Read Online Just Different Devils by Jinx Schwartz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jinx Schwartz
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Mystery, Sea stories, Genre Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Women's Adventure, Sea Adventures
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child.
I waved my arms around. "What the hell happened here? Po Thang get on the Internet and order out Amazon?"
Dick turned off The Dog Whisperer and shrugged. "Guys just started coming up to the boat and unloading stuff, then these techie types showed. They gave me a work order, with your name on it, to install the Satellite system. Sure wish you'd' a let me know about that."
"Sure wish I'd a known about that. Do you have a copy of the paperwork?"
He went to the dining table, riffled through a stack of paper that wasn't there when I left that morning, and handed me a sheaf of crumpled sheets and brochures for both a satellite marine television, and Internet and telephone system. A purchase order made out to, and approved by one Hetta Coffey, Captain, was stapled to a brochure, along with an invoice for more than ten thousand bucks. I almost fainted until I noticed a small stamp: PAID IN FULL.
Once able to breathe again, I slumped down onto the settee, and Po Thang wiggled his way between me and that coveted bowl of popcorn. "You think I'd eat any of that after you've had your slobbery snout in there?" I asked him. He smelled like Redenbacher Carmel Corn. My favorite.
"Well, maybe," I teased, as I reached for Po Thang's bowl, "I could find one little slobberless piece?" My dog shoved my hand away with his nose and planted his head over the bowl.
Dick laughed. "I'll make more," he volunteered, heading for the galley.
"I suppose this abundance of popcorn is accounted for on one of," I waved the stack of receipts at him, "these?"
"Yep. Came with all these other boxes. Two full cases of Orville, just about every flavor they make! If I had a microwave on Casual Water , I'd ask for a few to take home."
Jan and I gave each other a high five. "There is a God!"
By midnight we had all of our Costco treasures stowed, and had even managed to get into some of the more promising boxes piled on my decks. Actually, we suspended the stowing duties when we spotted a Bacardi label and discovered it was a full case of Ron Zacapa Centenario 23. To ensure it was delivered safely, we opened it to inspect for breakage. Finding none, we broke out a bottle to test for taste. One cannot be too cautious, ya know.
At fifty bucks a liter, this was no rum to mix with Coke.
So we didn't.
Toasting our benefactor—whom we now dubbed VDP for Very Deep Pockets—for his good taste in rum, popcorn, boats, technical devices and, after a few shots of his Guatemalan nectar, his superb taste in women. Namely, us.
To our credit, we only had a few small glasses each of this stellar stuff while playing our Guess the Guest game. What we knew so far was: he had a fat wallet, he drank good rum, loved popcorn, wanted to leave the dock and go somewhere, and, judging from the expensive fishing poles, gold plated reels, and one electric reel that also showed up that day, he wanted to fish. And for big game, because that power driven job—which I'd heard is illegal in Mexico—was capable of landing a small whale.
I checked for e-mail just before going off to Ron Zacapa-induced night-night and learned we were to depart La Paz in two days, and that Daddy Big Bucks would rendezvous with us at Caleta Partida, a little over twenty miles to the north. Also, had I not already done so, I was to leave Se Vende , my old panga, behind, as "her services would not be required for the duration of the voyage."
Striking what I considered an aristocratic pose, I read that last line to Jan with the accent and bearing of someone straight out of Downton Abbey , our new favorite television series.
Jan hooted. "Ya think he's a Brit?"
"Maybe. I mean, who even uses prose like that these days?" I printed out all the e-mails so we could peruse them later for clues, then hit the sheets, as we had much to do during the next couple of days.
The next day was a blur of activity, which started very early with making last minute lists over huge mugs of Nescafe Classico. With so much
I waved my arms around. "What the hell happened here? Po Thang get on the Internet and order out Amazon?"
Dick turned off The Dog Whisperer and shrugged. "Guys just started coming up to the boat and unloading stuff, then these techie types showed. They gave me a work order, with your name on it, to install the Satellite system. Sure wish you'd' a let me know about that."
"Sure wish I'd a known about that. Do you have a copy of the paperwork?"
He went to the dining table, riffled through a stack of paper that wasn't there when I left that morning, and handed me a sheaf of crumpled sheets and brochures for both a satellite marine television, and Internet and telephone system. A purchase order made out to, and approved by one Hetta Coffey, Captain, was stapled to a brochure, along with an invoice for more than ten thousand bucks. I almost fainted until I noticed a small stamp: PAID IN FULL.
Once able to breathe again, I slumped down onto the settee, and Po Thang wiggled his way between me and that coveted bowl of popcorn. "You think I'd eat any of that after you've had your slobbery snout in there?" I asked him. He smelled like Redenbacher Carmel Corn. My favorite.
"Well, maybe," I teased, as I reached for Po Thang's bowl, "I could find one little slobberless piece?" My dog shoved my hand away with his nose and planted his head over the bowl.
Dick laughed. "I'll make more," he volunteered, heading for the galley.
"I suppose this abundance of popcorn is accounted for on one of," I waved the stack of receipts at him, "these?"
"Yep. Came with all these other boxes. Two full cases of Orville, just about every flavor they make! If I had a microwave on Casual Water , I'd ask for a few to take home."
Jan and I gave each other a high five. "There is a God!"
By midnight we had all of our Costco treasures stowed, and had even managed to get into some of the more promising boxes piled on my decks. Actually, we suspended the stowing duties when we spotted a Bacardi label and discovered it was a full case of Ron Zacapa Centenario 23. To ensure it was delivered safely, we opened it to inspect for breakage. Finding none, we broke out a bottle to test for taste. One cannot be too cautious, ya know.
At fifty bucks a liter, this was no rum to mix with Coke.
So we didn't.
Toasting our benefactor—whom we now dubbed VDP for Very Deep Pockets—for his good taste in rum, popcorn, boats, technical devices and, after a few shots of his Guatemalan nectar, his superb taste in women. Namely, us.
To our credit, we only had a few small glasses each of this stellar stuff while playing our Guess the Guest game. What we knew so far was: he had a fat wallet, he drank good rum, loved popcorn, wanted to leave the dock and go somewhere, and, judging from the expensive fishing poles, gold plated reels, and one electric reel that also showed up that day, he wanted to fish. And for big game, because that power driven job—which I'd heard is illegal in Mexico—was capable of landing a small whale.
I checked for e-mail just before going off to Ron Zacapa-induced night-night and learned we were to depart La Paz in two days, and that Daddy Big Bucks would rendezvous with us at Caleta Partida, a little over twenty miles to the north. Also, had I not already done so, I was to leave Se Vende , my old panga, behind, as "her services would not be required for the duration of the voyage."
Striking what I considered an aristocratic pose, I read that last line to Jan with the accent and bearing of someone straight out of Downton Abbey , our new favorite television series.
Jan hooted. "Ya think he's a Brit?"
"Maybe. I mean, who even uses prose like that these days?" I printed out all the e-mails so we could peruse them later for clues, then hit the sheets, as we had much to do during the next couple of days.
The next day was a blur of activity, which started very early with making last minute lists over huge mugs of Nescafe Classico. With so much
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