Free Just Different Devils by Jinx Schwartz Page A

forgiveness than permission. Of course, in our case, that permission thing didn't exactly fly anyway, but for the moment we were off the hook because they would figure as long as we were able to e-mail and Skype, we were still at the dock. Oh, the tangled web.
    With a full-blown satellite system on board, we could also fire up the security alarm system, a big plus when we did have to fess up to what we were up to. Well, Jan would be the one to confess because Chino had all kinds of contacts in La Paz. Or, even drop in himself. Jenks was so far away I could keep him in the dark for a month, but Chino was a totally different problem.
    After a day of cruising, I thought I'd drop off immediately but, to paraphrase Shakespeare's King Henry, uneasy lies the head that wears the captain's hat, and there was much to consider. Weather, mystery men, not being straight with Jenks, and leaving port without a dinghy. Where we were, we could practically walk to shore if something went terribly wrong, and I also had a survival raft strapped to the top deck, but it still bothered me. Who? What? Where? When? and Why? played pinball in my wide-awake brain, resulting in a major headache.
    Who was coming?
    What were we going to be doing for the next month?
    And where ?
    When would this dude arrive?
    And why didn't I just get married at twenty-one, and have a white picket fence, and a divorce, like so many of my friends?

Chapter Eleven
     
     
    Without any idea of when our Mr. Mysterious would arrive, we went about our daily routine under the assumption there would be one more for lunch or dinner. Jan always cooks for six anyway, because we adore leftovers— if we can fight Po Thang off long enough to get them into the freezer.
    After breakfast and performing the myriad basic necessary chores when anchoring out, we decided to go snorkeling. The water was still seventy-eight and by late morning the air temp was balmy enough to go bobbing for lobsters in a hole I knew of not all that far from the boat.
    Without a dinghy we'd have to swim for it, but it would give Po Thang a workout. Mexican law forbade us to take lobster, but I had a sneaky method that didn't require a spear gun, so we loaded up our dive bags with drinking water, an old mop handle, bait, beer, and pantyhose.
    One of my least favorite things about lobster is they hang out in holes and keep bad company. Where lobster lurk, so do morays, as moray eels prize a lobster dinner as much as we do. Unfortunately, morays also consider these lobster lairs within their property lines and do not take kindly to poachers.
    Finding a flat offshore rock to perch upon, I pulled out the pantyhose, shoved Po Thang away from the bait bag, stuffed some old stinky fish guts I'd thawed out into a leg, tied the ends, and attached them to the mop handle.
    I swam to an underwater ledge, inspected it carefully for large toothy eels with bad attitudes, and located a promising crevice. Jamming the mop handle down into the crack, panty leg end first, I made sure it was secure, then paddled back out to the rock for a beer.
    While we knew the odds of snagging a spiny lobster for dinner were not all that good, it gave us an excuse to sit on a warm sunny rock and sip a cool one. Po Thang, miffed at not getting to go after our baited mop handle, groused a little but then settled down for a nap.
    From our vantage point at the entrance to the anchorage, we'd be able to spot new traffic coming or going, and could be back at the boat in twenty minutes if need be. Of course, we had no idea what time our guy would arrive, or how, but my guess was a panga bigger and newer than my old Se Vende if he planned to use those snazzy deep sea fishing rods he'd sent to Raymond Johnson. My boat is a cruiser, not a high speed fish killer.
    We gave the lobster an hour and I went back for the mop handle. Giving it a tug, it felt like maybe I had a bug, so I called for Jan to come with a dive bag. While these guys do not have claws, their