Carats and Coconuts

by Scott, D. D.

  “Well played, Plum Puddin’.”

  His eyes may have been twinkling from the reflection of the citronella torches lining the walkway to the lodge’s front door, but I knew they were also shining from the inside out.

  I’d never been more sure of anything in my life. With Roman, at least, there were no more questions.

  I loved him more than anything, and I knew that love would be reciprocated.

  He brushed his lips against mine, holding the kiss just long enough for me to feel it in my toes…long enough for it to capture my heart forever.

  “But here’s the thing…I love you more,” he said, then settled back into his chair and returned to his own thoughts as I returned to mine.

  This time, though, our thoughts were bound to be much more pleasant.

  At least for a little while.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Not a creature is stirring. Mousetraps, folks. Mousetraps,” I heard Grams whispering into one of our two-way radios while seated in the backseat of our Jeep.

  She was not so patiently waiting for Roman, R and I to join her.

  “That’s what Maxine suggests to keep things all quiet on the home front,” she said, and I still didn’t know if she was talking to me or the trees in the forest or her imaginary friend on the other end of her radio.

  I decided I’d answer her anyway while I climbed into the front passenger seat.

  “You’re not at home and things are far from quiet around here.”

  All at once, I noticed a huge colorful prism bouncing off the chrome trim of the Jeep’s dashboard.

  I turned around to find Grams holding up to the sunlight a large aquamarine, sending still more radiant prisms bouncing off every reflective surface around us.

  “Give me that! Where did you get it? And what the hell are you thinking – or not – waving that thing around? Do you want to get us all killed?!”

  “Relax, Psycho. It’s an aquamarine. They’re meant to protect us in our travels against all the perils and monsters of the sea,” she said, as if she were reciting a Wikipedia description.

  “We’re not out at sea. We’re in the rainforest.”

  Although, I had to give it to her, there were plenty of monsters in our world too.

  “But we are goin’ fishin’, so there’s the water tie-in,” she crooned

  She had me on that point.

  “I wonder if aquamarines are sacred to the Sol Larga like they were to Neptune and thus the Greeks of 300 B.C.?” She asked.

  Little did she know, and I wasn’t about to give her this little nugget of info, but not only were aquamarines considered sacred to the Sol Larga, they were their most prized gemstone. The naturally occurring deep blue aquamarines found here on their land were beyond rare and brought amazing prices.

  That was the significance of Stanley stealing The Witherspoon Blue Moon diamond. He was simply sending us a message regarding his true intentions. It wasn’t about the diamond. That’s why he gave it back. It was about the other blue gems that could be found here, beyond the Coconut Highway, blue stones worth much more than that perfect blue diamond.

  To the Sol Larga, aquamarines were also a large part of their medicinal arsenal. They were used as antidotes to poisons. Plus, their soothsayers used them as magic mirrors to look into their future.

  “I’m going to take the fact that you’re not answering me, along with the fact that your panties were in a bunch over me fiddling with one, as a sign that these aquamarines are vital to us making it out of here alive,” Grams said in a very matter-of-fact tone, as if it really wasn’t a big deal and either outcome was okay with her.

  “I just don’t think you’re taking all this as seriously as you should. We’re in a lot of trouble down here,” I said.

  I was fairly annoyed at this point that Grams could always be so cavalier about our predicaments.

  “Honey, I’m old. I take every day seriously because any one of ‘em could be my last. But that’s also the reason why I totally don’t give a shit. I’m just gonna live it up and hope for another awesome adventure tomorrow.”

  How could you argue with that?

  I reached my hand behind the seat and squeezed her bony hand.

  “You’re right, Grams.”

  “Duh. And besides, today’s the day,” she said, then cackled like a witch who’d just concocted her best spell yet.

  “So you’ve gone from quoting Maxine to Mel Fisher?” I asked, thinking we were a long way from Mel’s Emerald City of Atocha emeralds, twenty miles west of the Key West Coast.

  The stones we were after were every bit as valuable as the estimated two billion dollars worth of his still unrecovered cache.

  I could only hope that Grams was right that “Today’s the day” and not our last day.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Sol Larga Indians spend very little time on agricultural endeavors. They spend almost all their time either fishing or hunting.

  Today, we were meeting Chief Valente on the banks of one of his favorite fishing spots.

  Since we had proof his home was being staked out by Fosito’s men, Roman, R and The Chief agreed that it would be safer to meet here than having us all show up in their village.

  We sat with Chief Valente while he prepared the special arrows the Sol Larga use to shoot at fish from the riverbanks.

  As we talked, several of the young Sol Larga boys, barely old enough to walk by themselves but carrying their own miniature, handmade bows and arrows all-the-same, chased butterflies and lizards.

  I’d much rather have been chasing butterflies. Not the lizards. But definitely the butterflies.

  The arrows being made were long wooden shafts without a blade. It was January and the rivers had risen again causing the fish to ascend with ‘em. Boripey – or fishing – was sure to be excellent here in this section of pools and rapids using these deadly-sharp sticks.

  As the water in the main river channel rushed downstream, we sat near a tiny pool that The Chief said had the best fishing around.

  “I feel so at home here,” he said, looking back toward the camp he’d set up for a several day event of nothing but fishing. “To sleep in the woods is good.”

  We were about a three hour walk from the village. The Chief and his family would stay here about a week, loading up with manioc and yams along with their catches before going back to the village and preparing to head out again to another of his favorite spots.

  In this area replete with large pools, still waters and ample fish, Chief Valente would put his timbo – plant poison – in the water and let the fish come to him.

  “This is fascinating,” R said, taking in the way The Chief’s fellow fishermen prepared the timbo.

  “I’m betting you’ll take away a plethora of new gimmicks from this experience,” I said to R, noticing how completely absorbed in The Chief’s lessons he was.

  He nodded but was too engrossed to answer me.

  I sat down next to Chief Valente and watched his men work.

  While some cut the vines they’d chosen and tied them into bundles, others used the bark of certain trees packed in baskets of palm leaves. The men beat on the water with their bundles and baskets, sending the fish upstream. As the fish swam back, they were either shot with arrows like The Chief was preparing or caught by hand.

  “So when does the timbo kick in?” I asked, not sure why they’d even needed the poison, seeing how adept they were with their arrows and bare hands.

  “Ahhh, my dear. When we wake up tomorrow, this patch of river and the banks will be full of dead fish from beating all the poison into the water.”

  “I’m definitely trying this in the lab when we get home,” R said, while he and Roman took up seats next to me and The Chief.

  Roman and I just smiled at each other. He was probably thinking the same thing I was, that it wouldn’t be long before timbo was a top secret-op weapon.

  Watching Grams beat the water with her palm basket, I laughed out
loud. Hell, she was making so much damn noise, it was no wonder the fish were terrified and swimming upstream at an amazing, race-worthy rate. They’d “drink the juice”, so to speak, just to get outta’ her way.

  The men, women and even children began stringing up fish on lines. I knew that meant they’d soon be roasted on the jiraus. The smaller fish would be cooked in packets made of fresh babacu leaves.

  We were all in for a wonderful meal.

  But first, while the tribesmen constructed the jiraus roasting platforms out of the twigs the women and children had gathered, we had business to attend to.

  “I’ve found the perfect digit for our rendezvous with Fosito,” Chief Valente said, a coldness coating his normally warm and jovial tone.

  “A digit is a hiding place, right?” Roman asked.

  He was all ears to hear Chief Valente’s plan. And so was I.

  No one knew this forest like he did. That’s why Roman and R had enlisted his help in finding the perfect spot for our gem smuggling showdown.

  “Indeed. Yes. I found the perfect place while on one of my favorite hunting trails. Then, with R’s help, built it to fit our needs.”

  “Excellent. So it’s ready to go then?” Roman asked, chewing on a blade of grass he’d found along the bank. “When can we see it?”

  “I’ll take you there tonight, following our meal.”

  I knew Roman and R liked that answer.

  Me, on the other hand?

  I was scared out of my already very disturbed mind.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Night hunting wasn’t traditionally practiced here in this part of the Amazon Rainforest, but with the introduction of firearms and lanterns came an all new thrill-of-the-hunt for the Sol Larga.

  Following the best fish fry-slash-roast I’d ever been to, we set out in a typical Sol Larga formation so that Roman and R could inspect Chief Valente’s hiding place.

  I’d have given anything to just stay back in our camp and hide, but I was not about to let my men know I was scared shitless.

  In these types of expeditions, the men walk out in front carrying their arms, staying ever vigilant for sounds, signs or movements that would indicate the nearness of game animals, or, in our current situation, human animals playing games too.

  A little behind come the women and babies, and yes, for this expedition, it could be argued I was both a woman and a baby too.

  Hell, my knees were shaking so bad I could hardly keep up with the guys.

  Each time we stopped to rest at safe spots designated by special leaves The Chief had turned over to mark his trail, we continued on in the same exact order. This was both for our safety and followed protocol in the Sol Larga world, showing our respect for The Chief and his village elders.

  Grams followed close behind me. I still couldn’t believe Chief Valente had allowed her to accompany us.

  Something about her fearlessness made men respect her, while we level-headed women were both in awe as well as worried what kind of pickle her bravado and bluster would get us into.

  “I can’t believe you don’t want one of these bracelets for your fashion empire,” Grams said, admiring her new accessory beneath her lantern’s small stream of light.

  I simply shook my head and kept walking.

  I highly doubted my high-class clientele would be interested in a bracelet made out of tucum string from the leaves of a Brazilian palm fiber and monkey teeth.

  With her monkey teeth bracelet, feather ornaments on her head and arms, jaguar skin adornments and some kind of vile resin bead now pierced through her lip, Grams was one Maxine wanna-be who’d gone crazier than the loons in this forest.

  “Did I tell you that I might just stay here with the Sol Larga for a while after all this crap is over?” She asked, her voice sounding rather odd, as if she’d had some dental procedure done.

  Her lip was still so swollen from the piercing that I was surprised she could even talk, period. But yeah, I wasn’t that lucky.

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Marriages of young men to women of my age are common in the Sol Larga way of life. Hell, Cougars rule here!”

  I really hoped we got to our site soon. I couldn’t take much more of this.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hunting is the activity that most interests the Sol Larga. And it doesn’t seem to matter whether they’re hunting their normal prey – birds, mammals, fish and reptiles, monkeys or wild pigs – or humans.

  They’re very-very adept, and stop right there with all the PETA screaming. I’m a huge PETA peep too, but this isn’t cruelty to animals and hunting for sport here, this is food for the table and millennia old spiritual beliefs in practice.

  The Sol Larga use habitual trails, with each hunter exploiting his own trail. By exploiting, I mean they get to know every square inch of it and use that knowledge to their advantage.

  They are as expert at building unique hiding places along these trails as they are at imitating the whistles or cries of the animals they’re hunting to lure them toward their hiding spot.

  One way they hunt is to track down their prey in their holes – especially armadillos. When they find one, they fan smoke into the hole and asphyxiate ‘em.

  The Sol Larga believe in assimilating themselves into the environment of the game they’re hunting.

  But how do you assimilate yourself into the culture and mindset of the gem smuggling thugs we’re hunting?

  I had a feeling I was about to find out.

  No one does as much preparation for a hunt as the Sol Larga. It’s their detailed preparations that attract their targets.

  Whether it was our next meal or Stanley and The Foz, tonight’s hunt would play out the same way.

  “You’ve got to speak the language of your intended prey,” Chief Valente said, while pulling apart a couple of bushes lining the path we were following.

  “Stanley and Fosito only speak in stones and cash,” I said, not understanding how we were ever going to lure them into this tropical hideaway.

  “Exactly,” Chief Valente said. “And we’ve got both to bait them.”

  “When is all this going to take place?” I asked, bracing myself for the worry-warting I’d be doing between now and then.

  R looked at his watch, which, of course, had some kind of night vision glow to it.

  “In about twenty minutes. Let’s get in our places, shall we?” He asked.

  The grin he always got when he was about to put one of his plans into action was already taking over his countenance.

  I looked at The Chief, who had his own silly grin.

  R stretched to the top of his toes to center his right eyeball in front of some sort of retina reader he must have attached to the trunk of the tree next to the bushes The Chief still had pulled apart.

  I shook my head.

  Not even the Amazon Rainforest was beyond R’s reach.

  Within a few more seconds, the moss I thought I’d seen at the base of the bushes rose up from the forest’s floor, and underneath it was an elevator door that soon opened and stayed so until we were all tucked inside its warmly lit platform.

  The door closed, with two of The Chief’s best men keeping guard outside.

  “So I take it your men will be waiting for Stanley and Fosito to join us?”

  “Good guess, my dear,” R said, looking as if there were no place he’d rather be.

  “We could use a guy like you around here permanently,” Chief Valente said, looking every bit the mighty warrior on our descent below the jungle’s floor.

  “I hear you, Chief, but R’s all ours,” Roman said, putting his arm around me and pulling me just a wee bit closer to his side.

  R smiled, the loyalty in him shining through.

  “You can have me instead,” Grams said.

  And with that offer, Chief Valente choked, and I doubted it was from something caught in his throat.

  “I’m going to take that as you’ll think about it,”
Grams said, on her tiptoes, trying her best to stare him down.

  As uncomfortable as The Chief looked, I actually thought the tiny wisp of a woman may have actually made an impact on one of the mightiest warriors this land had ever known.

  Grams had that effect on people.

  The elevator then stopped, and the door slid open to reveal another lantern-lit tunnel.

  “What is it with you and all these underground passageways?” I asked R, mentally trying to count how many I’d ended up in since taking up with Roman and his ever-faithful Quarter Master.

  “It’s his favorite M.O.,” Roman said, removing one of the torches from its holder and lighting it off a nearby lamp.

  “We need to hustle,” R said, basically ignoring me in favor of getting on with the next stage in his plan.

  We ended up in the same formation we’d used walking The Chief’s trail, the men in front and Grams and I bringing up the rear.

  “I wonder if we’ll end up in some Indiana Jones kinda’ secret chamber?” Grams asked, and not in a dainty whisper either.

  “I have to give ya that one, Grams. You’re not too far off from my own your expectations.”

  We kept walking, almost having to jog to keep up with the men.

  After several turns, we finally wound our way to a large metal door.

  This time, R had Roman place his hands on the screen mounted on a panel running alongside the door.

  “Hmmmm. Looks like someone hasn’t told me everything either,” I said, narrowing my eyes at my prince.

  “You didn’t ask me if I was hiding anything. I asked you,” Roman said kissing my nose.

  “Get a room,” Grams said.

  Before we could respond to her, the door opened. And although I shouldn’t have been surprised, I was when I saw my parents waiting inside yet another one of their gem vaults I’d never known existed.

  It’s not as if I was totally shocked. I kind of figured we had one on the reservation somewhere.

  Behind the glass walls lining the room, prized and pricy aquamarines and Pink Morganite glittered in intense hues of the sea and the finest of swirls of cotton candy.