Just for the Birds

by Jinx Schwartz

  We glided alongside Endless Sunshine, my friends’ large cement sailboat, and tied off without fanfare. They were anchored fore and aft, so once we were secured, we were partially hidden from Doña Esperanza. I say partially, because my flying bridge loomed above the sailboat, but not enough to cause much notice in the crowded anchorage.

  Our main danger was getting clobbered by one of the high-octane sport fishing yachts racing out of port, with little regard for others. They have a bad habit of overlooking the international rules of slowly cruising through an anchorage. I hoped the jerks had learned a lesson in courtesy after one of them plowed into the built-like-a-tank cement boat one day just before dawn. Cement trumps Fiberglas almost every time.

  We only had one kayak on board. I am probably the worst kayaker in the world, and Cholo was unknown to our friends on shore, so Jan won a trip to shore by default. Po Thang insisted on going along, Puerto Escondido being one of his favorite haunts.

  Dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, baggy pants, a huge hat and giant sunglasses, Jan sort of didn’t stand out—which rarely happens—so what would have been an unremarkable scene of someone kayaking was blown all to hell with a large furry critter taking up the back seat.

  We spies can’t have everything.

  While Jan was gone, I fired up the SatFone again, even though we were picking up the internet complements of Endless Sunshine, I called Topaz, back in La Paz.

  “We’re here, and it looks like tonight’s show time.”

  “You’re fading in and out, but got that. I’m just now passing through Constitución, so will be there shortly.”

  “Jeez, you sure got an early start. Please tell me you don’t have the Giggle Girl Gang with you.”

  “Nah, I couldn’t stuff ‘em all in your pickup. They’re in good hands at a nunnery until their future is secure.”

  “Poor kids. Life has certainly handed them a crappy hand.”

  “They miss their families but are thrilled to even have their own beds. Their village is dirt poor and has no running water, and certainly no TV. La Paz seems like Disneyland to them. Thank goodness we got them before they were harmed. I did hear Drew tell the goons at Rancho Los Pajaros that if they touched one of them, he’d kill them. I gotta give the bastard brownie points for that. Maybe I’ll only remove one of his huevos with a dull knife. And he did feed Po Thang. Okay, I’ll do him a favor and just kill him outright.”

  “And who says you aren’t all heart? But you’re gonna have to get in line. Both Jan and Cholo are gunning for him. She just kayaked ashore to meet with Craig and Roger, and to put eyeballs on that piece of crap boat captain. Hopefully she’ll come back with a solid plan for tonight. The only sure way we can communicate with Base Camp is by radio.”

  “You want me to stay with Roger and Craig, or get a ride out to the boat?”

  “Don’t know yet. Cholo is the only one of us who hasn’t been seen by Drew, so maybe we’ll send him in and you can come out here. By the time you arrive, we’ll know more.”

  “Okay, hasta!”

  Jan was gone for an hour-and-a-half while I fretted. I hate being out of the loop, but I had no choice. Cholo kept asking me questions about the anchorage and then calling someone I hoped like hell headed up an entire platoon of really, really bad-assed operatives.

  Yeah, right. Smuggling a few birds was small potatoes in the grand scheme of things in a country where nearly 30,000 murders were “reported” last year. Mostly only because it was hard to ignore the bodies. Lord knows how many went un-reported! And they have a staggering rate of 98% unsolved. Or even anyone arrested. Birds? Schmirds.

  “Oh, Boy! Oberto! Ack!”

  Speaking of birds, Trouble’s demand for jerky called me inside. I closed all openings in the interior before setting the beast free. He fussed at me some, then settled down with a claw full of jerky. Once he’d polished it off, he surveyed the cabin and barked.

  “Sorry, Trouble, he’s not here, he went for a walk. You want a nice shower?”

  He flew to the sink and waited on the edge while I ran the water, which was already warm from being underway. Once I was certain it was just right, I turned off the hand shower and he jumped in. Trouble immediately went in his fluffing, preening, and singing mode. Yes, my parrot sings in the shower.

  Cholo left his cabin to see what all the noise was about and laughed when he saw Trouble, wet and bedraggled, strutting and singing the “Eyes of Texas.”

  “What else can he sing?”

  “Not sure I’ve heard his entire repertoire. He continually comes up with new ones.”

  Cholo broke into song with a surprisingly beautiful voice. I was always amazed at how Mexican men sang at will, whether working, drinking, or just because they felt like it. I knew the chorus of “Cielito Lindo” by heart, and joined in.

  Ay, ay, ay, ay,

  Canta y no llores,

  Porque cantando se alegran,

  Cielito lindo, los corazones.

  (Ay, ay, ay, ay,

  Sing and don’t cry,

  Because singing, they brighten up,

  Lovely sky, the hearts.)

  But then Cholo sang a verse I wasn’t familiar with:

  Pájaro que abandona,

  Cielito lindo, su primer nido,

  Si lo encuentra ocupado,

  Cielito lindo, bien merecido

  I held up my hand in a break sign. “Nice voice, Cholo. Can you give me a quick translation of that verse? I know Cielito Lindo means heavenly sweet one, so evidently the dude has messed up and lost her to another?”

  “Exacto. It says that a bird who abandons his first nest, the heavenly one, then finds it occupied by another, deserves to lose it.”

  “You sing it like you feel it. Any story there?”

  He sighed. “I was very young and foolish. This song is a reminder to all. If you have your one love for life, do not lose it to foolishness.”

  I could almost hear Jan saying, “Got that Hetta?”

  Yes, I got it. After this caper was over, I was going to reform. Not take chances that might send Jenks away. I wouldn’t li—prevaricate, to cover my shenanigans. I would—

  Again, Jan spoke in my brain, “Oh, look. Another porker just flew by.”

  I had to get some new friends.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  As a greeting to Jan and Po Thang when they returned, Trouble shrilled, “Ack! Ack! Ay, Ay, ay, ay, ay! Ay, ay, ay, ay! Ay, ay, ay, ay! Ay, ay, ay, ay—Ack!”

  Po Thang howled then lay down with his paws over his ears. Cholo fled to his quarters and slammed the door. I put in my ear plugs. Auntie Jan headed for the jerky stash, which caught both Trouble and Po Thang’s attention, and threw a handful at them. Blessed silence ensued.

  Cholo emerged just as our VHF radio crackled to life. “Base to Dog House. Switch.”

  Jan picked up our handheld two-way and answered. “Base?”

  “We got some kind of action, right here in river city.”

  All three of us rushed to the bridge—make that four; Po Thang beat us up there, slipping making it past me as I shut the door to corral Trouble—and we didn’t need binoculars to see the problem. A Mexican military convoy was rolling into the open area right behind Base Camp.

  “Cholo, are those your guys?” I asked.

  “No, my men won’t arrive until later today. And they certainly would not make themselves so visible. I must make a call.”

  “SatFone’s already on. We’ll stay up here and stand watch.”

  The convoy was led by several camouflage painted, military grade hummers, packed with machine-gun-wielding troops in full combat gear, their faces covered in black balaclavas. “Whoa baby. That looks serious. Jeez look at that big mother,” I said as a really mean looking vehicle rolled into view.

  Cholo had just rejoined us and said, “My people are making inquiries. I must contact them in fifteen minutes.”

  I pointed to the big bad machine, and asked him, “What the heck is that? I think
I want one.”

  “It is a French built Engin à Roues.”

  I laughed. “It sure as hell looks like one.” I’d misunderstood what he said, thus the giggle. I later learned that an Engin à Roues is a weaponized wheeled vehicle, while what I heard was roués, as in male debauchees. Rakes. Bounders. But perhaps I was giving the French too much credit for a sense of humor?

  The Mexican flag-festooned convoy took a turn into a vacant lot, but that gun turret on the roué swung around, aiming straight at me. A little paranoid, you might ask?.

  The dust storm they raised blew in our direction, causing us to pull our sweats and jackets over our noses. Po Thang sneezed and jumped off the bench seat behind us, hiding below the dust as it coated us. When the air cleared, we saw at least twenty various vehicles had formed a circle, and two men were hoisting a huge Mexican flag in the center, while others packed sandbags around it for stability.

  “Gee Jan, there was a time when all that testosterone would a set our little hearts aflutter. Remember Fleet Week in the Bay area?”

  “How could I forget? You almost got us thrown in jail.”

  “Good thing you had a business card on you. Prostitutes? I mean, really. We never, ever, got paid.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  Cholo shook his head. “Gringas!”

  “Don’t you have a phone call to make?” Jan drawled

  He was only gone a few minutes and was about to tell us what he’d learned, when a helicopter gunship with Marina—Navy—and a Mexican flag painted on its side, barely cleared the hill behind us, and then hovered low over the water. Way too close.

  As a result of the rotor’s downwash, canvas, cushions, and all manner of debris flew off boats, as salt water spray stung our skin and saturated the air.

  Jan snatched slickers for us from a flying bridge locker. Po Thang fled for the safety of the covered back deck, and Cholo growled, “Chit!” It was his favorite new English word.

  “Chit, as in they are being rude, or chit as in what you learned on the phone?” We were having to yell to be heard over the helicopter noise. I wasn’t worried the groady captain could hear us. The roar was deafening.

  “Both. I am told this is a scheduled Mexican military exercise. Nothing to do with the ship or our birds.”

  “Well, for cryin’ out loud.” Jan yelled. Her face was mud-spattered from a coating of red dirt followed by salt spray.

  “We oughta send them a bill for cleaning up this boat. We’re coated from stem to stern. Oh, well, no harm, no fou—”

  The walkie-talkie hissed and I had to plug my other ear to hear. “Dog House! Dog House! Base!”

  “Dog house here. Over.”

  “The captain just—”

  I could barely hear him, but I didn’t need to. With a cloud of black smoke, and a mighty roar, the big diesels on Doña Esperanza fired up.

  Jan screamed, “We gotta stop him!”

  “We have to stop him!” Roger yelled in my ear almost the same time.

  “Chit.”

  “We’re getting underway!” I started Raymond Johnson’s engines, and hollered, “Let go the lines!”

  Cholo and Jan gave me a thumb’s up that they heard me over the helicopter’s noise, and quickly untied us from Endless Sunshine, while Po Thang ran around the decks, barking like crazy.

  Thankfully the ‘copter veered off, and I told Jan, “Please secure that mad dog!”

  She grabbed him as he ran by her, muscled him inside, and let him howl to his heart’s content.

  Blanket or not, Trouble was squawking his little lungs out. “Ack! May Day! May Day!”

  There was no time to waste. If that rat bastard captain escaped the harbor, he was going to start tossing birdcages overboard, for sure. By the time the navy caught him, as they had in the past, there would be no evidence. Like Cholo said, in Mexico, no evidence, no crime. That’s why this jerk wasn’t in jail, along with 97% of his fellow miscreants.

  “Hetta, what are you going to do?” Jan yelled from the lower deck as she pushed us away from Endless Sunshine.

  My friend, George, who was helping Jan and Cholo push my boat away from his, yelled, “What’s up?”

  I knew he was an experienced diver so I waved my mic in the air. “Go 88. Cancel that, Go 72!” I said, knowing most of the boats in the anchorage monitored that channel, and any need for secrecy just bit the dust.

  “Got it!”

  George went to his cockpit radio. “Raymond Johnson, are you declaring a Mayday?”

  “No. Yes. That’s my parrot doing it, but he’s right. We have a mayday situation.”

  I was stretching it a bit. A Mayday! call indicates a life-threatening situation, as opposed to Pan! Pan!; an urgent situation not immediately life-threatening, but requiring assistance. Semantics.

  I took a deep breath and broadcast for all to hear, “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! The fishing boat tied to the muelle, the Doña Esperanza, is preparing to leave the harbor with a load of illegal exotic birds. It is our belief that if the captain escapes the harbor, he will throw the caged birds overboard. They will sink and drown. I need every diver in the anchorage to get out here. I’m going to block his exit with Raymond Johnson!”

  Endless Sunshine replied, “Not alone, you aren’t!”

  Chapter Thirty

  I QUICKLY MANEUVERED Raymond Johnson clear of Endless Sunshine and aimed for Doña Esperanza. Bowing in right in front of him, I held us there with my engines.

  Endless Sunshine left his bow anchor in place, loosed the stern hook, and while his girlfriend let out scope, he backed toward the fishing boat’s midships, then swung on the fast current directly across the harbor entrance.

  He missed me by inches, but we’d set up a pretty effective temporary blockade. There was still room for the captain on Doña Esperanza to pull an end-run but he was going to have to back out, then weave through a few boats first because, between Endless Sunshine and Raymond Johnson, we blocked his main escape route.

  I was concentrating on holding the boat in place when Jan yelled, “Hetta, Topaz is here!”

  Sneaking a quick glance, I watched as Topaz skidded to a stop no less than twenty feet from the Doña Esperanza and jumped out, an AK-47 in hand. Roger and Craig, armed and pissed off, were with her.

  I felt a pang of assault weapon envy.

  Captain Bastard, realizing he was in deep ca-ca, disappeared below and returned lugging a cage stuffed with crimson and hyacinth macaws, which he dangled over the side. In the bottom of the cage were two cement blocks.

  We were close enough for one of us to jump onto the fishing boat, but we waited, afraid he’d drop the birds over the side. Likewise, if we shot him.

  The huge beautiful birds were so frantic they were biting each other. The cacophony was ear-splitting, but hope sprang into my heart when the man, obviously fatigued from holding all that weight, pulled the cage onto his boat.

  Cholo quickly took aim, but the man had rested the heavy cage on a gunwale and it almost tipped overboard. He caught it at the last minute and yelled over his shoulder and through the open door of the starboard side bridge. He’d spotted Topaz, who actually had one foot on his port deck, and demanded she back off. She did.

  For a few minutes we all froze in place, uncertain who should do what next.

  “Hetta, we got divers!” Jan pointed to a flotilla of dinghys headed our way, many of the boaters already in wet suits. My depth sounder read fifteen feet, so retrieving a heavy cage before the birds drowned was going to be quite a feat, but I was convinced it could be done.

  Cholo went below and came back in nothing but his tighty whiteys, holding an armful of inflatable fenders that we’d used as buffers between Raymond Johnson and Endless Summer. He told Jan to take his gun and jumped into the drink.

  Jan handed me the Springfield XDM, ran back to the main deck, and began tossing every fender we had overboard, including two large round mooring balls.

  Within minutes, while the captain an
d Topaz traded threats, Jan had opened our dive locker, suited up, and prepared to join Cholo and about ten divers who were gathered on the port side of my boat, hidden from Doña Esperanza’s captain.

  We had ourselves another maddening impasse. The captain couldn’t drop the cage without losing his bargaining chip, and we couldn’t nail him without him dropping the cage.

  I knew for certain that I couldn’t miss a target at such close range with Cholo’s XDM, but it was too chancy.

  And if I wasn’t frustrated enough, Jan yelled, “Uh, Houston to Hetta, we have a problem.”

  “Lawdy, what now?” I was physically tiring from jockeying the boat, holding it against the swift side current, and mentally pooped.

  “Take a look.” She pointed toward the military encampment, where every eye in the entire convoy was focused on our brouhaha at the dock.

  “Cholo, you better come up here,” I hollered over the side. He climbed the swim ladder, where Po Thang greeted him, wagging his tail and licking salt water from his legs. Once on the flying bridge, he took one look at the military encampment and growled, “Chit!”

  Trying my best to avert my eyes from his wet whiteys, I said, “Chit indeed. All those soldiers, sailors, and marines can see is a Mexican-flagged ship being bullied by a bunch of Gringo boaters. You gotta go talk to them, pronto! And Jan, get all the divers on board and have them sit on the side away from Doña Esperanza. Looks like the chit is about to hit the prop.”

  Cholo took a minute to pull on jeans and jumped into my dinghy for a quick ride into shore. He took a handheld VHF radio with him so we could keep him up to snuff, and warn him if he was in danger as he made the five-minute run to the far end of the muelle, behind Doña Esperanza. He landed, tied off, and sprinted for the military encampment.

  I held my breath, hoping the soldiers didn’t shoot what looked like a half-dressed, wild man coming their way.

  The boat captain was watching Cholo, who was yelling and waving his arms as he ran. I could almost see a light bulb go on over the pendejo’s head. He looked from me to my dinghy, gave me an evil grin, took a loop on the rail with the line precariously holding the bird’s cage, stepped backwards inside his bridge, and threw Doña Esperanza into full reverse.