Desperado Dale (Scenic Route to Paradise) (4 page)

A God orchestrated scenario evolved just as Dale
had suspected it might.

The sliding glass doors hadn’t closed behind
Dale when he heard, “Hey, you!” The words were in English and not Greek which
should have kept Dale from panicking, but no. Jerking his head around, even as
his feet pressed forward to sprint into the slow airport traffic, Dale saw that
the man wasn’t shouting at him. His eyes travel rapidly to the guards but only
one was looking through the now open doors and he wasn’t looking at Dale; not
until a horn honked and the brakes screeched as Dale stepped from the curb.

The pale bag went flying from Dale’s grip as the
front bumper caught it. The car missed Dale by inches, stopping just before the
driver’s side mirror came in contact with his right hand which extended beyond
Dale’s torso. In fact, Dale grabbed the mirror to keep himself from toppling
backward.

Through the open window, the youth behind the
steering wheel was cursing in Greek but a sincere concern shown in his face for
what might have been a bloody, bone snapping accident.

Looking behind, Dale saw the observant guard
pressing forward. Without forethought, Dale asked hurriedly, “Speak English?”
When the young man quieted, Dale repeated the question in Greek.

The driver’s eyes went wide and he nodded. Now
the guard was screaming at the traffic as he picked up the contents of Bean’s
bag spilled across two lanes.

“I’m in a real fix. I need to get out of here quick.
Tell the guard something... anything! And I need a lift beyond the airport
vicinity, pronto!”

Chapter 5  Zeff
   
    West and south of Dale Merriweather’s coordinates, just off the coast of
western
Morocco
, Zeff came above decks,
adjusting his green eyes to the sunlight to find Mac. The sea was choppy. The
sun was setting. A hot wind blew upon the
Serendipity
. “What’s this
about swinging wide of the
Canary Islands
?” He asked Captain Mac after running his
fingers through the tangle of his ebony colored hair as was a typical gesture
when Zeff was frustrated with life.

Zeff had seriously thought of reconnecting with
his parents at the planned stop. There had been the makings of a family rift
that was finalized when Zeff was beat up and thrown into the
Puerto Vallarta
Bay
- left for dead back in
May. Mac had fished him from the Mexican waters and Zeff had been traveling
with Mac as a crew member ever since.

   
Initially, Zeff assumed in his drunken stupor, he was easy prey to a gang
looking for mischief. Furthermore, because of the heated argument earlier that
same day with his father - Zeff had decided to wait to call his family back in
Mexico City
, to reassure them of
his safety and whereabouts. It was later, maybe a month or more after Zeff had
reworked warning laced hints dropped by his older brother in the weeks before
his mishap when he concluded that his supposed death was a possible assassination
attempt by his family’s business associates.
   
It had been wise not to call home Zeff decided but now... after the loss of
face he experienced leaving St Helena and Kate Merriweather behind, Zeff wanted
to return to the familiar: Mexico and family. But if the
Serendipity
didn’t stop for a few days as planned, Zeff would need to wait to call Mama.
Zeff stood hanging onto the handrails. His thick shouldered physique tensed in
the rough Atlantic waters as he waited for Mac’s response.
   
“Step lively! Junior, step lively,” Mac called toward the bow getting the
desired reaction from the teen. He turned his attention to Zeff.

Mac, tall and slim having thick black hair cut
short. Both men were tan from the months at sea. Mac’s brown eyes looked black
compared to the unusual bright green of Zeff’s, although the men’s eyes were
presently screened behind the darkest of sunglasses.

Mac said, “That’s right. We don’t need to stop
although I usually do when returning home to D’Almata but this trip has had
many exceptions and swinging wide of the isles will be just one more.” He then
asked with a sigh, “Why? What’s up?”

With his heavy Spanish accent, Zeff told him
that he had been thinking of calling home and arranging for some real cash to
be wired, so Zeff could catch a plane back to
Mexico City
in the near future. “I
wasn’t planning on flying back until we reached Gibraltar but I think I need to
at least
make contact,” Zeff explained meaning that he could get off
after the
Serendipity
passed the Rock of Gibraltar at the entrance of
the Mediterranean Sea.

Mac rubbed his chin. “Zeff, don’t get me wrong
but from what you’ve told me about your family or more specifically
about
the family business, I should say - you might be in some real danger by letting
them know you are alive. I know eventually you’ll need to do it but... Well,
anyway, we’re not stopping until we get to
Greece
. An emergency has come up,” Mac said with
finality.

Mac was six years Zeff’s senior and the same
height although 40 pounds lighter. Zeff had learned that Mac was tough and yet,
thoughtful - a thinker and a doer. Mac was a new Christian having made his
choice less than six months ago, just months before rescuing Zeff from the warm
Puerto
Vallarta
waters. Mac had grown to view Zeff as a younger brother while Zeff looked
respectively to Mac for advice. Although, Zeff couldn’t understand Mac’s
penchant for following the Christian way, he viewed Mac as a man’s man.

Zeff nodded. “That’s what Tino said... an
emergency. I suppose I can call ship-to-shore and have money waiting for me in
Greece
.”

Rubbing his grizzled chin again, Mac said, “Can
you give it a couple of days? We’re trying to stay below the radar, if you know
what I mean. These waters have never been like this in my lifetime but it’s
anarchy out here.”

“Yeah, I know,” Zeff responded and they both
thought of the previous mishap with pirates north of
St Helena
some weeks back.

“The nasty boys are mostly looking for big money
items like fuel and weapons. We’re small and in a way that makes us a
non-target but it also makes us very vulnerable,” said the captain in his
distinct Adriatic accent. Mac put out his hand and Zeff took it as he stepped
up to the navigation area.

“Yeah. So you think my call will be intercepted
or something like that? I was targeted once and I might be again?” Zeff asked,
his forehead creasing with worry lines as he absentmindedly ran his fingers
through his hair.

“I’m not sure but it is a possibility,” Mac
replied. “That’s why I want you to give me a couple days to think on it and to
pray about it.”

“Yeah, bueno,” Zeff responded with a thoughtful
nod.

Chapter 6  Play it Again, Sam

Dale looked over his shoulder for the umpteenth
time. There was traffic, a lot he decided for a small island in the middle of
an economic armageddon - plenty of bicycles and motor scooters but no sirens or
flashing red lights.

The driver glanced Dale’s way before saying, “No
one is following. The guard bought my story and fortunately for you, he did not
come over to take a better look.” He had begun in Greek but switched to
English. And then he said by way of introduction, “I’m Samuel Animas. They call
me Sam and you?”

“Um, Dale Merriweather. Please, call me Dale.
I’m an American. I got stuck in
France
with my family the day
America
took the hit,” Dale
explained. “We’re on our way to D’Almata...”

“D’Almata? Really?” Sam said with genuine
amazement followed by a smile. “Well, where is your family?”

Dale thought Sam was skeptical of his
explanation so far but he said, “After we landed at the airport, my wife and
grandparents went to use the restrooms. I went in search of my grandmother’s
missing bag and we were suppose to meet at the rental car lot. Instead, the
next thing I know I am being chased through the terminal by the port
authorities. I didn’t want to be arrested and have to go through the whole
rigmarole when I knew that they were more than likely looking for someone else.
I’ve got a squeaky clean record. I’m sure it is a case of mistaken identity.”
He went on to detail his escape from the ladies room to the unintentional
collision with Sam.

Sam shook his head and said, “So you hid in the
ladies’ lavatory? Or more specifically, in the ceiling tiles of the privy and
then just walked out with a bunch of gals? Well, there aren’t too many American
men running around the island dressed like old women… although there are a few
dressed like young women. So, I don’t know how they could have mistaken you for
someone else.” Dale had taken off his scarves and the gaudy clip-on earrings.

“I didn’t get off the plane looking like this! I
had retrieved my grandmother’s carry on. This is her stuff,” Dale explained
with some irritation. He was hungry and thirsty. Taking a better look at Sam,
Dale concluded the young man extremely feminine.
We both look very feminine
!
Dale decided matter-of-fact.

Out loud, he said to Sam, “Excuse me but I’m
going to see if I can get through to my wife. She’s Greek and headed north
toward her family’s village.”

Sam responded by pulling over. “It’s tricky
calling as we head west. You’ll lose reception right away.”

Sam and Dale got out of the car. It was an older
two door, smallish silver BMW. Dale noticed there was rust but then he realized
the salt water and humid climate would produce rust on any susceptible metal.
The boulevard had narrowed to two lanes as the city of
Kerkira
was left behind. Sam
stood leaning against the driver’s door, arms folded, watching the sparse
traffic. His dark straight locks were blonde at the tips. He wore a profusion
of blingy jewelry and the tattoo at his neck bespoke of his sexual preference.

Very feminine!

Dale walked back and forth trying to pick up a signal
on his phone. As he came back to the car, he noticed another car slowing to
look at them. Dale still wore the skirt and black boots; his moppy blond afro,
facial hair and height gave a peculiar appearance, he realized.

“No signal?” asked Sam.

Dale leaned on his arms which crossed under his
chin looking across to Sam, the car roof between them. “No and don’t ask me
about Anna’s family... There is little cousin Tina but I know very little of
her people over here and cannot even remember the village name... I’ve never
been there and Anna hasn’t traveled back since we married.”

“Anna’s your wife? And her village is north.
This is a small island but there are dozens and dozens of villages north,” Sam
commented dryly. “You’re welcome to come with me. The cell reception at the
Villa is exceptional. You can have some dinner. Get a good night sleep and meet
up with your Anna tomorrow or the next day.” Sam got in and Dale reluctantly
followed suit. They were headed west but Dale needed to go north.

Slamming his door, Dale said with resignation,
“Thank you for the invitation. It appears I need to take you up on it. I’m
sorry as you’ve done so much for me already and you don’t even know me. You’re
very kind.” But Dale wanted to go north.

As they pulled back onto the two lane highway
heading for the west coast, Dale reflected on the generosity and hospitality he
and his traveling companions had met up with since March when their American
life-line failed. Once again, a complete stranger stepped up to offer assistance
and shelter without securing even the hope of remuneration.

Dale said, “I suppose a lot of Americans were
stranded here on Kerkyra back in March. We ran into quite a few in
Calais
and
Lyons
...
Marseilles
had a tent city set
up.” There were some wealthier travelers caught without functioning credit
cards but the majority of the Americans they met were students and young
travelers, backpacking and riding the excellent European trains. These young
people, shocked by the sudden and complete failure of American finances were
extremely resilient. Also, Dale realized traveling with his grandparents had
been somewhat of a boon during the disaster, as both elderly people carried all
sorts of valuables to be exchanged and pawned besides a surprising amount of
cash... and not
just
American dollars which had immediately lost value.

One day the American buck was king and the
next... only paper and no one was accepting dollars.

For all the complaining, Dale’s grandfather,
Bernie Adams voiced about the French, he had a healthy supply of the new
temporary French francs when the dollar failed.... Also, Grandpa Bernie carried
the revised global currency that had replaced the Euro.

“Americans stranded? Yes, and everyone else too.
For the most part the tourists have gone but there remain a lot of American
vagabonds. They have no place to go and so they are surviving here in paradise
rather than trying to return to the states or elsewhere.” Sam’s reply was frank
and unemotional.