my sweet ass.”

  We all fist bumped then Cholo said, “But I must remind you, this captain we are dealing with is a very bad man. He has no heart. He will dispense of the evidence if necessary. I would also bet he has already weighted the cages with rocks or cement blocks, just in case he has to throw them in the sea.”

  “How do you know so much about him?’

  “I was on a recovery team when we found dozens of cages of exotic birds under many feet of water. It was thought they came from this same vessel. We could not prove it, but I, for one, want to catch him this time before it is too late.”

  Trouble acted like he had und
erstood Cholo. Shaking his head, he shrieked, “Too late! Ack! Too late!”

  Jan had a tear in her eye. “Not if we can help it, Pretty Bird.”

  “Trouble is a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty—”

  I took his cage into my cabin and threw a blanket over it. Those prettys can go on for a long time, and the last thing we needed was to catch the attention of that piece of ca-ca, Captain Heartless, upon entering port.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  DEPENDING ON YOUR location, phone service can be touch-and-go at Puerto Escondido, and until we felt it was safe to go ashore for a meet-up with Craig and Roger, we sparingly used our walkie talkies, and VHF radios on channel 88, for communication. Even then, in case the Doña Esperanza had her radio set on SCAN, we used a kind of unpracticed code to keep in touch.

  Before entering port, I called on Channel 88. “H to base, how copy?”

  “Loud and Clear.”

  “Did our provisions arrive last night?’

  “That’s affirmative. A little ahead of schedule. One or two more shipments expected.”

  “I read you. Might come to shore later. Say, around nine?”

  “We’ll keep an eye out. Out.”

  Cholo and Jan had monitored the conversation, and she let out a war cry that sent Po Thang and Trouble dashing for cover. “We get to take out the bad guys tonight!”

  “Calm down, Amazonia. One step at a time. Let’s size up the situation before you start lopping off…whatever.”

  “Spoilsport. Okay, one of us needs to go ashore when we get in. But how? Certainly not in the banana boat.”

  I was now regretting painting my new pangita I use for a dinghy bright yellow. And if that didn’t stand out enough, Johnson Jr. was stenciled in large letters the length of the nine-and-a-half-foot skiff. Jan and I had a grand old time coming up with that name. Johnson. Banana. Use your imagination.

  Yes, my dink was unlikely to be stolen, but now it stood out way too much to use in the anchorage without being noticed.