Oyster Shell Road

By Mark Wilks

Three childhood friends find themselves reunited in the most unlikely of places; the jungles of Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula. One, a smuggler by trade, another, a Wall Street hustler on the run from the S.E.C. and the third hiding at the ends of the earth from her psychotic ex-husband.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483512549

Book preview

PROLOGUE

‘Sheila Heinberger and the Yellow- Jacket Wind’

In the latter days of the South Texas summer, a weather anomaly occasionally occurs that as kids we called the Yellow- Jacket Wind. High pressure would build in the Mexican desert then eventually be drawn east, sending temperatures on the coast soaring well over the century mark for days of the time No longer would the prevalent southeast breeze blow across the Gulf of Mexico, cooling the air and holding the daytime highs down to at least the mid- nineties.

The hot, dry, western winds would upset the balance of everyday existence, covering cars with red dust and sending insects of all varieties into a confused frenzy. Worst of all were the yellow- jackets. Already an aggressive creature, the yellow- jackets would buzz around their nest in an agitated flurry just waiting for something or someone to come by and inflict they’re painful sting upon.

On one particular day in 1962 a series of events occurred that would deeply affect my life later in adulthood as my best friend, Darrell Fox, and I had just returned from yet another successful fishing trip. Darrell lived just down the block from me and the both of us were hardcore fishermen, taking on summer jobs solely to raise money for bait.

On this day we had ridden our bicycles out of town and down the long oyster shell road that ended at our favorite fishing spot known as Rattlesnake Point. Many of the roads around Rockport back then were paved with crushed oyster shell, which abounded in the area due to the large oyster fishing industry of Rockport Bay and the cheap price of the oyster byproduct used widely in the surrounding areas. The crushed shell made bicycling a challenge but I loved the way it crunched beneath our tires as we rode down the salt cedar lined road on our spider bikes outfitted with stolen milk crates strapped onto the rear fender and used to carry bait buckets, tackle and our fishing poles sticking up in the air.

It was a fine day of fishing as we caught five large, mustard mouth trout and four hefty redfish, so much fish in fact that our baskets barely held the mass, leaving us to hand tote our bait bucket and tackle boxes. We were a fine sight, with our sunburnt noses and a bouquet of large fishtails sticking out of our baskets, as we rode proudly back to my house for a round of fish cleaning.

Rolling up to my house, we saw a moving van parked caddie corner across the street with furniture being hauled into the previously vacant residence. Parking our bikes on the side of the house next to the fish cleaning table we’d built, we unloaded our catch and began sharpening our knives. That’s when I looked across the street to see the most beautiful girl I’d ever laid eyes on. She was even prettier than the models in our Sears catalog.

I continued honing my knife while watching the girl at the same time then she saw me and waved. Momentarily frozen, I forced my hand to move just as a yellow jacket flew out from beneath the table and stung me solidly on the neck. I yelped and slapped the wasp from my neck then stomped the ground as if it would stop the pain. The girl, seeing me in distress, ran across the street to me and asked What happened? Are you all right?

I grimaced as I held my neck Yellow jacket got me I said.

Hold on she told me I’ll get something.

Running back across the street, she dashed into her house and then returned shortly with a bottle of Clorox. After opening the bottle, she filled the cap with bleach and said hold still. She pressed the cap against my neck holding the bleach to my sting and in a matter of seconds the pain began to ease.

Thanks, I’m Skyler, that’s Darrell. I said amazed that words were actually coming out of my mouth.

Hi she responded smiling brightly I’m Sheila.

Turns out, to my delight, she and her family were devout Baptists and would be attending the church at which my father just happened to be the Pastor. Seems she was also going into the fifth grade along with me, making it a 50/50 chance we would be in the same class.

Although we didn’t get placed in the same classroom, the social network in the fifth grade was rapid and efficient. For two weeks notes were passed with our friends handling all verbal communication between us as Sheila and I periodically passed each other in the hall, blushing but not speaking.

Sheila wore my ID bracelet for a couple of weeks designating her as my steady girlfriend but still I couldn’t talk to her. I didn’t even give her the bracelet, but had to pass it to her friend to give to her. During our short time together we kissed once and I swear I can still taste it. Then as most short lived elementary romances went, it was over.

Later that year Sheila’s family moved over to Corpus Christi to be closer to the naval air station where her father served as a navy pilot. In the little time I had known her I was able to memorize her face to the point where I can still see her perfectly whenever I want.

Darrell and I remained close friends throughout school as I muddled through and Darrel excelled. After graduation from high school Darrell went to university and I started community college in San Antonio majoring in partying. During that period is when a friend turned me on to the music of Jimmy Buffett. I played the grooves off of his first album and actually had to buy a new copy. His second album took me places I’d never been and the romance of the sea drew me in.

Between albums I was lucky enough to see Buffett perform live. I had heard on the radio that he would be playing, along with the entire Coral Reefer Band at the Longneck Saloon on West Avenue and called immediately ticket information. Turns out there were no tickets as admission was free and Lone Star longnecks were 25¢. The Longneck Saloon was an iconic neighborhood bar that opened its doors for the local patrons at 8:00 am daily, except for Sundays, and was not quite the concert venue I had pictured.

I gathered a group of three friends and when Friday night came around we showed up early in order to get a good table. When we arrived we saw that all the tables were open with only four people sitting at the bar, who were most likely locals that had been sitting there since the place opened.

We chose the table directly in front of the stage and watched the band set up as we waited for the crowds to arrive. The crowds never came, in fact nobody came.

For two nights we sat at our table and were treated to our own personal concert as Buffett and his band of six were crammed onto a tiny stage pressed literally shoulder to shoulder. I myself would have found the situation very despairing but Buffett played with the enthusiasm of a seasoned rock star performing for a crowd of 20,000. His charisma was absolutely infectious and until this day it was the best concert I’ve ever been to. During a couple of breaks Jimmy would come sit at our table and visit with us while on other breaks we joined him with the band out in the bus getting high.

When the third album came out I bought an old wooden hull boat and restored her to what was to become the ‘Ola Nueva’. It took me over a year to finish her but it was a labor of love. Eventually Darrell graduated from the university and went to Wall Street. With my sights set on the Florida Keys and the Caribbean, I began to wander.

*

CHAPTER

(1)

Ready for a day off in Rio Lagartos (Alligator River) I took a cab from the boat, instructing the driver to cart me to the nearest beachfront café/bar. Fifteen minutes later, after traversing some bad roads and lots of vegetation, we emerged from the jungle onto a small point of land jutting out into the sea. It had a small, crescent shaped coarse sand beach reaching into the clearest, bluest water one could imagine. The sand continued out a ways until it turned into a field of coral that stretched out a hundred yards or so before dropping into the deep.

Up the beach was a large bamboo and palm leaf structure which turned out to be the café/bar which was connected to a square, two story cinderblock building that housed the kitchen and a small apartment upstairs. I paid the taxi driver after he brought me to what appeared to be the entrance and looked up at the crudely painted sign. ‘Restaurant/Bar PLAYA LINDA’ looked to be my kind of place.

Upon entering I trudged across the deep sand floor past the metal beer tables with plastic beer chairs making my way to the bar. The bar itself looked to be made of local hardwoods and was the size of a whale, or at least as heavy. At first I thought the place might be closed until I caught the savory aroma of cooking food wafting from the kitchen.

Hola I called out. Hello, anybody home?

I waited patiently, as my mouth grew drier, until a small, older woman came waddling out of the kitchen.

Buenas Dias, I said cheerfully.

Buenas Dias, She replied flatly.

Si hay cerveza fria? I asked.

Si hay.

When she didn’t move I said Uno por favor.

Begrudgingly she pulled an icy beer from the well, slapped it down in front of me then turned and went back into the kitchen.

Thank you, I said as I pried the cap off with my Bic lighter, I’ll just get this myself.

I took my beer over to seaside edge of the palapa, pulled up a chair and dug my toes deep into the cool morning sand. With the sun glaring on glassy surface of the water I imagined myself being a little G.I. Joe and getting insanely barreled on the knee high waves before shooting out the end of yet another perfect tube.

While gazing out from beneath the palapa, my little dream was interrupted as I saw somebody in the water walking towards the shore. The blinding glare made it hard to distinguish any character features but as the person exited the water I could tell it was a woman. A slender woman…a young woman…and as she drew closer I could see…a beautiful woman. She was also woman I’d seen before.

Upon approaching, the woman disappeared behind a bamboo wall that was connected to the concrete building and I heard water running as a towel was draped over the wall followed by a bikini top and then a bikini bottom. I was relishing the smell of sweet fragrances drifting out of the shower when the water stopped and the towel was drawn down. I was about to resign myself to a morning of solitude when a few minutes later the very same woman came out of the kitchen and positioned herself behind the bar.

She wore a faded green sarong with a neon orange bikini top under a white sleeveless crop top. Her past the shoulder blades long, wet hair was combed straight and chestnut colored with sun bleached streaks running throughout. Her body was taught and her skin was deeply tanned without looking the least bit leathery. Clenching two chopsticks in her teeth she pulled back her hair, rolled it into a bun then slid the chopsticks through to hold it up. I watched mesmerized as she removed a stack of cash from a bank bag and counted it into the proper slots of the register.

I quickly downed the remainder of my beer then walked over and sat myself on one of the tree stumps that served as barstools.

Buenas Dias Senorina I said smoothly in my deep, Mexican voice.

Mornin’. Get ya something? she came back with a noticeable drawl.

I’ll have a Pacifico please and hopefully some breakfast.

Let’s see what we have. Mami! "She yelled back through the kitchen door.

Que tiene comida?

Caldo de cammarone. The little lady yelled back from the cocina.

Shrimp soup and tortillas. She told me as she slid open the beer box.

That sounds good to me.

Cracking open a fresh beer, she wrapped it in a Bevnap and sat out a small glass of limes. What’s your name? She asked

Skyler, and yours?

Sheila. Nice to meet to meet ya.

You too. Correct me if I’m wrong but by your slight, barely noticeable accent I’m guessing you might be from the southern U.S.

Why yes I am. She replied really pouring it on thick. You seem to have a titch of a drawl yourself.

South Texas.

Really? What a coincidence, I too am from south Texas.

I’m from Rockport.

Me too. She said finally breaking a smile." What school?

Sheila Heinberger. I said suddenly and confidently.

Her expression was more than surprise; there was a hint of fear mixed with the wide eyes and slack jaw.

We went steady in fourth grade. You wore my I.D. bracelet for a couple of weeks. Classic elementary romance. We kissed once, spoke little and passed notes through your friends. Check yes or no. Her mouth fell open even farther and her trepidation was replaced with a smile.

Skyler Martin. As I live and breathe you’re Skyler Martin, the preacher’s kid. What on God’s green earth are you doing here?

Broke my boat. She’s down at Mollo’s waiting for a new halyard block. A sailor named Skyler. Hmm.

I just smiled as I was presented with my breakfast and took a slug off of my beer. In the moment I felt as happy as a fourth grader.

∼

CHAPTER

(2)

The city of Rio Lagartos had a small municipal dock less than a block away from the center of town where my boat was docked out front of the local outboard motor and net shop. The owner of the shop, Senior Mollo, informed me that it would take until tomorrow to get a replacement part out of Progresso and I should just relax and enjoy the sights.

The sights at ‘Playa Linda’ were enough for me as I sat on my barstool staring at Sheila while we talked away the afternoon. Just as she had warned me, at 5:00 the bar began to fill up for happy hour and the Friday night to follow. When the sun went down I switched from beer to rum and after a couple of hours, began to get drunk and mouthy which was my cue to get back to town. With at least a day before I could depart, I hoped to see Sheila again tomorrow and making a drunken ass of myself tonight would not make for a good first impression.

After thanking Sheila for her hospitality and saying goodnight I started to leave then stopped and turned around going back to the bar.

Say, I was thinking that maybe you’d like to join me for breakfast tomorrow.

Well I do have to go into Cancun in the morning…but if you’re an early riser.

How’s 7:00 o’clock downstairs at the ‘Jardin?

That would be nice. I’ll see you then.

I walked out and climbed into a waiting cab with my head in the clouds then headed back to town. Getting out at the only traffic light in town I strolled down to the dock to check on the boat before turning in. I had rented a room at the ‘Hotel Jardin’ as staying on the boat would be risky considering it was loaded with 500 lbs. of high quality marijuana.

Smuggling had become my profession and I was very good at it, but now I found myself in a compromising situation. Every minute sitting at a public dock in the middle of town increased the odds that one of the myriad of law enforcement entities (I.E. the local police, the Federales, the Marineros or even a truckload of armed soldiers from the base outside of town) might stop by for a surprise inspection.

My boat was a 1952 Yugoslavian built pitch pine wood hull over oak ribs 38’ sloop that I had picked up for free and spent countless hours restoring into an ocean worthy smuggler. I had plenty of time, while redoing the interior and the cockpit, to build in a number of clever hiding places in which to stash my contraband and my collection of defensive weapons. I even managed to utilize the hollow wooden mast as additional storage for my illicit cargo.

When working, I always carried two wallets. One was filled with colorful paper pesos as well as a small amount of U.S. currency, a fake visa and various other pieces paper. The other wallet contained varied denominations of U.S. currency, each folded twice and stored in different compartments. The Peso wallet I kept in my right back pocket and used for daily purposes while the dollar wallet stayed in the left.

Whenever I was in a city or town, I made most all my purchases from the ratty Guatemalan wallet with the Mexican money. The other wallet was strictly for ‘mordida’ or bribes to be paid to the local constabularies and Federales. This did not allow me to act with open impunity but it did manage to keep me out of jail on more than one occasion.

I was always careful and went to great lengths to cover my bases. My grandfather had always told me Whatever you choose to do, do it well. I’m pretty sure my present occupation was not what he had in mind but his advice has helped keep me a free man…so far.

My mantra, when it came to getting in trouble was Pay the first guy whatever it takes because the next guy will only want more. I have paid many a bribe and have never seen the inside of a Mexican jail. I figure I must be doing something right.

∼

Early the next morning I meandered over to the boat to give a quick look see. The boat shop was not yet open so I walked back across the main street and took a sidewalk table at ‘Restaurant ‘El Jardin’ while I waited for Sheila to show.

‘Restaurant El Jardin’, while constructed within the confines of the hotel, shared no common entrance to the lobby, rather used an iron and stone archway on the sidewalk as its front door. Every morning the sidewalk was washed and a row of tables were set out along the wrought iron fence that separated the inside from the out. As soon as I sat down, a waiter appeared at my table with a glass of cold, purified water, warm corn tortillas and three bowls of varied salsas. I ordered a cup of coffee and was promptly brought a cup of hot water with a jar of ‘Sanka’. Till this day I still cannot figure why one of the top coffee producing countries in the world has such an affinity for instant coffee.

As I stirred the granules into my water I saw an old, orange Toyota pickup parking at the curb across the street and my heart skipped a beat when I saw it was Sheila. She was dressed for Cancun and spotting me at the table dashed across the street to meet me. I stood up as she approached and pulled out a chair for her.

‘’ Good morning she said taking a seat. How are you doing today?"

Doing good, and you?

Hungry. Uno café por favor, she said to the waiter as he walked up.

What’s good here? I asked.

I’m going to have steak and eggs.

I think I’ll have the same. Wanna split a fruit platter?

Ooh, that sounds good.

We had coffee and made small talk as the town came to life with honking horns and clattering diesel trucks. The waiter serving us was dressed in traditional waiters garb consisting of black slacks, a starched white oxford shirt with a shiny red vest and bowtie. His hair was slicked back and he smelled of too much cologne. Being a waiter in Mexico was a coveted position and they took their jobs very seriously. There was even a waiters union.

We were almost through eating when Sheila tossed her fork on the plate and slid her chair back.

I’m stuffed. She said wiping her face. Thank you for breakfast. That was good.

You’re welcome.

"Look, I hate to eat and run but I need to get back from Cancun before ‘Happy Hour’. If you’re not busy later why don’t you stop by ‘Playa Linda’ and I’ll buy you a drink?

Thanks, I think I’ll do that.

We both got up then Sheila leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

Thanks again. See ya later. She said winking at me before walking away.

Just as I was about to ask for the check the waiter placed it on the table in front of me signaling he would be right back. I shelled out $300 Pesos onto the plastic tray and the waiter immediately scooped it up then returned shortly with my change. I calculated a 15% tip and left it on the table as I got up and walked across the street. Normally I was a 25% tipper but when working, I kept it to 15% so as not to draw undue attention. Drug smugglers are notorious over tippers and I had no desire to be suspected as one of them. As I was leaving I heard the waiter call out to me Gracias Senor. He was happy with the tip as 10% was the norm in Mexico. Without looking back I waved and went back down to the boat.

Walking around back of the boat shop I saw the rear rollup doors were open and went to speak with Senor Mollo.

Muy Buenas Dias I said walking into the shop.

Muy Buenas Dias said Senor Mollo from behind his grease stained counter. He was digging for something in his classic hand crank cash register which was well worn but was still in excellent working condition.

I asked him about the status of my part and when I might expect the boat to be ready.

Mas tarde (later) he said as, all good Mexicans do.

Mas tarde my part will be here, or mas tarde my boat will ready?

You’re boat will be ready later this afternoon.

That’s great. Thank you Senor. I didn’t bother asking what time as I figured I would be lucky if it was ready at all. Before leaving I went ahead and paid my repair bill in advance as this afternoon I would hopefully be busy charming Sheila and tomorrow I would be gone.

The idea of my boat sitting there all day made me nervous but the idea of going back to ‘Playa Linda and seeing Sheila again made it a little easier. I watched as two blue uniformed ‘Marineros’, with their automatic weapons strung over their shoulders, strolled down the dock without giving my boat a second look. Feeling secure I went back to my room, cranked up the A/C and took a long morning nap. With Sheila gone for the better part of the day I really had no reason to rush out to’ Playa Linda’ and besides I wanted to be sober when she got back.

Crawling into the bed I let the honking horns and the droning of the ancient air conditioner lull me into a deep slumber that lasted almost till noon. Trying to swim up out of the well that was my nap I freshened up and made my way back down to the restaurant and ordered a Rum Campanchano. Campanchano literally means mixed and refers to food as well as libations which in this case was rum mixed with Coca –Cola and mineral water. The ‘agua mineral’ tones down the syrupy sweet Mexican Coke and when poured over ice with a lime squeeze becomes a refreshing, easily drinkable cocktail, (easily drinkable being the key attraction).

After downing a couple of drinks I returned to my room to get ready for an afternoon at the beach changing into a pair of surf trunks and faded a ‘G&S’ surfboards T-shirt. Next I grabbed my plastic mesh Mexican shopping bag and tossed in my room key, wallet, and a large towel. With sunglasses on my head and slaps on my feet I strolled down the hall and took the stairs down to the lobby. The old brass elevator was currently out of order but with my room being on the second floor it caused little inconvenience. Walking out to the corner, I hailed a cab and twenty minutes later arrived at ‘Playa Linda’ and then promptly made my way to the bar where I picked out a stump, sat down and waited for service. The only employee I could see was the beach waiter who at the time was running back up the beach towards the bar with tray in hand.

Good afternoon Sir, he said as he rushed by and ran behind the bar. What can I get for you?

Good afternoon, I replied, Rum Campanchano please. The name’s Skyler. I said holding out my hand.

Juanito he said shaking my hand."

Mucho gusto. Mucho gusto, I returned. Say is Sheila around?"

No, she hasn’t gotten back from Cancun yet, but I expect her anytime now. Juanito handed me my drink then took off back to the beach with a bucket of iced down beers. I had hoped to be sitting under a beach palapa with an icy pail of beer, but it being Saturday, all the palapas were occupied. I was almost through with my second drink when I saw Sheila’s truck coming out of the jungle and once again my heart palpitated.

What the hell was that all about? I asked myself out loud. I hardly knew the girl yet here I was feeling like an adolescent puppy-boy with her arrival. If I’d had a tail it would have been wagging. I was just finishing my drink when Sheila came through the kitchen door lugging two full shopping bags.

Hi. She said smiling at me. Been here long?

I don’t know. I’m like a dog. I have no concept of time.

Well give me a few weeks, or minutes, to put this stuff away and I’ll come join ya.

I was amazed at the ease with which we interacted and had to admit to myself that I really starting to like this girl. Not that I’ve never had a problem with attracting the companionship of a beautiful woman, but this felt different…and it scared me.

∼

I had a wonderful time that afternoon at ‘Playa Linda’ as Sheila and I carried on fragmented conversation while she buzzed back and forth readying the bar for Saturday night. I watched as Juanito set up yet another beer bucket starting by chipping chunks of ice from a large block, filling a metal bucket with cold beers then scooping the ice into the bucket. From the soda gun he squirted water into the bucket then shook a generous portion of salt over the bottlenecks. Next he set up his tray with a stack of bev-naps anchored by glassful of limes, a salt shaker and a stack of menus underneath.

Taking his things Juanito ran down the beach to a palapa, sat the bucket in the sand between the two wooden lounge chairs then unloaded his tray onto a small table. Removing two beers from the ice water, he popped the tops with an opener tied to the bucket then stuck lime slices into the tops and wrapped them in napkins before serving. No matter how many times I’ve watched this ritual it still makes me smile and soothes my soul. God I love Mexico.

Juanito dropped off menus to some customers and then took some orders on his way back to the bar to make another bucket of beers. He set up his tray again then grabbed two seafood cocktails from the kitchen before running back out to the beach.

Sheila had disappeared for a while to shower and dress for the upcoming night leaving me at the bar with my drink as I dwelled on my impending departure tonight. When she returned she was squeaky clean and looking vibrant.

You all ready? I asked.

Ready and raring to go, She said shaking her out her arms. "It’s gonna be a big night and it starts in about 30 minutes.

Sheila ran a 5-7 happy hour 7days a week saying that on weekends it worked like a primer getting the bar going early and carrying late into the night. Leaning over the bar she looked me in the eye and asked, So Skyler, how long you down for?

"I’ve gotta leave tonight

Sheila stood upright and seemed quite taken aback by my answer.

Oh; so soon? Too bad, you’re gonna miss a fun weekend she said uncomfortably. Well, she said quickly regaining her composure you should enjoy what time you have here.

She slapped two shot glasses on the bar and filled them with tequila. Salud. We said to each other then slammed down the shots.

As much as we both tried to get it back, the tone of the day was gone, at least for now. Sheila had put up her defenses and our conversation had become stiff and forced. A few hours and numerous tequila shots later Sheila began to loosen up and we began to laugh. One thing in particular I noticed was that Sheila had never once asked about my business here or the reason for my expedient departure. I’m sure by now she was well aware of my occupation, but having the class not to inquire impressed me even more than I already was. The woman was brimming with grace and I did not want to leave.

I knew that I was going to miss a good time, but my boat was ready and I had already paid Sr. Mollo with a little tip on top. Every hour that my boat sat at the dock, the more chance I took that someone would get curious. I would leave at midnight, after things had settled down at the dock and sail out with no lights or power. With my Loran C navigator onboard I could slide out through the channel and disappear into the darkness. My boat being constructed completely of wood was virtually invisible to radar and once into open waters I could power up then set a course for home.

As Sheila had predicted, Saturday night had begun at five and was going full tilt as my time to leave rapidly approached. It was 11:00 pm when I asked for my tab telling Sheila that as I much as I hated to say, it was time for me to go. Pouting, she met me at the end of the bar then put her arms around my neck and kissed me fully on the mouth for a good 5or 6 seconds. With her lips moist and her mouth partially open, it was a real kiss. I knew then that I’d be back.

∼

CHAPTER

(3)

Before we stopped, I paid my driver so when we pulled up two cars back in the right lane at the stoplight; I climbed out the right side of the cab and walked briskly towards the shadows." The ‘Ola’ was only 100 yards away and seeing no one around I made a beeline across the pavilion for her. As I reached the bow of the boat and untied the mooring line I saw two marineros walking down the dock straight towards me. I went back and untied the stern line as they approached then stood silently as they looked me up and down saying nothing.

After a few frozen seconds I put my hands out slightly and turning around slowly, reached cautiously with my left hand pulling my good wallet out of my back pocket. Opening the wallet I removed two sets of two $ 20 dollar bills and held them out to the soldiers. $80 was overpaying a bit but I was ready to go and was in no mood to haggle. Passing off the money, I said nothing as I untied the stern line from the dock and shoved off. I watched the men put their $40 in their pockets and walk away as I drifted out into the darkness. I was home free, or so I thought. Now all I had in front of me was a few hundred miles of open water with…suddenly there was a loud thunk as a shutter ran through the boat. I was momentarily confused until a large spotlight came on from above focused directly on me. I could not understand the words being squawked at me through a rusty loudspeaker as I had just drifted into an 80 foot, heavily armed Mexican gunboat.

Oh, this is bad I said to myself.

The gunboat, which moments before had lay dark and silent in the night had come to life with lights blazing, engines firing and a madhouse of yelling from above. Looking up into the lights all I could see was the imposing silhouette of a man, with his hands on his hips and his feet apart, staring down at me. By the time my eyes adjusted there were four marineros, guns cocked and pointed at me, standing on the bow. I quickly raised my hands and tried to coordinate my thoughts as a rope ladder was thrown into the cockpit followed by two soldiers. Taking position on either side of me they held me at gunpoint while the imposing man climbed down the ladder onto the deck of my boat.

Muy Buenos Noches, He said stepping down into the cockpit.

Buenos Noches Senor I answered respectfully.

Please turn on your lights. He said gesturing to the cabin.

Very slowly I reached one hand into the salon while keeping the other in the air and flipped on the lights.

Perhaps you will join me below, He said. Have you any brandy?

Yes Sir, Don Pedro.

That will do. Please close the hatch behind you, he said as he stepped down into the cabin and you may put your hands down.

Please have a seat. I said as I stepped into the small galley reemerging with two brandy snifters and a bottle of good Mexican brandy. I poured us each a drink then asked Would you care for a cigar? They’re Dominican, quite good. The game had begun.

I am Captain Fernando Malguizo of the Mexican navy, he said snipping the end of his cigar and accepting a light from my special cigar lighter. I said nothing. I am wondering where you are going and why you are drifting around in the middle of the night with no lights, sails or engines.

Ignoring the question I asked him Are you the number one man in these waters?

Yes? he answered suspiciously.

Then I have a special gift I’ve been saving just for you.

I stood up and pressed on a board above one of the bunks opening a small door with a string attached. Connected to the other end of the string was a gold leaf inlaid leather bound box which I carefully removed and sat on the table.

For you.

His eyebrows rose a bit, then he opened the box and his eyes opened wide. Reaching into the box he removed a nickel plated Colt .45 semi-automatic pistol, with intricate engraving down the slide and a grip made from Mother of Pearl.

It is truly a beautiful gun, he said. Thank you for the gift. Well, I would love to stay and drink your brandy but I am a very busy man, he said returning the gun to its case. I think you will find the remainder of your journey out of Mexican waters…uneventful.

With that he stood to exit the cabin then turned and said with his hand out, Oh, and $200. By the way, I didn’t catch your name.

Skyler, I said handing him two crisp $100 bills. Adios?

Adios, he said and left my boat. Vamos, he barked at the soldiers as he climbed back onto the gunboat.

I had done it. It had cost me my prized Colt but I had purchased it long ago for just such an occasion. Slugging down another brandy I fired up the Volvo and raised the sails. I was a free man and I was heading home. Que suerte!

∼

CHAPTER

(4)

For half an hour I sailed away from the glow of town before reaching through the hatch and flipping on the spreader lights. The deck became instantly awash in bright white light as I went below, sat down and opened my chart table.

My Micrologic 5000 Loran C navigator resting on standby came to life at the push of a button and I pulled a chart out of the cabinet then rolled it out smooth on the fold down table. I knew the course well from my regular departure point, but having broken down and leaving from a different port, my course would require minor adjustments to hit my waypoint at the Port Aransas jetties. I entered my current location into the computer then using a sharp pencil marked my position on the chart. The computer made a slight adjustment to my course of 2 degrees north. My heading would take me virtually straight downwind which meant, for the time being, I would be sailing wing and wing. I fed the jib sheet out on the port side and the mainsail on the starboard letting the breeze fill the sails with a solid snap. With a steady 10-15 knot tailwind wind and a 3 foot following sea the boat sailed true.

Attached to my tiller was an electronic robot arm, with a compass inside, that served as my auto-pilot. I manually maneuvered the boat while watching my deck compass to find my course then set my heading on the autopilot. A slight, whirring sound let me know that the robot was on and operating. I watched for a while as the robot arm, sliding in and out, adjusted the tiller slightly from time to time holding the course. Confident with my heading and my sail set, I shut down the engine and then turned off the deck lights