CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

About the time, that the children were attacking Lady M, the contestants of the Regetta were getting ready for their final stop towards Los Angles. Once there, they would spent two days getting rested and getting their pictures taken as well as news coverage.

About sixty to one hundred boats were in the Pacific, white sails, red, blue, brown, yellow boats with names such as The Endeavor, Carman's Wave, Santa Cruz, Dog's Breakfast, Looting Sunset — any names that a man could think of. They came from as far north as Alaska and as far south as Central America, but their destination was Mexico, that is, the ten best who would race down there from Los Angeles.

On the shore, the cameras and the newscasters were ready, the reporter had his mini tape recorder, the representatives from the major networks had their trucks ready, although, it was doubtful they would show more than a six-second video and then that only for the local San Pedro news. There were so many races from Los Angeles, it was becoming common knowledge as witnessed by the lack of crowds watching. San Pedro being a bedroom community for either Los Angeles or San Bernardino lacked the large young crowd that would mob the docks. A great percentage of the population was probably driving down to the major cities and this is why Wyneth choose this town in the first place. Most of the people he saw on shore were over fifty except for the media and women with small children.

Sure that he would win, Wyneth put on his sailor's cap, making a good impression on the three men and the redhead he hired on as crew.

The crew he hired came highly recommended. Sure, it was not as large as the others, just three, but they had lived most of their life on the sea. In fact, the parents of two of them had lived on a houseboat, and the other one once had an uncle in the Coast Guard.

All three had, however, small run-ins with the law. One of the two males had smoked pot, quite extensively, and the other had stolen a car, and killed a mother and two kids while under the influence. Fortunately, for him, it was in a state that had a forgivable first offence. The state had since changed its law. Unfortunately, for him, the civil courts were not as forgiving so he had to quit college and pay back at least five hundred thousand dollars in damages. He was now trying to gain some extra money by working as a crew on Wyneth's yacht.

The female member of the crew had modeled in one of those skin flicks. That was ten years ago when she was underage and Wyneth knew that if she suspected anything about him, he would threatened to expose her seamy past.

"We're going to win this one," she said.

"You must be a prophet. How do you know?"

She walked around the deck, looking up at the sails, and inspected the outboard motor. "At least a three horsepower engine, an extra tank of white gas, the right number of lifejackets, a good food supply, plus all the beer to keep me happy."

"So who's the competition?"

She pointed to the starboard side. "See that one? The Ventura from Mexico, that's the Grand Lady from Los Angeles, Tracking Don from Vancouver Canada."

"And who has the best chance of winning?"

"Besides you? The Ventura. I heard it's owned by this movie mogul, but," She bent down and whispered. "I heard they're making a film so that disqualifies them."

"Say when do we reach Los Angeles?" asked one of the other crew, a blonde Californian type.

"Yes Jennie, quit flirting with the captain and get down to business," said other man whose hair matched hers.

"Just ignore my brother," said Jennie to Ken, "He's a loser."

The wind was starting to rise. They should reach Los Angeles ahead of the others, but Ken noticed the Ventura was not making a move. "What's up with them?"

"Trouble a shore. Half the crew's got into some sort of altercation," said Jennie's brother.

"Look Ben, I don't give a rat's ass about this movie mogul. I'm, I mean, we're going to win and I want to have a good rest in Los Angeles so we can start the final run without dozing off!"

Ben retorted with some rather imaginative language and then went back to wheeling in the anchor. "Looks like they've got a spare crew."

Sure enough, a small rowboat pulled up to the Ventura and three men got aboard. A few minutes later, the whistle blew and they were off.