 
### Dead Reckoning

By P X DUKE

Copyright 2013 P X Duke

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 978-0-9869558-5-3

Disclaimer

What follows is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Places mentioned by name are entirely fictitious and purely products of the author's imagination, and are not meant to bear resemblance to actual places or locations.

Dead Reckoning

_During Harry's well-deserved R &R on mainland Mexico, he picks up something he doesn't own that forces him to flee across the Sea of Cortez to the Baja. While hiding out on an isolated beach, two mysterious gringas show up to complicate Harry's life by attempting to implicate him in their own scheme, resulting in a mad dash up the Baja to escape the consequences of their actions. First in the_ _Rescue Me_ _Series._

Contents

Prologue

PART ONE

It's all about the money

PART TWO

Hiding Places

PART THREE

We need them more than they need us

PART FOUR

Give credit where credit is due

About

More

**Prologue**

_When you don't have a plan, you end up doing what's called flying by the seat of your pants. In the world of aviation, that's called dead reckoning, and for good reason. If you reckon wrong, you can end up dead._

We were living on the cheap, going native and spending our days and our money in a broken-down country in a broken-down town in a broken-down cantina. We were on the run from too much drink, too many women, a shortage of cash and North African desert—not necessarily in that order.

There was nothing too desperate in any of that. It was hardly enough to turn us into desperados.

Mike and I began taking up space in the small cantina in an attempt to while away the endless days and nights. By force of habit adopted from experience, we always sat with our backs against the wall to keep an eye on the doors and windows and what they might present beyond our control.

I learned to speak the language from the local _señoritas_ who seemed to take a liking to me for some reason. Maybe it was my friendly manner. Maybe it was my ability to laugh at myself or to permit them to laugh at me. Or maybe it was the dancing I did with the girls on the cantina's dirt floor.

Mostly I figured it was the little bit of money I sent in their direction from time-to-time. That was all right with me. It seemed like the thing to do.

This day was no different from the countless others that went before it. It was close to noon. We had been in the place for an hour, maybe a little longer. When you drink your lunch you tended to lose track, and if you started early enough and waited long enough, the dark inside would eventually match the night outside.

We were flirting with the local color, but for some reason we weren't making any headway. Perhaps the girls had started to figure us to be regulars. They should have known by now that we were the only game in town.

The cantina liked to pick up the lunch crowd, such as it was in the small town. It was beginning to look like the pickings would be slim today. Such as it was, the crowd had already started thinning. Most of the regulars had by now departed.

Whatever was going on wasn't up for discussion. With nary a word to the two gringos, the girls began to drift away as well.

Even the bartender disappeared.

Never one to miss an opportunity, I grabbed a couple of teary Sol from behind the bar. Cool and wet in my grip, I set them on our table and sat down to enjoy the fruits of my labor in the day's heat and humidity.

Mike nodded his thanks and tipped his head towards the door. The cantina darkened even more as a man hesitated and blocked the open doorway. The sun streaming past the door and into the small cantina cast a dark shadow on the dirt floor.

The man looked around for what I thought was a little longer than if he were only on the lookout for friends. Seemingly satisfied by what he saw, he entered.

He clutched a dirty canvas bag held tight against his body. He looked over at us, nodded, and sat down at the deserted bar. He didn't stay long, probably because there was no one to serve a drink. He looked around all shifty-eyed and sweaty, stood up, and made for the door at the back of the cantina.

A door slammed, tires slipped on gravel and the car sped away.

I returned to the bar to refresh our Sol. I almost tripped over the bag laying on the dirt floor by the deserted barstool. The cantina remained empty, but I didn't pay any attention to that. I was too immersed in trying to know if I should leave the bag where it was, or investigate further.

I figured I should investigate.

Bad idea—but I didn't think about that at the time.

I made a grab for the bag and mumbled to Mike that it was time to go. We stumbled our way out the door into high noon and took off for parts unknown before pulling over down the road to take a look.

We knew without a doubt that the parts wouldn't remain unknown for long.

PART ONE

It's all about the money

—Do you have the money?

—Yes. You know we do. We always do. Have we ever not had the money?

—How much do you want?

—We have the cash for ten.

—Hand it over. If the count is good the boat will hook you up at the usual place.

—It's good. We'll be there.

### ~ 1 ~

**MIKE AND I** spent a week or ten days roaming parts of mainland Mexico. We mostly kept out of the major centers and wandered into the more out of the way places. We even tried paying out good money for information.

When that didn't work, I rolled with the punches and used my gringo Spanish to try and verify local rumors. I started to get a little gun-shy about the trail I was leaving, but by then it was probably too late.

Mike had about enough of the wandering around we'd been doing. He decided he wanted a break, so he took up residence in a cantina that he thought he'd like. He figured since the girls were friendly and the dance floor was smooth, he'd call it home for a few days before rejoining me to continue our research.

It all came together about a hundred miles east of the _Mar de Cortes_. Or if you prefer, the _Golfo de California_. The locals used both names. I fell into what had to be a former military airport. A couple of old hangars looking long-deserted. Broken windows and cracked floor and walls told me they had seen better days, but not recently.

I needed to know how isolated the strip was before we could put it to use. I camped out about a quarter-mile away in a deep depression obscured by desert scrub. From there I could stay invisible while I kept an eye on the place.

It was hotter than a bitch in the daytime with the sun beating down in that little depression. At night, it was as cold as the North African nights I was more familiar with. Sometimes I would wake up from a dream and think I was back there in the thick of it.

On one of my scouting expeditions I discovered a small creek a hundred yards from my campsite. When the urge struck, I relieved the boredom and washed off the dust that accumulated when the wind blew and the dirt drifted into the hollow.

It reminded me of the _ghibli_ , a hot and dust-laden wind that comes up out of the Libyan desert. Minus the abundance of water, of course. That wind shut down our North African operation more than a few times.

During daylight hours I'd siesta in the afternoon with the best of them. By night I chanced cooking over an open fire, but only in the dead of morning when I didn't think there was much chance of the smoke being spotted.

By mid-week there was still no sign of anyone. It appeared as though this place was so out of the way that it could only be used for something illegal. That _something illegal_ would put it right up our alley.

Towards the end of my stakeout, on an early-morning recon of the buildings, I almost tripped over a rickety-looking old Cub tucked away beside one of the hangars. It was hidden on three sides behind a berm, out of sight from everyone but the most determined—or the people who had stashed it there.

I took time to give it a quick once-over. I dropped the cowlings. Visually, the engine appeared good. No oil leaks. The fabric on the wings and body was in good shape. Hell, what could go wrong with a Cub—a stick-and-rudder airplane if there ever was one?

It came together fast. We had the landing strip. We had the airplane. It was everything we were looking for. We could make our escape without leaving a trace.

Now all I needed was Mike.

**I popped the** cowlings and went over the engine with a fine tooth comb. I pulled the fuel bowl and inspected the filter. I drained the fuel line.

No rust. No water. No nothing.

I popped off the leads and pulled the plugs. The color was good. The plug wires appeared to be new. This airplane was somebody's baby. Whoever owned it was going to be some pissed when he showed up and found it _desaparecido_. Disappeared.

Mike showed up in time to help point the Cub towards the open hangar doors. With wheels chocked, he climbed in and I walked around front to run through the start ritual. It didn't take long.

First pull and she fired right up.

I was right. This was one well-maintained airplane. Mike did his run-up in a cloud of dust. I pulled the wheel chocks and he taxied figure eights inside the hangar. When he was happy, he shut down.

—What's with that dancing?

—Bonus. Someone rigged the brakes.

The brakes were set up to be used individually. It made a plane that could already turn on a dime turn on the head of a pin.

—Yeah, I left them the way they were. I wondered how long it would take you. So what do you think?

—Damn but she started like a dream. I can hand-bomb it by myself, no problem. She runs smooth, too. It's a bit of a bear looking over that nose with those wheels. I'll have to do a lot of angle taxiing.

—I wouldn't sweat the taxiing. She'll be good to go from wherever you park her with those tires. Hell, you could land on a shore swell wearing shoes like that. You could probably take off from one, too.

He already knew. I didn't need to tell him. To celebrate we cracked more Sol and sat down in the shade. I noticed right off Mike smelled a lot better after his trip to the creek.

—We're good to go.

—The sooner I fly her out of this place, the happier I'll be.

Mike was almost too eager to get on with it.

—I'm with you on that. I've been leaving a trail a mile wide. I don't think your generosity in the cantinas has gone unnoticed either.

We settled back and relaxed knowing we'd be heading out soon.

—El Dorado is an eighty mile hop to the west. I plan on keeping a low profile and staying away from the cantinas. For a change I'll count the churches while I'm waiting for your call.

As far as counting churches went, we both knew that would be an impossible task in this country.

—I didn't get any puke sacks for you.

The grin on his face said he was starting to come around.

—I won't need one if the engine doesn't quit, but the pucker factor is going to be high until I nurse her across.

—I don't envy you the first leg to _Los Muertos_ , but that engine is as good as gold.

—I'm going to hold you to that.

We clinked bottles and chugged, celebrating as only we knew how.

—I'll see you across the water.

—You know it.

### ~ 2 ~

**ON AN EXCURSION** down the Baja back in the '90s I heard rumors of an old fly-in fish camp at Los Muertos. It was the closest point of land across from El Dorado. The place was popular with the moneyed crowd in the '50s, but times changed and it fell out of favor and ended up deserted. We planned to use it as the first stop on our trek north.

It took me two days of hard driving to get from the mainland and then down the Baja. I suppose I could have taken a more direct route using a ferry. The downside would be creating a paper trail for the vehicle.

Mike's problem wouldn't be one of time. He'd make it across the Golfo in three hours aboard the Cub. Even so, I didn't envy him. He would need all the nerve he could muster to nurse a plane on wheels across two hundred miles of open water.

Relieved after the non-stop drive to finally be in La Paz, I picked up a phone card and put in a call to Mike on the mainland. I pictured him almost living in the tiny cantina. By now they were probably calling him _el loco gringo_ behind his back.

—I'm not spending any money on the cantina girls. They stopped talking to me. I can't find any more churches to count. Tell me you're somewhere close to Los Muertos.

—I'll be stocking up on refreshments when I hang up. In another hour or so I'll be there.

The line went dead. The man wasn't kidding when he said he was fed up with counting churches.

I loaded up with fuel, food, and ice for the Sol we both had an appetite for and threaded my way south out of the city. In an hour I was rattling down the rough overland trail to the beat-up shack off the west end of the old Los Muertos landing strip.

What could possibly be more boring than waiting?

I drank cold Sol to wash away the dust that had accumulated in the back of my throat on my long, sun-burned, two thousand mile trek in the open, broken-down Jeep. With luck, there'd be some left for Mike when he showed up.

Eventually I began to wonder. Was Mike airborne yet? I closed my eyes and imagined easy street to be a lot closer than it had been back on the mainland.

Following the siesta, I grabbed a water and walked the strip. It was usable for our purposes. The low-pressure tundra tires on the Cub would be sure to make short work of the rough, rock-covered and uneven ground of the old strip.

I congratulated myself on the ease with which this make-work project of ours had come together. It was beginning to look like the rest of it would be a piece of cake.

**When we landed** in Mexico we were on the last legs of an adventure that began in North Africa. What started out to be just another flying job turned into something else when it went south and started making news. Mike and I got nervous. As it happens when two guys on the same wavelength get to talking, we agreed our days were numbered.

I managed to extricate myself just in time, but not before having to make a sizable contribution to the local economy. To say it didn't benefit my health and well-being would be an understatement.

Thanks to Mike and a welcome escape from a North African jail, he loaded me into the back of a truck. What followed was a long, cross-country driving adventure across North Africa to Tangier. From there, it went into Spain. Along the way, we collected a few battle scars.

We carried those scars from Spain to Mexico City. We headed north from there into what was for us uncharted territory in northern Mexico. We figured on the anonymity and isolation to keep us out of the frying pan we'd somehow managed to step into across the ocean.

So far, we were lucky that way. At the time, we were completely unaware we'd find ourselves stepping into an entirely new frying pan on this side of the ocean.

That it didn't look to be non-stick didn't figure until much later.

**The all-too-faint sound** of an engine introduced itself just as I finished walking the Los Muertos strip, bringing me out of the heat and thirst-induced reverie. The sound grew closer and louder and I knew it could only be Mike. Who else would possibly risk a chance approach to this god-forsaken bit of landscape?

I looked skyward and caught sight of Mike and the Cub on final. My watch said he was about on the edge of his usable fuel, and I was thinking he was well positioned to make the strip if the engine quit. Then the engine quit and I figured I'd jinxed him. When it caught I was happy knowing he'd make it in spite.

The engine died a second time and the sound of silence followed the Cub on its downward glide to the strip. The only option remaining for Mike was a dead-stick landing. From my vantage point at the base of the rise, I couldn't tell whether he'd made it over the threshold or not.

Given that I hadn't heard splashing or rending metal, I went with the positive. I stood to regain sight of the Cub and witnessed a puff of dust grow into two and I knew the oversize tires had touched down.

High wings fluttered as the oversize wheels bumped and rolled over the uneven terrain of the unkempt strip. The Cub coasted to a silent stop. I grabbed a fuel can and the handful of tools I'd need to do a couple of checks and walked out to greet Mike. Already he was fast on his way towards the shack.

—Running out of fuel in the air will get you fired from any reputable company.

—That's true, but we both know this outfit is being run by the seat of the owners' pants.

—Are you calling our operation fly by night?

—Pretty much.

The sheen of sweat running down Mike's face said more than it needed to. It had to have gotten a lot warmer in the cockpit when the engine quit.

—You made it just in time.

—She never skipped a beat coming across. I'm hoping it's fuel. If it isn't, I'm not going to be happy about the next leg. There's still a lot of open water I have to cross to make our next stop.

—How does she handle?

—She flies like a dream, even with those oversize tires grabbing at all that air. Once I got her pointed at the strip she floated right in, dead engine and all.

—There's food and water in the shack.

I knew that wouldn't be what he'd be looking for after his experience with two hundred miles of open water and then have to cope with a dead engine.

—Did you pick up any Sol?

Mike was having a love affair with that Mexican beer since he arrived in-country. I was no stranger to it, either.

—You need to ask? I think I might have left you a couple or four in there somewhere. It'll be warm by now.

—Never stopped me before. You either.

**I wasn't the** only one wondering. Right off I checked the carb drain. When nothing came out, I yelled back to Mike. With both of us satisfied, I got busy with tape and a paintbrush and painted a made-up N-number on the port side of the Cub. I left the Mexican registration on the starboard.

The reasoning was simple. If Mike was forced to land the Cub in civilization, we figured that would keep the local authorities confused long enough for him to make a getaway.

I took a look at the plugs and checked the oil. I opened the carb drain again. Still nothing. That was a good sign. I added fuel and walked around the check the throttle setting. I pulled the prop through and the Cub fired right up. I got in and taxied to the shack.

—You were right. It was fuel. I noticed something else, too.

—What's that?

—It looks like you've got some fabric peeling off the top surface on the starboard wing. Past the bracing.

—How the hell did that happen?

—The entry point on the bottom of the wing is a perfect circle. Did you notice anything when you left El Dorado?

—The bottom has a hole too? That can only mean one thing. I saw a cloud of dust on the road to the strip. I was airborne by then. How bad is it?

—The shooter missed all the good parts but the fabric. I have what I need to make the repair.

—It's fifteen hundred miles of dust and dirt to get this fly-by-night operation up to the cabin in Colorado. I still have a sea of open water to cross. The last thing I need is a problem with the fabric.

—Don't worry, the repair will be good. Whoever took the shot missed the good parts. Besides, you're here to talk about it.

—I know you're more than capable. I'm not sweating it. The gas we're using won't do a thing for the valves.

—We've got to keep away from airports. We can get auto gas anywhere, even by the side of the road if we need it.

The locals were only too happy to provide gas from 55-gallon drums to gringos who drove the trans-peninsula highway. It wasn't the best fuel for a piston airplane, but it would keep us away from airports and the questions that came with them.

—Did you paint the registration?

—Yes.

Mike was on edge. He'd crossed two hundred miles of open water known as the Sea of Cortez. The Golfo de California, the Mexicans called it. He did it in an airplane outfitted with wheels. His engine had quit on approach. He'd just learned that his airplane had been shot up back on the mainland.

As far as I was concerned, he could be as edgy as he wanted.

—I'll fly the next leg if you want. I know crossing that water was no picnic.

I wondered if I was being tested, but at this point I didn't think so. We'd been friends too long and been through too much for that.

—No, I'm good. You've got your hands full with everything else.

I walked around to take a look at the cargo in the back. The butt of Mike's double-barreled sawed-off stuck out from one of the bags.

—Rough night last night, or the jitters?

Mike continued nursing his Sol.

—The jitters. I'm still on edge from being over that water for two hundred and change. I'm not accustomed to being beyond gliding distance without a set of floats beneath me. The kicker was hearing about that hole in the fabric.

—I'd be shaking like a leaf if it was me that jumped over all that water sporting wheels. Don't worry about the wing patch. It will hold one hundred percent—top and bottom.

—I need to unwind a bit is all.

—So you know, everything looks good mechanically, just like it did back on the mainland. The fluids are good. That airplane is as good as gold. I just wish the wind you need would be as reliable.

—I trust your judgment. As long as there's enough food, I'll be okay.

Were it me, I'd trust Mike's judgment, too.

—There's a week of canned goods and water in the shed. If it takes longer than that I'll be back with supplies. In case I miss you, I'll spot some fuel at Coronado on the beach.

—I'll go over the charts before I leave.

—How was your dead reckoning crossing the sea?

—I was off by a couple of miles. Maybe three or so.

—That's not so bad for two hundred miles across open water in a lowly Cub. Are you sure you don't want me to take this leg?

—I'm good for it.

Our next stop for fuel would be a hundred and eighty miles to the north.

—Since you're not offering me a beer I'm heading back to the highway. I'll see you in Coronado on that stretch of beach south of town.

Mike nodded.

—Count on it.

**I stopped to** fuel the Jeep on the outskirts of La Paz. Across the road I heard a _taquería_ calling my name. I went in search of fish tacos and Sol. Damn but those tacos were just what I needed. The breath of humidity on the bottle of Sol wasn't so bad either. I grabbed one to go.

I didn't have time to waste. I had somewhere I needed to be in a hurry.

### ~ 3 ~

**ALL RIGHT, SO** I changed my mind. How could an oasis surrounded by a shady grove of coco palms be all that bad? It couldn't.

Except.

Mike warned me about the _Hotel Cocos_. It was a great place for a meal and a beer. Next door was a place he called the crazy snail with cheap beer and girls. He never said if the girls were cheap. He never mentioned it might be trouble, either.

_El Caracol Loco_ , according to the sign. So it was the crazy snail. Mike was right. He was probably right about the rest of it, too. Even so, I had time for one, at least. After a quick look around I'd be back on the road in a flash. When I met up with Mike I'd file a report and we'd have a laugh.

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust in the cantina's dark interior. I groped my way to the long bar and started practicing my gringo Spanish on a lazy bartender. I wanted a _cerveza_ , but I'd settle for anything.

He ignored me and I got the feeling he didn't want to be disturbed. Obviously he didn't think the dust-covered gringo had money to spend.

I didn't notice the girls right away. The dirty, faded mirror behind the bar I was trying to use to watch my back wasn't reflecting anything in the dim light. When I turned and headed for the _baño_ and a quick wash, there they were—in all their brightly-colored glory.

The prettiest one looked to be about eighteen, but it was hard to tell in the dingy bar. Given my experience, I figured until they were around thirty they all looked to be eighteen. She had on a low-cut top, just low enough to show off what she had.

It wasn't so low that it looked like she was bragging.

On my way by I gave her the eye and smiled. She smiled back right away. When I returned she was at the bar, sitting beside the full beer I deserted. I knew right away I was in trouble. I decided I'd take the opportunity to tempt fate. The sooner I got the temptation over and done with, the faster I'd be able to get back on the road.

That seemed more than reasonable at the time. I sat down and began to succumb to temptation.

— _Hola, señorita_.

— _Buenos días_.

I checked my watch in the dingy bar. It was still early. Her voice was so faint and soft I could barely hear her.

— _Habla inglés?_

— _Poquito_.

— _Bueno. Permit me to buy you a drink_.

— _Si. Limonada, por favor_.

No beginner, that bartender. He couldn't ignore me any longer. He had the girl's lemonade in front of her in an instant. I grabbed at the Sol he slid in my direction. Now that I was flirting with the local color, he must have thought I deserved better service. Either that, or he was working on a percentage basis now.

I went with the percentage.

— _Gracias_.

Her name was Medianoche. Midnight. I hoped it wouldn't be the harbinger of things to come. We parlayed back and forth, neither making much sense to the other. I started to think Medianoche was a lost cause until her older sister showed up. Or maybe it was one of her compatriots in the bar.

Lupita's command of English wasn't so bad as Medianoche's. My Spanish only improved as I pounded back the Sol. On the uneven dance floor I stumbled my way through a couple of sweaty juke-box numbers while clutching at each of the girls in turn.

I checked my watch. Past midnight. Mexican time worked better for me so I took it off. I knew the girls would keep me nice and safe as the hours passed. Or at least until my money ran out.

The only thing that remained for my new-found _amigas_ was to get their hands on my wallet. Not to be outdone, I only wanted to get my hands on the two of them. In my drunken stupor I thought that made us pretty even.

Hours later and I found myself wide awake. The girls were history. So was my wallet. I still had my clothes, at least. I reached down to check for my socks. Double bonus—my socks and the stash I kept in them were still on my feet.

I had no idea what I had been drinking, but it had knocked me down and out for the count. My head pounded. The girls weren't completely blameless in my misfortune, either.

It was time to get back on the road. I picked up my pants and checked my pockets for the keys to the Jeep.

The music blared from the bar, but I wouldn't be searching out last night's _compadres_ to say _adiós_. _Las hermanosas_ and their lazy bartender would have to enjoy my money without me. I didn't think it would be a great difficulty for them.

My head pounded so hard my eyes hurt. The suspension on the Jeep was no help. My head wobbled like a hula-skirted dashboard dolly. Such were the hazards of drink—not to mention the hazards of sweet Medianoche. I knew how Mike felt when he had to get down on all fours to steady himself so he could throw up.

Not that I was completely unfamiliar with the maneuver.

By the time I passed the beach fifteen miles south of Coronado I was so hung over I missed the _palapa_ across the dune. No way was I turning back to spend time sleeping beneath palm fronds. All I wanted was to climb into a bed and snore.

The Hotel Las Palmas on the _malecón_ worked for me.

**In the fresh** light of morning, yesterday's hangover became all but forgotten. I backtracked to the beach to set up camp and wait out Mike's arrival. It was then I remembered that I didn't have fuel for the Cub.

Okay, so maybe I wasn't completely over yesterday's drunken orgy. I herded the Jeep back to town to fill the jerry cans and stock up on fresh food and beer and ice for the cooler.

So far, the day had gone well in my estimation. The sun dipped below the hills to the west. The cold Sol went down with it. In the dying light I enjoyed what was left of the lazy warmth from the fire. The rest of the world didn't exist in the darkness beyond. Isolated and content in a world of my own making, my only concern was for Mike and the Cub.

Exhausted, I dozed off into much-needed and relaxed sleep.

**The Cub wasn't** known to be a long-distance airplane. That was the flaw in our attempt to fly it north. We were stretching it to stay on the edge of civilization, and it was chancy. That became obvious when Mike ran out of fuel in the air while on approach to Los Muertos.

The biggest problem for Mike on this leg would be the wind that flowed out of California's Imperial Valley far to the north. It funneled south, trapped between the Baja and the mainland for a thousand miles along the length of the Golfo. It would last that way for days at a time, and while it did, it was in the wrong direction to benefit Mike and the limited range of the Cub.

Mike needed a tailwind to help get him up the coast. That wind was known as a _Coromuel_. It occurred whenever a Pacific wind blew in and dumped down the mountains west of La Paz. If he got lucky and hit the back side of La Paz at the right time of day, he'd be able to ride the edge of it north over the islands and across to Coronado.

I settled in at the campsite, prepared for a long wait.

### ~ 4 ~

**SOMETHING IN LOW** gear attempted to work its way over the dune concealing the palapa from the road. The engine whined as it got closer and then stopped. Headlights tracked me where I stood and kept me from getting a look at the vehicle. High-pitched voices cut through the night.

Female. Laughing and giggling.

Drunk, probably.

I backed away from the fire and beyond the range of the lights into the dark. Just in case. The engine started and the microbus advanced. Its headlights pointed at the palapa. Whoever it was, they weren't strangers to the beach. The lights went out and doors slammed.

I was right. Two _gringas_. How the hell was I going to get rid of two of them, drunk or sober? I stepped back into the orange light of the fire.

—Hola. We saw the fire from the highway and thought we'd come down and have a look. We were right. You've taken over our palapa.

—Well, it's all mine now.

Christ. They thought they owned the place. I grabbed a stick and poked at the fire. I figured I might as well get to it.

—How long are you going to hang around?

—A couple of days. We have to get home by the weekend.

Two days. That sounded about right if I got lucky with the wind. I'd have some female company while I waited out Mike's arrival on the back of the Coromuel.

—What the hell. Unload and we'll share.

The one with the long, dark hair walked back to the van. Nervous, I followed her with my eyes as she disappeared into the darkness. For my own sake I needed a look at what might be inside. I chased after the woman. The van's interior turned out to be empty but for suitcases and clothes scattered on a foamy.

—What's your name?

—Sasha. That's Barbara by the fire.

—I'm Harry. When you get set up come on over to the fire and I'll spot you a cold one for that warm trash in your cooler.

Sasha made another trip and brought back a chair. The other one had disappeared.

—Where did your friend get to?

—Barbara's in the van. She'll probably sleep there tonight.

Gringas. No sooner had they arrived and they had it all figured out. Either I was the luckiest bastard in the world or come morning I'd be fresh meat hung up to dry in the back of that van. I never learned, but I kept right on hoping.

—How long have you been down in this part of the world?

—Just about a month. We ran out of money so we're headed home.

—Money. I know all about running out of it, all right. What are you heading home to?

—Not much. We don't have jobs. I don't think anyone is waiting for us to return.

So then, two good-looking _chicas_ with no boyfriends. Hard to believe.

—I need another beer. You want one?

—Sure.

On the way by I grabbed the full water bucket warming by the fire and climbed onto the Jeep to reach the palapa's roof.

—What the hell are you doing? Is that where you keep your beer?

—I've got a home-made shower spotted up there. I'll be under it in a few minutes.

—No shit.

She jumped up and began pulling off clothes.

—Turn it on, dammit.

—There's only enough water for one.

—Then we'll share. I don't mind.

She wasn't a shy one. The water cascaded down her long, dark hair and directed itself across her breasts. To get a better look I shifted her hair out of the way behind her neck.

—Are you done yet?

I didn't look up. My gaze glued itself to her breasts. So did my hands as I cupped heavy breasts and observed her nipples grow hard. She sighed.

—No.

—Good.

The water ran out and I handed her a towel.

—We're out of beer, too.

—Good.

—You're not much of a talker, are you?

She allowed me to watch her dry off before handing back the wet towel.

**The early-morning** sun warmed the tent just enough to make it comfortable. I pulled the covers back to take a fresh look at last night's body in the fresh light of day. It was the right thing to do. I wasn't disappointed.

I stepped out of the tent to discover Barbara had the fire going full tilt. We smiled back and forth and I got busy with breakfast and forgot all about her.

—Have you got a towel?

She was standing in front of me, naked and dripping. She hadn't bothered to cover a thing with arms and hands. Erect nipples stared at me. I stared back. She wasn't a shy one by any stretch either. Jesus. One I could handle. Two and I had some doubts. She did have great legs though. Among other things.

Obviously a bottle blond.

All right then. She wanted a towel. I handed her one. She didn't bother turning around. Hell, I'd have checked out her ass, too, if she had.

—Did you forget your glasses?

—I don't wear glasses. I need to check on the eggs. I don't want to ruin anything.

The long sound of a zipper being undone inside the tent broke the ice and Sasha stepped out. She had her hair tied back. Her bangs framed the deep, dark brown eyes of a true beauty. This was getting too good to be true.

—Something smells good.

—How did you sleep?

—Not so good. The mattress was a little lumpy in places.

The women traded looks and burst out laughing.

—That must be an old joke between you two.

—Kind of, but we don't mean anything by it. It's not a dig at you. If anything, it's a compliment.

I almost pinched myself. Maybe I should have. Instead, I announced breakfast.

—Anyone who wants toast will have to walk to town to get it.

**After breakfast we** took a drive and played at being _touristas_. I had a ton of questions that needed asking, but when they didn't ask any to break the ice I decided against it.

Instead, when we tired of walking the sleepy streets we piled into the Jeep and headed for the market. Barbara lifted the tarp to place the grocery bags in the back.

—Why do you have so much gas? There's plenty on the way north. Does this old crate burn that much?

—I thought I'd try and pick up a generator for the campsite.

That stopped the questions, but when Mike arrived I knew he'd have his own about the company I was keeping. He was going to be very nervous. Hell, I would too if I found myself in his place.

—Does anyone want to rent a _panga_ and take a cruise?

No way did I want to spend the day making idle conversation.

**We tracked down** a _pangero_ on the malecón and loaded up his panga with a cooler of Sol. He pointed us south towards Isla del Carmen. On the way we caught sight of a huge cabin cruiser moored a long way offshore in the low tide.

—Now there's something I'd like to own one day.

—You'd need a crew.

—You're right. Are you available?

—When you get the boat, call.

Out in the channel the panga began bouncing in the chop. The wind strengthened and appeared to be changing direction. I had to ask.

—Is this the beginning of a Coromuel?

—It could well be, señor. For the past week there has been a strong northerly. There's no doubt that it's due for a change. It does feel like the wind is starting to come around.

—Capitán, I think it's time we headed back.

It was late afternoon by the time the pangero tied off on the malecón. The women had lapped up most of the Sol. The prospect of a favorable wind for Mike had me on edge. I needed to get back to the beach to meet the plane.

If Mike was already on his way, I'd be cutting it fine. If he was in a hurry he'd fuel up, steal my Sol, and leave me a note. He'd be well on his way north to the next stop. We already agreed that there'd be no waiting around. I'd be left doing catch-up. Hell, I'd do the same to him.

There was one small problem with that. The fuel was sitting in the back of the Jeep. He'd have to be satisfied with my Sol.

By the time I turned off the highway on the way to the beach, the girls were singing at the top of their drunken lungs. The beach came into view, and the singing halted.

### ~ 5 ~

**MIKE KEPT STILL** , waiting beside the Cub. I figured the shotgun was high on his mind right about now given that I had just showed up with two women in tow. He waved and I waved back with the all-clear signal. I knew the double-barreled sawed-off hung under his jacket.

No doubt it was cocked.

—When did you get here?

—About a half-hour ago. The tail-wind from La Paz turned into a roller-coaster of a ride.

—You're here now.

—And glad of it. What's with the company you're keeping? Is it accidental or on purpose?

—They pulled into my campsite last night. I think it was accidental. There are no tells so far.

—Good. In case you didn't notice, I'm a little nervous.

—I noticed all right. That's a good thing as far as I'm concerned. Barbara is the blonde. Sasha is the dark-haired beauty.

—Let me guess.

—Why would you guess? You already know the answer. Old habits die hard.

We grinned back and forth.

—Chicas, I'd like to introduce you to Mike.

They grinned. Mike's own wasn't so friendly, but at least it was a smile.

—These two stumbled into my campsite last night in a drunken stupor. I made the mistake of taking pity and invited them to stay. As you can see for yourself, they're still here.

Mike kept a wary eye on the van. The suspense finally got to be too much.

—That's a nice-looking van for being so old.

—We bought it for this trip. It saves us a lot of money time when we don't have to set up a tent.

—Mind if I take a look?

He didn't wait for the invitation before making his way to the van and opened the doors, front and back.

—It looks to be in pretty good shape for a '67.

—Barbara picked it out. It was already set up for camping. Pretty much everything works, including the old tape deck. We like it because we don't have to pay for hotels.

Mike made his way back to the tent. I heard the clicks and I knew he was stowing his shotty in the tent. I talked at him through the walls.

—Are you happy now?

—Pretty much. I need to get something to eat. I haven't had anything since I stopped to fuel up out in the boonies.

—What? Say that again.

—I landed on a _playa_ across from the old salt flats. I didn't want to chance another dead-stick landing so I borrowed some fuel.

—Don't worry. You won't be getting fired any time soon. How are the tires working out?

—They're the cat's ass. Those oversize tires just float over the sand.

—We got lucky, didn't we?

—That we did. Now let's stop talking shop and pay some attention to your company.

—They're our company now.

**We devoured supper** like it was the last meal we were ever going to get. The dregs of the Sol came in handy to wash it all down. When we couldn't eat any more, Sasha cranked up the tunes and we danced around the fire like there would be no tomorrow.

—How did the two of you end up down here with an airplane and a Jeep?

Here we go. Still, it surprised me that the questions hadn't started sooner. Truth or lie? Half-and-half worked for me, but I always had a hard time remembering which half I lied about.

—Mike and I were in North Africa working for an exploration company.

That was the truth.

—When the job ended, we got out on an R&R. We were sitting around in Spain with nothing to do but get into trouble, so we jumped on an airplane for Mexico City and here we are. Now that we're almost broke, we're headed home. It's time to go back to work.

That was putting it mildly. The sooner Mike and I could get out of this place, the better. Added bonus, no one asked how the plane fit into the equation.

—What's the deal with you and Barbara?

—It sounds like we're in the same boat as the two of you—minus the trip overseas. We got fed up with our dead-end jobs in the city. We quit and here we are, broke and homeward-bound.

**I caught out** Mike looking back and forth in the direction of the Cub. He'd been doing it for most of the evening. I managed a kick at a foot, but it didn't dissuade him. In the pitch black surrounding us, his unease was beginning to get on my nerves.

—I'm not comfortable with that airplane sticking out on the beach.

He was making sense and I couldn't disagree, but the night was as black as the inside of a box.

—If someone floats by and sees it we'll be caught out in the open. That's not where I want to be.

What were the chances? Slim to none, I'd say.

—I'll be back in a couple of minutes.

Mike stood up and retrieved his sawed-off. I lost sight of him in the dark. I went for my .45 and met him at the plane.

—You've been worried about this all night.

—I don't like leaving this thing in plain sight loaded up the way it is.

—You're right. We should probably get the hell out at first light.

—I'm good to go. The sooner, the better. What about the girls? Are we going to slink out of here like the dogs we are after sending them off to town in the van?

—I've been thinking about that. I've got a good feeling about Sasha. She seems cool with whatever the hell it is she thinks we're doing. I'm not so sure about Barbara. She hasn't even blinked an eye looking towards the plane.

—We could take them along for the ride. That van might come in handy, and the two of them would be good cover for a couple of gringo tourists such as ourselves.

—I think so, too. Let's play it by ear and see what they want to do.

—I'll fuel up first thing in the morning. One thing for sure, eventually one of them is going to notice that the Cub is stuffed with sea bags.

I sniffed the damp air. The distinct odor was plainly noticeable.

—I know. Sasha asked me earlier about the two registrations. I told her we didn't have time to paint over both of them. She gave me an _I'm not that stupid_ look. I felt bad for lying, but what the hell was I going to say?

—We'll work it out in the morning.

Sasha and Barbara, head-to-head and deep in conversation by the fire, clammed up as we got close.

—Mike is going to pull out of here tomorrow morning and head to El Coyote for a day or two. Are you interested in coming with us?

—We were just talking about that. We're out of money and we have to get back home, the sooner the better.

—Mike and I can help with gas for the van.

—You only want us for the CD-player.

Maybe. But why would the two of them want us tagging along? Our Jeep had no music.

**I scrambled out** of the tent with Mike's shotty in hand. I reached in and made a grab for Sasha in the dark and dragged her unceremoniously out of the tent and in the direction of the van.

—I've got Sasha. Is Barbara with you?

—No. Who's doing the yelling?

—I don't know.

I handed Mike the sawed-off.

—Have you got yours?

—You bet. Sasha, stay here. If Barbara shows up, keep her here. Understood?

I didn't wait for an answer.

—Get in the van and stay down.

Someone had run a panga ashore beside the Cub. Two shadows crouched under a wing. A third lay on the ground at their feet. It was too dark to know what was happening.

—It sounds like they're arguing. Can you hear what they're saying?

—Shit. That's Barbara. And no, I can't make out anything. They're speaking Spanish.

—It's go time. We can sort the bullshit out after the dance. Are you good?

—I'm good.

—Head to the right. I'll go left. When you think the time is right, see if you can put a hole in that panga. If they head my way I'll try to hold them to the shore.

The shotgun blast scattered the two men. Barbara rolled under the plane.

Mike let another one go at the feet of one and he headed for the hills. The shotgun snapped open and Mike recharged it. It clicked shut with a determined snap.

The fat one made for the panga. No doubt he's have a tough go pushing that beached panga out all by himself. I sent one in the direction of _el gordo_ trying to climb aboard and he slouched forward across the bow.

Mike caught up to the second man behind a dune. He dragged him back to the panga and pushed him over the side. He dropped with a hard thud.

PART TWO

Hiding places

—Were you able to get the goods into the van without those two losers noticing anything?

—Yes. The confusion on the beach in the dark made it easy. I managed to get it into the compartment when they were out in the panga.

—Do you think the couriers got hurt in the process?

—Bad luck for us if they did.

—We'll hear about it, that's for sure. Sooner rather than later.

### ~ 6 ~

**WE STRUGGLED TO** push back the flat-bottomed panga with the weight of the added bodies. Feet sunk into the sand as we rocked and heaved the awkward panga. Finally it scraped off the beach. It hung up on the sand as we manhandled it into a shallow tide pool where it floated free.

Mike climbed aboard and fired up the engine. He nodded, satisfied, as the engine settled into an easy lope. He handed off the shotty and I made for shore and the Cub.

Barbara remained crouched beneath the plane, shaking like a leaf, barely holding herself together with her knees up and her arms surrounding them. She looked up at me, pale, questioning, unsure if she should say anything.

—Are you all right?

I pulled her up and steadied her. I gripped her arm and squeezed, hard, suddenly remembering that this was all her fault.

—What the hell was that about?

—I was out walking behind a dune and those two jumped me.

—What did they want?

—I don't know. It sounded like they were asking about two people and drugs or two people who got away with some drugs.

Shit. Now we were stepping in it. Or someone had. It occurred that these two might be doing the same thing Mike and I were doing. Was it too soon to think that it was about Mike and the plane? He only just arrived.

Sasha paced back and forth beside the dead fire kicking sand and not looking happy. In fact, she looked like she'd start spitting nails any second.

—Everything is packed. Are we going to ditch camp right away?

—We can't. The plane needs fuel.

—Where the hell did you get that thing? And what's with the two registrations? Can't you make up your mind which way you're going?

—Not now, okay? Maybe you should keep Barbara company. She had a pretty bad scare from those _bandidos_.

The woman ignored me and instead started looking around. That couldn't be good.

—Where's Mike? Is he all right?

—He's in the panga out in the bay kissing our company goodbye. When he gets back we'll sit down for a few minutes before we break camp.

Sasha scowled at me like she wanted to stick a foot between my legs, and not in a good way. I was in deep shit, but it couldn't be helped. I sat down beside Barbara sitting beside the dead fire. She continued to tremble. How much of it was out of fear and how much was caused by the cool night air?

—You did good out there. When the lead started flying, diving under the plane probably kept you from getting hurt.

—Who the hell are you guys? What the hell are you doing? And where's Mike? Is he hurt?

The blame was already being cast, and Mike and I were prime suspects according to these two.

—No. He's fine. He's in the panga.

—With those two? All by himself? Will he be all right?

Barbara's care and concern sounded genuine. I didn't think it was time to mention that the men were dead.

—He'll be fine. In fact, he should be back any time now. We're going to break camp and get out of here.

—We can't leave Mike.

I looked over at Sasha but she wouldn't be any help. She was giving me the look again and for good measure she shook her head in disgust.

—We're not going to be leaving Mike anywhere. By the time he gets back I'll have our camp packed up. Sasha has you two ready to go. If you want to leave now, you can.

Barbara and Sasha walked down the beach, heads bent, whispering. I tried listening, but failing that I figured they'd come up for air announcing they'd be getting out as fast as they came in. I didn't doubt that I'd be left behind in a spray of beach sand from the van's spinning tires in the race to the highway.

When they returned, something had been settled between them. They walked purposefully in my direction. For an instant I thought about turning around to run the other way.

—We're going to wait for Mike. Then we're all going to leave at the same time. Is Mike going to fly that thing out of here?

—Yes he is. I'll be meeting Mike and the plane down the road. Are you sure you want to tag along after what happened?

—Judging by how you and Mike handle yourselves, there's safety in numbers. We decided that we want to stay with you. Is that going to be a problem?

—It's fine with me, but Mike might have other ideas when he gets back.

—Other ideas about what?

Other ideas about you two tagging along with us, but I didn't say it. We needed to talk it over before making a decision one way or the other.

Mike returned and Barbara was quick to run up and throw her arms around him. Hell, they only met a few short hours ago and it looked to me like she was already making plans to settle down and move in.

—You're soaking wet. Did you fall out of the panga?

Call me cynical, but I watched the performance and had a hard time believing it. Call me Mr. Negative, but love at first sight wasn't a strong point at this stage of my life. Mike's either, if I knew him.

—Sort of. It's all good now. The panga is headed for open water and _dos cabróns_ are on top of things. We need to get out of here right now.

Mike and I were in deep shit, and not only with Sasha and Barbara. The _policías_ would take a dim view of the two men floating in the Sea of Cortez aboard an abandoned panga. If they could be linked to us we'd be growing old in a Mexican prison—if we lived that long.

—How did it go?

—Not so good. I think they finally caught up to us.

—Well, we knew that was a possibility when we discovered the Cub took a hit after leaving El Dorado.

—There's a boat sitting out in the bay.

—A boat?

—A cabin cruiser. A big one.

I'd noticed it yesterday and gave it a pass. Maybe I was wrong.

—It could belong to anyone. No one could have figured on us heading out over two hundred miles of open water with an airplane on wheels.

—Maybe so, but we don't need to be wasting more time here. What about the girls?

—They want to come with us. What do you think?

—I don't blame them if they want out, especially after the encounter we just had. You've spent more time with them. What do you think?

I might have spent more time, but it could be measured in hours, not days or weeks.

—I say trust but verify. That forced display of affection on the beach got my alarm bells ringing a little too loud for my liking.

Mike nodded his agreement.

—I feel the same way. What do you want to do?

—They're asking a lot of questions. Yesterday, Barbara was wondering about the gas in the back of the Jeep. Sasha threw a skeptical eye at the dual registrations on the Cub.

I hesitated before going on.

—The questions are going to be coming hard and fast after what happened. Who knows what the reaction will be when they find out our two friends are lying dead in a panga pointed at the mainland.

—You need to clue them in after we pull out of here.

Mike's grin almost went to his ears.

—I'll say one thing. I'm glad it's you that has to deal with Sasha. She looks like one pissed off woman right about now.

—I know. She's been kicking sand in my direction all morning. I've been trying to avoid her, but it's pretty tough when we're all under the same palapa. I'll fill them in when we get down the road. After that, it'll be do or die.

—They need to make the decision whether they want to stay on or not. If it was us and the situation was reversed, we'd want to know where we stood.

There was something still bothering me.

—Should we be asking some questions of our own? It sounded to me like Barbara was arguing with those two men last night. I wish to hell I knew some Spanish. What if they're after the two of them and not us? Why would they be after them at all?

—They've been down here for about as long as we've been on the mainland. Maybe they have their own problems, just like us.

—I hope not. Let's get the hell out of here. Sasha helped fuel the Cub. It's ready to go. Do you want a hand firing it up?

—No. You get everyone going and I'll see you down the road.

Mike hand-bombed the prop and taxied the Cub to the water line and the smooth sand beneath. He positioned and aimed the nose down the beach. Once airborne he waggled his wings at us before disappearing, low and slow over the horizon.

### ~ 7 ~

**THERE WASN'T A** lot of conversation as we finished breaking camp and loaded the vehicles. I took the brunt of the sullen looks and glances coming from the women. I took my cue from the women and shut up until the end of it, although I wasn't sure what the big deal was. Everyone was safe, no thanks to Barbara and her _dos cabrons_.

—Okay, chicas, we need to get out of here right now. We can't afford more company. We don't know why they showed up in the first place.

Disgusted, Sasha stuffed her hands into her pockets. She stopped kicking sand long enough to look hard at me.

—The plan for the day-

Sasha interrupted.

—I'd say there hasn't been much of a plan up to now. What's the hurry all of a sudden?

—Cut me some slack, woman.

—It's true, and you know it. Get your ass over here, gringo. We're going to go over a few things if you want us along for the good times.

—All right, but shake a leg or it'll be bread and water and hard times in a Mexican jail for some of us. For the good-looking ones, not so much.

—Barbara, Mr. Plan-for-the-day here is going to ride with you and fill you in on what's been going on. I've already got a pretty good idea, but when he's done with you, he's going to sit his ass down beside me in the Jeep and explain why we should keep him company past this morning. Are you okay with that?

—I don't know about you, sister, but I'm ready just in case some of us don't have an airplane to hide under.

Barbara cradled Mike's sawed-off.

—Jesus, woman, don't be flashing that shotty. Down here you'll end up in jail. You'll lose more weight than you want to on a bread and water diet.

—Somebody has to cover the good guys. Come on, get your ass in gear.

I looked over at Sasha. She doing a good job ignoring me, and I wondered if that was what it felt like to be married. It seemed like that was all she could do now that the two of them had agreed to team up with us. She climbed into the Jeep.

—Get on the bus, gringo. It's time.

—There's been a change of plan, chica. We're heading into town to pick up fuel. We'll catch up with Barbara and your bus later.

All things considered, she took it well. If the woman was pretending, she was doing a good job at it.

**Sasha didn't waste** time. She started the Jeep and by the white knuckles gripping the wheel it looked like she was about to head off without me.

—If you do, you won't be able to grill me in the hot seat.

—What's the deal with the airplane?

—At least give me a chance to sit down.

She turned off the dirt road onto the highway and put the Jeep's pedal to the rickety floor. If she pushed at it any harder, her foot would punch through to the asphalt.

—All right. You're down. Talk or walk.

Where had I heard that before?

—We picked it up on the mainland across the Golfo from the Los Muertos cape. It didn't look like anyone was using it, so here we are.

—What about the two registrations?

—We figured it would confuse people long enough that we could get away if the policía or the _federales_ caught on to us. I still think that's true.

I knew what the next question would be.

—What's in the back?

Shit. She knew. She must have smelled it.

—Well—

—No bullshitting. What's in the back?

—Dope.

—That's what I thought the way you two were fussing over that thing. The smell was overwhelming. I couldn't miss it.

So she knew what a lot of grass smelled like. Chalk one up for something else going on here. I stopped talking. She didn't say another word, and I wondered if she thought she'd said too much.

We covered the short distance into Coronado in record time with her foot glued to the floor. There was no way Mike and I could back out of taking them along for the ride now.

They knew too much.

**Sasha turned off** the road and headed into Coronado. The plan was to gas and go, but that was before we spotted the yacht anchored outside the harbor. It was a huge, white beauty set off perfectly by the deep blue of the sea. It said money. Lots of it.

—Look at that. Where the hell did that huge-ass cabin cruiser come from? It has to be the one Mike saw offshore last night.

—Isn't it the same one we saw yesterday out in the bay?

—You're right. It is.

—Now what?

A dinghy loaded with people pulled away from the yacht. It was headed for shore. I wanted a better look at what was going to be coming our way.

—That dinghy makes me a little nervous. Take a right and park us at Las Palmas on the malecón. We won't stand out like sore thumbs there. If they man up with vehicles there's only one place they'll be headed.

—Where is that?

—The airport south of town. It should buy us some time.

The dinghy shut down and bumped into the marina dock. Two men climbed out. Two more lifted a heavy sea bag onto the dock and began handing out weapons.

—Are those automatics? I can't tell from here.

—They look like rifles to me.

—Automatics. They're well-armed. Experienced, too. I can tell by the way they're handling them.

The men separated into a pair of waiting SUVs and started out in the direction of the airport. There was no doubt. They were after something. Or someone. It had to be our plane.

—All right. I can now safely say that we're all in deep shit.

—So you think they're looking for us?

That was a loaded question. After last night I was left wondering if perhaps the gringas had something to hide, too. I wished I knew what Barbara and her two compadres had been yelling about.

—They're looking for someone. I'm thinking it's the two gringos with the plane—unless you have something you want to tell me.

She ignored me. This one proved good at doing that.

—Let's catch up to Barbara. She needs to know what's going on.

**Sasha might not** have any secrets she wanted to confess, but I was beginning to wonder if this was all part of a huge screw-up. No one knew where Mike and I were headed from the mainland. Setting out over two hundred miles of open water in a Cub on wheels was foolhardy.

Fool or not, no one would chance that.

My encounter with the women on the beach had to be coincidence. No one outside of Mike knew about our rendezvous points as we headed up the Baja. Even if the women went through our bags, there was nothing to give up our route. All we had was a road map, and we took great care not to leave a mark on it.

The cabin cruiser's arrival appeared to coincide with the arrival of Sasha and Barbara. That was when the shit started passing through the fan. So far, it was covering all of us with the same odor. Did the people on the cruiser think we were involved in what Sasha and Barbara were trying to do?

If so, what was it that the two of them were up to?

There was no way that fan could have been pointed towards Mike and me at the outset. It had to be the girls.

I had no idea how to begin to learn why.

**Barbara chose a** dry riverbed north of town to hole up with the van to wait for us. By the time I left Sasha in the Jeep and climbed into the van, she was already on the road, disappearing down the highway in a cloud of dust. It was just one more thing to convince me we weren't the only ones on the run.

They women were, too.

—I let your friend in on most of it. Now it's your turn to listen.

—It's about time.

She switched off the ignition and faced me. The Jeep sputtered and died.

—With the flying experience Mike and I have, we figured we could do a job by borrowing an airplane on the mainland and then ferry it across the Sea of Cortez. Once we got onto the Baja it would be a straight shot north. We hoped what we were doing would pay us both a little cash to invest in a business back home.

—Do you have any idea who the men were in the panga?

Good question, but I figured I was the one who should be asking it. For the time being I ignored it.

—We picked up the airplane on the mainland. I suppose last night could have something to do with the former owners. The Cub is the perfect size for the low-level flying and canyon-hopping we need to do to get across the border. Maybe someone had the same idea. We tried to keep a low profile, but you never know.

—What's filling up the back seat?

She was going to force me to spell it out, too. Christ, these two were almost twins.

—It's a load of pot that we're moving north. You must have smelled it last night.

She ignored that.

—So then, what you're telling me is that Sasha and I are traveling with a couple of amateur drug smugglers who are learning as they go.

—Pretty much. But we've got the airplane thing down pat. It's our area of expertise.

—Do you two need help or what?

I didn't get a chance to respond. She cranked the engine and drove onto the highway.

—We'll all take a break when I catch up with Sasha. It'll be her turn to ream your sad ass.

—Already done. There's a cantina coming up. We'll pull in there.

### ~ 8 ~

**SASHA HAD THE** same idea. A cloud of dust surrounded our two-vehicle convoy as we tandemed into the cantina's gravel parking lot. It drifted slowly away in a breeze not strong enough to cool the growing heat of the day.

Sasha jumped out of the Jeep and hurried to meet Barbara. If I knew anything, it was looking like it was time for another meeting to explain something else no one knew anything about. Christ but would these two never stop asking questions?

Sasha and Barbara exchanged a glance and I might as well be sitting back in Coronado.

—Did he tell you anything we didn't already have figured out?

—Not really. But damn, these two gringos have _cojones_.

—Should we show him?

Neither of them realized I had moved to within listening distance.

—Show me what? I've already seen you both naked.

Me and my mouth. I knew right away I shouldn't have opened it.

—Oh, really?

It was Barbara's turn to be on the receiving end of Sasha's scornful look.

—No, no, not like that. She was taking a swim and I managed a peek at her assets is all.

—If you say so. Open the back of the van, Barbara.

—Are you sure?

—I'm sure. Open it.

It was my turn to ask a question. Finally.

—What's going on?

—You. Gringo. Come over here.

Barbara made a beeline for the cantina and I wondered why she was in such a hurry. Sasha walked around to the rear of the van and lifted the door. She shifted the foam mattress and uncovered an opening to a hidden compartment.

—Take a look.

I lifted a panel and peered in.

—Holy shit. You're packing a load of dope too. What is it?

—It's coke. Our only problem is we're out of cash, but now you've solved that for us.

This wasn't looking so good. The too-huge muzzle of Mike's sawed-off pointed at my knees. When did Barbara hand that off? My hand slowly moved out of sight behind me. I fingered the grip on the .45 tucked into the small of my back.

—I'm being robbed? The dope is on the airplane, remember?

Sasha stared into my eyes for what seemed like an eternity before opening the shotty with a satisfying click. She cradled it in the crook of her arm. I tucked the .45 back into my belt.

—We think you've got a great method. It's the plan that's not so hot.

—To be honest, Mike and I know that. But this is our shakedown cruise. With all the exploring we're doing, next year will be a cakewalk.

—It will, if dos cabróns in the panga don't come back to haunt you for the rest of this trip. And judging by what we saw at the malecón in Coronado, they're already back with fresh faces armed to the teeth.

I left out the part about the cabróns ever coming back.

—I never told Barbara about the men coming ashore. We should probably let her know.

—Tell me what?

She was back with ice for the cooler.

—You need to know that there are some men on our tail. What I don't know is whether they're after me or both of you.

They looked at each another and then at me.

—Did you show him?

—Yes.

—And?

—He's on board. Now let's get this dog and pony show back on the road. Harry, get in the Jeep. We need to catch up to Mike.

—Don't I get a say in any of this?

**Apparently not. Sasha** slammed the Jeep into gear, popped the clutch and screeched onto the highway in a cloud of dust and dirt. She pretended to ignore me, but she wasn't that interested in the road to keep it up for long.

—What?

—You know what.

—I had no intention of pulling the trigger. I was trying to get you to see how vulnerable you are.

—Vulnerable?

I pulled the .45 from the small of my back and set it between the seats.

—I wondered about the hand I couldn't see. You've always got yourself covered. That's one of the things I like about you. Better yet, you've got your partner covered when he's on the ground. I like the way you two operate, even if you are a couple of amateurs.

Try as I might, I didn't believe her for a minute. At least, not yet.

—How many trips have you two made down here to buy up product and run it north?

I expected to hear this was her first, too.

—This is our fifth.

I didn't believe her.

—Your fifth? No way.

—The first was eighteen months ago. We were like the two of you—feeling our way around, trying to learn the players, getting a feel for things down here. We made some small buys to get established. We got screwed over a time or two because we were too eager to start making big money.

Learn the players? Get a feel for things? Damn, but Mike and I were flying—literally—by the seat of our pants. We had no plan, other than to get the hell out of Mexico and across the border before anyone caught on to us—especially now that the chase was on.

—How much looking did you have to do to find a reliable supplier?

—We were small-timers until Barbara hooked up with somebody that was connected. She played him and then finally let him screw his brains out. She made him feel good, he was grateful and now he's a regular.

—So you both screwed your way to get where you are now.

—No, Barbara did that. I played the heavy as best I could. Women don't get much respect down here—especially gringa women. I dug in my heels and made sure Barbara didn't get screwed over for real. When she started falling for the guy I kept her head above water.

—So then, given Barbara's grand sacrifice to the cause, it was your turn to be the martyr under the palapa.

—I knew I was being obvious that first night, but I figured you wouldn't notice. You were by yourself so I thought that in typical male fashion you'd just grin and lie back.

So it was a setup from the start—although one they hadn't planned on. That was good to hear, but I still needed some convincing.

—You were right. I did both, didn't I?

—When my problem became the same as Barbara's, she didn't step up to pull me out of the situation and here we are.

I ignored that. I figured whether or not she was telling the truth would work itself out eventually. I changed the subject.

—From what I can tell, there's plenty of product down here looking to find a way north.

—The only problem is getting it past the border. Find a way around that and you'll be home-free.

—I wish. Now tell me again the meet-up on the beach was a complete accident and I'll mostly believe you about the rest.

—It was. Barbara and I try to overnight in those kinds of places on our way north. That's why we bought the camper van. It keeps us away from towns and hotels and people when we're headed north with a load of product. That stretch of beach is a regular for us. We saw the light from your fire but figured it wouldn't cost anything to take a look. And we were short on cash.

—Yeah, and looking for a patsy to pick his pockets.

That I was alone figured into it, too.

—We thought we could spend a couple of nights and maybe borrow a little cash when you weren't paying attention. In case you didn't notice, we're broke.

—I'm always trying to pay attention.

—Yes, you are. Then we took a liking to you. If you weren't the man you are, we'd have been long gone with your cash in our pockets.

—That's been tried before. In fact, not so long ago. Does this mean that you and Barbara are going to stick it out?

—I don't know.

—Well, don't take too long to make up your mind. We're going to be in El Coyote soon. We won't have a lot of time there. If Mike hasn't had any mechanical problems with the airplane, it's going to be a quick turnaround. It won't be anything like the picnic we had in Coronado. It'll be gas, go, and gone.

—Do you know where your next stop will be?

—No.

That was an understatement. Neither Mike nor I had any idea what the hell we were going to do past El Coyote.

### ~ 9 ~

**THE WIND HAD** been picking up speed all morning. By noon it was gusting hard. It began picking up clouds of dust and dirt. An occasional wind-driven dust devil drifted over the barren landscape. The Jeep see-sawed over the highway. Behind us, low black clouds darkened the landscape already traveled.

The approaching storm was causing much concern. It looked to be turning into a nightmare. We caught up to Barbara and passed her in a straight stretch. She fought the van against the wind the entire time. We led her off the highway south of El Coyote near Bahía Concepción.

—Barbara, when you were getting ice in the cantina did anyone mention anything about a storm?

—I thought I heard someone say something about a hurricane, but I wasn't really paying attention.

—A hurricane? Damn it, we've got to catch up to Mike and get that airplane fueled up. He can't get caught out in the middle of a storm like that. He'll end up blown out of the sky.

—I'm sorry. I didn't think about it.

—Don't worry. Just get going.

Barbara took off as the Jeep came tearing around the bend and halted in a cloud of dust. I recognized it as one from the breakwater in Coronado. Dark tinted windows concealed whatever was inside. The doors opened and AKs sprouted from between the front seats.

We'd be good if they weren't paying attention when Barbara pulled onto the highway. Immediately Sasha's high-pitched voice sounded concern. She was scared.

—Harry. Look.

—I see them. Let Barbara get away. Then we'll take them.

The goons concentrated on what they thought they knew. By the time they got out Barbara was already disappearing. Eyes turned into saucers when the dust cleared and they got a look at Sasha sporting Mike's shotty, close-up.

She motioned up and down with the twin muzzles. Two sets of hands reached for the high ground. Damn but this woman had some cojones of her own.

—Collect the guns while I figure out what we're going to do. Don't put yourself between me and them. Approach them off to the side so they have to turn to keep you in sight.

Sasha steadied the shotty and kept it pointed where both barrels would do the most good. The AKs came out from between the seats and dropped onto the ground.

— _Gringa puta_.

She smiled and nodded.

—Si. Gracias.

**Shit. Now I** had two more to worry about. Where the hell were they coming from? And who were they coming for? The girls? All of us? I started to think there was more to this chase than I was willing to admit. I had to trust Sasha. I had no other choice.

—There's rope in the back of the Jeep. Get it while I keep these assholes busy. Don't walk in front of me.

—You told me that already.

Sasha moved to the Jeep without taking her eyes off of our travel companions. She didn't lower the shotty's double barrels, either.

—What are you going to do with these two once they're tied up?

—Across the road there's a washed-out trail that leads up the side of that hill. It'll be a good place to keep two men alive who want to see us both dead.

What I wanted to know was how many more were on a fast track.

—I'm going to hog-tie them and then I want you to follow in our Jeep. It looks to be a rough go, but it'll work. When we get on the back side, we'll get rid of these cabróns, set fire to our Jeep and take theirs. It's in better shape. Got it?

Sasha nodded.

—Follow me.

It took a good twenty minutes to walk the Jeeps in low gear along the washed out, rough, dusty trail to the crest. The wind whipped us from all directions as it curled around the hill.

At the top on the back side we dumped the cabróns in the dirt. I checked the ropes one last time and collected the AKs and the mags. We climbed into the Jeeps and backtracked. Halfway down the hill I pulled over out of sight of the highway.

—We'll set fire to it here.

**The white sand** beach and blue water of Bahía Concepcíon sparkled in the distance. Sasha ignored the view. Instead, she looked at me like I was in trouble again.

—Are you going to tell me, or do I have to beat it out of you?

—We need the AKs. At the least, we have them if we need them down the road somewhere.

—Yes, but it seems to me that you know more about them than you're letting on.

—Oh, that. Where should I start?

—How about at the beginning?

—We don't have time.

Sasha reached over and pulled the key out of ignition. She made a show of tucking it into the top of her shirt. She didn't take her eyes off of me until the Jeep coasted to a stop.

—We do now. Talk or walk.

—You just won't quit, will you?

—You know it.

What the hell. I might as well let her in on what kept me awake at night. She could do with it what she wanted.

—I spent some time in North Africa. I was bumming around, getting the lay of the land, when I fell into a job flying a Pilatus on the supply route for a ruby mine. Mike was there too. He did the maintenance.

—What's a Pilatus?

—It's a short-takeoff fixed-wing aircraft. It has plenty of power in hot temperatures and it will carry a good load.

—So you two are a team when it comes to planes.

—Yes. We can work it with airplanes or helicopters. Whatever suits the customer's fancy.

—Keep going.

—It didn't take long to find out who the head crook was in the supply chain. Pretty soon we were using the Pilatus for just about anything that walked, talked, crawled or couldn't. There was always a payment for the privilege and it didn't take long to add up. The need for weapons was a prime motivator for putting cash in our pockets.

—And?

—And everyone and their dog had a firearm to hang onto. I figured I should learn what the natives could teach. That, and a few words of the local dialect worked for me. It all helped to gain trust. I figured that if we ever got ourselves into a jam, it wouldn't hurt to have some allies with the clan we were working with.

—It sounds to me like there's more to this than you're telling me.

—Maybe, but I think we'd better get our asses in gear. It's time we hooked up with Barbara.

**At the bottom** of the hill I parked the Jeep out of sight of the main road.

—It's time to stash the AKs in the back. We need to get them out of sight. As much as I like the look of you wearing one of those things across the front like that, it's probably best to keep everything hidden.

All she could do was grin. I started to feel like a clown without the makeup.

—Everything?

She unbuttoned her shirt and climbed onto my lap. One hand lifted a breast. Another snaked to the back of my head and pulled my mouth to it. I never could resist a woman with a will of her own.

—Damn, woman, don't do this now.

—Why not?

When I didn't answer, she pushed my head away. A swollen nipple popped out of my mouth.

—Well?

**We grinned like** a couple parked in the dark at a drive-in movie as we pulled ourselves together and re-arranged our clothes.

—No smirking, woman. You're not getting off that easy. It's your turn.

—I just had a turn. I think I'm good for now.

—Talk, or I'll never let you put a hand on one of those AKs for as long as I know you.

—You know the way to a woman's heart, don't you?

—I know the way to your heart. And smiling at me like that isn't going to save you—at least not this time.

—I grew up saddled with a father that pulled up stakes when I was a kid and a mother who wouldn't let me get past the front door to the outside without subjecting me to a screaming match. I know now she was only trying to keep me out of the trouble she knew I'd be getting into. Back then it was all too much for me so I up and left.

—How old were you?

—Fifteen going on twenty-one.

—Fifteen? Jesus, you were a kid.

—I was, and I wasn't. I had the assets, so I figured I'd put them to good use before I got old. I thought twenty-one was old.

I let her go on.

—I found my way to southern California. Eventually I hooked up with an older man. He wanted to take care of me and he had money, so I let him. He treated me pretty good, took me everywhere. He had a couple of power yachts. By the time I screwed my way through the yacht clubs, I was on just about every boat you can imagine—except sailboats. I never liked the way they heel over on one side.

—Now you're stuck in the middle of a desert in a foreign country with a couple of guys looking for a place to call home.

—Well, I wouldn't quite put it that way, but yes, I guess so.

—We're not even yet, but we've got to get moving if we're going to pull this off.

I turned onto the highway and headed north. Eventually we caught up to Barbara on the side of the road.

—You made it. I was starting to get worried when I saw the black smoke.

—Let's get our asses moving. We need to catch up to Mike with the fuel before that hurricane gets closer.

### ~ 10 ~

**BARBARA WORKED THE** van over the soft, deep sand towards the Cub. When she couldn't get any closer she flung open the door and ran, circling the crashed plane in a frenzy, looking for Mike in the wreck.

—He's not here!

The Cub's tail stuck up in the air. The nose dug into the sand. Smashed to bits, only splinters remained of the wooden propeller. It was all low speed damage. Most likely Mike was on the ground when the plane nosed over and stopped suddenly.

Holes in the fabric covering the tail meant someone shot up the plane. A part of it was missing.

—He's not on the beach.

Blood splattered the cockpit. The sudden stop when the engine dug into the sand ripped the seat from its mounts. It rested haphazardly against the bloodied dash panel. The door was laying on the ground. Mike must have managed to push himself out of the wreck.

—Head wounds leave a lot of blood. Someone must have pulled him out.

It was for Barbara's benefit. Going by the blood, Mike was in no shape to get out on his own. Our four sea bags filled with product were missing. They were probably removed first.

I walked a wide circle and picked up a trail of footprints and blood leading to the water. The trail disappeared where a panga had been pushed out to sea. There was hope. Mike had to be alive when he was taken.

It was that, or someone wanted us to think he was still among the living.

I went back to the Jeep to retrieve a can of gas. Barbara paced back and forth, her eyes on me, still hoping Mike was somewhere nearby.

—He's gone.

She dropped to her knees and screamed.

—Not that way. Sasha, help me get her up.

She walked her to the van.

—He's missing. Someone took him. Look after her, would you?

I carried the jerry can to the plane and doused the airframe with gasoline. A match took care of the rest. Barbara's eyes shifted from the burning wreck to me and back to the Cub.

—What did you do that for?

—If we can't use it, nobody can.

—What are we going to do about Mike?

—Whoever did this is long gone. The panga has to be from the cabin cruiser. I wouldn't know where to begin to look for it—or if Mike is even on board.

Sasha fumed and glared. It seemed like her hands never left her hips every time she looked my way. By now I was becoming accustomed to it. There was no satisfying that one. The woman was an exercise in man's frustration with woman.

—Is there something you're holding back?

Her expression didn't change a whit.

—Goddammit, we'd better do something.

If I looked surprised it was because I was. Sasha seemed to actually care.

—If you're thinking I'm going to leave him, you'd better think again. I'll start with the lighthouse in El Coyote. If we're lucky someone saw the cruiser. It's too big to be ignored.

—What about the vehicles?

—If we stay together, we'll keep the van and unload the Jeep. I'll set fire to it north of El Coyote. You two should head out right now. I don't know how long I'm going to be.

—We'll wait for you off the highway, just like last time.

I took it to mean the women were five minutes from hightailing it north once they left me in the dust and I was out of sight. No blame there. I would, too, but for Mike.

Beyond sharing a shower and a sweaty mattress, I had no ties that bind with either of them. They wouldn't have the cojones to do what had to be done when I located Mike. In any case, there was no guarantee I'd find him alive, even if I knew where to look.

—You don't have to wait. We're all in this pretty deep. You might want to think about hitting the road without me. I'm going to be busy tracking down Mike. I have no idea how long that's going to take or what I'll have to do when I find him.

That last was an outright lie. I already knew what I'd do to get to Mike, and it wouldn't be pretty.

I loaded the borrowed AKs into the back of the Jeep.

**The lighthouse in** El coyote was unmanned and empty. I climbed the stairs to survey the bay. There was nothing. Not even a boat's faint wake. I made the walk back to the Jeep long and slow to give myself time to think.

I didn't hold out hope that the women would be waiting down the road. If they were smart they'd lose me right here and high-tail it to the border. They'd be smart to chalk it up to adventure.

As much as I hated to admit it, that's exactly what Mike and I would do if we were in the same situation. At the highway I turned the Jeep northbound.

**The vehicle coming** up fast in the rear-view became recognizable as it drew closer. In my enthusiasm I almost forgot to brake when I pulled off the road onto a dry riverbed.

—Well, well. This is a surprise.

—Was there any doubt?

—The truth? Yes. Plenty.

—Good. Not every woman likes a man who thinks she's predictable.

—I've never been happier to see two women together that I've seen naked. Usually I'm busy slinking out the back door of one and on my way for a quick visit to another.

—We kind of figured that about you and Mike.

—You wouldn't be figuring wrong.

Fair warning, I suppose.

—Did you get anything on the cabin cruiser?

—Nothing. If they want to unload the drugs, they need to get as far north as they can. It will make for a shorter run across the border. In fact, I'm betting Mike's life on it.

—Do you think Mike will be all right?

The sight of the blood in the cockpit was still spooking Barbara.

—When the plane did its low speed nose-over, the engine dug into the sand. That's why the broken prop. The sudden stop caused Mike's face to hit the panel pretty hard. Head wounds bleed a lot. I know. I had one a long time ago.

—That sounds pretty serious.

—His nose was probably broken, too. More reason for so much blood.

I decided there was no sense lying about it.

—A concussion wouldn't be out of the question. I know what that's like, too. Whoever hauled him out of the cockpit took him alive. If not, he would have been sitting there, stone cold. I'll find him.

Barbara looked relieved.

—He was alive when they carried him to the panga. If he wasn't, there'd be no blood trail.

Sasha looked at me with no expression. She knew I was kicking up sand just as she had. I couldn't help it. I wanted Barbara to have some hope, at least.

—What now?

I couldn't let myself believe Mike wasn't alive.

—Santa Agueda has a fair-sized port with a breakwater. It's the last big town on the Sea of Cortez before Santa Esmeralda. I don't think they'll make for there. It has no port and no breakwater. No docks, either. The offshore tide runs shallow for quite a distance into the bay. They'd have to drop anchor a long way out.

Antsy Sasha paced back and forth.

—We're making for Santa Agueda. Break out the gas. It's time to get this circus mobile again.

Barbara began dousing the Jeep with gasoline.

—Hang on a minute. I need to get something for your partner.

I grabbed the AKs and the mags.

—We're going to pull off down the road. Your partner needs some practice. I have a feeling she's going to need a lot of it.

Barbara looked puzzled.

—Practice? At what?

—Sasha is going to learn how to use an AK to its best advantage.

—Enough jaw-jacking, Harry. Let's get to sighting that thing in.

Sasha had a one-track mind, but that was all right with me. Sometimes enthusiasm could make up for inexperience.

—Sighting is going to be the least of your worries.

I flicked a lighted match in the direction of the Jeep. The gasoline fumes ignited with a whump. The Jeep turned into history and I climbed into the back of the van. If they decided to change their minds, I'd be walking from here on out.

Barbara drove. Sasha rode shotgun with an empty AK. The butt rested against the floor of the van. The muzzle pointed skyward.

It was good to see the woman finally enthusiastic about something.

### PART THREE

We need them more than they need us

—We need these guys.

—I'm starting to think that way, too. Plus I kind of like Harry. Despite his who-gives-a-shit attitude, he's got the cojones for this deal. There are times when I'd like to give him a good kick in the ass, though.

—You had your eye on Harry from the start. What the hell is it about you and men that you always get a soft spot for the one with the most problems?

—Call me irresponsible. Like you're any different, girl.

—You're right, but I'll never admit it. Mike is a sweetheart, too. So what are we going to do with those two?

—I'm thinking.

—Well don't think too long. Show time is coming up fast, and we're going to have to do something. Our supplier isn't going to like what we might be bringing down the pipe either.

### ~ 11 ~

**TO SAY IT** was a surprise that the women waited for me by the side of the road wouldn't be a lie. At least I'd have them if I needed them, but I wondered how reliable they'd prove to be when it came to crunch time.

—You have work to do, Sasha. I need to know if you've got what it takes.

—If I knew I'd be taking a test, I'd have tried harder.

—Have you ever field-stripped an AK?

—Christ, Harry. Where was I supposed to learn how to do that? I've never even seen one until today. Better yet, where in hell did you learn how to do it? Was that part of your desert adventure?

—We'll need one of those AKs if we expect to get our asses up the Baja. Pay attention and you'll learn something.

—I'm not afraid of learning. It's what I'm about to learn that scares me.

Harry handed Sasha the rifle. She hefted it and it almost slipped from her hands. At least she didn't end up pointing it at me.

—It's heavy.

—It's a little over nine pounds. Turn it on its left side and find the safety lever on the right. It rotates up and down.

—Got it.

—Be sure it's full up and in position so the action can't move.

—It's that way already.

—There's a small lever between the trigger guard and the magazine.

I waited patiently for her to find it.

—Pinch it with your thumb and rotate the magazine forward. We're taking all of the mags with us.

She did as she was told. That was always good where a woman was concerned.

—Find the safety again. Rotate it. Try to pull the action. Find the lever for the mag release. Do it all again.

She fumbled and cursed.

—Is that it?

—No. Rotate the safety full down and rack the bolt. When you do, look to check that the chamber is empty. If it is, pull the trigger on the empty chamber.

Sasha racked and looked. Nothing ejected. She pulled the trigger.

—Did you look?

—Yes, I did. Empty. Did you know that?

—No, but they weren't expecting to find us. If they were, the chamber would have had a round in it. Now push the safety back up. See how it prevents the bolt from being pulled back?

—Yes.

—Try it anyway. We need to make it unusable. Turn it up and I'll tell you how to take out the bolt and the recoil spring.

—Why don't you do it? I'm a girl, remember?

—I remember it well. You have a fantastic body. You're too smart for your britches, though. See the black cover on the top that starts in front of the grip? That's the receiver cover.

—If you say so.

—I do. Now pay attention. There's a button. Press it in with your thumb and pull up on the cover.

She struggled to push it in.

—Ouch!

—Yeah, you have to watch out for that. Now push the thing that pinched your thumb forward until it slides out of the slots and throw the spring out the window. Pull out the bolt carrier and throw that out, too.

—Am I done?

—You're done. How hard was that?

—Not so bad with you helping. I'm starting to get to like the new things I'm learning since I started hanging out with you and Mike.

Oh shit. Here we go.

**Sasha was all** eyes for the functioning AK we kept in the van.

—What are we going to do with it?

—For starters, while you're sitting over there with nothing to do, you're going to hook us up with what the uninformed call jungle clips.

—Jungle clips? What the hell are jungle clips?

—Jungle clips. Some say banana clips. When you saw all those news feeds of mercs in the desert or the jungle, do you remember anything about the firearms they carried?

—Mostly I went to get something to eat when the news came on.

It figured.

—Those curly things hanging off the bottom were magazines taped together.

If you say so.

—Basic firearms, baby. He who has the most arms, wins. If he doesn't have the most arms, he'd better know how to use the arms he has.

—Really.

The refrain was becoming familiar.

—I do. Now start taping those mags together. In pairs. When you have two taped, you should be able to release, rotate, and insert when one is empty.

I stopped explaining to let her figure it out for herself. Sasha didn't know it yet, but when the time came, she'd be the one handling the AK. Do or die, she better know how.

—Keep trying.

She fumbled with the magazines, and wrapped and unwrapped until she had one.

—You've got it. Is the safety on?

—Yes.

—Show me.

—How will I know when you're happy with my work?

—You'll find out right about now. Show me the safety. Insert the mag. Does it bind with the one you piggy-backed? If they don't match up, you'll have to do them over.

—Not so fast. Shit. I've never done this before. I don't think it binds.

I raised my voice and fired instructions at the woman.

—You don't think? Then you'd better start. Try inserting the magazine. Does it lock? Rock it back and forth. Did it stay locked? When you inserted it, did it fit smoothly? Now release it. Did it come out? Why not?

Sasha's hands shook. She fumbled and dropped the two mags she'd taped together. She looked like she wanted to cry. I stopped talking and waited until she figured it out.

—Insert. Release. Rotate. Insert. If it doesn't work for you, release it, unwrap it and tape it until you get it right. Then do it all over again.

She began to go through the exercise one more time. I left her to work it out on her own while I went to talk to Barbara. I needed her to be our backup. I wanted to get a feel for whether she'd be capable when the chips were down.

I think I had my answer when she reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of 12-gauge shells.

—Did you get those from Mike?

She nodded. I looked her hard in the eye.

—You know how to use it?

—Yup.

That was good enough for me. I cast my gaze in Sasha's direction.

—Do you think that one will get it?

—Yup. Wait her out. You'll see.

I leaned against the van, unconvinced and nervous about turning over a killing machine to a woman who'd never before seen one. Sasha's quiet stream of curses floated out of the van.

—I hope you're right.

I turned to Sasha in the van.

—All right, woman. I'm back, and it's time.

—You know I heard you, right? I'm in here. You're out there?

I ignored her.

—Release it just like I showed you, then rotate the mag and put it back in as fast as you can without screwing it up. When you've got a pair matched up that work for you, do it the others. And then do it again.

She taped the mags in record time.

—Six mags, three jungle clips. Will that be enough?

—Yes, it'll be enough because it's all we have. Now you have to check all three of them. Go ahead. Do it. And they're magazines. Clips were used in World War 2.

I waited for her to finish.

—I want to try it out.

Somehow, I knew that was coming.

—If we're lucky, you won't have to use that thing. An AK can do a lot of damage in the right hands. Even without pulling the trigger, just the sight of one with taped mags hanging off of it can make an impression.

—That didn't stop you and Mike back in Coronado.

—Back in Coronado was another matter. You know that. They had your friend.

That shut down the questions I figured would be coming. I had a few of my own, just in case it didn't.

**Sasha did good** work with the unfamiliar firearm. I was impressed. She was a quick study.

—It's time for the real work to begin if you're going to feel confident with the AK.

A huge, shit-eating grin glued itself to Sasha's face. I stood there and grinned back. I couldn't help it. She'd better enjoy it while she could. She'd be down in the dirt sweating soon enough.

—We're about to find out what you're made of. Confidence is everything. If you look like a scared little girl, you'll lose. The first thing you're going to do is to rack it. Why?

—To be sure there's nothing in the chamber.

Sasha pulled the slide all the way back, looked inside, and released. She put the muzzle on the floor and kept the stock up.

—It looks like you've got your basic gun safety figured out.

Barbara used the lull in the conversation to lay down the law.

—No holes in the roof. I want to keep the resale value up on this thing. That, and my mother taught me a bit when I was a lot younger. We didn't have a man around.

—What did you forget while you were listening, woman?

—Shit.

Sasha fumbled with the rifle. She racked again, checked the chamber by looking into it and released. She pulled the trigger on the empty chamber and then saftied. The muzzle went back on the floor.

—That's better. Do it again.

She did.

—Find the lever on the right side. Check the position.

—The safety. It's down.

—All the way?

—Yes.

—Why isn't it up and engaged? Are you planning on shooting any of us?

Sasha turned beet red.

—Sorry.

She went through the exercise again with the empty AK and flipped the safety up.

—Down is semi-automatic. For accuracy, you want it full down. What's down mean?

—Semi-automatic. One round for every trigger pull.

—Funny you should know that. What's full up.

—Safety.

She rotated the safety down, then up. This woman was no slouch. Now all I had to worry about was how she'd react when the lead started flying. The answer to that would probably come soon enough. To be truthful, I hoped it never came.

—Insert a magazine. Tip it forward to catch the lug in the recess, then rotate the mag back until it's mounted.

The magazine clicked into place.

—Now release it.

She did, and then racked, checked and pulled the trigger.

—Good. Safety?

—Up.

I was happy.

—After you insert the full magazine, how do you chamber a round?

—Rack. Then safety.

That was good enough for me. It even impressed Barbara.

—Damn, girl, you're getting scary. Don't tell any of the men we know about this or you'll frighten every single one of them away permanently.

—When you see a spot somewhere, pull off and we'll let gun-girl experiment. While you're waiting, maybe you could use the time to come up with a story to get us across the border.

I wanted Barbara to have something to do that would take her mind off of Mike and the possibility that he might not have made it.

—I completely forgot about that. No thanks for reminding me.

—Remember, we didn't find Mike sitting cold and dead in the airplane. Someone hauled him out, and that has to mean that he's alive. They want us to come looking for him. The most likely spot for us to find him is Santa Agueda.

—Do you think they have him on the boat?

—Yes.

That, or they pulled a dead man out of the cockpit and hoped we'd come looking for him because we thought he was alive. Personally, I didn't want to bury Mike just yet, even if he was already floating in the Golfo.

Something was nagging at me, though. The _bandidos_ had the drugs from the plane. Why would they take Mike, alive or dead? Why would they want us to come looking for him?

### ~ 12 ~

**—TAKE THE TRAIL** off to the left.

Barbara eased the Jeep to a stop about a mile from the highway.

—Chica, it's time to show me what you've got.

Sasha sported a grin like a Cheshire cat. Barbara couldn't resist.

—What did you do now?

—You've already seen what I've got, gringo.

The woman could barely talk past the wide grin glued to her face.

—It wasn't that long ago you attached yourself to me while we were parked on the side of that hill.

—Well, you didn't give me a choice, did you?

A look of realization came over Barbara.

—What the hell have you two been doing? No wonder it took you so long to get back on the highway.

Sasha racked the AK, cleared it and pulled the trigger. She inserted a mag, racked it again and rotated the safety up. Barbara began repositioning herself by moving away.

—I'm getting my ass out of the line of fire. If you two need me I'll be on the ground eating dirt and dodging ricochets. Say, isn't there an old song about a ricochet romance?

—That's probably a good idea until gun-girl here gets it together. If you want something to do, you could start thinking about where we're going to cross the border to get the least hassle.

—I'll come up with something.

She started humming. I kept an eye on Sasha and the AK's muzzle. There was no sense taking any chances.

—Show me what you know.

—It's safetied.

—Is it?

She checked the position of the lever. Then she turned the side of the AK towards me and pushed the safety full-down to semi-auto. Her finger went back to the trigger. I moved it and placed it outside the guard.

—Do I need to explain that?

—Yes.

—With your finger off the trigger and outside the guard, there's less chance of firing while you're moving around.

—I'll get it right next time.

—There is no next time if you pull the trigger by mistake. We've got one jungle mag to teach you what you need to know. For Mike's sake I hope you're going to be a quick study.

—So you think he's alive. Why else would you be doing this?

She was right. There was no way I could let myself believe that Mike wasn't waiting for us to show up. I turned the subject back to the business of the AK.

—Let's get to it then.

I had to impress upon the woman that she had her hands on a powerful weapon.

—The thing about a rifle like this is it can lay down a lot of fire in a hurry. We don't want to do that. That's why you're set on semi-auto. One pull, one round. The thinking woman's way to impress.

She aimed and squeezed one off. I could see she was completely unprepared for the result.

—How did that feel?

—I felt the kick.

If the woman didn't start listening I'd have to get down and dirty to make her pay attention.

—Pull the butt back tight against your shoulder. Do it and let another one go. Step into it and this time. Lean into it, too.

She did as she was told. That was a good sign.

—That felt a lot better. Not so much kick.

—Use your left for support. You need to raise your right elbow. Okay. That was two. Give me three in a row.

She did.

—Well?

—You're right. I need to lean into it. I can handle this, no problem.

—Yes, you can. Keep your right elbow up. Give me three more.

—That's eight.

—Good, you're counting, too.

—Well, I figure if they're 30-shot clips, 22 are left. Are they 30?

—You'll just have to find out on your own. But don't do any math. Just count what's gone if you think you have to. Or do it this way—one, two, and many.

—You're a tough taskmaster.

—You'd better believe it. Now get down on your knees.

—Hey! We're not done yet.

It was my turn to grin.

—There'll be plenty of time for that once the job is done. In the meantime, down, woman. Put your left foot flat on the ground. Right knee on the ground. Do it, and be sure of your balance.

She did, and fired once.

—When you're down, try placing you left elbow on your knee. It'll provide support and give you better accuracy when you've got your arm supporting the AK. Now stand up and give me two.

The AK barked twice.

—Down again and give me two. Elbow on the knee. What's the count?

I hoped giving her something to do would take her mind off of the firepower she was handling.

—Thirteen.

—When you swap ends with that jungle clip, its best to be in the down position. You'll be a smaller target when it takes you a couple of tries.

Sasha got off another three, then stood for what was left of the mag. When she pulled the trigger on the empty magazine she kneeled, released, and flipped it. She fumbled getting it in. Finally she racked and let go with three from the down position.

—All right. That's enough. I liked what you just did. It'll show whoever is on the receiving end that you mean business. It doesn't matter whether or not you score any hits. The intent is what matters. The noise that thing makes and flying lead will keep whoever is on the receiving end looking for a way out.

If there was return fire from an AK pointed in our direction, she'd be the one looking for a way out. Hell, I'd be running with her.

—I'm starting to like this.

—You're doing a pretty good job.

Too bad it was one that could get us both killed.

—Now you need to know how to aim.

I smoothed out an area on the sand and drew diagrams of the iron sights.

—Your turn. Look through the sights. Align them. Look away. Align them again. That's how you hit what you aim at. Do it again and again.

I waited.

—Are you bored yet?

—Pretty much.

—Then do it again. Keep you finger off the trigger and outside the guard.

—Nag nag nag.

—Don't get cocky. Someone is bound to be shooting back. It's been my experience that there's no telling how anyone will react to that. That's why it's training, training, and more training.

—I can believe that.

—Now I want you to try this. But first, how many did you get off?

—Damn you. Three. I think.

—You think, or you know? What is it?

—I know. Three.

—Good. Give me two when you're down. Then stand, advance and fire. Down, and fire. Up, advance and fire. By twos. When you're finished with that, I want you to retreat the same way until the mag is empty. That's the end of your first mag. Then turn and run your ass off, get down on one knee until you get your last mag loaded. Turn and repeat as needed. What's the last thing I said?

—Get my ass in gear and evacuate.

—Exactly. Now move!

I advanced beside her, hoping to give her some level of confidence. She was a going concern, not hesitating even once. Sweat poured down her face and back.

—That's my girl. What's the count?

—Empty.

—You're a fast study. You performed like a trouper.

I swatted her on the ass, hard.

—I'm only doing that because you're out of ammo.

—You should try it more often.

She racked, checked and pulled the trigger on the empty AK.

—The thing about counting is, you'll never get it right when there's no pressure. Don't even bother. Under fire you'll forget all about it anyway.

—Then why did you tell me to do it?

The woman was almost stamping her feet.

—Would you have paid better attention if I hadn't told you to do it?

—Point taken. So what do I do?

—Keep squeezing the trigger until you get nothing.

—Question.

—Yes?

—What's the middle position on the safety?

—That's spray and pray. Otherwise known as rock and roll.

She cast a questioning look and a raised eyebrow.

—Spray and pray?

—The chances of someone untrained, such as you, hitting anything in full auto mode is slim to none. Even for battle-hardened veterans it's quite a feat to hit the target on full-auto when lead is flying in both directions.

—I'll keep that in mind.

**The ground crunched** beneath our feet and Barbara peeked out from safety behind the van.

—You can stop hiding and come up for air. We're done.

—How did she do?

—Not too shabby, actually. She surprised me. She's got it together, at least as long as no one is shooting back. We'll find out how good we all are when the time comes.

—I'm kind of worried about that.

—Try not to think about it now. What did you come up with to get us across the border?

—That depends on where we cross. We have choices. You probably know that already.

—What do you think of Tijuana or Otay?

—I'd say those are both out. Too many border guards and they're all looking for trouble. They thrive on it.

—I'm with you on that. What about Tecate? It's in the middle of nowhere.

—It's probably too sleepy. Sometimes people who don't have enough to do like to make work.

—You're probably right about that, too.

—I think it has to be Santa Esmeralda.

—Santa Esmeralda? The border is north of there.

—Exactly. It'll look like we spent the weekend and want to get out before what's left of the hurricane blows through. What do you think?

—Mexicali is a busy crossing, but it's no Tj by a long shot. It's pretty laid back. Plus there's the newer crossing to the east. We'll play it by ear when we get there.

### ~ 13 ~

**THE SUN DIPPED** below the hills. Twilight was on the way. The van's windshield framed Santa Agueda's harbor and breakwater.

I was right about the yacht. It was tied off at the end of the wharf, in plain sight. There was no hiding it. Every light was turned on against the encroaching darkness. It was like someone wanted to be seen by anyone who was looking.

We were looking.

We could have driven onto the dock and rammed into the cabin cruiser parked at the end of it. Given the feelings Barbara had for Mike, the injuries we knew about, and his kidnapping, I didn't joke about it. She was doing the driving and I was afraid she might take me seriously.

—See the taquería? Pull off a bit past. I have a plan.

A plan? Hell, if I had a plan, I sure as hell didn't know about it.

Barbara parked a hundred feet beyond it. We had the full length of the wharf in sight. There was no avoiding the cabin cruiser. It sat, plain as day, lit up at the end of the wharf like a cheap carnival circus ferris wheel.

There was no doubt now. Santa Agueda would be our point of no return. All I had to do was come up with the plan I was so eager to brag about.

I pulled the curtain aside and stared out the window at the dock and the yacht hanging off the end of it. What I knew about boats would fit on the end of my little finger. I couldn't even remember any movies I'd seen. Oceans 11? Did that even have a boat in it?

We'd have to do a straight run down the dock. There was no cover. The few light standards weren't thick enough. Once aboard, if we made it that far, where would Mike be?

How many men would greet us if they heard or saw us coming? It was a given we'd be facing AKs if what I saw coming ashore in Coronado was any indication. Already we were outgunned and we hadn't left the safety of the van.

—Damn.

—What?

—Did I say that out loud?

**I had no** plan. Between now and go time, I had to come up with something. Anything. Mike was depending on it.

—It's time to settle down, get organized and get Mike off the boat. The cluster fuck we've been working up to now hasn't been successful.

Easy for me to say. Even easier for the women to believe.

—Finally. I was starting to give up on you.

—I'm going to ignore that. Now isn't the time to be talking about past failures—yours or mine.

—Now he gets personal. Where's the shotgun?

I pretended to ignore the comment and smiled anyway. I couldn't help it at this point, but did they know it was a nervous smile?

—I don't think we need to waste more time checking out the harbor. It's a pretty simple setup.

—Yes. The dock has a good line of sight from what I can tell. But how are we going to keep those guys from chasing after us once we get our hands on Mike?

—Good question. And my answer to that would be another question. Where's the nearest semi parked? I'm thinking the taquería is a good spot to wait for one to show up.

—What are we going to do with a semi? They're huge.

—Barbara is going to climb in, smile like a hooker and engage the driver with her winsome smile. Using her feminine wiles, she'll convince him to park it across the road, behind the van. Then she'll disable it any way she can to keep it from moving.

The tension started getting to Sasha. She realized we were in it up to our ears. Maybe even higher than that.

—She shouldn't have any problem smiling like a hooker. You should have seen how she worked over the guy we got the drugs from.

Maybe it wasn't tension after all.

—Yeah, I know. I've seen her naked and smiling, remember?

Shit. That wiped the smile off Sasha's face.

—If you know what's good for you, you should probably stop bringing that up. You do know what's good for you, right, Harry?

I changed the subject.

—So then, does the truck thing work for you?

—It does. As long as it gets parked behind the van, I'll be good to go. I'll just jam it into first and crank the wheels.

—Sasha?

—What she says. But what are we going to do about Mike and the boat?

—I've never seen the inside of one of those things. I have no idea what to expect.

—In that case, let me tell you all about it.

I looked at Sasha. For good measure, I looked at Barbara, too. She wasn't any help. She just shrugged.

**I leaned back** against the van's bare wall and stretched out my legs, waiting, not knowing what to expect.

—Listen up, you two. The only test will come when we do the deed.

She looked at both of us in turn before continuing.

—It's a Constellation. About fifty or fifty-five feet, maybe a little more. If the interior lights are on, we should be able to figure out where Mike is located. In any case, it's not complicated.

I looked over at Barbara. Her mouth was open and she was staring at Sasha like she didn't know her. She definitely had our undivided attention.

—You step onto the stern and make your way forward. The elevations are such that it's no big deal to see and to get below for the dirty work. If that's where Mike is. As you can tell from here, the sight lines are pretty generous. There's nowhere we won't be able to see from the dock to get a line on those bastards.

—Is there anything else you think we need to know about the boat?

—No, that about covers it. You'll see what I mean when we get closer.

Night was on the way. To seal the deal we needed a semi with a hungry driver.

—While we're waiting, we need to talk out how this will work. If anyone has something to add, feel free to interrupt.

—We've got nothing.

We had to block the road any way we could. The semi was the key. We needed it and to carry out the raid. It was our best bet to keep anyone from following us once we got Mike off the boat and into the van.

—It's going to depend on the semi. No truck, no assault on the cabin cruiser.

There were no objections.

—Barbara, you're the linchpin. We need that thing parked across the road to block traffic. You'll have Mike's sawed-off to convince the driver to do your bidding.

—I can do that. I've already got a couple of different options figured out.

—That was fast. Do we need to know what you came up with?

—No, I don't think so. But I know one of them will work for sure.

—I take it you still have Mike's shotty.

—Yes. And I know how to use it.

—It has a sling. You should be able to wear it on your shoulder beneath your jacket.

—I noticed that. I'll try it when we're done.

—One more thing. When you're finished seducing the driver with the shotgun you can cover our backs from the shoreline while we're on the dock doing the dirty work.

That should keep Barbara busy. I hoped it would take her mind off of what was happening inside the cabin cruiser. Sasha and I wouldn't have time to worry about Barbara getting in the line of fire over her concern for Mike.

—There's four shells for the shotgun. I've still got my .45 and seven. Sasha?

—Two jungle mags, 120 rounds.

Damn. She remembered.

—We'll work the dock together. Stop when you can see into the boat. You have to be able to see inside to cover me off. Got that?

—Yes.

—If you can't, position yourself where you can see. Concentrate on what's happening inside the boat. Barbara will have your back so you shouldn't have anyone come up on you without warning.

—What if I can't see inside from the dock?

—Then you'll have to come aboard with me. If that's the case, under no circumstance do you advance past the stern. You stay there. You wait. Understood?

She nodded.

—I'll do the searching for Mike. Two of us don't need to be doing that in the cramped quarters. One he's free, it's up to you to cover our retreat until I can get him off the boat.

—This isn't going to be easy.

She had it figured right.

—No, it isn't. We can count on plenty of lead flying. Your job will be to keep peppering whatever moves on the boat with the AK, just the way we rehearsed. I'll try to stay out of your line of fire, but there are no guarantees. You're going to have to pay attention before you pull that trigger.

—I'll try my best. I hope there's no trouble while you're still down there with Mike.

—Don't be shy about changing your position to your advantage.

—We'd like both of you alive.

That was an understatement.

—That would be nice. Once I get past you with Mike you'll cover our retreat back up the dock to the road. Remember, stop and drop when you have to, but keep up to us. I don't want to have to go back for you with an empty .45.

—Just like before, but without unbuttoning my shirt and flashing you with my breasts.

—Exactly.

The tension in the van was at an almost unbearable level. No one laughed. Not even a smile.

—Once we get ashore, Barbara will be ahead of us with the shotty. She'll cover our walk around the bed of the truck to the van. With any luck, there won't be anyone waiting for us.

—What if Mike can't walk by himself?

Barbara was thinking too much. Given her feelings, it was warranted.

—Then I'll carry him. For now, just concentrate on what you have to do. That's what's going to get Mike back. If you think about all the things that could go wrong, you'll end up useless to Sasha and to me. More important, you'll end up being useless to Mike. He'll get left sitting on that barge at the end of the dock.

It's the best I could do. When the time came, it would be up to a rag-tag team of two inexperienced women and a man who had seen it before from the other side.

—If you want to do something to try and take the edge off, think through how the plan is going to work. Try to rehearse your part in it and what you're going to have to do to get Mike safely back.

**My mouth was** so dry it felt like it was filled with North African desert sand. My gut churned. I couldn't look at the women. I was focused on the objective, and that was Mike, at the end of the dock. There was no way I could consider that he wasn't alive in the cabin cruiser just a few hundred feet away.

The easy part had been talking about what needed to be done. The hard part would be putting the plan into action. Two out of three had never seen action through no fault of their own. If Mike's recovery went off without a hitch, I'd be surprised.

Bonus points if we got out with everyone alive.

Nothing to it.

~ 14 ~

**SASHA SAT WITH** her back against the seat, knees up, feet flat on the floor, eyes shut tight. She fumbled with the strap on the AK, twisting and untwisting and twisting again. Barbara rocked back and forth, her eyes shifting from me to Sasha and back, again and again. I nodded. I didn't know what else to do.

In my mind I was running through a list of all the ways this thing could go sideways. No semi. Sasha running off again. Mike dead. Mike alive. Mike not on the boat. The Federales show up. The yacht departs before we can board her.

It was always the waiting. And then it became all about the van's cramped interior. The heat. The sweat soaking through everything. The unbearable heat and humidity. There was nothing to do but wait and think and worry and think some more about saying _Fuck all of it_ and running north to the border before it went bad.

Hands wiped the sweat off our faces until it returned with a vengeance and we had to do it again. I suppose it kept us busy doing something.

The atmosphere was electric. The silence deafening. The tension almost unbearable. At any minute I expected any one of these women to slide open the door order me off the bus. Their part in this would be finished. They'd them would make for the border without me. Without Mike.

_Leave me with the AK at least_ , I prayed.

I already knew what Mike was made of. When the chips were down, he saved my ass in North Africa by dragging it to Benghazi. He proved he had the cojones. I owed him big time, and now it was my turn to return the favor. With or without my recruits Sasha and Barbara, I'd soon be on my way.

We'd find out what we were made of. If we were lucky, we'd collect Mike and be back on the road. If not, well, that was a thought for another time. I was too caught up to worry about not being able to return the favor Mike had so willingly and without question done for me.

A truck downshifted. The semi's diesel engine roared as it groaned to accept the lower gear. The nervous silence and calm within the van broke. Feet shifted. Water bottles doused dry mouths. Nervous throats cleared. Shoulders tensed. Eyes remained locked on the van's floor.

Headlights penetrated the rear-window curtains and lit our faces in dim shadow. It was about to fall into place. In a few minutes it would be a done deal.

Barbara slipped the handle on the van's sliding door. In the interior's forced silence, it unlatched with a sound loud enough to draw us out of our fear. We were minutes away from the goal.

—Let him get his food and then follow him back to the cab.

All eyes focused on the truck driver. He walked around the front of the cab. He halted to light a cigarette and inhale. A huge cloud of smoke hung over his head as he exhaled. He moved out of it and plodded in the direction of the taquería. From inside the van, it looked like he was moving in slow motion.

Sasha's voice trembled with nervous tension.

—Go. Go. Get it done, you fucker.

Maybe she was talking to the trucker. Maybe she was saying it for us in the van. At the rate he was going, it would take him into tomorrow.

—You want him to pick something up for you?

Sasha made a grab for the door and slammed it open. It bumped the stop and bounced back. She pushed it again and jumped out. She went down to her hands and knees. She coughed. She gagged. She choked. She spit. She threw up. She coughed again and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She got up, climbed back in, and closed the door before collecting the dropped AK.

She didn't look at either of us. Instead, the checked the action on the AK and leaned back against the van.

—I couldn't help it.

And I couldn't blame her.

—It's nerves. You don't know what's coming down the pipe. I'd do it too if I could. Better to get it over with now than on the dock in the thick of things.

Finally, her eyes stared into mine. Something said I didn't want to be on the receiving end of her AK, ever.

—I'm ready.

—Do good out there and I'll keep you.

She wiped away the perspiration with her forearm and went back to tapping her foot and patting the outside of her thigh.

—We'll soon see about that, won't we?

The trucker whistled his way past the van as he backtracked with tacos in hand. Mike's rescue was on us now. If we screwed up, he'd be a dead man for sure. Maybe we would, too. It was an all or nothing deal.

—It's go time, gringas.

That was Barbara's cue. She adjusted the shotty beneath her jacket, stood up and bent beneath the van's roof. She silently slipped the door and eased out of the van. She straightened and threw back her shoulders, hot on the trail of the trucker.

I nodded at Sasha. She exhaled and headed out the door. I joined her and checked Barbara's position. She was almost caught up to the trucker.

I tucked the .45 into my belt and strode past Sasha.

**My eyes roamed,** searching, on the lookout, as I led he walk to the foot of the dock. The lights were out over the dock. Whether turned off or intentionally broken, I didn't know. The darkness served its purpose as we hesitated.

The cabin cruiser floated too far away at the end of the wharf. Water slapped at the sides. It bumped rhythmically against its moorings, rocking and squeaking against the fenders, wailing into the night in mock complaint.

No lookouts posted. That was good. No lights on the dock. That was good, too. Faint light glowed through a porthole. I couldn't see a guard posted on the boat.

It looked to easy from where we stood. It was going to be more like a Sunday stroll minus the people rather than a full-blown assault.

We approached slowly. The dock lights were out. Still no lookouts to see on the cabin cruiser. I started to wonder if we were headed towards a setup. It was too late now. We were committed. There'd be no pulling back until we got our hands on Mike.

—The lights are out. It doesn't seem right.

—It's weird. It's like everyone has been scared off. Chased away, maybe.

—If these guys aren't paying attention, it's a bonus. We have to use what we have.

We fast-trotted the length of the dock. It seemed as though every footstep landing screamed, seeming to announce our arrival. Sasha held the AK level in front of her. Everywhere she looked, the it pointed. Where the hell did she learn to do that? She shrugged when I questioned her, our voices a whisper

—It just feels more comfortable this way.

We halted off the stern, out of sight.

—The view inside isn't so good. You have to come aboard. Keep to the stern and stay in the shadows just like we talked about. Try to keep out of sight for as long as you can.

—Don't worry about me. I've got your back. And no, I'm not overconfident. I'm shaking like a leaf.

—I am too. When the action starts, you'll be too busy to shake. Trust me on that. And don't forget to breathe.

—I do trust you. I'll bet you've haven't heard that from one of your women in a while.

—There's a first time for everything. Will I get to keep you now?

—I'm still thinking about it.

I was so on edge I couldn't manage a smile. Instead, I went to work.

—The sight-lines into the boat are good.

With the dock's overhead lights out, revealing nothing, there was no danger of being spotted. I eased forward from the stern and peered down into a porthole. A room lit up brighter than daylight confronted me. Anyone inside looking out would see their own face staring back in the glass.

Muffled voices floated past the door. The two goons were playing cards and shooting the shit. I moved to get a better look and spotted Mike off to the side. He didn't look so hot. Eyes so swollen he couldn't open them. A puffy face covered in blood. Chin resting on chest. Arms taped to the chair he sat in. It was hard to tell from where I was, but he had to be conscious.

—Can you see what I see?

—Yes.

—It looks like Mike will be out of the line of fire once we get onto the stern. Remember what I told you.

—Keep to the stern. Stay in the shadows. Keep you both out of the line of fire. Breathe.

Sasha sounded detached. Like a robot. Good. She was concentrating on what had to be done. That would keep her from thinking about what might go wrong.

—One more thing.

—What? What now?

She sounded annoyed.

—Safety off.

—Already done. I don't want to spend any more time than I have to playing second fiddle by backing you up.

—Kind of a selfish bitch, aren't you?

The attempt at humor fell flat.

—You know it.

**Water lapped. The** yacht continued its creaking and groaning as it worked against its moorings. The crew nattered back and forth, deep into the card game, clueless about what awaited. I eased onto the stern. I waited for Sasha to follow and park herself in the shadows.

I moved forward. She started to follow. I motioned for her to stop.

—Stay.

I could almost hear her _Fuck you I'm not your lapdog_. That was good enough for me. The safety on the AK clicked. Shit. Why was she putting the safety on? This might not go so well as I hoped. If the bitch was going to puke again I hoped she did it silently.

I eased forward and moved into the narrow doorway just as Mike started coming around. He shook his head and grimaced. His eyes focused for an instant and he managed to get off a bloody, crooked grin past his swollen face. Easy for him. I wasn't so confident in the outcome as he looked to be.

Sasha was right where she was supposed to be, barely visible on the stern. I couldn't tell if she knew Mike was conscious or not. I eased the door open and stepped down into the cabin holding the .45. I leveled it at his kidnappers and pulled back the hammer. The familiar sound had them paying attention.

Too late.

—Put your hands on your head. Turn around and get on your knees.

I pulled out a knife and slit the tape, freeing Mike's forearms. He was free. I helped him up and moved in front of him. On the way by I smacked dos cabróns on the back of the head with the butt of the .45. In turn they thumped onto the deck like sides of beef. I hoped they wouldn't spoil in the heat.

I looked to Mike for information.

—Only two?

Mike was in rough shape. He managed a nod and grunted as I helped him up the steps. Sasha gasped in the darkness. Mike heard her and perked up, but only a little. He managed to wheeze out her name.

—Sasha.

—Yes.

He nodded again. Whether his wounds came from the plane nosing over and smacking into the beach or the beatings, I couldn't tell. It didn't matter now. He was free. I put an arm around to help him onto the deck. He groaned louder than I wanted him to. Broken ribs, probably.

—Can you walk?

He nodded assent, but I wasn't so confident. He'd never get off the dock under his own power. He was unable to talk, but I wasn't going to waste time asking more questions. I did the best I could to get him on deck and onto the dock without shaking him up too much.

This whole exercise was still too easy.

Sasha remained on board long enough to cover the card sharks napping below deck. Mike and I got settled on the dock and she caught up. She kept to the rear. Just like we talked it out.

It was all good.

Ten feet.

It was a long, slow go with the injured Mike.

Fifteen.

Mike's injuries prevented us from running the length of the dock with our prize in hand.

Twenty-five feet and still going good.

Way too easy. I must have really put those boys on the boat to sleep. There wasn't a sound.

Another hundred to get to the van Barbara had waiting at the head of the wharf. How the hell did she manage to get it past the semi blocking the road?

In another minute we'd be home free.

Sasha screamed. My hands were full with getting Mike down the dock to the van. She was on her own, hell-bent on revenge.

—Come out and dance, you bastards. It's time to rock and roll!

Sasha peppered the cabin cruiser with everything the AK had. Lead flew. Brass skipped off the dock and splashed into the water. She must have set the AK to full auto, by accident or on purpose.

The firing halted.

I looked back and caught her kneeling. In that instant, all I had time for was an acknowledgment that she had listened to me. She fumbled the mag in her attempt to flip it.

I managed to let fly with the .45, laying down cover and then she was back with us. She halted and got down on one knee. The AK barked in her capable hands. Lead flew and brass spit and flew clinking and skipping onto the dock.

She regained control over the AK and was spraying the cruiser from bow to stern with a steady stream of lead.

Then nothing. Silence. I knew it was time for the last of the two mags.

I looked back and saw she was kneeling again. This time there was no fumbling. She had it down. There was no need for any more covering fire. There as nothing I could do bu look and admire.

I still couldn't believe Barbara had the van waiting at the dock. In another thirty seconds I'd have Mike loaded and we'd be on the road.

The AK continued spitting lead and coughing up brass in Sasha's capable hands. With all of that as a backdrop, I loaded Mike into the van.

I turned back to look for Sasha just in time to see her fling the empty AK into the water. I turned a second time to lay down covering fire to help her get off the dock and into the van.

She wasn't there.

PART FOUR

Give credit where credit is due

—The money is gone. The drugs are gone. We're left with nothing but those two losers. I'm glad I threw them off the bus.

—Do I have to remind you what those two losers ended up doing for us?

—No, but you're going to anyway, aren't you?

—You're damned right I am. You're still breathing. So am I. And who exactly kept it that way? I think that deserves some credit. Stop trying to be so tough. Is that too much to ask?

—You always were the soft-hearted one, weren't you?

—Yes, but if you don't do the right thing, I'll definitely be showing you all about being hard-hearted, girl.

### ~ 15 ~

**MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.**

I had Mike safely stowed away in the van. Barbara busied herself tending to him as best she could. Mostly it took the form of holding him in her arms and looking at me.

Like I knew what the hell was going on.

Sasha was long gone, headed for parts unknown, whether of her own volition or someone else's. I went with someone else, considering the nature of what we'd just accomplished.

—Where the hell is that woman? There's no way we're leaving this screw-up without her. You better get your act together. It's going to take two of us to figure this one out.

Barbara went immediately into panic mode, distraught and shrieking, as if Mike's injuries weren't enough as she realized her friend was AWOL.

—She was on the dock. How far could she go? I'll kill that bitch myself if she doesn't show up.

That was pretty much how I felt, too.

—I watched her toss the AK. I turned to load Mike into the van, thinking she was right behind us. When I looked back she was gone.

—Do you think the cabróns on the boat got to her?

—I don't think so. The way she was gunning for that boat there's no way they would have stuck their heads above anything.

I turned the van and drove us south, past the big-rig and back the way we came. Barbara yelled out the window at him.

—Don't block the road until we come back!

The trucker leaned out and gave her a huge, shit-eating grin followed by a tug on the air horn that followed us down the empty street.

—That guy is happy to hear from you.

—I'll tell you about it when we have more time.

—Where the hell did that woman get to? I looked away for a split second. Goddammit, this is no time for her to go shopping.

—She didn't go past the van or I would have seen her. She has to be somewhere close.

—Then someone grabbed her and took her south.

—I didn't hear any cars or trucks. Could they be on foot?

I circled the block and came up with nothing until I caught a glimpse of two men pushing something into an alley. I took a chance and stopped for a better look.

Doors opened on a white half-ton. A familiar woman with long dark hair was shoved inside. The two men climbed in on either side and slammed the doors.

The truck raced out of the alley, weaving from one side to the other on the narrow street. It turned and accelerated down a side street. Our top-heavy van rocked and rolled from side-to-side as the engine strained to keep up in the corners. In the back, Mike groaned.

—Sorry buddy. Sasha seems to have disappeared on us.

Mike's voice was faint. He barely got out the words. I heard him anyway.

—I knew that woman was going to be trouble.

Whoever made the decision to put Sasha in the middle of the front seat between the men had to be regretting it. She was busy making trouble for them, too. She wrestled for control of the wheel. The truck bounced over a curb, landed hard and crossed a sidewalk. It climbed steps and slammed hard into the front door of a church.

Mike would be able to add one more to his tally.

I stood on the brakes and the van screeched and groaned to a halt behind the smoking wreck. Sasha made a frantic attempt to climb over the unconscious driver and make her escape out the jammed door. She must have hit the shifter, causing the truck to roll down the steps and bang into the side of the van.

Barbara's vaunted resale value took a massive dive.

The driver came to in time to realize he was about to lose the prize. He grabbed a leg and pulled a furiously kicking Sasha back inside the wreck. He smashed a roundhouse punch into her face and her scratching and gouging came to an abrupt end.

—Where's the shotgun?

—I threw it in the back. It should be there somewhere.

—I'll need the shells if we're going to get Sasha out of that truck.

—There's two. I think they're still in it. I got scared when I heard all the gunfire on the dock.

—Me too. Funny about that, isn't it?

I had one left in the .45. I figured on two for the shotty. There was no time to check. I yanked open the door. The two in the van were the same two Sasha and I dropped on the back side of the hill. I had no mercy left in me.

One for the driver. One for the passenger. I didn't need to count.

Sasha was out cold from the fist that decorated her swollen, bleeding face. I dragged her past the driver and out the door. I picked her up. She was dead weight in my arms.

—Thanks, partner.

Not quite dead.

—Are you pretending or lazy?

—A little of both. I wanted to know if you really cared.

—Damn you, woman. The next time you want to go shopping you'd better take me with you.

—You only want to see me naked one last time before you kick me to the curb.

—You're pretty talkative for a woman who just had the shit kicked out of her. And yes, that would be nice. I'll need a paper bag to cover up that mess attached to your shoulders.

She gasped and giggled and protested in a little girl voice.

—Don't make me laugh. My ribs can't take it.

—So then, you're happy to see me after all.

I loaded Sasha into the van beside Mike. Barbara waited, already behind the wheel.

—We're two for two. It's time to go while the getting is good. We need to be headed north.

She u-turned the van and pointed it at the semi.

—What the hell is this? You said he was going to wait for us.

The semi blocked the road. This didn't look so good any more.

—That's not right. So much for the plan.

Headlights played over a body face-down in the ditch.

—There's our answer.

Two men guarded the front and rear of the semi. They sported AKs and they didn't look happy. In fact, they looked downright mean.

—Shit. Stop the van. Do those two look familiar?

—I know them. We're in more trouble than we ever bargained for. We're going to have to give it up. If we're lucky they'll let us get out with our lives.

—We're outgunned and there's nowhere to go. We can't turn back. It's going to take some cojones to talk us out of this one and get our asses past that truck in one piece.

—Let me handle it, Harry. One wrong word and they'll blow us all away.

Barbara eased the van up to the semi.

—Hola!

I poked the empty shotgun out the side window, but it was all show and no go now. It wouldn't do any good to pull the trigger on an empty chamber. I eased the .45 from behind my back and put in on the console.

—We have to bluff our way out of this. Right now.

The fat one walked up to the van.

—Gringa, we're going to need the drugs.

—They're in the back of the van. I'll get them.

He followed her. She raised the gate and emptied the compartment. At the same time she began arguing with the gunman in loud and fluent Spanish.

We were all in deep shit together. Then it occurred to me that she could be negotiating a deal for two of us.

I figured I already knew which two.

**Barbara opened the** door to the van and smiled. I didn't know if I was about to be handed over or if we were going to be allowed to go on our way.

—Well, cowboy, what now?

I wasn't prepared for a question I had no answer for.

—They've got our drugs. They promised me they'll let us live.

Yeah, and I'll be getting a yacht for Christmas just like the one we shot up.

—I don't know about you, but that's not enough for me. I have a plan.

—Too bad Sasha isn't awake to hear that.

—It is, isn't it? It's time to get down to business again. I've got one left in the .45.

—That solves half the problem. What about the other half?

She nodded her head in the direction of the two men positioning themselves on either side of the van. In the back, Sasha and Mike groaned in stereo.

—I think she's coming around again.

That was a relief. I'd be able to spank Sasha as soon as we got our asses out of the mess we found ourselves thanks to her heading for parts unknown.

—On your way by see if you can steer this crate into the one on your side. That'll get me a clear shot at your friend off to the right. What do you say?

—You want to wreck my pride and joy, don't you?

Obviously she slept through the huge dent in the side.

—It's that or we're done. I don't know what kind of a deal you worked out, but I don't trust them.

—I'm a California driver. I can put him up against that trailer so hard he won't make it to tomorrow.

—Then do it and duck. Whatever you do, don't stop. Keep your foot flat on the gas. I'll steer it when the time comes.

She did and I did and we were home free.

Next stop, Ensenada.

### ~ 16 ~

**I CONVINCED BARBARA** to allow me to take over driving duties for her once-prized van. Refusing to give up, she navigated through the treacherous, winding uphill battle in the underpowered van. She peered into the blackness barely lit by the van's feeble remaining headlight. Overcome by the stress, she finally halted at the top of the hill north of Santa Agueda.

Convinced we had to do a Chinese fire drill, she rushed to get out and I hurried to take over her seat behind the wheel. I had no idea what we left in our wake. I was happy to have Santa Agenda's lights in what was left of the mirrors. We couldn't know what might wait for us farther up the road, but for now, at least, no one chased after us.

—You think we're free and clear?

She wasn't so sure.

—I wouldn't think anyone would be stupid enough to attempt those turns in the dark with no headlights.

Maybe she never heard of Mexican drivers.

We were home free. Or so I told myself. In another couple of hours we'd be living it up in Ensenada before we crossed the border. Provided we could find a place that didn't ask too many questions, we could hole up for a couple of days. Mike and Sasha would need the time to mend.

Reminded of what I tried not to think about, I turned to ask about our injured.

—Sasha is okay. Her face is beat up but she'll be as good as new in a week. I'm not so sure about Mike.

Neither was I.

—He didn't sound good when I helped him off the boat. He's got a broken rib or two. Maybe some bones broken in his face. I'm going to have to get him looked at once we get across the line.

—How long do you think we'll need to stay in Ensenada?

—Maybe a couple of days. To be on the safe side, I'm going to get Mike in to a doctor. I don't want him to die on us now.

—I don't want him to die either. Maybe we could get him into an emergency room for a quick look.

—That works for me. What about Sasha?

—She's moving around on her own. Her face is bruised and she might have a few loose teeth, but she'll be all right after some rest. Her pride is probably hurt more than anything else.

—You should get back to Mike.

I knew she was itching to do that by the way she kept looking back at him.

The events of the past couple of days were beginning to eat at me now that I had some time. Ever since we hooked up with these two women, everything had gone steadily south. We were on the down-hill, and it was no toboggan ride.

Could their luck be even worse than ours? And if it was, why did it have to be passed on to the two of us like a contagious disease? Nothing added up since the two of them pulled into my campsite. And that was only days ago, even if it seemed like a month.

I was in the dark in more ways than one. It was Barbara's turn in the hot seat, and she wasn't going be happy about it. After what went down in Santa Agueda, I knew everything that led up to it was squarely on their shoulders.

No matter how fast and loose Barbara tried to sweet-talk me, she couldn't deny that by any stretch. Bullshit baffles brains. Well, not this time. I wanted an explanation, and I wasn't about to wait for one. I pulled off the highway and climbed in the back to check on Mike and Sasha.

At least, that was my excuse.

**Mike was sleeping** or passed out again. Barbara cradled his head in her lap. If ever I knew anything about women, it told me she cared. I'd use it to learn what I could.

—We have to wake him up on a regular basis. If he has a concussion-

—I know. I've been doing that. He just hasn't made any noise yet.

—What about Sasha?

—She's fine. Don't worry about her.

With these two, I was more concerned about Mike and myself and the chances of getting our asses out of the Mexican R&R we were so happy to find ourselves in after departing North Africa.

It wasn't such a happy one now.

—Are you going to tell me what the hell that was back there? It's been a hundred miles, and I deserve more than what I've been getting.

I hadn't been getting anything. Barbara had to believe that loose lips sink ships. Or, in our case, yachts.

—Sasha can probably tell it better than I can.

—Yeah, and she's not talking.

In fact, I suspected she was playing possum for her own benefit.

—Sasha might be mute. Or maybe she's pretending. Otherwise, this rig would have been parked on the side of the road a lot sooner and she'd be the one getting the third degree.

—You're not going to like what you hear. That's why I want you to hear it from Sasha.

No way was I about to let Barbara off easy. The woman owed me, big time.

—After what we've been through to collect Mike and your friend I think I can take it. Start talking.

She mumbled something and smiled a crooked, insincere smile and I felt like hitting her for putting us into whatever it had been that we found ourselves in. Instead, I held back and waited.

—We've been running drugs up the Baja for almost two years. We've done about a dozen trips. It's getting to the point where we're running out of places to cross without raising suspicion.

Sasha already told me something similar. Barbara had just confirmed it.

—The meet-up on the beach. When you pulled into my campsite. Was that chance?

—Yes. It was.

That was the same story I had from Sasha, too. I'd already figured it couldn't have been any other way. No one knew Mike and I would be meeting there.

—Who were the people chasing you on the beach? Mike and I thought they were after us.

—That's where we pick up our loads. We make arrangements to meet our supplier there. They must have thought you were in on it with us.

—In on it? In on what? What do you mean?

—This was going to be our last trip. We loaded up with everything we could get our hands on and headed north. Unfortunately, someone was paying attention and caught on to us. You and Mike were collateral damage. At Coronado we tried to drag you into it. We thought it would help us get away.

—How did that work out for you?

—It worked out up until we started having some feelings for you. Until that happened, we didn't care one bit.

—Where did you learn your Spanish?

—My mother is Hispanic.

—I know Mike well enough that he's not going to like finding out he's been played for a sucker. Especially given his present condition. When he learns the reason he's in the shape he's in, I'd want to be somewhere else if I was you.

—We know we were wrong. What more can I say?

But did they? I had my doubts.

I let it go. What's done was done. At least I had a glimmer of what the hell had been going on. We were played for patsies. Given that Mike's present condition was a result of all the bullshit, he'd like it even less than me.

Dead quiet reigned in the van for a lot of miles.

—Drive. Plan on stopping in Ensenada. Those two need some time to heal. And I need to get Mike to a doctor.

—All right.

That was the extent of our conversation. I rode in silence in the back, waking Mike from time to time and checking on Sasha.

—Before we get there we need to dump the firearms. You know the road. Pick a spot to pull off when you feel like it.

**The weak headlight** barely illuminated the rough trail. The van bounced and kicked up dust on the way to a clearing surrounded by low brush. She flipped off the lights and we were in pitch black.

—Do we need to remember this place?

I gathered the firearms and tossed them out the door.

—Not unless you plan on the four of us having a reunion any time soon. Do you?

I used the tire iron and my feet to dig a shallow trench and kicked sand to cover them.

—I guess not. Do you think Mike will really be angry with me?

So she had been thinking about consequences. Better late than never.

—I don't know. The two of you are going to have to work that out on your own. Right now I don't think he's too concerned with it. He needs to heal. You'll have to wait until he knows what happened.

I sure as hell wouldn't be holding back on that.

With the arsenal stashed, we limped into Ensenada in the late afternoon. We checked into a seedy hotel where no one asked questions. We carried Mike upstairs. Sasha limped along behind, supported by Barbara. At least now we had real beds to sleep in.

We took turns running in and out with food, bandages and splints for the injured. I let Barbara tend to the cuts, scrapes and bruises that were left over.

While our patients slept we wandered down the block for beer and margaritas.

—You're not going to volunteer any more than you already have, are you?

—I told you. I'm going to leave that up to Sasha. If she wants to tell you, she will.

I wanted to hear more about their escapade on the Baja, but I wouldn't be getting it from this one. They were too loyal to each other. No way would Barbara talk past what she'd already revealed. I had to admire her for that, even if Mike's condition was a result of it.

Getting across the border was going to be a problem. It wouldn't have the same urgency as when the van was loaded with coke and bales of dope.

—We shouldn't have any problem with the border at Tj now. Even if the dog jumps on us, we've got nothing, right?

—I never stashed anything away for a rainy day. I don't know if Sasha did or not. We'd better remember to ask her before we head out.

Sasha chose that moment to show us she was paying attention.

—What are you two worrying about now?

Finally.

—We'll be crossing at Tj. Barbara says she didn't stash anything in the van. We need to know if you did.

—Not an ounce. I'm busted flat.

—Maybe not so much.

She stifled a giggle.

—Christ, don't make me laugh. You're really trying to kill me even now, aren't you?

—If Barbara hadn't filled me in on your escapades, I'd definitely want to kill you. Now that's done with. I think we all paid our dues.

—I can smell the border in that shithole Tj. How's Mike doing?

—He's in and out since we got away from Santa Agueda. His lucid periods are getting longer. I'd say another day and we can go for it.

—That should be easy enough. What have we got to our advantage?

—Nothing. Who wants out?

Mike's groaning through his cracked ribs overtook the laughter.

—There's one more thing I need to know. How did you get that trucker to block the highway for us? Did you use the shotty?

—Hell no! The driver was from L.A. I climbed in and told him I'd show him my tits if he'd just pull across the road a bit. Then I figured I'd park the van off the end of the dock to make it easier for the three of you. I climbed back in and asked him if he wanted a second look. When he turned on the light, I knew I had him.

Finally, Mike was finally awake and paying attention.

—They are nice.

—I'll have to agree with you on that.

Barbara smacked me on the back of the head, but that was all right with me. Even Mike got into it.

—You never could resist a look, could you?

—Nope. And neither could you.

—You're right. Sasha has a nice rack too, but somehow I don't think she's going to be showing me the goods.

I already knew Sasha wouldn't let that slide, even if she was beat up and hurting.

—Will you guys cool it with the comments about my breasts? It's enough to give a girl a complex. If you want to keep on getting an occasional look, you both better start showing some respect. And no, that doesn't mean you'll be getting a look, Mike. It's only an expression.

I couldn't argue that.

—Better you're here listening to us fantasize than for us to have left you giving a lap dance to your new-found amigos in the half-ton.

I had one more thing to add.

—You do sound kind of cute when you lisp.

### ~ 17 ~

**TWO DAYS IN** Ensenada and plenty of beer flushed the last of the adrenalin that had been constantly pumping through all of us since our adventure began in Coronado. I spent the time getting to know Barbara, and then Sasha when she felt up to coming with us.

Hussong's became a favorite with one or the other after each tossed the coin to determine who remained behind with Mike. More often than not, Barbara volunteered. That left me with Sasha to tour the bars. We ended up doing a lot of drinking.

We were all anxious to return to the boring sanity we had attempted to escape when we departed on our separate adventures. After what happened, there was no denying that none of us would be signing up for more fun in the sun any time soon. We were looking forward to the border and refuge.

Only days before, we feared it. Empty-handed, we hadn't the slightest care. We looked forward to crossing the line and getting on with our lives.

Five days later, we piled into the graffiti-covered van stashed behind the hotel. It started without a hitch and Sasha steered us into the street headed north.

—Last chance to change our minds coming up. Who wants to back out?

Nervous laughter followed by silence wasn't what I expected. Barbara and Mike huddled together in the back, whispering I don't know what to each other. Maybe they were making a pact to reunite at some future date and location. If it involved Mexico I hoped he wouldn't try talking me into it.

A few miles short of the line, Sasha called to Barbara to come up front. Just like that, I was relegated to the back of the bus. I sat down beside Mike and we gave each another a look that said trouble.

After more than a few miles, we decided the trouble lay behind, not in front.

**By the time we** hit the border, we were hyped. A long wait in a lineup and a cursory questioning followed by what must have been satisfactory answerers resulted in a friendly wave through with hardly a glance inside. Crazy Town's _Butterfly_ boomed through the speakers, serenading us as we crossed the line.

—How easy was that?

No answer. They were talked out. The deal was done. Mike and I grinned. We were just happy to be here. I don't know about the two up front, but I figured they should be pretty happy, too. The van slowed and stopped by an exit ramp a couple of miles north of the border.

—Why are you pulling over in the middle of the 5?

Cars whooshed past the van on the side of the freeway. I looked at Sasha's eyes in the mirror. They were cold and unforgiving.

—It's time for you and Mike to get out.

—What? In the middle of an off-ramp on the 5? In San Diego?

Where the hell did this come from? We wouldn't even be able to hitch a ride.

—We kept you two alive and brought you this far for this? That's just harsh.

—That's the way it is, cowboys. Get out. It's time to find your way.

Damned if I was going to beg. I helped Mike limp out of the van. Barbara got out and helped. She looked like she wanted to die. Sasha scrambled into the back. She tossed our bags out the door and slammed it shut with a new-found happy energy.

—Get in, Barbara. It's time to go.

She crawled back into the driver's seat and accelerated away, fleeing down the exit lane from the site of the indignity she'd committed on us. I helped Mike pick up his bag and we began pounding the pavement down the expressway.

—This isn't the first time we've been kicked to the curb. All we need is a ride in exchange for a sad story and we'll be back on top of the world.

—Yeah, and I've heard both of us say that before, too. I think another tour of Africa is in order. Let's look for a phone booth somewhere and I'll make the call.

—I wonder when the two of them came up with the plan to abandon us on the side of the road like a couple of dogs?

—I don't think two people worked it out, Harry. I think it was only one. What did you do to piss off Sasha?

—Screw it. We're wasting time out here in the boonies. Let's find a phone. If we're lucky, whoever we can bullshit on the other end will wire us cash for plane tickets. We'll be crying in beer paid for by someone else before we know it.

On the freeway a flurry of brake lights flashed and a van cut over onto the shoulder. It began backing up.

—Come on, Mike. Let's get it together. Someone's had a change of heart.

I picked up the pace and quick-stepped down the freeway as fast as I could. Mike had trouble keeping up.

—You're slowing me down, buddy. I don't want to miss the explanation for this fiasco because you can't keep up.

—Don't try to bullshit me. You're hoping to see her naked one last time before she kicks you to the curb in person.

—Not this time. Now get a move on, or we'll both be late for the dance.

###

**About**

Peter Duke has been an aviator and fire pilot, business owner, aircraft mechanic, and motorcycle rider. He has roamed the world from Africa to the Americas and places in between. His fictional short novels are based on some of the people he has encountered and the experiences he has had while traveling the world, both for work and for pleasure.

http://pxduke.com

author@pxduke.com

**More**

Twisted Sisters

Detective Jim Nash has a problem. He has a murder victim in an alley and a dead woman in his bed. His own homicide division wants to charge him with murder. To say he's got serious commitment problems would be an understatement. He's on the lookout for twins, but he doesn't want to date them. He wants to know who murdered them. A collection of three modern pulp short stories.

Dreams Die Fast

Frank is headed home after spending a long winter on the Baja. When his motorcycle breaks down, he's trapped in an old ghost town on the west side of the Salton Sea. A woman takes pity on Frank and invites him over for a home-cooked meal. Before he knows it, Frank is knee-deep in cartel drugs with a woman itching to pull the trigger on the gun she's pointing at his back.

Dreams Die Hard

Frank is back on the road with a reformed junkie on the run from a cartel hit squad riding bitch on the back of his motorcycle. When the duo end up working at a strip club, the seedy edge of the city finally catches up, forcing Frank to dig deep within to triumph over drugs, greed, arson and murder. Some adult content.

Dreams Never Die

Frank Ross has had his fill of the big city and its bright lights. On his way to the Colorado, he catches sight of a diner in a small high-desert town while he's passing through. His decision to stop in for pie and coffee is rewarded when the friendly waitress tells him about the job posting next door. He fills out an application for a part-time job in the old-school bike shop, and his life is forever changed when he accepts.

Fast Food Slow Waitress

A biker hits all the high spots (or the low spots, depending on your point of view). These short stories find him at a peeler bar off the 15 in Montana; encountering a hitch-hiker off the 10 in New Mexico; being sweet-talked by his landlady; romancing a truck-driving sweetheart in a sleeper at a California truck stop; flirting with a waitress in a restaurant in the high desert. This is an updated and revised version of First Time and other stories previously published.

Dead Reckoning

During a well-deserved R&R on mainland Mexico, Harry picks up something he doesn't own that forces him to flee across the Sea of Cortez to the Baja. While hiding out on an isolated beach, two mysterious gringas show up to complicate Harry's life by attempting to implicate him in their own scheme, resulting in a mad dash up the Baja to escape the consequences of their actions.

Long Way Home

When Harry's ex-wife, Sasha, and their daughter accompany her oil-company boyfriend on a working vacation to Africa, the trio goes missing. They get out a call for help that will lead Harry on an air and ground chase across the Horn of Africa to rescue his family before kidnappers can move them to their den on the Indian Ocean.

Out of the Past

Harry's comfortable family life is turned upside down when he gets a phone call from a former comrade he thought long dead. When the second call comes in an hour later, the caller asks for his help. He knows his life will never be the same until he can learn what happened to the woman who launched a rescue mission to save his life after his plane was destroyed during a firefight on a bush landing strip in East Africa. Third short novel in a series.

Dead Man's Hand

One man's intricate ring becomes another's folly in this short strange tale of a dead man who was unable to rest in peace.

