BUSTING THE DRUG SMUGGLERS

In which Dockerty Grimes finds himself facing certain death 2000 feet above the Bay of Mexico.

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Boots! Good, tough, US army disposal boots. How the stall keeper in the small Mexican village of Campo-arenzio procured them Dockerty never knew. But they fitted him admirably and were ideal for his four-hour trek through the Mexican jungle.

Already they had saved his life. A yellow-bellied viper had suddenly lunged at him from the dense undergrowth. Its fangs clamped upon the toe of his left boot. Later, in recounting the story, Dockerty would tell how the viper “hobbled away with one broken tooth and sore gums”. He had also acquired from this same bric-a-brac store an army greatcoat. This provided protection from the continual moisture of the sunless undergrowth plus the numerous insects that inhabited this jungle.

To think that only ten days ago he and his Dancing Damsels had wowed the patrons at Club Copacabana. Wild applause had greeted Sweet Sharee and Rosie the Rocker as they performed their Mexican Hat Dance – with feathers a-flying. And Dockerty’s impersonation of Mario Lanza singing “Granada” had been a real show-stopper.

Then came their comedy sketch. Dockerty as the Toreador, Sharee and Rosie as the front and rear end of a make-believe bull. When this creature ambled across the stage, missed Dockerty’s red cape and knocked over half the scenery, it brought the house down in more ways than one.

The coup-de-resistance however was the plunging of the rapier (albeit a papier-mâché one) into the rear of the unfortunate beast which collapsed spreadeagled upon the stage.

The storekeeper had also informed Dockerty Grimes of a huge drug cartel deep in the jungle – it was run by Estefan Reguz, a man who cared little for the suffering and death his ignominious trade had brought to thousands of victims.

But, had the storekeeper been telling the truth? Before Dockerty led a dozen armed soldiers into this den of iniquity, he would check out the situation. True, there was a price on Estefan’s head, but such was not Dockerty’s motivation. If he could bring an end to the reign of this drug baron, he would do so, gladly.

He consulted his compass. According to his informer the drug supply depot was less than half an hour away. He plodded on, rifle in one hand, machete in the other. The sound of a helicopter not far distant soon confirmed his expectations. There it was …. a carefully camouflaged clearing. A warehouse, obviously laden with cartons of numerous types of drugs ready to be transported into some major cities, stood at one end of the compound. Beside it, what seemed to be a small radio shack, and the helicopter being loaded by two men with its cargo of death.

It was then that Dockerty Grimes’ curiosity overcame his caution. He crept to the rear of the radio shack and pressed his ear against the thin wall. Estefan was speaking “Ten million dollars worth of heroin will be ready to go as soon as the chopper is loaded. And… “ he chuckled, “there’s plenty more where that came from”. But Dockerty Grimes was to hear little else. The muzzle of a semi-automatic machine gun pressed between his shoulder blades and a voice behind him cried “Estefan, we have a visitor!”

The door burst open and the drug baron emerged. An evil-looking man, over six feet tall and solidly built. A cigar was in his hand. “Well”, he said, “If it isn’t Mr. Dockerty Grimes. I heard that you were expected. I, too, have informers back in the village. Yours has already had an - er - unfortunate accident and I think you are about to have one too.”

Estefan turned to the chopper pilot: “Are we ready to leave? Good. Mr. Grimes will join us on our journey…. at least, for half of the way!” Another sadistic chuckle before the cigar was placed between his grubby teeth.

Dockerty Grimes found himself tied to one of the three metal chairs that had been screwed to the floor of the helicopter. He looked around at the contents of the cabin.

One pilot, Estefan and one of his henchmen, both armed, stood facing him. A dozen boxes of deadly drugs were piled high behind him. And there was a rectangular box under the chairs marked “For Emergency”. The chopper lifted off.

It was at 2,000 feet Estefan proposed Dockerty take a trip. He removed the cigar from his mouth – “You like to travel, Mr. Grimes? We have a nice little trip arranged for you. It will not take too long. Ha! From here (he waved his hand around the cabin) to there (and he drew back the sliding door and pointed to the earth far below). Untie him Carlos!”

The automatic rifle in Estefan’s hands made Dockerty think twice about any false move. But the prospect of leaping from this helicopter at 2,000 feet up did not appeal to him either.

“Come, Mr. Grimes” said the drug baron, “it is time for you to learn to fly”. Again he chuckled. Dockerty moved to the open doorway opposite him. Estefan and Carlos pointed their deadly weapons toward him. “Jump, Mr. Grimes, or we will have to encourage you to do so with a bullet or two … maybe in the leg .. or the arm … now jump!”

It was then the miracle occurred, at least Dockerty would ever refer to it as such. The helicopter hit some kind of weather turbulence. Whether it was a wind pocket or some flock of gulls had flown into the rotor he never knew, but the helicopter lunged violently to one side. Estefan and Carlos crashed against the opposite wall, their rifles spitting bullets at random. One bullet caught Dockerty in the left arm and catapulted him through the open door. As he plummeted earthward he was amazed to see the helicopter’s erratic manoeuvres, smoke pouring from its engine, twisting, turning uncontrollably like a drunken man. What he didn’t know was that some of the bullets had ricocheted around the cabin, two damaging the control panel and one killing the pilot.

Dockerty saw something else as he fell – the rectangular box slid out of the open doorway. He undid his greatcoat and spread his arms. He had seen films of skydivers gliding into various positions, meeting one another in midair, forming patterns in the sky. Now, if he could only reach that box…..

1,000 feet below the earth raced toward him. Sure enough, he had caught the handle at one end – the lid opened easily and there they were – three parachutes! Quickly he retrieved one and let the box go. But, getting into the parachute was a seeming impossibility. His left arm was painful and bleeding. Harnessing on the parachute was out of the question. He was through the cloud bank now. Below, like scurrying ants, he could see bathers on the sunny sands of the Bay of Mexico.

800 feet!

He wrestled to get one arm through a parachute back strap, then the other. It was not at his back, merely before him, where he clung to it for dear life. The rip cord. “Pull the rip cord!”

600 feet!

As the billowing silken dome unravelled above him, Dockerty clung to that one strap; pain shot through his left arm but he hung on.

400 feet!

Already there were those on the beach pointing towards him. But others pointed in another direction where the helicopter had made its fatal plunge into the Bay of Mexico.

Sunning themselves on that sandy beach that remarkable day were Sweet Sharee and Rosie the Rocker. Fortunately they were about five feet apart. For it was between them that Dockerty made his graceful landing. A spray of sand over Sharee caused her to open her eyes and sit up with a violent start. “You idiot!” she said. Rosie the Rocker, on the other hand, saw the blood-stained sleeve and fainted.

Already Police and Ambulance were on the scene. As Dockerty was transported to the local hospital, accompanied by his Dancing Damsels, he smiled and said weakly “thought I’d better survive in time for our next performance”.

“And, let’s not forget the reward” echoed Sweet Sharee.

“My hero” cooed Rosie.