Friday night in Las Tinajas, nothing on T.V., Barbara in Tahoe visiting her mother so I jumped on the quad, bumped over to The Laughing Gull on the
beach. The resort was closed but the bar was open. I didn’t expect to find many people there because it’s been slow for weeks now in East Cape.
Just the bartender Saul and two couples were trying to make the most of a quiet night on the beach. As I sat down at the bar, the two couples got up,
left some money on the table and walked out chatting and laughing. So it was just me and Saul. That’s Sa – ool for all you gringos. I’ve known him a
long time but not well. He was a fisherman around here for years and when the fishing went south he was lucky to be well-connected with the owners of
the resort, snagged the bartender’s job. Saul can handle most of the simple c-cktails but you’d be in trouble if you ordered a Mai Tai or a Seabreeze
– can’t expect a fisherman to know everything.
He does know the lingo – over the years, working the charters and now bartending he speaks some English slang you would only expect to hear spoken by
Mexicans who had lived in the states. We get along pretty well because most gringos who Saul meets are just weekend fishermen, not guys like me who
fish for money. He knows I worked the shrimpers out of Galveston, charters all over the Florida coast, Cabo cruisers and Newport dayboats before I
settled down here in semi-retirement.
This was one of those Miami nights. That’s what I call 70% humidity, 90 degrees, no breeze to blow away the Jejenes. Saul had the fan behind him, I
had nothing but the overhead. Back at the house on nights like these when I don’t want to run the air, keep the electrical cost down I just wear my
shorts and T shirt, get under the outdoor shower, sit out on the front patio facing the ocean and with cold beer and good music try to summon up a
breeze of some kind.
The Gull is one of those round, thatched roof jobs poolside right on the beach. Gringos love the Zalate roots curling up around the tree-trunk columns
that support the little open hut. Beer is still under three bucks, they don’t play the music too loud and the shade, soft lighting makes the place
look tropical and inviting. Saul’s smiling face completes the invitation. I guess he’s about my age, mid to late fifties but it’s hard to tell. This
night he sported a butterfly bandage on his left eyebrow; the kind you use instead of sutures. I pushed my empty beer glass his way as a signal to
pour another and made the All-American mistake of opening a can of worms.
“Saul, what’s with the butterfly.”
At first he just looked puzzled, kind of looked around the bar.
“The bandage. It’s called a butterfly.”
“Oh, lo vendaje. I left my cell in the kitchen, Rosa picked it up before I could get in there. It was Carmelita in La Paz. They got into it, Rosa got
mad, I got this. I went over there to the clinic to have somebody sew me up, stop the bleeding but the P-nche medico got me for 200 pesos for this
little piece of tape.”
I pulled my tank top over my shoulder, turned toward Saul and said “Here’s my old mark I got from one too many women at the same time. Marlinspike
don’t make a big hole but it cuts deep. Was sore for weeks. So I wouldn’t forget, I guess.”
He put down the glass he was washing, pulled up his T shirt. “This little pez vela, sailfish, stabbed me good here under the arm. I released her
after I called her mother some names.”
I held up my left hand where I’m missing my pinky and the top joint of the next finger. “Line on a net winch on a cameronera out of Port La Vaca,
Texas.”
Saul turned his back to me, pulled up his shirt again. “c-ckfights in Santiago. Drugged up gallero loser stabbed me and the juez with the long spurs.
Seven or eight years ago. I think he’s still in the cereso. Not a deep cut but lots of stitches on that one.”
I got off the stool, stepped back a bit turned and pulled down the back of my shorts a about 4 or 5 inches. “Guy from Oregon gaffed me good by
accident bringing in a big blue at the Gordo Banks…”
Just then two young men walked in at the exact wrong moment, started laughing at my antics. One of them said “Who you flashin’ pops?”
As they sat down I walked to their table. “We were playing scars. You guys don’t look like you could play. Not your fault. You’re both young and
probably work in little cubicles where scars would be hard to come by.”
They weren’t longhairs, one was tall and blond and thin, the other even taller sported a big belly and beefy arms, hands and all that goes with that
bulk.
Burly boy sneered at me. “Old man, you better go find another place to play before you get some more scars to play with.”
Saul heard it and picked up the cell phone next to the beer cooler.
“Saul here likes things tranquil when he works. He’s calling the cops. There’s been some armed robberies around here lately. Two gabachos with guns
held up a Pemex at El Cien, a Tienda Popular in Miraflores.”
Saul stopped talking on the phone, motioned me over handed me the cell. “It’s the Commandante. He wants to talk to you.” I said to burly and lanky and
put the cell on the table.
The burly one just sneered some more as he picked up the phone, held it to his ear. “This another joke old man? Hello.”
Pretty soon his smile faded, he threw the phone down and moved off toward the door with his pal right behind. “Screw you. Both of you.”
I picked the phone up. I knew who it was – Saul’s brother Aldo on the boat. “Hey, it’s Ray, what did you say to that guy?” I asked him while I walked
to the bar and sat back down.
“I told him he was under arrest. I told him to put his hands behind his head and lie down on the floor.”
I repeated it to Saul, handed him the phone while we both started laughing. He said “Aldo, maybe you should see about a job with the policia. You
ain’t making any money on that boat now and you owe me mucho. Why don’t you jump in the dingy and come to the bar to play scars with us.”
“Scars, what the hell is scars?”
“Ven, the bar is buying. We will teach you.”elgatoloco - 2-17-2009 at 01:18 PM
Kell-Baja - 2-17-2009 at 01:46 PM
Thanks for the laugh.Paulina - 2-17-2009 at 02:30 PM
thank you
P<*)))>{Packoderm - 2-17-2009 at 03:11 PM
It sounds like Burly boy interpreted you accusation of his sheltered lifestyle as a deficiency of machismo. I imagine he believed he was right to
challenge you. At that point, I would have liked to just challenge him to arm wrestle and bought him and his friend a round if he won - or even buy
them a round if he lost as well.Hook - 2-17-2009 at 03:16 PM
Newport Landing or Davey's?Osprey - 2-17-2009 at 03:27 PM
All fiction Hook. pac -- I first planned to have Ray and the barkeep buy the new guys drinks if only they showed any sign of friendship. It was unfair
of Ray to use the cubicle remark. Ray drinks too much.Packoderm - 2-17-2009 at 03:56 PM
Quote:
Originally posted by Osprey
All fiction Hook. pac -- I first planned to have Ray and the barkeep buy the new guys drinks if only they showed any sign of friendship. It was unfair
of Ray to use the cubicle remark. Ray drinks too much.
Well then why didn't you kick his butt?baitcast - 2-17-2009 at 04:14 PM
: good
story
RobTimo1 - 2-17-2009 at 04:26 PM
Thanks
I needed thatwrybread - 2-17-2009 at 07:24 PM
Good story, great writing. But you do realize that you came off as the aggressor, at least to me? And furthermore, you're a) calling them wimps, while
at the same time b) calling the cops on them, which is always sort of the purvey of the pussy, especially when done without very good reason....
I know you didn't really call the cops, but still you're claiming tough guy status with the threat of cops. Sort of what someone who worked in a
cubicle would do, no?
I'm just sayin.
Still a good story though.
Maybe I'm just cranky because you're talking about "miami nights" while I'm up in San Francisco where its cold and rainy.N2Baja - 2-17-2009 at 07:36 PM
Great story!Osprey - 2-17-2009 at 08:32 PM
Bread, good comments. Now I'm a little drunk cause it's late here near the Tropic of Cancer. It is warm though and I can hear the surf and the see the
stars. It is 72% right now with a nice breeze.
You are very right about the story. The heros were not heros, the villains were just average Joes. In the boxing ring what you and I did is called
"falling in" -- not staying far enough back to see what's coming. You were better this time than I was. Hope you'll read more of my silly stuff.wrybread - 2-17-2009 at 09:02 PM
Ha, and good points all around.
I could use a beer myself, especially a beer that has the advantage of being located somewhere near that Tropic of Cancer...
