Free Warriors in Paradise by Luis E. Gutiérrez-Poucel Page B

salt. After blending the mixture at high speed, I sifted it and ended up with a greenish liquid and the remains of the lime skin in the sieve. I poured the filtered liquid back into the blender. I tasted it, and it tasted good, with the right balance of flavors. I opened the freezer and took out a bag of frozen mango pulp—which Sandra had made from all the ripe mangoes harvested from our trees during mango season. I put the pulp into the blender, turned it on, and ran it until the pulp and liquid had blended together.
    I squeezed lime juice on one plate and put salt with a pinch of sugar on another. I slid the ring of each glass on the lime juice and then twisted it in the salt-and-sugar mixture. Then I poured my mango margaritas into the glasses. I set the five glasses on a tray and took them into the living room.
    Each of us took a glass, and when we were about to drink, Caleb said, “I think I would like to have one too.”
    “Oh, you fucker, make up your bloody mind!” I said as I put my glass down and went back to the kitchen to prepare another. When I had finished, I came back with his drink to find out they had already finished theirs, and Caleb had drunk mine. I said, “Thank you very much for waiting for me. Next time, you can prepare your own fucking drinks.”
    “Don’t be a sourpuss,” said Charlie.
    Valentina came to me and said while holding my face in her hands, “Give us a kiss.”
    They all started saying at once, “The margaritas were terrific. I have never tasted anything like it. You need to tell us the recipe.” And so on and so forth.
    Even though I wanted to stay mad, it was impossible to do so with this fucking bunch. I said, “OK, let’s grab an umbrella each, and then let’s start walking down to the jetty.”
    “Should we take our passports?” asked Juliet.
    I answered, “No, we are going to be on the water the whole time, and something might happen. They might get wet and ruined. We are getting picked up and brought back here. We don’t need our documents. All we need is a little cash for tips, and I am taking enough for all of us.”
    Independence Day party
    The incessant rain was our ever-present companion. Fortunately, there was not much wind, and we made it down the 250 steps—the equivalent of fifteen flights of stairs—to the jetty in only six minutes. When we arrived, it was almost eight o’clock, and we could hear the speedboat that was coming to collect us long before we could see it.
    There were two men in the boat. The driver was dressed in a gray outfit. The companion, who appeared to be in charge, was dressed in white. The sea was rough and choppy. “Hello there,” said the man in white. “Ms. Juliette and Ms. Camille?”
    “That’s us,” said Juliette, pointing to herself and Camille.
    I said, “Let me pass you a plank, and we will use it to board your boat. If you get too close, the cement jetty will scratch the hull.”
    The same man who had spoken earlier said, “Thanks. That’s a great idea.”
    I grabbed the plank, and Caleb and I extended it to him. He took hold of it and hooked it to the side of the boat. I stepped on the plank and grabbed Camille’s left hand as she started walking toward the boat. As soon as the man in white grabbed her right hand, I let go, and she crossed the rest of the way without difficulty. As this procedure minimized the risk of falling, we repeated it with Camille and Valentina. Charlie, Caleb, and I just walked the plank without assistance. When we were all aboard, I brought the plank onto the boat so we could reverse the operation when they brought us back.
    Fortunately, the speedboat had a convertible top to protect us from the incessant rain. Once we were all seated, the driver hit the throttle, and we sped across the bay.
    “Hey, skipper, where is the yacht?” I asked.
    “In front of Icacos—you know, the naval base,” he replied.
    “How safe are we?” asked Valentina.
    The man in white responded, “Don’t