Spotting the Nahual in the Cozumel harbor had not been a problem. It dwarfed the other pleasure craft anchored in the roads, looking more in the league with the huge cruise ships than the dinky forty and sixty footers around it.
They’d watched the yacht most of the day with Aphra’s nifty little Swarovski binoculars, taking turns getting some sleep under the shade of the NarcoCraft’s skimpy bimini top. Lots of bodyguards and a clique of truly obnoxious younger guys drinking in the aft lounge and daring each other to jump from higher and higher locations. One idiot was trying to climb onto the helicopter while waving a bottle, but two big bodyguards dissuaded him and cut off his protests by heaving him over the side. He got a lot of applause from his chums.
Ronchel hadn’t showed up until late in the afternoon, up on the flying bridge with a big amber glass and a couple of naked bimbos. MeiMei got to watch as he got a tagteam blow job, initially slumped in the pilot’s chair, then roused to stand in the King Of The World pose for his money shot. Then he tossed one of the girls into the sea. Where she floundered around until being rescued by the entire group of slackers from the aft end. MeiMei couldn’t believe she was even thinking of setting foot on that floating orgy, but that was the plan. If you wanted to call it that.
The timing was good. They’d watched the bimbos get sent back to shore around sunset, in a launch with three bodyguards, who seemed to be jealously guarding their bodies. An hour later the jumping monkeys fired up the jetskis that had been bobbing around in the lee of the yacht and headed into town with the expected degree of whooping it up and doing Stupid Jockey Tricks on their pricey screamers.
MeiMei wanted to let things chill out aboard, but Curtsy thought it would be good to get there before the bimboguards got back, which made sense. So they hove up to the little bathing deck at the aft waterline, engines chunking and spitting due to Curtsy having stuck pins through several of the spark plug wires. And got a lot of friendly help from tough, liveried retainers as Ronchel piped them aboard practically rubbing his hands together in glee.
And if you wanted an evening glee club to drop by, it would be hard to top the duo of MeiMei and Curtsy: brushed glossy, made-up to kill, flaunting minimal bikinis and a light coat of fragrant coconut oil. It had taken about three seconds after explaining their “engine cutting out” problem to the torpedoes that looked down from the aft rails to get a warm personal invite to come on board and get sorted out. It took about ten minutes of playing Ronchel to get a personal tour of the boat. Curtsy had brought a sling bag aboard with her, which was immediately searched, revealing marine gear and the speargun. She was graciously told that they’d diligently watch her bag for her.
So here they were at last–holding generous drinks, batting their eyes outrageously, and tolerating equally outrageous pawings of whatever spilled out of the little slut suits they wore for the occasion–getting to oooo and aaaah over Ronchel’s personal collection of rare and extremely important pre-Columbian art. He was saving the other gallery–erotic sculptures ramping up from cute to sexy to totally revolting–in the adjoining cabin.
Curtsy was genuinely impressed. This stuff had to be incredibly valuable and significant. She gazed at framed sections of ancient codices on the wall, their colors kept vibrant by special filter glass that had a slight red tinge at the edge. She gawked at statuettes and pottery, all selected for beauty as well as archeological importance and sheer visual power. She stroked a jade statue of a woman giving birth to some demented little god. Holy moly, was pretty much her take; this guy is loaded and knows his shit.
MeiMei was having a hard time keeping up a front. She was recognizing piece after piece that had mysteriously dropped off the catalogues over the years. She saw two Olmec sculptures that were identical to pieces she’d personally seen in the Denver collection and at Dumberton Oaks. She had a feeling she was looking at the real thing and the museum pieces were forgeries. This Ronchel was like a cartel boss for pilfered antiquity. She delicately touched a small jade figurine he’d handed her, making sure to make salacious contact with the little thing’s huge phallus. “I just love jade,” she simpered. “It’s a legacy of my people, too, you know? You must have some very rare pieces.”
“Everything I have or do is rare,” Ronchel murmured to her. “And precious and astounding. I see you like that little Toltec guy.”
“He’d make a great tattoo,” MeiMei mused, studying the little pre-Colombo porn piece from various angles. “I’m thinking of getting one… well… somewhere kind of secret.”
“It would have to be pretty tiny to be secret in that suit,” Ronchel said suavely.
MeiMei just smiled knowingly. And, of course, maddeningly. “But what I’d really like is a skull. Do you have any, you know, ancient Aztec skulls I could look at? Maybe kind of ‘tribal’ ones?”
Ronchel, practically licking his lips, motioned her to a curtained oblong doorway. She let him squire her to it, hand resting possessively on the swell of her hips and tending to slide southward. She glanced back at Curtsy ,who was examining some white objects in a cabinet in the far corner. “Come on Kurtz,” she said, “He’s got some tribal skull art in here.”
Curtsy turned and headed to them, but her brow was furrowed, “I don’t get it. Everything in here is so special and beautiful, but those things are just hunks of rock.”
“Hunks of coral,” Ronchel told her, trying to decide which of these he should take first. The blonde was the real treasure, of course, a big mouthful of gold hairs was his guess, and maybe should be saved for desert, after plundering the chinita. On the other hand, both at once didn’t seem too far fetched. And make them do each other. Then get some of the crew in here and take videos. This was really his luck day… stuff like this just sailing up to volunteer. “They’re very special in their own way.”
He tweaked back the curtain to his inner sanctum of extra special treasures and MeiMei saw it at once, front and center in the rear, surrounded by gold and glowing onyx and more jade. There it was, just steps away. She took two steps forward. Ronchel moved up behind her and let her feel his tumescence tucked up against her flimsily-sheathed butt cheeks. “Lovely, no? Would you like to examine it more closely? That’s what we should always do with lovely things: examine them in total detail.”
She squirmed around to face him, keeping a smile on. Behind him Curtsy had her hand tucked into the band of her own bikini bottom. She spoke in a languid, bedroom voice. “It’s sure hot in here. Okay if I take my top off?”
Ronchel spun around to look at her, her tits already out on display as she strode toward him. MeiMei was ready to grab his elbows, but there was no need. Curtsy pulled her Pneu-Dart tranquilizer spearhead out of her waistband in mid-stride and plunged it right into his stomach without any pause or preamble. She held it between her fingers, tumped up against the heel of her hand, the blow piercing his abdominals just below the sternum and injecting the entire 2cc’s of sodium phenobarbital/diazepam/ketamine cocktail in the same motion.
Ronchel swung a vicious blow at her face, trying to smash his cocktail glass into her eye, but Curtsy had already danced back out of reach. He threw the glass at her, which she ducked, then looked down at the Pneu-Dart sticking out of his stomach like a banderilla out of a bull. He growled and took one step towards Curtsy, murder in his eye.
At which point MeiMei jumped up and came down on the back of his knee, kicking with all her weight to snap his kneecap down against the carpeted deck. He grabbed his knee in pain and Curtsy stepped into a powerful soccer-style kick that broke his nose and knocked him over sideways. He lay there without moving.
“Jesus, did you kill him?” MeiMei asked in an undertone.
“Afraid not,” Curtsy snapped as Ronchel emitted a gurgle that turned into a rackety snore. “He should be out for an hour.”
“Shouldn’t take that long,” MeiMei said quickly and turned back to the jade on the wall.
Curtsy alternated keeping a disdainful eye on the recumbent Ronchel and scoping the wealth festooned on the walls around her. “Hey, May, think we could get some of this gold and shit out of here? I could use the payday.”
MeiMei turned as she pulled her camera out from where she’d clipped it to her brastrap, under the cascade of her thick hair, and scowled, “We’re not stealing antiquities, Kurtz.”
“Well, just the ones you want,” Curtsy pouted. But the more she thought about it, she couldn’t see how she’d unload a zillion year-old tomb treasure. Probably just land in prison.
MeiMei had swung the frame out from the wall on a concealed hinge. She could see alarm wires and hoped they could be dealt with, but mostly busied herself getting shots of the rear side of the plaque. It was like Puch had said, a skull with an actual cartoon balloon full of glyphs. She used the manual over-ride to get a bracket of several exposures, the lens already capped with a macro attachment to allow focus from eight inches out. She turned to Curtsy to ask what she thought about hacking the alarm… just in time to see Ronchel rise unsteadily to his feet behind her. He was holding a remote in one hand and she could hear feet pounding into the room outside the curtain. Limping slightly, dripping blood from his nose, he glared at the two intruders and rasped out, “You fucking cunts are going to die in agony for this.”