Denny Mercer sized up the Worthy Oriental Gentleman who’d moved stealthily into his office. If the tattoos peeking out at the cuffs and throat of the bespoke Nathan Road suit, the two missing fingers, and the Dragon Lady slinking in behind him hadn’t been a clue to this being a major Triad warrior, the outline of the oh-so-concealed hatchet under his burly arm would have been the big tip-off. Denny looked up at him coolly, if not actually coolie, and spoke around the crumpled unfiltered Camel, “I suppose you’re the longest dong in the Hong Kong tong?”

Narrowing his already narrowed eyes, the sinister Celestial nodded with understated menace and pushed his calling card across the desk. Of course his real calling card would be one of the shirikin stars in the glove leather sheath up his sleeve. Denny got ready to bust a move.

Meanwhile, in real time: Denny slouched in his chair concealing the still-smoldering roach of the spliff he’d just obliterated, staring through glazed pupils at the slightly-built, middle-aged Chinese guy in work clothes and his dumpy, shuffling wife. It’s not like he really owes you any explanations, but it’s a boring job and Denny is prone towards a rich fantasy life. It’s why he become a Confidential Investigator in the first place and doing the computer skip-tracing and photo peeps that Seattle offers to freelance snoops hadn’t slaked that impulse toward the melodramatic, so he trips out a lot. The weed just aggravates the situation.

He picked up the card. Roosevelt Chiang, Landscape Consultant. He eyed Chiang and his wife, who immediately dropped her eyes and shrank a few inches. “Let me guess,” he said slowly. “You want me to find something or somebody?”

Both nodded, Chiang keeping modest eye contact. “My daughter.”

“I do that,” Denny said wearily. “But I gotta tell you a few things up front.”

The two Chinese stood motionless and expressionless, staring. Denny motioned towards the two rather beat-up wooden straight chairs in front of his dilapidated desk. He had shopped carefully for banged-around furniture he felt reflected a proper P.I. office. The hatrack had been the hardest to find. “Please, take a seat,” he said in his professional tones. “Can I offer you coffee? Water?” Lapsong Souchon tea in a paper-thin porcelain cup, perhaps?

The couple shook heads in unison, but sat and continued to regard him blankly. Fresh off the sampan, was Denny’s offhand estimation. “Number one: I can give you three addresses right now. A donut shop on Capital Hill, a coffee shop–slash crackhouse–in the U. District and this weird sort of tea and mp3/anime joint behind Uwajimaya in the I.D. You cruise those places every night for a week and I bet you spot your kid.”

Not a peep or blink out of PapaSan and MamaSan.

“Two: if I take the file, first thing I’m going to do is turn you inside-out for any child abuse reports. If you see what I’m carefully not implying here. Sorry to put that out in front of your wife.”

“She not speak English.”

Oh, not as eloquently as you? There’s a surprise. “So are you new in town?” Town, in the sense of The Occident.

“No. Twenty five year here. Just not talk much to…”

Roundeye demons. “I understand. What I meant, though, where’d you come up with my name? It’s not like I run bilingual ads in the International Observer. Turns out the characters for my name are some smutty pun.”

“Oh, same almost everybody. Chinese very fun language.”

A raff a minute, all light. “So, were you referred?”

“No need. I already know you, great master. You smart, figure things out.”

Whoa, great master. Cooooool. “Uh, sorry, but are you kidding me a little there?”

“Not joke. You same Dennis Mercer, best Guest Guesser.”

That one ground Denny’s wheels to a halt. Yes, he was an avid player of the Post Intelligencer’s football prognostication contest. And he’d exceled, having played it every year since the Seahawks cranked up with Largent and Zorn and Smilin’ Jack. He did well calling the college games, but was murder on the pros, especially AFC. In fact. betting on the NFL in the Frigate Tavern made him more money each year than his P.I. business. He’d been in the Top Five fourteen times and had won three of the grand prize trips to Superbowls, more than any other guesser in King County. Well, actually tied for first with some guy named…WHOA!

He snatched the card up and looked at again. Omigod. He regarded the inscrutable client and said, “There’s an R. Chiang here in town, you know. He’s the top guesser, drives me nuts.”

“Not top,” Chiang replied modestly, even bowing slightly. “Your humble student.”

“Holy Cannoli! Amazing!” Denny slammed his chair down and ran around the desk with his hand sticking out, then changed his mind and gave the same deep bow that he’d gotten from the pair when they came in. “Man, this is great. Hey, how do you do that, anyway?”

“Game very interesting. I study.”

“I hope to shout, you study. But how can you barely speak English… due respect… and manage to read the Raiders upsetting the Chargers last month?”

“Charger linebackers very low morale following arrest. Opportunity for new tight end. Need prove himself fast or back to selling cars. He play for same college as JaMarcus for two years.”

“But he wasn’t supposed to suit up for that game.”

“He clear waiver very fast. Dolphins need salary cap. Groundskeepers at McAfee Stadium know things, tell me.”

Gawd, the lawnmower spy network, no less. “But how’d you get the Giants over the Patriots? Nobody saw that coming.”

“You saw coming.”

“Yeah, but I… and hey, you were three points closer calling the score. Come on, how’d you do it?”

“Have brack belt in guess-fu from Monastery in Chou Wei mountain province.”

Denny rocked back, his butt hitting the desk, and stared.

Chiang gave a sliver smile and said, “Now I make joke. We from Taiwan. Fortune smile on me one day, on you some other day.”

Denny laughed. “Look we should get together sometime, talk…”

“Yes, very nice, you come to my house. But my daughter. Hard concentrate with baby girl lost.”

“Well don’t you worry about that, Mr. Chiang. I’m on it like white on lice.”

“Good. Tell me how much, I give check now. Fortune smiling on you now, find my girl.”

“You bet. She’s as good as found Mr. Chiang.”

“Friends call Rosie. My wife, Emily.”

“An honor to meet you both.” Denny moved behind the desk and poised at his keyboard. “Your daughter’s name?”

“May Flower Chiang. But everyone call her MeiMei.”

Imagine that, Denny thought as he typed in the name. “Age?”

“Twenty five.”

Baby girl. Okay. “When did you last see her?”

“Three weeks she not call. She always call twice a week when she out of country.”

Out of country. Aw shit. He looked up and said, “We might have to discuss some prepayment of expenses.”

Chiang nodded. “I understand. Last call from Mexico. State of Quintana Roo. Place Che Tu Mal.”

Wherever the hell that was. They must have planes that go there. “Why is she in Mexico?”

“She study Mayan pyramids. She expert. Doctor.” His wife understood that word for sure, started nodding and beaming.

“She investigate something there,” Chiang went on with continued pride. “Twenty twelve.”

“Twenty twelve? Oh, wait, that crap. Really? Do you know anything about it?”

Chiang gave a minimalist shrug. “Superbowl Forty Six. Indianapolis. Year of Dragon.”

“Indianapolis in February. Ridiculous. Anyway, let’s get through the information here and I’ll book a flight. Your girl is as good as found, Mr. Chiang. I guarantee it.”

“Life has no guarantee. Nothing but guess. You good guesser.”

“Thanks, ’sensei’. Listen, I’m sure your daughter is fine. Just having too much fun to remember her folks. Probably frolicking around the ocean right now, safe and sound.”

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Oddly enough, Aphra was thinking, it was kind of good for me, too. Almost makes me see why so many other girls would want to screw with these penis-bearing males. She rolled on her side and reached out to tousel a thick handful of curly caramel hair, smile back into the wide blue eyes that were regarding her with a flattering air of wonder. Put it this way, she thought, I just wish everytime I had to get jam up and jelly tight with some breedin’ fool it was as easy to put up with as this one. You put in your day’s work, might as well be in attractive surroundings. And vice versa.

And work is what it was looking like. She affirmed that on her little trip to the can to slip into something more comfortable. No sooner turned on her top of the line TruthSeeker than it started telling her the tale. Which was that Old Blue Eyes here had been out there reading her trip like an old magazine in the dentist office. So he was a job now. Or at least she was his job, which was the same thing.

Still though. It wasn’t that creepy being in bed with this cat. Not only cute and real hose-monster once he got loose to it, but he was just so damn gorgeous. She could have done a photo album on his abs alone. His asshole was cute, for cryin’ out loud. Like a little pink chysanthemum. They were wasted on each other.

But the big thing was, and this was starting to really get up on its hind legs and worry her mind around. He was “in the life”. On somebody’s varsity somewhere, was her estimation. Possibly not unrelated to a recent hymie rat deserting the Big Ship. That was kind of exciting in itself.

She shared that with Townsend, like so many other things. She didn’t have anybody to talk to either. Her sex life was as empty and transient as his was. She also longed for some vague image of sitting around talking shop to somebody as good as herself (like there was any of that around), somebody you could go nuts in bed with, then giggle about the intricacies of turning folk out and selling their ass down. She was actually pretty good at snap risk-taking, too.

“Hey, look here, honkyshines. I kind of like your act. Makes me wanna come clean a little, you know. Tell you the tale.”

Townsend couldn’t wait to hear this one, pushed up to lean on one elbow and give her his undivided. As she made a performancde art masterpiece out of standing up, streching and padding towards the bathroom. “Soon as I get back.”

The door was still clicking shut when Townsend came up off the bed in a smooth uncoiling of long muscles. He had his gizmojo out of his pants pocket and the Men In Black spex out of his shirt in les than two seconds. And did what you do with super-expensive, over-designed dirty tricks like that: spied.

Her robe read null, but he caught the e-glow from a vase on the dresser. Lead glazed pottery: good thinking, SuperFreak. But soooooo last year. It wasn’t interesting anyway, now that his proximity let him cop full disclosure. It was about the same as what he had, purely feed read. So she was already onto him. He could bug it, and maybe even so she wouldn’t find it, but why bother? The big news was still over there in the bedstand drawer. He went back to the bed, watching numbers and indicators bounce around on the lenses, amber digitals superimposed over the dusky view of the room through the multi-coated dark glass.

Oh yeah, it read as a GPS, but that was a ruse his cadge-gadget was all over from go. Tracking. Very long range tracking. Augmented by satellite feed from… not familiar registry, but it didn’t matter. She was keeping tabs on somebody using a cloaked tracer he couldn’t have bought with five years pay. He sweated out the sponder tumbling the crypt, already hearing a muted toilet flush behind him. There it was! He pushed the fake Apple selector wheel twice and had glommed the target, co-ordinates and register. He was back in bed, the shades and iSpy under the bed in one catlike move, just as she came out and stood there with the light behind her. He locked his hands behind his head and laid back to stare at her with unfeigned pleasure and admiration.

When she quit posing and flicked the light off to come back to the thrashed, reeking bed, he said, “You were saying something about secrets and making a clean breast?”

“Clean breast? What you think I was in the bathroom for, honey?” She leaned over to place a thick purplish nipple in his mouth. “Taste clean from where you sitting?”

He gave it a noisy kiss and patted the bed beside him. “I’m all ears.”

She crawled up the bed on all fours, swishing her tail like a panther. Sliding down beside him, she grabbed a handful of very attentive genital. “All ears? That what you calling this business here?”

“I’m still holding that thought.”

“Yeah, well, see…” she paused, staring blankly at the meaty shaft in her hand. “You ever heard of Oracon?”

“Cleans clogged drains as it slays household pests?”

She shook his meat briskly enough to hurt a little, “Don’t play that shit. Like I said, it’s time for keepin’ real.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. A think tank.” He paused just long enough for her to scowl slightly and continued. “it says here. Actually they’re pretty much the blue chip outfit in industrial espionage. Spooks R us.”

“No honey, case you didn’t notice, spooks B me. Both kinds.”

“And you decided to tell me this. Because high-grade professional snoops always have a deep-seated urge to blurt it out to whoever they’re fucking.”

She gave a full, titty-jiggling laugh at that. “Only when I’m in bed with a colleague,” she chortled. “Who’s about one second from getting kicked out of said bed.”

“Okay, you made me.”

“I sure did, sweetie. Got tired of waiting for you to put the make on me.”

‘OK, here we are. White spy and black spy, just like that cartoon. What now?”

“What now? We rap, niggah! We talk about the shit we pull. When was the last time you talked about that crap to anybody. Much less a woman?”

He’d been thinking that same thing three days before, hadn’t he? Pretty much same time he was socking it to that little cheerleader from Michigan or wherever. Hmmmm.

“Okay. You got it. You’re all over it like static cling. So where do we start? How about at the beginning? I think I got some issues there.”

“Issues, huh? Well, the beginning is always good. For openers, you know.”

“See I got into this because my old man was into it. He was like this star. Worked like CIA, Secret Service, DEA, you name it. I didn’t really think about doing anything else. Well, pro ball for awhile. Might have worked. Or might not have. I was practically recruited before I was out of high school.”

“Damn, child. What’s the chances. I got same kinda shit going on. Did, anyway. My mama wasn’t just a lefty, wasn’t just ‘radical’. She was like a Movement unto her own self. Fuck whitey in every aperture at once, you know? So I was learning about weapons and stashing shit and funny money and trailing drops right out of the crib. I was spyin’ before I was in high school. Used to pick up cops and sound them for information. Or let them make a move, then use it to twist them up. How you like these pictures of you with your hand up a thirteen year old’s skirt, Mister Pig? Wonder if they can print the whole thing in the newspaper or have to crop out the good stuff?”

“So you pioneered that whole ‘Bust A Diddler’ TV show? Out-predatored their asses?”

“Best you know it. I did my first industrial spy-by when I was seventeen. On my own hook, too. The Mom would’ve hit the fan if she knew I was whoring my talents out after capital instead of some righteous bullshit.” She lay back on the pillow, unconsciously mimicking his hands-behind-head posture, stared at the ceiling. “I cooked it up, walked in and sold it to some Ofay idiot wouldn’t a thought of it in a million years. And even yet, only reason he hired me for it was hopin’ it might snow in hell sometime and he’s get into my pants.”

“Man.” Townsend breathed. “Man, oh man. Know what, I’m going to hit the washroom a minute and sort this out in my head.”

She watched the way he sort of uncurled out of the bed, the clench of buttocks as he moved towards the bath. “This might shock you,” he said from the door. “But you’re not quite like my usual date.”

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“It’s a little pretentious, don’t you think?”

“So fire the architect.”

MeiMei chuckled. She kept thinking she’d run out of awe and wonder at the “Mayan Riviera” coast she was seeing from Tuan’s kayak and was starting to toss out contrary remarks just to see how he’d get them back over the net. “I mean, ‘Sian Ka’an Biosphere Reserve’? It’s, what, a couple of acres of Mexico and they’re talking about having a very special reserve on the whole biosphere?”

“I think they’re hoping to get a patent of life forms,” Tuan replied. mayancalendargirls.com “Not that it’ll help them with all the pirating going on.”

“PhylaPirates of the Caribbean. Johnny Depp and Michael Moore together at last.”

“I’ve come down here just to see birds,” Tuan said. It’s amazing. I’ve been trying to formulate a theory of latitudinal pigmentation.”

“And you haven’t yet? I’m astounded.” She’d heard a lot of his general theories over the past days, his restless mind trying to tie everything up into larger and larger packages.

“These things take time. Those equation theories are easy. But there has to be some factor behind the fact that the closer you get to the equator the more color the biosphere flaunts. At the poles everything’s in black and white: your penguins and polar bears and such.”

“Orca,” MeiMei added. She’d been awed by the huge fish as a girl in Seattle. Infatuated, maybe. That whole idea led her to a place it was too sad to go, though, so she chatted brightly, instead. “Formal wear. In keeping with the cooler emotional state of high latitude numbers.”

“The temperate zones; a lot of brown and grey and earth colors. The slightest flash of color, like a robin’s breast, and people get all excited. But down here? My God.”

“I see what you mean,” MeiMei said thoughtfully. mayancalendargirls.com“And it’s everything, isn’t it? The fish are Day-Glo, the birds look like a Peter Max fantasy, the flowers almost glow in the dark.”

“So why? I always assume there’s a reason.”

“Even people,” she teased. “Everybody’s hunched over in Minneapolis and Seattle, with their loden green Gore-Tex parkas and black raincoats. By the time they clear the airport here they’re wearing shirts and bathing suits that would blind a Hawaiian.”

“It’s hard to find an evolutionary advantage to going around flaunting bright colors in everybody’s face. Sort of the opposite of protective coloration.”

“I assume it’s all about sex, somehow.”

“Everything is; isn’t that what they tell us?”

“Well, it’s certainly a motivator.” Or is it, she was thinking. She’d gotten the idea that Tuan had been at least somewhat taken by her, and she was certainly willing to move in his general direction. But so far this trip had been pretty tame in that regard. The general feel of flight from danger had faded and now it was just a routine of racking up miles, sometimes at night, sometimes by day. They had taken turns sleeping in the boat, leaning over the deck in a decidedly uncomfy posture. They had put into hidden inlets and grabbed snoozes on cusps of sand, slathered in bug spray. They had actually tented out last night: in addition to oodles of very good chow, mayancalendargirls.comTuan had brought a tent and light cotton sleepsacks, it turned out. But sleeping with Tuan around hadn’t led to even an intimation of “sleeping with Tuan”. White knight syndrome? Was her breath bad? Was he as gay as he looked? Stay tuned. And avoid leading comments.

“There’s a devious attractor in there somewhere,” he said. “And it’ll turn up. Meanwhile, I just enjoy it.”

“Me too. This is incredible.” The Riviera to the North had been stunning in it’s way, but so much of it was high rise hotels and resorts these days. Most of which they’d slipped by at night, often a half mile off shore. But this was Raw Nature On Parade. Beach backed by sheer jungle, inlets teaming with life, aflutter with birds. If nothing else, it would be a trip she’d remember vividly the rest of her life. Which she had evidently decided would continue at some point because she found herself thinking ahead at times, especially when Tuan was silent, just stroking behind her like a machine. And frankly, it was starting to look like things were going to be very different in that future that she would arrive in once they paddled through enough of this screaming, travel-poster beauty.

“It’s not just the natural aspects, either. There are over twenty-five ruins inside the reserve, some of them fairly significant.”

“I’m not too hot on ruins and antiquity lately, Tuan. Sorry.” What it was, she got too frustrated and bummed out thinking about it. And knew that until she got her camera somewhere to see the glyphs on the jade plaque nothing she’d studied would really be all that significant to her own general theorizing. The future was trumping The Past for the first time since undergrad.

Tuan nodded. That was why she hadn’t cared about cutting past Tulum at night, he thought. And hasn’t even mentioned archaeology the whole time. It’s gotten ugly for her, or she’s moving past it. He took a good look at her, the slim body sun-browned to the point that she looked darker than most Mexicans, even than the Mayans. Good. He wished he could bleach her hair or something, but the hats and towels were working. He felt a strong impulse to reach out and stroke the cleft between the long muscles of her back. She was really exquisite. But he’d decided anything like that would wait. He wasn’t going to hit on her while he was still trying to keep her alive. Take her on the rebound from fear and death. He had a feeling that would keep, anyway. Just a feeling. Nothing theoretical.

He spoke in the tone she’d learned meant, Take a look at that. “See the inlet there? “

She could make out the green streak of water, a tiny gap in the trees she had learned would widen as they approached, open up to the basins of brackish water that were the font of so much of the wildlife proliferation around them. “It looks bigger than the one at Xel Ha. Maybe the biggest we’ve seen?”

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Tuan laughed. “To say the least. It’s the mouth of Ascension bay. Huge. We’ve actually been cruising along beside a big finger of it for miles. Right behind that peninsula.”

“Is there a town?” She’d come to associate towns with hassles, with snapping back from footloose waterbug tourists to fugitives.

“On the far side, Puerto Madero. I think we’ll just cut straight across.”

“Good. Will the town be a problem?”

I’m trying to figure the timing to pass it at night. I can get a better handle on that once I see it across the lagoon.”

“It’s been a long time since we saw a boat.”

“Good news, right? I have a hard time thinking they’re patrolling this far south, but I sure don’t want some drug patrol craft to radio in that they’ve spotted a couple of chinos in a kayak. If it was high season we’d be seeing all sorts of tour boats, other kayaks. That’s why we’re running this by day. Tourist kayaks are common here. But not so much at night.”

“I was thinking when that little squall hit us yesterday.” That had been a little scary. In fact MeiMei was well aware that if she’d been alone, without Tuan’s steady hand on the steering and steady voice behind her ears, that little tantrum of wind and shoulder-high waves would have scared the crap out of her. Which could get messy in a kayak. “What if a hurricane came up?”

“Too early for that. September a long shot. October, not such a long shot. But they aren’t that common even during the season.”

“What would we do?”

“A really big blow? Head out to sea and balls it out like men.”

She bumped her paddle against the side of the boat on her backswing, a little kayak gesture she’d picked up.

“Anything big enough to really, like, you know, kill us, and I’d haul into shore, pull the boat well into the bush, lash it down, get underneath it. Have a little hurricane party. If we were near a town, I think I’d just put in, leave the boat and catch a bus south, maybe rent a car. They’d have a lot more on their minds than us at that point. Cross into the free trade zone on a shopping excursion bus, pay off some border guys to let us cross into Belize proper from there.”

That was what kept her calm, she thought. He already has a plan even for something totally unlikely. And in details. Details that expand her awareness of her current situation. Good guy to have around.

“But what I was going to say,” Tuan continued his train of thought, “Is that it means we’re now halfway to the border.

MeiMei looked ahead, saw only more incredible turquoise sea, sugar white beach, violently green vegetation. Under too-blue sky and slowly piling thunderheads out to sea. How about that? she thought. Halfway to something.

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She hung, suspended in a state of no time, no space, no future or past. No more pain.

Rising and falling, a face looking sightless at the stars, surrounded by a sargasso of gold hair streaked with blood. Naked, mindless, a child of the currents and swells.

Then came the nip on her ankle.

Then the slickery slide around her legs, the caressing brush by her buttocks, the playful nudges in her stomach, then her groin.

Then the big, muscular body surging up from beneath her, forcing her dangling legs apart. The tensile fin raking across her crotch.

And her eyes opened again.

Slowly, she moved her arms forward, dragging through the resistance of the water, moving like sluggish bottom creatures, all soft and slow. She felt a slight touch at her knees, then the sleek torso rubbing up her abdomen, rubbing her breasts as she moved her arms around into a barely conscious hug. A hug she held for a long moment, clamping herself to that big, streamlined body. Then she was pulled underwater, a quick shallow dive that shocked her awake, brought her to the surface coughing and sputtering. She loosened her embrace and looked at the conical head riding the surface, nudging her throat, laughing at her. “Bruto!” she yelled. “You made it!”

There was not even the hint of her directing anything or calling any shots. After she had greeted the whole pod one by one–the males crowding playfully in, the females reticent, but sliding by to greet her, Mayab nuzzling her head as if concerned about her wound–they started moving away and she rolled prone in the dark water to attempt to move with them. She was stiff, weak, finless. Pinoccio, the big alpha, pressed up from below her, sliding under her stomach. She grabbed on, letting her hands slide back to the base of his flippers, extending her elbows until she lay on his back, head beside the dorsal fin. And he moved out in a powerful lunge, his flexing trunk moving beneath her chest. His pistoning flukes brushed her calves until she raised her legs to the surface, spread wide and trailing behind as he led the pod west.

She’d ridden Caruso and Bruto and Gitmo, lying in rapture on their backs. They’d come for her! She hugged them tight to her heart as fragments of the night came back to her, crashing into her head unbidden. Those fuckers had left her for dead! And God knows what they were doing to MeiMei. She’d killed some of them. Good. They’d left her dead in the water! But her true friends, her real lovers, had come for her. She shuddered on the undulating back, salt tears streaming down into the sea. They came and rescued her.

A hour later, she was laughing into the night, howling at the moon. The instep of her left foot was pressed against Pinoccio’s fin, the right foot on the throbbing back of Yaqui, standing erect with spread legs as they blasted her forward through the night like a water-skier. They’d done this dozens of times at Discovery, Curtsy’s looks and figure quickly vaulting her into the showpiece slot for riding on dolphin beaks. But this new pose worked better for long hauls and the beasts were practically frisking with the fun of romping her across the water like a moonlit golden goddess.

They passed a small boat, very low in the water, and the people seemed very excited as she blew past, waving. Later she waved to a fisherman, who damned near fell out of his boat. They were close to shore then, she could feel it. When she could see the dark shadow of land, strung with human lights like a diadem of sparks, she looked for landmarks. And finally made out the park at Tulum, the unmistakable ruins. When she saw the lacy white break line at the reef she jumped off the backs of Guido and Bruto, almost pulling off a flip before hitting the water.

They were all around her at once, whistling and nudging. She laughed and stroked them all, slapping the guys on their melons or shoulders. “This has been so great, guys. I wish I could just take off with you, hang out forever. Come back when I’ve got my fin, okay?”

Pinoccio bumped up under urgently, but she chuckled and disengaged.

“I can’t let you take me inside the reef there guys. There are already going to be fishing boats out and they just blast around at top speed inside there. And might even shoot you.” She waggled a scolding finger, “You keep biting fish out of their nets, you’re not making any friends.”

Finally, she swam towards the reef, which was close to the surface at this low tide, getting nudged and bumped and felt up the whole way. Once her feet brushed the reef, she knew they wouldn’t follow her any further. She could make it in from here easy. Get some clothes and food and… They Came For Her!

She paddled until she hit a gnarly head underwater, found footing on it and stood up, raising her out of the water from her nipples on up. She clapped her hands and saw a dozen beaks break water, looking at her. She felt like singing them a song. She blew kisses and waved, “Good bye, dudes. And you’re welcome for all the fish.”

She made it about halfway to shore, tiring and in a dicey state of mind as she did her lazy crawl. So the panga was on top of her as soon as she heard it.

She reacted too slow, diving as deep as she could, but not deep enough to avoid the bottom skeg on the outboard motor hitting her head and grooving the scalp right down to the bone, like a plow. For the second time in eight hours she drifted in the water like a corpse; tawny naked flotsam the waves hustled towards the beach south of Tulum.

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