Ominous Breeze (Trawler Trash Book 8) by Ed Robinson

Author:Ed Robinson [Robinson, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Leap of Faith Publications
Published: 2017-03-27T21:00:00+00:00

Ten

Mike hooked us up with a sporty looking Panga, a modest-sized, open boat popular throughout Central America. It was powered by a big Mercury outboard.

“She’ll run in the mid-forties comfortably,” he said. “Gas tank is full. You can top if off when you get back.”

“It’s great,” I said. “Really more than necessary. Thanks.”

Tommy and Bobby met me at the dock. It was a nice day for a boat ride. Tommy carried an empty duffel bag so that he could pack some clothes. He said that the money was already in another duffel. We just had to brush the dirt off. He had a history of storing cash underground. He paid rent on a fancy rental property in the Keys with mildewed bills while hiding from the Feds. We all boarded the Panga. I drove. We ran up the river to Rio Dulce.

“Tommy packs his clothes,” I said to Bobby. “You and I pull up the floorboards and get the other duffel. Clean it up real good. A dirt covered bag will draw attention.”

“Tie up at Mar Marine,” said. Tommy. “My shack is next to Ranchon Mary.”

“I don’t know the area,” I said. “You’ll have to guide us.”

“We’ll come to a big point before the bridge,” he said. “Mar Marine is on the east edge of the point. Ranchon Mary is a restaurant on the water’s edge up in the cove.”

“Can’t we tie up there?” I asked.

“The boat will be safe at Mar,” he said. “It’s a so-called yacht club. No one will bother it there.”

“How far is the walk?”

“Quarter mile or so,” he said. “Not far, but right through town.”

“It’s broad daylight,” said Bobby. “Maybe we’ll waltz right through.”

“Stay alert,” I told him. “Remember what I told you.”

“Got it,” he said. “Head on a swivel.”

Tommy pointed to a row of docks just beyond the point. We tied up in an open slip. Tommy handed what passes for a dock attendant a twenty, telling him we wouldn’t be long. All three of us walked up to the street and headed towards Tommy’s shack. Ranchon Mary was a sprawling complex of high thatched roofs along a makeshift seawall. There was a marina just across the waterway. The restaurant wasn’t open yet. If it was, Tommy said, we could have probably tied up there as customers. I didn’t want to hang around long enough to eat lunch. He opened the heavy padlock on the only entrance to his humble abode. He’d be living large on his boat, compared to this hovel. We closed it behind us and got straight to work.

Bobby and I recovered the money bearing duffel. It was moist and smelled strongly of earth and mildew. We tried to towel if off with little success. It had a light green fuzz that was firmly adhered to the fabric. Tommy finished packing. Bobby snuck a look out the door. The street was clear. The money duffel stuck out. It couldn’t have been worse unless it had a sign on it saying “Money Inside.

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