Free Troubled Sea by Jinx Schwartz

HiJenks was, unfortunately, berthed next to them. Gibbs, reputed to be a former yacht salesman, and Pam, an ex-aerobics instructor, were heavy drinkers who argued loudly into the wee hours of the night.
    Hetta and Jenks were literally run out of port, fleeing to the islands to escape the Water Bitch as Hetta dubbed the Gibbs’s boat. Returning to port after a month, Hetta was appalled to find Pam living aboard All Bidness, and Bud in the throws of stupefied lust.
    Gibby, the cuckold, moved Water Witch out to the anchorage where, broke and brokenhearted, he could lick his wounds along with the salt accompanying his cheap tequila.
    And now, two years later, Pam was a permanent fixture on All Bidness , so Hetta was happily surprised to see Bud in Puerto Escondido without her.
    “Howdy, Bud. Come on in and set a spell,” Hetta invited, turning on the drawl she dusted off when speaking to her countrymen.
    “Don’t mind if I do, little lady.” Bud squeezed his bulk through the door, juggling a bottle in one hand and holding a mop of fur against his Texas Ex’s tee shirt with the other. Tossing a 750ml bottle of Wild Turkey to Jenks, he underhanded his squirming dog to Hetta, then plopped down into a director’s chair. Hetta winced as the chair threatened to implode on impact.
    Jenks packed three glasses with ice, then filled one with Wild Turkey while Hetta snuggled and sweet-talked the wiggling, grunting Cairn terrier who was so delighted to see her. Putting the dog down, she reached into their liquor storage locker and pulled out a bottle of Las Palmas rum, and one of Early Times bourbon.
    “Put that Early Times away, Miz Hetta. I brung the Turkey for a present. Pammy got some of her friends in low places to smuggle me in ten cases from the States.”
    Hetta rolled her eyes and refrained from calling Pam a pusher. Shrugging, she put Jenks’s last bottle of bourbon back into the cabinet. There was no use trying to override Bud’s generosity. On their budget, the only way the Jenkins could repay Bud’s largess was by helping him with his electronics and boat repairs. Jenks had installed icemakers, watermakers, an inverter, and several other toys on All Bidness over the years.
    The trio took their drinks outside where Hetta and Jenks had rigged their “African Queen” bimini, a homemade affair Hetta stitched together from a painter's drop cloth and lightweight nylon screen. Jenks handed out chairs and they settled in to watch the fiercely protective Sam Houston race around the decks barking at a sea gull that had the nerve to land on his people’s radar mast.
    Hetta glanced over the side into Jenkzy and noticed the Splash Zone filled holes were slightly whiter than the rest of the dinghy but, what with all the other dings, scuffs and patches on the pangita, hardly noticeable. She longed to tell Bud of their near disaster the night before, but she and Jenks had agreed to tell absolutely no one.
    “What in hey-all are you two doin’ in Puerto Escondido? Coulda knocked me over with a feather when we came in and saw y’all here,” Bud drawled, polishing off his drink before Hetta and Jenks took a first sip of theirs.
    “Shoot, if I’da knowed you was here, I’da brought your mail that came in at the marina a few days ago. I gave the letters to Hot Idea ‘cause they was headed for San Carlos, and that’s where you said you’d be.”
    “We’re on our way. We’ll catch up to them. You on your way to Caracol?”
    “Yep. I left Miz Pam up there last week and I’m going back to get her. I looked for y’all both ways, even called you a couple of times on the radio, but you must’a been hiding out at one of your islands. Anyhow, I gotta get up there and back to La Paz in three days.”
    Jenks and Hetta exchanged a glance. Had Pam seen them at Caracol?
    “What’s the big hurry, Bud?” Jenks asked.
    “Oh, just some crap I gotta take care of. Bidness.”
    “Well, you’ve got the boat for tearing up the seaways.