Treasure- Temple of the Crystal Skull by Thomas Holladay

Author:Thomas Holladay [Holladay, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2020-01-18T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

"Sorry, sir." The dock attendant looked away from Brewster's rage.

Brewster's tired brain couldn't find words.

The attendant glanced from Panyel to Corta then stared at Brewster's deck shoes. "We be getting jet fuel come evening time. The hotel needs to call it over from the airport."

"Why didn’t you get it yesterday?"

He stared at Brewster's deck shoes, no eye contact, no answer.

Brewster looked at his cell phone. 9:56am. He thrust his balled fists into his pockets, fighting the urge to grab the much smaller attendant by his throat. Better to stay out of trouble with the locals, stay hidden like before. He should have landed at the airport in the first place. Should have fueled up when they came in.

But no!

He had to be the big shot and fly directly to the casino.

Now he might not have enough fuel to clear the harbor, much less land at the airport. Better not to risk it.

"Come." Panyel tugged Brewster's arm. "Panyel knows." She led them to a boat rental place near the end of the dock. An old man in a clean white uniform lounged on a patio chair, not eager to help, needing a prod.

"Hey, fool, can I charge a boat rental to my room?"

"Certainly, sir. No problem."

"Wait." Stuffed with breakfast, almost too tired to remember, Brewster found his cardkey. "Yeah, suite 513." He showed it to the attendant.

"No problem." The attendant climbed slowly to his feet. "Which one you want, for fishing or for harbor cruise?"

Panyel said, "Harbor."

"That be a good one." The attendant pointed to a nearby aluminum skiff. "Number six. It has a full tank, now."

The boat had two benches and a 15 Pro-Kicker Mercury outboard. "That'll do."

The attendant pulled the boat tight to the dock, climbed aboard, opened the fuel line and checked the tank he'd already claimed was full. Satisfied, he pulled out the choke and yanked the cord. On the second yank, the motor sputtered and stalled. On the third pull, the Mercury outboard idled and spat blue smoke.

The old man climbed out, untied the skiff and held it to the dock. Brewster took the engine seat and Panyel followed Corta onto the forward bench. The attendant tossed the rope into the bow and Brewster throttled away from the dock.

Panyel pointed the way, taking them past a mangrove swamp to a sand spit connecting the island to the volcano. Brewster ran the skiff onto the beach, switched off the engine and turned off the gas. Panyel and Corta climbed out and Brewster locked the motor in the upright position. Corta towed the skiff up the beach enough for Brewster to keep his shoes dry, like he always did for Faria. Panyel led Corta to the top of a dune and Brewster followed, too curious not to and too tired to complain.

"There." She pointed toward the Atlantic Ocean. A schooner lay anchored off the far side of the lagoon, outside the reef, too far to identify.

"Look," she shouted, pointing again. "I hear virgin songbird say, they find gold ring like you find on Yucatan.

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