It was Friday, the 13th of February, the eve of the three-day Presidents’ Day weekend, and the Sweaneys: Mr., Mrs, T.J., Katie, three of their friends, Bobby, and Princess, to spend Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights at El Constante, a condo complex at the north end of Padre Island, just within the city limits of Corpus Christi. The beach there was nearly unspoiled, and the family was going to stay in a condo on the second and third floors, which boasted three balconies, two of which faced north and afforded a spectacular view of the coastline, all the way to Port Aransas on fogless days.
Princess loved the weather patterns on North Padre, and she knew the coordinates of the north-facing balconies by heart: 27° 36.3’ North Latitude, 97° 12.4’ West Longitude. The two pets agreed in the car that it would be a working vacation. After throwing up on T.J.’s lap, which was immediately cleaned up with paper towels readied in advance, for she always lost her breakfast on road trips, Princess, still a bit nauseated, regained her composure to the point that she could confer in hushed tones with Bobby.
The car passed through Gonzales, turned onto US Highway 183, and zoomed on through Cuero, Goliad, and Refugio, then on the back roads, skirts tiny bays and bayous as the shadow of evening lengthened and night fell gently, with no wind, and the occasionally crane, standing on one perpetually wet foot, was seen no more.
There was napping, and Princess continued with her explanation. The two of them were going hang-gliding in a tiny model specially built for them and stashed earlier in the day by Zatopek, who was the only human whom they would include in the deal. The mere mention of the name elicited a low growl from Bobby, and a startled glance from the semi-somnolent Katie. Princess warned Bobby to keep quiet.
“Once we are aloft, steering the hang-glider will be a piece of cake. I’ve made sure that the wind conditions will be just right. We’ll head up the coast, past Port Aransas to Matagorda Bay, where the Colorado River flows into the Gulf.”
“The Colorado?” Bobby’s ears shot up. “Why, that muddy old river flows right through Bastrop, not a mile from the Sweaneys’ home.”
“Exactly”, purred the feline. “From the mouth of the Colorado at Matagorda Bay, you can navigate upstream all the way to Austin. Only we’re never going to go that far. All the way to Bastrop, there are only a handful of one-horse towns, and almost no lights at all along the river. When conditions are right – and I will make them right (she fairly glowed in the dark with pride) – a cigarette boat with a small, valuable cargo can shoot right up from Matagorda Bay, all the way to where Tahitian Drive comes to end where it ends runs into the Colorado.”
“Why, that’s right smack dab near the Sweaneys’ house!”
“Correct. And still no lights on the river. You can operate in stealth. But that, my canine assistant, is where the stealth ends. For if you continue up the river, around the next bend, you cross under Highway 71, and then Loop 150, and both of those bridges are brightly lit up 24 hours per day.”
“That’s right, they’re lit up like a Christmas tree on the 4th of July!”
Princess smiled slightly in derision at Bobby’s mixed metaphor, ensuring that he not notice. “Since we can only take the cargo upriver to Tahitian Drive, at that point we unload the cargo, stash it in the woods, and then Zatopek comes to drive it to Austin. Here, I’ll show you on the map.” She extracted a small road atlas from under the seat, turned to Texas, and carefully recapped the route for Bobby. Since they both had superb map-reading skills, it only took a moment. She closed the atlas and waited for the question that was certain to follow.
The question came in an instant. “So, uh, what is the ‘valuable cargo’ going to be?”
“Vodka – very expensive vodka – duty-free vodka” came the reply. “The kind for which foolish humans will pay great amounts.” The car went over a bump, and Princess felt for an instant that she might regurgitate afresh, but the sensation of queasiness passed.
“But isn’t that illegal? asked Bobby ingenuously.
Pets in Crime 