Operation Tropical Affair: A Poppy McVie Adventure (Poppy McVie Series Book 1) (26 page)

“What has rivers but no water, forests but no trees, and cities but no buildings?”

More head scratching and lip chewing. “Dunno,” said the one on the far end, a young, blond man of about my age, built like a barn. He tipped up his mug and chugged.

“Me neither,” said the bearded man next to him, shaking his head. “What’s the lady say?”

All eyes turned my way.
Crap.
I was supposed to blend in.
 

The riddler glowered at me.

“C’mon. Nothin’s ridin’ on it,” one of them said.

The riddler raised his eyebrows and nodded his consent.

Rivers but no water, forests but no trees.
“A map?”

The men snickered and grinned.
 

“Put the lady’s beer on my tab,” the riddler said to the bartender. “Okay, boys. Another bet?”

The bearded man shook his head right away, but the guy next to him dug into his wallet, then nudged the bearded guy, goading him until he finally dropped a bill on the bar. “My money’s on her,” he said, his gnarled finger pointed my way.

I shook my head and turned my attention to the contents of my mug.
Why didn’t I find some hidey-hole in the corner with a view of the bar and keep my big mouth shut? Dammit, McVie. Blend in. Blend IN.

The others nodded their agreement and coughed up the cash.

“Fine by me,” the hustler said. He leaned forward on the bar as though ready to tell a ghost tale of old ‘round the campfire. “I can't hear you, but I can touch you; You can feel me, but you can't see me; I can't see you, but I can kill you; You can't kill me, but you can hear me.”

The blond barn on the far end dropped his face in his hands, then shook his head, tipped back his mug, and drained the contents in one gulp. The others seemed to try to solve the riddle, their eyes glassy and tired.

The bearded man raised his finger. “What about it, sweetheart?”

Crap.
I couldn’t win either way. If I didn’t answer, the four men would be in an uproar. If I did, the hustler would get pissed off. I gritted my teeth.
I hate hustlers.
“The wind,” I said.

The bearded man flung his head back and roared with laughter.

The hustler didn’t flinch. He saw his opportunity. “Double or nothing,” he said.

The men shelled out the cash without hesitation.
 

“No, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not—this isn’t…”

“All on the girl,” the hustler said, his potato-face puckered with amusement.

I kept shaking my head, no, but the men were back in the game now.

They pushed the cash into a tidy pile.
 

With a starchy grin, the hustler said, “With no wings, I fly. With no eyes, I see. With no arms, I climb. More frightening than any beast, stronger than any foe. I am cunning, ruthless, and tall. In the end, I rule all.”

I stared. I had no idea.
I fly, I see, I climb.
How’d I get myself into this mess?
Cunning, ruthless, and tall?

“C’mon, lass,” someone said.

“I…” I shook my head.
In the end, I rule all?
“I don’t know.”

“Give the lady a minute, now,” said the round-faced man with the kind smile.

My mind was blank. “Really,” I said, “I have no idea. I’m sorry.”
 

Outsmarted by Mr. Potato Head. Could my day get any worse?

The hustler grinned wide and swept the cash off the bar and into his pocket. “Sorry, men.”

“Now wait just a minute,” said the bearded man, rising from his stool. His blue eyes flared with rage. “Why do I feel like we just been swindled by you two?”

“What? No.” I shook my head.

His fury wasn’t focused on the hustler, but me. The other three men fell in behind him.

“I didn’t have anything to—”

The hustler started to slip from his stool.
 

I nudged him in the shoulder with my finger. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The four men turned to him. His buggy eyes darted from one to the other as he assessed his foes.

I said to him, “I’m pretty sure what you just pulled isn’t legal. So go on, give these men their money back and call it a day.”

He smirked and stood taller. “I’ll do no such thing.” He looked to the barkeep as he adjusted his collar and smoothed his shirt sleeves. “It was a fair bet.”

“Maybe we should let the police sort it out,” I suggested to the bearded man.
 

The hustler grabbed me by the arm and shoved me against the bar. He probably stood about five-ten, two-hundred pounds of net-hauling muscle. “Maybe you should mind your own business, sweetheart.”

This guy was really starting to piss me off. I looked down at his hand, then looked him in the eye, and, with a smile pasted on my face, my voice all dripping with syrup, said, “Take your hand off me or I’ll break it.”
 

This seemed to encourage him more. “That’s not very ladylike,” he grunted through gritted teeth.

I matched his stare. “I’m not sure you know how to treat a lady.”

“What’s this? Part of your act?” the bearded man bellowed.

The hustler glanced at the door, the quickest of glances, but I caught it. He was going to bolt.

He shoved me into the bar and I reacted. I jabbed my elbow upward at his throat, extended my arm, gave his head a twist, and knocked him off his feet. He stumbled to catch his balance, but I had my foot on top of his. He teetered forward and, with a little help from my hand, face-planted into the edge of the bar.
Take that.
I brushed off my hands and wiped my brow.
Mashed potato.

From his pocket, I pulled out the wad of cash and handed it to the bearded man. He responded with a bewildered expression, staring open-mouthed at the money as though it had magically shimmered into existence right there in his hand.

The hustler crumpled to the floor.

I picked up my Beamish. “Thanks for the grog,” I said and held it up in salute.

The four men exchanged glances, unsure whether this was still part of some elaborate con.

The barkeep tapped me on the shoulder. “Out.”

“What? Me?” I glanced down at the hustler, now sitting upright on the floor holding his head. “He’s the one who—”

The gruff old barkeep jabbed his finger at me. “I’m not going to ask you twice.”

Dammit
. I didn’t even get to enjoy the beer.

I slinked out the front door.

As I walked down the wooden-plank sidewalk, I spotted Dalton coming my way.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his face wrinkled with concern.

“Nothing. I just—” I clenched my teeth together. “I just got kicked out of the pub is all.”

A grin spread across his face and his eyes lit with amusement. “Seriously?”

I wanted to punch him in the stomach. “Enjoy the moment.”

“What on earth happened—wait, I probably don’t want to know.” His eyes closed shut, then the grin took over again. He blinked them open. “Anything I should know?”

“No,” I said with a frown.

He shook his head and snickered. “I’ll meet you back at the lodge.”

I watched him saunter away, grinning all the way to the pub, the pub where I was supposed to be hunkered down in a dark corner to keep watch.
 

I headed down the wharf to walk it off. A couple of tall ships were docked, their wooden masts bedangled with complicated rigging. I’d always wanted to sail aboard one of those old ships, flying the Jolly Roger and spitting into the wind. Maybe drink rum from a wooden cask. I couldn’t go for the eye patch, but a pet parrot would be fun. I could teach him to swear with an Irish accent.

I sat down on the edge of the pier and let my legs dangle over the water. A couple of gulls skittered into the air, then circled back to perch on the pilings and the stench of backwater and diesel fumes wafted my way.
 

Of course I wouldn’t have a pet parrot. And some kind of partner I was. Dalton was in there alone right now, with no backup. Sure, the risk was low, but still. It was my job. And he was my partner. All because I’d misjudged the scene. And then I opened my big mouth. I wouldn’t blame Dalton if he sent me home tonight.
 

I grinned in spite of myself. That ass deserved to get clobbered. And by a girl, as he would say. That probably really pissed him off. Thought he was so clever with his riddles.
Cunning, ruthless, and tall.
 

“Imagination!” I shouted to the gulls.
Dammit.
Head slap.
Now it comes to me.

About four hours after Dalton went in, the warm light spilled out into the dark alley as he came out the front door of the pub and headed toward our lodge. I stepped from the shadows and followed him. Made it two blocks before he spotted me.

“I thought I said I’d meet you back at the pension,” he said.

I shrugged him off. “I wanted to hang close. In case you needed me.”

“Uh, huh,” he said. “So how’d you get yourself banished anyway?”

“Some old man had grabby paws.” It was only a half fib.

Dalton grinned. “You’re something, you know that?”

“Whatever.” I gave him the look. “Did our informant show?”

He shook his head. “Waited all this time. Then the bartender hands me this note.”

He held it out for me to read.
Fish Market, 10 a.m. Two days. Come alone.

“
Two days
. But Ray Goldman is out there, somewhere, right now. We need to get going. We need to know which direction.”

Dalton sauntered along, unaffected.
 

I kicked a tiny chunk of concrete that had crumbled from the edge of the curb and watched it skitter down the sidewalk. “We don’t have two days to wait.”

Dalton stopped and turned to face me. “Patience, my dear.”

“Don’t patronize me. You know time’s a factor here. We’ve got a tiny window to catch this guy. If he gets a whale before we catch up to him, he’ll sail off into the sunset, to sell it in Russia or China or Timbuktu. He’ll be beyond our reach. Don’t you care?”

His hands went to his hips. “Of course I care.”

“Well, how can you be so—”
 

“You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

My bottom lip was sticking out. I sucked it back in. “Cute!” A rush of color heated my cheeks.
Errrrr!

“I want to catch this guy as badly as you do,” he said, calm as can be. “But some things are out of our control.”

“So, what? You’re saying we wait around and do nothing?”

“You don’t like cold coffee and stale doughnuts?”

“Dalton!”

“Actually, I have an idea.” He grinned. “I think you’ll like it.”

I didn’t like the sound of this.

“When I was a SEAL, we used down time for training, trust building, that kind of thing. We could use a little of that.”

“Like a little of what?”

A grin spread across his face. The hint of challenge in his eyes made me nervous.

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Wildlife trafficking is estimated at over $20 billion annually and is rivaled only by illegal drugs and weapons in the money it earns criminals. The number of organized crime syndicates profiting from large scale trafficking is mind blowing. Millions of wild animals are captured and slaughtered each year for traditional medicine and aphrodisiacs, exotic pets, souvenirs and religious trinkets.
 

This cruel holocaust MUST STOP.
 

Thank YOU for reading. If you feel as strongly as I do about the issues presented in this book and you want to help, PLEASE start by taking a moment to
post a review
on Amazon.com and Goodreads.com
 
and tell a friend about the story. Help me spread the word. For the animals!

If you’d like to learn more and stay informed, please follow my blog at
http://www.KimberliBindschatel.com

Writing a novel is a huge endeavor and certainly not a solitary one. I am grateful so many people were willing to lend a hand.

Special thanks to Professor David Favre of the Animal Law Center at MSU for all the advice and guidance. Any error is mine alone.

Many thanks to Larry Richardson for helping me with some details about the U.S.F.W.S. To Jane Whaley for the juicy details in our interview. To Joel for the info on making a snake vomit. (I’m still not sure I got that right.) Thanks to Roaster Jack for suggesting the old coffee roasters.

To Rachel and Dan for the feedback, especially at the early, rough stage when all is gobbledygook and nothing makes sense.

I am so thankful for my readers—April, Diane, Tricia, Linda, Kathleen, Michele, Ellen, Joni, Mary, Laura, Valerie, Andrea, and Jan. Their feedback was not only helpful but uplifting.

Thanks also to Amy for help with my Spanish, April for the subtitle, and Barbara for the exhaustive list of copy edits.

As always, a special thank you to my loving and supportive husband who has loved Poppy since the day she sprouted into my head. And to my parents, for raising me with a love of nature.

Thank YOU for reading. If you feel as strongly as I do about the issues presented in this book and you want to help, PLEASE start by taking a moment to
post a review
on Amazon.com and Goodreads.com
 
and tell a friend about the story. Help me spread the word. For the animals!

For Marie, my Muse

And to the brave men and women of the USFWS and their counterparts around the globe who dedicate their lives to save animals from harm. Their courage and commitment is nothing short of inspiring. May their efforts not be in vain.

The greatness of a nation can be judged by the way its animals are treated.

~Mahatma Gandhi

Born and raised in Michigan, I spent summers at the lake, swimming, catching frogs, and chasing fireflies, winters building things out of cardboard and construction paper, writing stories, and dreaming of faraway places. Since I didn’t make honors English in High School, I thought I couldn’t write. So I started hanging out in the art room. The day I borrowed a camera, my love affair with photography began. Long before the birth of the pixel, I was exposing real silver halides to light and marveling at the magic of an image appearing on paper under a red light.