Chapter 5: Cowboy in the Jungle
Thanks: To Sarah, for the Title.
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Dick's sudden exit surprises me. Not that I question it. I'm facing the iron grill that passes for a window, and see nothing, but he must have a reason. I throw some bills on the table and follow.
I reach the street just in time to see our ride pulling away - with Dick on the rear bumper. I tap my wrist knife. Damn, can't risk a throw with him there. Not that it would do much good against those tires.
Nothing to do but watch as Dick vaults over the car roof to land on the windshield. Good leap, but if the thief's armed....? Apparently not. Dick spins around for a double kick straight through the driver's window. My view is blocked by luggage, but it must connect, because suddenly the car is headed for the police station wall.
A bad speed for impact. Will l he have room to take control before.....ScreeeThrrummmp. Someone must have hit the breaks, because the car skids to a stop. Just not soon enough. I catch up with the rear fender seconds after the hood bangs into the adobe.
"Dick?" I try to keep my concern out of my voice. Dick hates it when I 'hover'.
"It's cool." He leaps out of the passenger side door, not even winded from the 'fight'. The would-be thief tumbles to the dirt behind him.
Naturally, the noise and impact have emptied the station of its retinue of cops, and it is a bit of a wild scene before Dick gets thing straightened out.
Dick steps over the fallen foe, holding out his hand. "Oficial?"
"Jose Martin Lopez, el Jefe de la Policia para San Dimas." The man is understandably concerned, but willing to listen.
"Soy Oficial Grayson, BHPD." Dick pulls the badge folder from his pocket.
The sight of Dick's badge brings a round of back slaps and handshakes. Clearly their fellow-officer is the hero today.
"Este vehivulo pertenece a Sr. Wayne." Dick points to me as I try to look like the victim. "El y Senorita Lance y yo mismo Le manejan a Profesor Jones al rio a la ayuda el con su inspeccion de pajaros nativos." Birds? I thought we were counting fish? Close enough. "Yo no se por que este hombre tratado a la campana lejos consigo." No idea. That's the important part.
The Police Chief addresses me in careful English. "This is a rough area, Sr. Wayne. Many foreigners and speculators come to make their fortune. Not all of them are honest."
Foreigner? The man on the ground looks very local to my eyes. Strong Indian features. 'City' clothes. He could be from any of the 'modern' mountain tribes.
The Chief continues, "You are wise to hire a man like Officer Grayson to defend you and your lady friend."
That's the second time I've been told that in as many hours. Not that I would object - in theory. I agree, then turn the conversation to more useful ground. "Is this man a know felon?"
Chief Lopez waves off the question. "I am sure when we call Santa Lucia we will find that he has a record. Such men usually do."
An answer which is no answer, but about all a tourist can insist upon. Still, two attempted robberies of American tourists in a few days may indicate a problem that didn't appear in the national crime statistics. Best have Oracle check up on whether crime is suddenly up, or overall reporting has been down.
While his boss is chatting, one of the burlier policemen hoists the driver over one shoulder and carted him of into custody. I leave them to it, and concentrate on our ride. Intact, I think, except for where the front fender has punctured a tire. We have a spare. I'd prefer a replacement.
Dr. Jones has strolled up. With his help I shift the front grill away from the wall. The Chief notices, snaps an order, and our efforts are replaced by four of the local men. Another unlatches the spare from the back. While they change the tire, I call Oracle to see about a replacement. Pueblo Molino, just twenty miles down the road.
Normally in South America an incident like this would mean a delay of days. Not today. Chief Lopez takes Dick's number and promises to call if they have any questions, and that is it. Grayson charisma strikes again. The waitress even packs up his desert, so he can eat it on the road.
Dinah takes the wheel so Dick can 'recover' from the excitement. Bull. It's just an excuse to let him finish his desert. It's a clear road, so I give Jones the front seat. After all, I didn't get desert either. So I'll help myself to some of Dick's.
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Pueblo Molino is the headquarters for a major timber plantation. Lucius has been suggesting we invest in farmed woods. I'm still looking into the ecological implications, but it might be a good idea. Wood products have a hot future. The lumbermen use hum-vee's for back-country work. The head mechanic has several spare tires and swears he is delighted to give us one. Fortunately Sr. Arturo Gomez is out of town, so we don't have to waste too much time on formalities.
That is rather a surprise, given the effort Gomez's secretary put in last week trying to set up a meeting during this trip. Arturo Gomez really is determined to expand his influence in this area, and he clearly sees a strategic alliance between his roads and WayneTech phones as a way to do that. Because, given control of the flow of both goods and information? I shake my head. Not in our interests to back an outsider for that much power. Still, knowing what Gomez has to gain, I am rather surprised that any other needs could pull him away. After another moments thought, I amend that to pleasantly surprised.
Martin Juarez, the plantation manager, greets us instead. A amiable enough man. We have coffee with him while his men replace our tire. The manager warns me against river pirates. Even here the news of the theft is making his workers nervous . Intelligent man, if a bit provincial. I'll keep Juarez in mind.
Juarez offers us a tour of the plant while the tire is found. The others accept, but I decline. I have several messages on the machine, and this may be my last clear chance to contact the home office. His secretary shows me an office. Lucius has paged me on some operations, and he want's signatures before I disappear for a week. That's fine. I download the documents , sign them, and fax them back. Hopefully that will take care of things until I get back.
I catch up with the others at the end of their tour.
Dick has hit it off with the lumber boss, and we have an invitation to a baptisism on the way back. Sounds like fun. There's a good chance we'll make it. Just in case, I'll have Shondra express our a suitable baby present. Maybe one of those cute little dresses? Shondra can call Salamanca to check on the local standards.
The lumber boss also gives us a better map of the timber roads, which are constantly being recut as the operation moves, and he introduces a local man as a guide. Rafael Zac is going to a settlement near San Tomas anyway, so he's glad of the ride. It also mean he has a motivation for getting us there. His sisters wedding. Raf was out in the brush when his cousin Tomas caught a ride with the previous vehicle through here. Big horse trailer belonging to our robbery-prone fellow tourist. Seems Mr. Walker not only insists on playing trail-ride through the rain forest, he has to bring in his own steed. And his dog. Nouveau riche twit.
Dick takes the wheel. I lean back for a nap. This will be a long day before we reach the river, and I am not certain of our welcome.
By six o'clock enter Ciudad de la Selva. Not much here beyond storehouses for the local coffee and bananas. We buy gas at the general store, and give up on dinner. We have food in the truck. Given the local options, a cold supper will have to suffice.
There is farm truck headed up to Poco Selva. That mean we lose our guide. Fortunately the river is a popular destination, so we pick up another. Vouched for by the first. Also fortunately ours is a large vehicle. I'm not sure I'd cherish the smell of our company. The man himself is not bad, but the pig he brings with him ?
He's headed for the village of San Thomas, perhaps forty mile further in. Two days walk or two hours as a drive. About the last spot of 'civilization' before the river. One of his sisters is getting married, and the pig is a wedding present. Well, at least it's not a pet. I remember one party in Metropolis where one of those beasts got a seat at the table. When this one joins the table, it will be on a platter. That's something.
We reach San Tomas about an hour before sunset - which gives us a good excuse to decline the mayor's hospitality. If it had been our passenger I might have been persuaded. The wedding party sounded like fun, and after two hours in close quarters I do have a wish to see that pig roasted. But the wedding is four days away, and we have only two weeks. So we leave a bottle of the local liquor as a gift for the bride and make our excuses.
From there its a straight shot to the river. Relatively speaking.
Half an hour down the road we arrive at Porto Chakpac. A twist in the rivers edge marked by four huts, an open 'warehouse', and a pier. A nothing, but a nothing with a bar. The sound of our vehicle draws our welcoming committee from the local 'cantina'. In this case, that means a shed just strong enough to keep the wharf rats from strolling in and stealing it bare. They would have to be sober enough to pry up a window, and from the look of them that's a rare occurrence. The proprietor smiles, but I'm glad we're armed. Fortunately, we won't have to stay here long.
Our transport is waiting.
The Amoza River Queen.
END CHAPTER FIVE
With repeated thanks to nikoru-chan, who sent FB again. I have two reader, but that's OK. They are good readers.
Thanks: To Sarah, for the Title.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Dick's sudden exit surprises me. Not that I question it. I'm facing the iron grill that passes for a window, and see nothing, but he must have a reason. I throw some bills on the table and follow.
I reach the street just in time to see our ride pulling away - with Dick on the rear bumper. I tap my wrist knife. Damn, can't risk a throw with him there. Not that it would do much good against those tires.
Nothing to do but watch as Dick vaults over the car roof to land on the windshield. Good leap, but if the thief's armed....? Apparently not. Dick spins around for a double kick straight through the driver's window. My view is blocked by luggage, but it must connect, because suddenly the car is headed for the police station wall.
A bad speed for impact. Will l he have room to take control before.....ScreeeThrrummmp. Someone must have hit the breaks, because the car skids to a stop. Just not soon enough. I catch up with the rear fender seconds after the hood bangs into the adobe.
"Dick?" I try to keep my concern out of my voice. Dick hates it when I 'hover'.
"It's cool." He leaps out of the passenger side door, not even winded from the 'fight'. The would-be thief tumbles to the dirt behind him.
Naturally, the noise and impact have emptied the station of its retinue of cops, and it is a bit of a wild scene before Dick gets thing straightened out.
Dick steps over the fallen foe, holding out his hand. "Oficial?"
"Jose Martin Lopez, el Jefe de la Policia para San Dimas." The man is understandably concerned, but willing to listen.
"Soy Oficial Grayson, BHPD." Dick pulls the badge folder from his pocket.
The sight of Dick's badge brings a round of back slaps and handshakes. Clearly their fellow-officer is the hero today.
"Este vehivulo pertenece a Sr. Wayne." Dick points to me as I try to look like the victim. "El y Senorita Lance y yo mismo Le manejan a Profesor Jones al rio a la ayuda el con su inspeccion de pajaros nativos." Birds? I thought we were counting fish? Close enough. "Yo no se por que este hombre tratado a la campana lejos consigo." No idea. That's the important part.
The Police Chief addresses me in careful English. "This is a rough area, Sr. Wayne. Many foreigners and speculators come to make their fortune. Not all of them are honest."
Foreigner? The man on the ground looks very local to my eyes. Strong Indian features. 'City' clothes. He could be from any of the 'modern' mountain tribes.
The Chief continues, "You are wise to hire a man like Officer Grayson to defend you and your lady friend."
That's the second time I've been told that in as many hours. Not that I would object - in theory. I agree, then turn the conversation to more useful ground. "Is this man a know felon?"
Chief Lopez waves off the question. "I am sure when we call Santa Lucia we will find that he has a record. Such men usually do."
An answer which is no answer, but about all a tourist can insist upon. Still, two attempted robberies of American tourists in a few days may indicate a problem that didn't appear in the national crime statistics. Best have Oracle check up on whether crime is suddenly up, or overall reporting has been down.
While his boss is chatting, one of the burlier policemen hoists the driver over one shoulder and carted him of into custody. I leave them to it, and concentrate on our ride. Intact, I think, except for where the front fender has punctured a tire. We have a spare. I'd prefer a replacement.
Dr. Jones has strolled up. With his help I shift the front grill away from the wall. The Chief notices, snaps an order, and our efforts are replaced by four of the local men. Another unlatches the spare from the back. While they change the tire, I call Oracle to see about a replacement. Pueblo Molino, just twenty miles down the road.
Normally in South America an incident like this would mean a delay of days. Not today. Chief Lopez takes Dick's number and promises to call if they have any questions, and that is it. Grayson charisma strikes again. The waitress even packs up his desert, so he can eat it on the road.
Dinah takes the wheel so Dick can 'recover' from the excitement. Bull. It's just an excuse to let him finish his desert. It's a clear road, so I give Jones the front seat. After all, I didn't get desert either. So I'll help myself to some of Dick's.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Pueblo Molino is the headquarters for a major timber plantation. Lucius has been suggesting we invest in farmed woods. I'm still looking into the ecological implications, but it might be a good idea. Wood products have a hot future. The lumbermen use hum-vee's for back-country work. The head mechanic has several spare tires and swears he is delighted to give us one. Fortunately Sr. Arturo Gomez is out of town, so we don't have to waste too much time on formalities.
That is rather a surprise, given the effort Gomez's secretary put in last week trying to set up a meeting during this trip. Arturo Gomez really is determined to expand his influence in this area, and he clearly sees a strategic alliance between his roads and WayneTech phones as a way to do that. Because, given control of the flow of both goods and information? I shake my head. Not in our interests to back an outsider for that much power. Still, knowing what Gomez has to gain, I am rather surprised that any other needs could pull him away. After another moments thought, I amend that to pleasantly surprised.
Martin Juarez, the plantation manager, greets us instead. A amiable enough man. We have coffee with him while his men replace our tire. The manager warns me against river pirates. Even here the news of the theft is making his workers nervous . Intelligent man, if a bit provincial. I'll keep Juarez in mind.
Juarez offers us a tour of the plant while the tire is found. The others accept, but I decline. I have several messages on the machine, and this may be my last clear chance to contact the home office. His secretary shows me an office. Lucius has paged me on some operations, and he want's signatures before I disappear for a week. That's fine. I download the documents , sign them, and fax them back. Hopefully that will take care of things until I get back.
I catch up with the others at the end of their tour.
Dick has hit it off with the lumber boss, and we have an invitation to a baptisism on the way back. Sounds like fun. There's a good chance we'll make it. Just in case, I'll have Shondra express our a suitable baby present. Maybe one of those cute little dresses? Shondra can call Salamanca to check on the local standards.
The lumber boss also gives us a better map of the timber roads, which are constantly being recut as the operation moves, and he introduces a local man as a guide. Rafael Zac is going to a settlement near San Tomas anyway, so he's glad of the ride. It also mean he has a motivation for getting us there. His sisters wedding. Raf was out in the brush when his cousin Tomas caught a ride with the previous vehicle through here. Big horse trailer belonging to our robbery-prone fellow tourist. Seems Mr. Walker not only insists on playing trail-ride through the rain forest, he has to bring in his own steed. And his dog. Nouveau riche twit.
Dick takes the wheel. I lean back for a nap. This will be a long day before we reach the river, and I am not certain of our welcome.
By six o'clock enter Ciudad de la Selva. Not much here beyond storehouses for the local coffee and bananas. We buy gas at the general store, and give up on dinner. We have food in the truck. Given the local options, a cold supper will have to suffice.
There is farm truck headed up to Poco Selva. That mean we lose our guide. Fortunately the river is a popular destination, so we pick up another. Vouched for by the first. Also fortunately ours is a large vehicle. I'm not sure I'd cherish the smell of our company. The man himself is not bad, but the pig he brings with him ?
He's headed for the village of San Thomas, perhaps forty mile further in. Two days walk or two hours as a drive. About the last spot of 'civilization' before the river. One of his sisters is getting married, and the pig is a wedding present. Well, at least it's not a pet. I remember one party in Metropolis where one of those beasts got a seat at the table. When this one joins the table, it will be on a platter. That's something.
We reach San Tomas about an hour before sunset - which gives us a good excuse to decline the mayor's hospitality. If it had been our passenger I might have been persuaded. The wedding party sounded like fun, and after two hours in close quarters I do have a wish to see that pig roasted. But the wedding is four days away, and we have only two weeks. So we leave a bottle of the local liquor as a gift for the bride and make our excuses.
From there its a straight shot to the river. Relatively speaking.
Half an hour down the road we arrive at Porto Chakpac. A twist in the rivers edge marked by four huts, an open 'warehouse', and a pier. A nothing, but a nothing with a bar. The sound of our vehicle draws our welcoming committee from the local 'cantina'. In this case, that means a shed just strong enough to keep the wharf rats from strolling in and stealing it bare. They would have to be sober enough to pry up a window, and from the look of them that's a rare occurrence. The proprietor smiles, but I'm glad we're armed. Fortunately, we won't have to stay here long.
Our transport is waiting.
The Amoza River Queen.
END CHAPTER FIVE
With repeated thanks to nikoru-chan, who sent FB again. I have two reader, but that's OK. They are good readers.