Jamaican Wedding Part V

Macho Man’s woman, who I would later learn was named Karla, bopped DB over the head with her oversized purse when he tried to explain what had gone down in the cavern. DB eventually was able to subdue her by having the Captain sit on her oversized chest--a duty the Captain was more than willing to fulfill—and by plying her with a half dozen extra large souvenir cup size margaritas. In the meantime Macho Man and I made a hasty escape through the kitchen exit.

Our first line of business was to purchase Macho Man a new pair of swim trunks. So, we traveled up the road to the infamous Cigar and liquor emporium run by one slightly creepy Mr. Chin. The thin Jamaican followed us around his shop, never more than two or three inches away from us. I guessed he’d never heard of personal space or perhaps that the Jamaican equivalent was somewhat more intimate. Whatever the case, his close proximity amplified his rather poor choice of colognes and several times I was forced to held up T-shirts as if I were considering buying them to create a barrier between us.

* * *

As Macho Man looked at a rack of shorts I became curious as to how he’d gotten his own distasteful pair back. “So, how did you get those shorts back? I thought they’d been lost at sea.”

“Back ups. I have about eight pairs. Karla carries them in her purse.”

“Why do you need so many?” I said.

“Blowouts.”

“Right,” I said. “Did you ever just consider wearing something with a little bit more material?

“Why?”

“Never mind.”

We procured the swim trunks, a dozen Cuban cigars, 3 bottles of rum, four tins of margarita mix, and several other substances that weren’t technically legal. Mr. Chin was more than helpful in providing us with all things that make a good bender possible and through some creative labeling charged everything to my American Express card.

* * *

I knew that Mr. Timball and his goons would be waiting for us outside Margaritaville. This is where the taxis and buses gathered to cart tourists back and forth from the hotels and resorts. Taking this avenue would leave us too vulnerable. We would need to find an alternate route. And so for over an hour we searched and were finally able to find a local fisherman that was willing to take us back to the resort on his boat for a small fee. The catch was that he would have to check his traps on the way which would greatly lengthen the trip. We agreed and before we left Macho Man sneaked on Mr. Timball’s boat and disabled the engine. We didn’t need a surprise attack by sea.

As we headed out to sea, the outboard motor gurgling, the fisherman cut the tops of several water bottles with his knife. I noticed a good deal of fish scales accumulated on the blade of the rusty knife but figured the alcohol we were about to pour into the makeshift cups would kill any pathogens.

Macho Man had wanted to hoof it back to the resort but I changed his mind when I told him he could do pushups on his knuckles across the width of the boat. This appealed to the Dirty Harry center of his brain and as soon as we boarded the wooden vessel he began his workout.

“Why did you try to shoot me with the spear gun?” Macho Man asked, in between push-ups.

I sipped from my margarita, stalling, trying to think of a good excuse. “Uh, well, I the truth is I didn’t try to shoot you.”

“You mean it was an accident?”

“That’s right.”

The fisherman pushed the dreadlocks out of his eyes and then drank from his margarita. “You shot him, mon?”

“No, I shot his shorts off.”

“You shot his shorts off?”

“Yeah, with my spear gun.”

Macho Man collapsed on the boat. “Two-hundred and seventy.”

“Great, you win a fish.” I grabbed a recently caught fish and tossed it onto Macho Man. He screamed like a seven year old girl. “Wow, that really wasn’t very macho.”

Macho Man stood up in the boat. “You threw a dirty fish on me.”

In the distance I could see a boat fast approaching. The fisherman stood and using his hand as a visor looked in the direction of the boat. “The Lou Lou?”

Macho Man hunkered down in the boat. “That’s Timball’s boat. It’s impossible. I really fucked up that engine.”

“Well, obviously you didn’t fuck it up enough. We need to get lost. Follow me.” I slipped over the side of the boat and Macho Man followed. We kept our heads below the side of the boat. Timball was approaching from the east and so with any luck he wouldn’t see us on the west side of the boat. I know it sucked as a plan but we were out of options.

A minute or so later the engine of the Lou Lou became audible and then shortly thereafter I heard the voice of Timball. “Hi, there. How is the fishing today?”

“Not bad, mon,” the fisherman said.

“Good, I was wondering if you happened to see two men. One of them was dressed in a very tight pair of Euroshorts. The other one had a shave head. They’re friends of mine.”

“No, I didn’t see them.”

“Well, my associate here thought he saw them get on your boat.”

“You sure he’s not smoking some of the good stuff, mon?”

“Ha, ha, he just might have been. Well, if you see them around let them know that we’ve got DB, the Captain and Claude. They’re staying in my home until further notice.”

We waited until the fisherman gave us the signal to get back on the boat and then climbed back aboard. I could feel my skin starting to blister. My sunblock was wearing off and I was becoming dangerously dehydrated from all the liquor I’d consumed.

I dipped my towel in the water and wrapped it around my head like a turban. “We need to save my friends. DB is supposed to get married tomorrow. Summer will never forgive me if he doesn’t make it to his own wedding.”

“He’ll make it to his wedding,” Macho Man said. “Didn’t you say this Luch character had the DVD?”

“Well, I gave it to him. What he did with it I’m not sure.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t have it on him because if Timball finds it on him he’ll kill them.”

“All this happened because I shot your shorts off. What if he doesn’t find the DVD on them?”

“He’ll kill them anyway.”

“Right,” I said.

I took us two hours to get back to the resort because the fisherman got drunk on margaritas with Macho Man and I and ran his boat up on a reef. It took us quite a while to work our way off. When we arrived at the resort I found Summer pacing frantically back and forth in the lobby.

“Hey, there,” I said.

“DB is gone. He said he was going to look at real estate with this weird guy. I think something is wrong.”

“Oh, no I know that guy. He’s a real estate developer. DB was thinking of purchasing a lot down here.”

“Really?”

“Oops, maybe I said too much. Maybe that was supposed to be a wedding gift.”

Summer hopped up in delight. “That would be awesome. I have to go tell my mom.”

“Right,” said.

She darted off up to her room.

Macho man sniggered. “Now you’ve really done it.”

“Why don’t you go do some push-ups or something,” I said. "I need to think of a plan to get those guys back."