Desperado Dale (Scenic Route to Paradise) Read Online Free Page B

Dale from panicking, but no. Jerking his head around, even as
his feet pressed forward to sprint into the slow airport traffic, Dale saw that
the man wasn’t shouting at him. His eyes travel rapidly to the guards but only
one was looking through the now open doors and he wasn’t looking at Dale; not
until a horn honked and the brakes screeched as Dale stepped from the curb.
    The pale bag went flying from Dale’s grip as the
front bumper caught it. The car missed Dale by inches, stopping just before the
driver’s side mirror came in contact with his right hand which extended beyond
Dale’s torso. In fact, Dale grabbed the mirror to keep himself from toppling
backward.
    Through the open window, the youth behind the
steering wheel was cursing in Greek but a sincere concern shown in his face for
what might have been a bloody, bone snapping accident.
    Looking behind, Dale saw the observant guard
pressing forward. Without forethought, Dale asked hurriedly, “Speak English?”
When the young man quieted, Dale repeated the question in Greek.
    The driver’s eyes went wide and he nodded. Now
the guard was screaming at the traffic as he picked up the contents of Bean’s
bag spilled across two lanes.
    “I’m in a real fix. I need to get out of here quick.
Tell the guard something... anything! And I need a lift beyond the airport
vicinity, pronto!”
       
   
     
     
    Chapter 5  Zeff    
    West and south of Dale Merriweather’s coordinates, just off the coast of
western Morocco , Zeff came above decks,
adjusting his green eyes to the sunlight to find Mac. The sea was choppy. The
sun was setting. A hot wind blew upon the Serendipity . “What’s this
about swinging wide of the Canary Islands ?” He asked Captain Mac after running his
fingers through the tangle of his ebony colored hair as was a typical gesture
when Zeff was frustrated with life.
    Zeff had seriously thought of reconnecting with
his parents at the planned stop. There had been the makings of a family rift
that was finalized when Zeff was beat up and thrown into the Puerto Vallarta Bay - left for dead back in
May. Mac had fished him from the Mexican waters and Zeff had been traveling
with Mac as a crew member ever since.
       
Initially, Zeff assumed in his drunken stupor, he was easy prey to a gang
looking for mischief. Furthermore, because of the heated argument earlier that
same day with his father - Zeff had decided to wait to call his family back in Mexico City , to reassure them of
his safety and whereabouts. It was later, maybe a month or more after Zeff had
reworked warning laced hints dropped by his older brother in the weeks before
his mishap when he concluded that his supposed death was a possible assassination
attempt by his family’s business associates.    
It had been wise not to call home Zeff decided but now... after the loss of
face he experienced leaving St Helena and Kate Merriweather behind, Zeff wanted
to return to the familiar: Mexico and family. But if the Serendipity didn’t stop for a few days as planned, Zeff would need to wait to call Mama.
Zeff stood hanging onto the handrails. His thick shouldered physique tensed in
the rough Atlantic waters as he waited for Mac’s response.    
“Step lively! Junior, step lively,” Mac called toward the bow getting the
desired reaction from the teen. He turned his attention to Zeff.
    Mac, tall and slim having thick black hair cut
short. Both men were tan from the months at sea. Mac’s brown eyes looked black
compared to the unusual bright green of Zeff’s, although the men’s eyes were
presently screened behind the darkest of sunglasses.
    Mac said, “That’s right. We don’t need to stop
although I usually do when returning home to D’Almata but this trip has had
many exceptions and swinging wide of the isles will be just one more.” He then
asked with a sigh, “Why? What’s up?”
    With his heavy Spanish accent, Zeff told him
that he had been thinking of calling