Deep Devil (The Deep Book 4)

by Nick Sullivan

  “Really?” Cecilia turned to the rest of the group. “Whattaya think, gang? Can we hold off drinking ’til tonight? Do a night dive?”

  “Paraiso is the best spot in Cozumel for a night dive,” Boone remarked. “Octopus, lobsters, free-swimming eels…”

  “Mermaids…” Emily interjected. Boone clapped a hand over her mouth and Emily giggled into his palm.

  “And if we don’t see any free-swimming splendid toads, Em here will buy your drinks at No Name.”

  Em emitted muffled protests before slapping Boone’s bare stomach with the flat of her hand.

  “Ow!”

  “That’s what you get for muzzling my free expression. Ooh! I see a handprint! That means I get to make a wish!”

  “I’ll get you for that later,” Boone said with a laugh.

  “I wish… you would…” Emily said, a half-smile on her lips, dimples teasing the corners of her mouth. She plucked her sunglasses from her shirt, veiling her green eyes behind them as she headed for the flybridge ladder. Once up top, she joined Ricardo at the wheel.

  “Good dive?” Ricardo asked.

  “Current was a bit wonky, but we saw some nice beasties. Didn’t like the look of some algae in a few spots, though.”

  Ricardo nodded. “Si, I have seen it too. This site is so close to the cruise ship piers… someone may have been dumping waste.”

  Emily sighed. The cruise ship industry did a lot for the island, but it also put a strain on the most valuable asset Cozumel had to offer: its reefs. Fuel, illegal dumping, sunscreens—all of it combined to make coral vulnerable to outbreaks of disease. In late 2019, Mexico had actually closed the most popular southern dive sites for several months in an effort to stem an outbreak of disease among the corals. Even now, some sites were given “rest periods,” usually during coral spawning windows.

  “At least we don’t have much of the sargassum over here,” Ricardo offered, referring to the vast swaths of yellowish seaweed that had blanketed many beaches across the Caribbean.

  “True! Playa del Carmen is getting it all, poor buggers.” She motioned toward the wheel. “Why don’t you take us in? They’re staying at Hotel Barracuda.” She grabbed the radio. “Head for Dive Paradise. I’ll make sure they’ve got room for a drop off. If not, we can go to Aqua Safari’s pier.”

  One of the advantages of being a sub for numerous dive ops on the island was that it made it easier to “borrow some dock” from time to time for pick-ups and drop-offs. In moments, they were on their way, looping out into the channel to go north around the big cruise piers.

  “What is that word?” Ricardo pointed to the side of the nearest cruise ship. The words “Hygge Cruises” were emblazoned in fading paint, along with a hazy picture of something that might have been a troll, or an elf… or a garden gnome on acid. “That word is strange. H-Y-G-G-E?”

  “Oh, I read about that… it was all the rage on the internet a couple years back. It’s pronounced…” Emily pursed her lips into a tiny “o” and squeezed the sound out, “‘Hyooooguh.’ It’s a Danish word for anything cozy. You know… sitting by a roaring fire while it’s snowing outside, drinking hot chocolate under a fuzzy blanket while you watch a movie with your mates…?”

  Ricardo raised an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. “You realize I’m from Cozumel, right? We don’t have a lot of snowy days or roaring fires.”

  “Well, Bob’s your uncle then, ’cause hygge can be whatever you find cozy. How ’bout… curling up on a beach chair with your bare feet shoved under the sand, a margarita in your hand, and your wife beside you, looking up at the Milky Way?”

  “That… that I could do.”

  Boone joined them on the flybridge. “Kinda funny, that old dinosaur of a cruise ship being across the pier from the Apollo.” He pointed to the Nordic Starr as they passed it. “And I don’t speak any Viking languages, but I’m pretty sure sticking an extra ‘r’ on the end of ‘star’ doesn’t make it Nordic.”

  “True. An extra arrrrrrrr might make it a pirate ship, though,” Emily said, lapsing into pirate-speak. “Isn’t that right, Ricaaarrrrrrdo?”

  Ricardo laughed. “I need to get you a parrot for your shoulder.”

  “I’ll settle for a little yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.”

  Boone was looking up at the Apollo as they passed its stern.

  “Thar be no black-haired siren over yonder, me matey,” Emily teased.

  Boone turned, a sheepish grin on his face. “Sorry. Oh, hey, Greg said they can’t swing the night dive tonight—one of the other couples has reservations. Wants to know if we can take them tomorrow night.”

  “Fine by me. Ricardo?”

  “Si, no problem.”

  “We good to go?” Greg asked, poking his head up the ladder.

  “Yep,” Boone said. “We’ll grab you from the Dive Paradise pier at six p.m. tomorrow. One side of the dock is usually clear by then, but if they’re busy, I’ll message you an alternate spot.”

  After dropping off the group of Kansans at Hotel Barracuda, Emily skippered the Lunasea south to the Marina Fonatur, one of three marinas on the island and the only one that Boone and Emily had been able to find a berth in. When they learned the monthly cost, Emily had joked that they might need to go find another archaeological treasure before the end of the year.

  After they tied up, Boone counted out the cash from their tips, giving a third to Ricardo… and then an additional pair of twenties from his and Emily’s portion.

  Ricardo frowned. “What is this?”

  “For Lupe. For taking care of our little buddy.”

  “Oh, no, no… my wife loves your dog! And our Elvis likes to have someone to play with… even if he’s much, much older than Brixton.” He tried to hand back the money.

  Emily intervened. “Ricarrrrrrrrdo, take the doubloons or I’ll make you walk the plank. Yar.”

  Ricardo snorted a laugh. “Very well.” He pocketed one bill, then took Emily’s hand and slapped the other into it. “And this is for you, for taking care of Elvis last week.”

  “Oooooh, you cheeky bastard.”

  They headed for the parking lot and soon reached a pair of cars parked side by side. Boone and Emily had arrived separately that morning, with Boone making a coffee and pastry run while Emily dropped off Brixton and picked up Ricardo.

  Emily gestured grandly. “Your chariots await! The choice is yours, Ricardo. Choose wisely.”

  Ricardo’s choices were both Volkswagen convertibles, but that was where the similarities ended. Emily’s car was a Beetle, one that had come off the assembly line at the factory in Puebla, Mexico. It shone in her color of choice, a bright green, with a black fabric top that dropped down in the back and a smaller cover over the front seats that could be rolled up above the windshield. Emily had, of course, seen to it that the two straps of Velcro on that roll had a little something extra attached: a pair of large googly eyes stared ahead from it when it was rolled up. She had christened it “Señor Bug.”

  Boone’s vehicle was far, far older, built at the same Puebla plant: a 1979 Volkswagen Thing. Bright yellow, its steel body all right angles, the boxy little automobile looked like a cross between a German military staff car and something you might take on safari back in the sixties. Devoid of any amenities, the vehicle’s windows were completely removable, and the windshield itself was hinged and could be lowered down onto the hood. The canvas top folded into the back. Fortunately for Boone, this museum piece had been lovingly restored. Apparently, used Things had been quite popular on Cozumel in the eighties and nineties, and a few mechanics still had parts.

  Ricardo pretended to think about it for all of two seconds before pointing at Emily’s Beetle. “I choose to live.”

  “Excellent choice,” Emily said, dropping the back cover and putting her gear bag on the back seat. Ricardo followed suit. Both cars had
been covered, unpredictable pop-up showers being the norm in the tropics. “Boone, you follow in the Deathmobile.”

  Boone looked aghast. “Quiet! She’s very sensitive.”

  “You don’t need to tell me,” Em said. “If you look at it wrong, the door is liable to fall off. That thing is a car crash in car form. Automotive heresy from bonnet to boot.”

  As Ricardo slapped Boone on the shoulder, she heard him whisper, “I like your crazy car… but Emily is more fun.”

  “Won’t get any argument from me,” Boone said with a smile.

  Ricardo got in beside Emily as she started up. Beside them, Boone’s Thing coughed to life, eventually stabilizing into a throaty rumble. The two cars left the marina, heading north.

  “Is it strange for you to drive on the right side of the road?” Ricardo asked.

  “What, ’cause I’m British? Nah, not really. When I was in London I never drove, just took the tube, taxi, or bus. I know a lot of the islands in the Caribbean drive on the left, thanks to my people colonizing the bejeezus out of everything, but oddly enough I haven’t worked on any of those. I spent a fair bit of time driving in Bonaire. They’re Dutch, so they’re on the right, and that’s what I’m used to.”

  “What kind of car did you have there?”

  “Oh, she was a beauty! Bright green Jeep Wrangler Cabrio. Loved it. I kinda-sorta ran off with Boone and left her behind. Ended up selling her to a mate on the island. He said if I ever return to Bonaire, I could buy her back. Seems like a fair deal to me!”

  “You like this car, then?”

  “Oh, I’m all about my Bug, now! I suspect there may be some hippie in my ancestry.”

  “The Volkswagen plant on the mainland—they stopped making them, I heard.”

  “I know! September, 2019… sad to hear that, yeah? But there are so many of these on Coz, in every color you can imagine. Figure I’ll have no problem finding spare parts. Boone, on the other hand…” She looked into her rearview mirror. “Well, whattaya know, that old banger is still behind us. I keep waiting for it to spontaneously dissolve in a cloud of rust, leaving Boone sitting in the road with a steering wheel.”

  “I like Boone’s Thing.”

  Emily burst into laughter. “Oh, my… watch your phrasing there, Ricardo.”

  Ricardo reddened, a grin on his face. “I have to be careful what I say around you.”

  “No, please don’t! I live to tease. Don’t deprive me of my sustenance.”

  In minutes they were entering the Flamingos neighborhood in the south of San Miguel and Emily pulled up to a tiny yellow house with a small, gated yard that wrapped around the back. Excited barking greeted Emily’s ears as she turned off the engine. The yellow Thing puttered to a stop behind her.

  A brown blur whipped around the side of the house and came to the fence, the dog bouncing on his hind legs with barely contained joy.

  “Brixton! Hello! Hello! Mummy’s back!”

  “Hey Brix, how ya doin’, buddy?” Boone said as he exited his car.

  The dog ratcheted up his jubilation to eleven on the dial and barked happily, tail wagging furiously, as Boone and Emily opened the fence a little, squeezing in while Ricardo ran inside to find Lupe.

  Brixton was a potlicker pup Boone and Emily had rescued on the Belizean island of Caye Caulker. A short-haired brown mutt descended from many generations of strays on the island, Brixton was likely the runt of the litter, weighing in at twenty pounds. He was thought to be about two years old, but that number was a guess. His ears pointed up, but were bent over at the tips, flopping a bit when he jumped.

  “Who’s a good boy?” Emily piped in a falsetto pitch.

  Brixton affirmed that it was in fact “he” who was the good boy by licking Emily’s nose.

  A muffled woof sounded from the little porch as Elvis trundled down the two steps to join them. A senior dog, Elvis still had some spunk in him, and he wagged his tail, looking for some attention from the newcomers.

  “He loves Brixton so much, they play and play,” Lupe said as she joined them, the newest member of the family on her hip, a bright-eyed babe named Eduardo.

  “Gracias, Lupe,” Boone said. “Hey, slugger.”

  The boy looked up at Boone, who towered over them, wonder in his eyes.

  “Eat your mom’s cooking, you’ll grow up big ’n’ strong!” Boone offered a fist and the boy smiled, remembering the ritual. He bumped it with a half-clenched fist.

  “Would you like to have dinner with us?” Lupe asked.

  “We would,” Emily said, “but we promised Ricardo’s uncle we’d meet him at the No Name Bar.”

  “And you didn’t invite me,” Ricardo said, stone-faced. He sighed. “You never invite me.”

  “Oh… sorry, Ricardo…” Em stuttered. Then she caught a little tremble at the side of his lip. “Waiiiiiit, are you having a laugh?”

  Ricardo grinned. “I can tease too, loba.”

  Emily wagged a playful finger at him. “Nicely done. Wait, what did you just call me?”

  Lupe laughed. “It’s a good word. ‘Loba’ means she-wolf, but the way Ricki used it, it means, um… ‘clever girl’?”

  “Oh! Like Jurassic Park!” Emily gushed. “The actor who said that line? Bob Peck. Y’know, he was a Brit! Used to act with the Royal Shakespeare Company. I am a fount of useless information.”

  “Good thing she’s as good with fish identification as trivia,” Boone said as he opened the gate. “Thanks again for watching Brix.”

  “De nada,” Lupe said.

  “Nothing on the schedule tomorrow?” Ricardo asked them.

  “No, just the night dive,” Emily replied. “We’ll pick you up at five, yeah?”

  “See you then.”

  Emily watched as Boone got into the Thing and opened the passenger door, smiling knowingly at her as she reached her vw Bug. “Here, Brix!” she called. “C’mere boy!”

  Brixton trotted forward, tail wagging… and hopped into Boone’s car. There he sat, facing Emily and panting happily.

  “Would you get that for me, Em?” Boone asked, nodding to the passenger door. “Brix looks so comfortable, I don’t want to reach across him.”

  Em held his gaze as she sauntered to the Thing and gently closed the door.

  Boone shrugged. “What can I say? The pooch has great taste in classic cars.”

  “Good thing he loves me more, or I might be jealous. What’s that, boy?” She leaned in to Brix, getting an ear-lick as she pretended to listen. “You say you’re only going with Boone because you’re afraid he’ll cry if you go with me?” She turned to face him. “Well, that’s very empathetic of you, Brixy, looking out for Boone’s fragile ego like that. What a good boy!” She returned to her car. “See you back at the flat. Call if you break down.”

  The No Name Bar Beach Club was advertised as “For Crew by Crew.” Long a popular hangout for crew members from the cruise ships, the bar had its share of dive op staff who frequented it. Located alongside the pool of the Hotel Barracuda, it also catered to the hotel guests. The Hotel Barracuda was popular with divers, and had been rebuilt after the original had been completely destroyed during Hurricane Wilma, an event that had required a harrowing rescue of guests by Mexican sailors from the nearby naval base.

  Boone and Emily sat beside the pool, finishing the last of their dinners. Across from them, Santiago Pérez, Ricardo’s uncle, set his knife and fork on the plate.

  “Delicioso! Who would have suspected this place would have Turkish food? I’ve never had it before. Very good!”

  “They’ve got dishes from all over,” Emily said. And indeed, the crew bar’s eclectic menu was decorated with a border of national flags, the menu items themselves playfully named for the many different job titles found aboard cruise ships. Em took a final bite of her chef’s salad. “Mm, mm, that is one tasty Saf
ety Officer! How’s your Chief Purser, Boone?”

  Boone chuckled around a mouthful of cheeseburger. “Juicy.”

  Santiago finished his cerveza. “Thank you for inviting me—this has been a good meeting. We would certainly welcome your dive operation’s assistance in a weekly cleanup. And I will put in for a license for you to charter lionfish cull dives.”

  Ricardo’s uncle worked for Cozumel’s Marine Park and was heavily involved in the island’s efforts to walk back some of the damage that had been done to the reef by the explosion in cruise ship traffic. Boone and Emily had asked him there to learn how they could help. As the waiter cleared the dishes, Santiago stood to shake their hands. The divemasters now had tentative plans to schedule weekly cleanup dives, and offer lionfish hunts to divers with the proper training—training that Bubble Chasers could provide. Just like everywhere else in the Caribbean, the highly invasive species needed to be controlled.

  “You sure you can’t stay for afters?” Emily asked.

  Boone chuckled when Santiago cocked his head. “She means dessert.”

  “Gracias, but no… my wife has made a pineapple cake and it is my favorite! Besides, you were already generous enough to buy my dinner.”

  “Our pleasure,” Boone said.

  After he left, Emily dropped back down into her chair. “Well, I for one am going to finish my mango-rita and order some baklava!”

  Just then Emily’s smartphone rang, the old-style telephone sound indicating the call was coming in on the business line. Boone had suggested Emily add the second line for Bubble Chasers on her phone, since she was by far the better salesperson. Em’s South London accent didn’t hurt, either. Provided the callers could understand her, they frequently found it charming.

  “Bit late for a business call,” Boone remarked. “You can let it go to voicemail if you like.”

  “As the holder of the business mobile, I say we answer.” She tapped the screen, her face lighting up as if the caller could see her. “Bubble Chasers Diving—we make your underwater dreams come true. This is Emily.” Em listened for a moment, her brow knitting ever so slightly as she lowered the phone and handed it to Boone. “It’s for you.”