Fool's Gold

by PJ Skinner

  ‘Excellent. No more than he deserved. And who’s the scoundrel who ordered him to murder my daughter? Tell me his name,’ said Don Sanchez.

  ‘Wilson Ortega,’ said Segundo. ‘He is not a criminal but he is well known about town as a frequenter of brothels and low-life bars. I understand that he owes a great deal of money to some pretty dubious people, including Pancho Rojas, El Duro. I don’t yet know why Wilson targeted your daughter. I haven’t managed to locate him yet as he is travelling to the coast. Do you want me to find out where he is or wait for him to come back to Calderon?’ ‘

  Hernan Sanchez hung up and frantically dialled his daughter’s number. He felt sick, and there was a cold prickling at the back of his neck. No one answered. Where was she? He shuffled to his room and pressed the service bell. After about five minutes, Agatha appeared in disarray with her long pigtail hanging down her back.

  ‘Aggie, go and wake the driver and tell him to get the car ready out front as soon as possible.’

  ‘Is there anything wrong, sir?’

  ‘No, nothing to concern you. Go back to bed once you have told him.’

  Sanchez struggled out of his pyjamas and into his clothes, panting with exertion. Despite his unwieldy body, he felt heroic. He was going to rescue his daughter and for once in his life, show her that she mattered to him. Praying that he was not too late he went downstairs and opened the front door.

  The driver sat outside in the car with the engine running. He held open the door and waited while his boss slid into the back seat.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Good morning. I need you to drive to Miss Gloria’s apartment.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’’

  The expensive sedan glided through the silent streets of Calderon, noticed only by the security men standing guard outside every high-rise block. Most people were either in bed or huddled inside bars with their friends, drinking imported whisky or cheap local rum, depending on their pocket.

  They came to a stop outside Gloria’s apartment block, and the driver went to press the doorbell. When there was no answer, he tried again but in vain. Hernan was not surprised when no one answered the doorbell. The maid slept like a brick and there was only one place that Gloria would be at this time in the morning. His daughter liked to go out and get drunk with her friends and he didn’t begrudge her a little fun. She would be safe enough in a bar. He leaned into the leather seats and breathed in the smell of his new car, judging it easier to let her come to him. He drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  Gloria was very surprised when she got home in the early hours of the morning to find her father’s car waiting outside. Mike had once again been her willing chauffeur, but she had no intention of inviting him in now that she had found Alfredo. Even Gloria had her limits. She walked over to her father’s car and knocked on the window. Mike followed her over, still hoping to break her resistance and was a bit embarrassed when the window rolled down to reveal Hernan Sanchez. He wiped his hands on his trousers in anticipation, but Sanchez was not in a social mood.

  ‘Gloria, you’re in danger,’ said her father. ‘I must speak to you.’

  ‘Right now, Papi? Why do you think that?’

  ‘I have my sources. Do you know a man named Wilson Ortega?’

  Gloria looked surprised. Mike did not speak any Spanish, but he understood that.

  ‘Wilson Ortega works for me,’ he answered, and Gloria translated, slurring slightly.

  ‘That man’s very dangerous. He tried to kill Gloria.’

  ‘Tried to kill her? When was that?’

  ‘The car crash last week was not an accident.’

  ‘What car crash?’

  Mike looked bemused. Then Gloria remembered that she hadn’t told him about it.

  ‘Um, I was going to tell you, Mike.’

  ‘What the hell is going on?’

  ‘I think we had better go to your office right now and I will fill you in. Perhaps you have information that could be useful to me.’

  There was no doubting the seriousness of the matter. Mike was no fool, even though he had drunk his habitual skin-full.

  ‘I can’t believe that you were in a car crash and didn’t tell me about it,’ he said to Gloria. He sobered up pretty quickly, dread creeping into his bowels. ‘Travel with your father. I’ll meet you there,’ he said, clambering unsteadily back into his car. He set out for the office followed by the black sedan.

  Once his precious daughter had got into the car with him, Sanchez became quite emotional. He took her face in his hands and kissed it tenderly. Big fat tears fell on his cheeks as he gazed lovingly at her. Gloria squirmed under this unexpected attention.

  ‘Papi, what’s wrong? Are you ill?’

  ‘Ill? No, I’m not ill. I’m so glad you are safe. I’ve waited for hours for you to come home. I was so worried about you, my darling little girl.’ He choked back a sob and started to search his pockets for a non-existent handkerchief.

  Gloria took a tissue out of her handbag and dabbed his dear, plump face, which wobbled with emotion. Then, she leaned against the seat and rested her head on his shoulder, while he crooned sweet nothings at her like he had when she was a small child.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, they sat at the table in Mike’s apartment drinking strong coffee. Mike and Gloria had sobered up somewhat, and Sanchez had calmed down now that his daughter was safe.

  ‘So, what’s this about a car crash?’ said Mike. ‘Why’s Gloria in danger?’

  ‘I should’ve told you but I thought that you might be angry,’ said Gloria.

  ‘Angry? Why would I be angry?’

  ‘It happened on the way up from the party in the valley. Alfredo was in the car, and Sam, too. I thought you might be cross and blame me for driving when I was drunk.’

  ‘But no-one was hurt, right? It can’t have been that bad.’

  ‘Um, the car was written off, but we were all wearing our seatbelts because of Sam. She won’t let me drive without one.’

  ‘Good old Sam. Miss law-abiding saves the day. I don’t understand, though. Why do you think that this wasn’t an accident?’

  ‘The car crashed because the brakes had failed. They had recently been changed so I thought the mechanics had made a mistake,’ said Gloria.

  ‘They called me a couple of days ago and informed me that the brakes on the car had been tampered with,’ said Hernan. ‘Someone had made some holes in the brake line and the fluid had leaked out.’

  ‘A couple of days ago? Papi, why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to find out who did it first in case it was something to do with me. Someone looking for revenge against me perhaps. But it wasn’t.’

  Mike looked shocked, and Gloria had gone very white. She added another sugar to her coffee.

  ‘But who’d want to harm Gloria?’ said Mike.

  ‘My sources tell me that it was a man called Falconi who tampered with the brakes. He was paid by someone named Wilson Ortega, who you say works for you, to cause an accident. What do you know about him, Mike?’

  ‘Señor Sanchez, Wilson is our geologist. I’m afraid I don’t know much about him, although...’ Mike stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Oh, my God,’ he said. ‘Poor Sam. I should have listened to her. I can’t believe I sent her into the jungle with that man.’

  ‘The fault is mine, Mike. I should have told you about Wilson before. I thought he was only a macho pig. I knew he had money problems but not grave enough to make him that desperate,’ said Gloria.

  ‘But why try and kill you?’ asked Mike.

  ‘The treasure,’ Gloria said, having a moment of extreme clarity. ‘He wants it for himself. He must’ve thought that I was going tell you the truth about him and stop him from going on the trip.’

  ‘But, he doesn’t know about the treasure. He’s only going as far as Riccuarte. Who told him?’

  Gloria had a pretty good idea who the leaky vessel in the office was, but sh
e didn’t tell Mike what she was thinking. ‘I guess he must have heard someone talking about it. Maybe he got drunk with Alfredo?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter right now how he knows. We have to telephone the hotel in San Martin and stop them from going into the jungle with him.’

  ‘I think there’s still time. The train leaves at dawn, although it’s often late. I don’t have the number of the hotel though,’ said Gloria. ‘Only Marta has it.’

  She ferreted around in her bag for her address book containing the number of Marta’s neighbour, who had the only working telephone on the street. To save time, she tipped the bag onto the table, and there was temporary chaos as lipsticks, pens and coins shot across the surface onto the floor. Gloria retrieved a small dog-eared booklet from the contents and thumbed through the pages.

  ‘Aha! Here it is. I’ll call now.’

  Gloria went over to Marta’s desk and laboriously dialled the number.

  ‘You’re looking for treasure? I thought you were a miner?’ said Hernan Sanchez.

  ‘It’s a long story, Señor Sanchez. I’m not sure there’s any truth to it. We got carried along with the excitement,’ said Mike. ‘It’s probably nothing but Wilson thinks that it’s real and he’s a desperate man.’

  Gloria held the telephone to her ear and frowned with concentration. The telephone rang and rang until finally a grumpy voice answered.

  ‘What do you want? Has someone died?’

  ‘Hello,’ said Gloria. ‘Good morning. Sorry to disturb you. I need to speak to Marta Perez urgently.’

  ‘Are you crazy? Do you know what time it is?’ said the voice.

  ‘Yes, and I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s a matter of life or death. I must speak to her right now. Can you please ask her to bring the phone number of the hotel in San Martin?’

  ‘Life or death? The phone number of the hotel in San Martin?’ The voice weighed up the options. ‘Okay, but this is the last time.’

  There was the noise of a door being opened and closed accompanied by exaggerated huffing and puffing. A long silence followed. Finally, Gloria heard the door being opened again. A breathless Marta came on the line.

  ‘Hello, who’s this?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s me, Marta,’ answered Gloria.

  ‘My neighbour told me that you need the telephone number of the hotel in San Martin. What’s so urgent that you’re calling me at this hour?’

  ‘I can’t tell you, but it’s a matter of life and death. I need it now.’

  ‘Sacred Virgin! Okay, but promise to tell me later?’

  ‘I promise. What’s the number?’

  ‘I don’t have it here. It’s in my desk in the top drawer. It’s on a Post-It note that says Hotel California.’

  ‘The drawer’s locked. Where’s the key?’

  ‘Oh, dear, it’s in my handbag.’

  ‘Get into a taxi and come straight here,’ said Gloria, who looked at Mike for confirmation. ‘Mike will refund you.’

  ‘I’ll be on my way shortly.’

  ‘Don’t do your makeup first,’ said Gloria, who knew what Marta was like when it came to her appearance.

  ‘But I can’t come out without makeup.’

  ‘If you don’t come straight away, I’ll tell Mike about you and Wilson,’ she hissed.

  ‘Okay, please don’t tell him. I’ll be right there.’

  Marta hung up.

  Gloria made more coffee for the others and then she went downstairs to wait for Marta and smoke a cigarette out on the steps of the building.

  By the time that Marta’s taxi drew up to the pavement, Gloria had smoked three cigarettes and was contemplating a fourth. The taxi driver wanted to charge extra for the early hour but one look at Gloria’s face changed his mind. The two women got straight into the lift and ascended to the apartment. Gloria was startled at the difference in Marta’s appearance without her normal thick makeup. She looked ten years younger.

  Once in the apartment, Marta went straight to the desk and opened the drawer. She handed the number to Gloria without comment. Gloria telephoned the hotel and waited for someone to answer. The phone rang and rang and finally cut out. Gloria rang again with the same result.

  ‘Are you sure this is the correct number, Marta?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m positive,’ she said, and mumbling greetings to everyone, ran for the toilet with her head down so she could use the mirror.

  ‘Keep trying, Gloria,’ said Mike. ‘Someone will answer soon.’

  Chapter XVII

  Sam was still sulking when they left the hotel. The phone in the lobby was ringing when they checked out, causing the men to complain bitterly about the effect the noise was having on their hangovers. Sam couldn’t understand how the night manager could ignore it. He didn’t acknowledge the phone or the complaints, and after they had paid the bill, he returned to his room behind the reception to sleep. The telephone could be heard as they walked up the street to the station in the silence of dawn. She wondered who would be ringing the hotel at this hour. Maybe someone he didn’t want to speak to. Fantasies about who could be calling and how they were connected to the theft of the money belt occupied Sam’s thoughts until they arrived at the station.

  After the usual chaos, they loaded their supplies onto the roof of the train which they boarded before it set off for the coast. Sam wrapped her money belt around her hand and held it tightly as she mounted the steps even though she was pretty sure that lightning wouldn’t strike twice. Wilson and Alfredo were oblivious to everything except their horrible hangovers. They sat together, leaving Sam wedged against the side of the train by a very large, smiley local lady who had an assortment of poultry at her feet. They had their claws tied together so that they lay on the floor under the seat in front unable to move, squawking in protest if someone came too near to them with their shoes. Sam put her small rucksack on the window frame as a pillow with the strap wrapped around her arm to prevent it from falling outside. She lowered her head onto the makeshift pillow and tried to shut out the noise and cigarette smoke. The train jerked into action and set off at its usual snail’s pace into the early morning mist shrouding the banana plantations. Dogs followed the train, barking and running gleefully alongside. They ran through the rotting, rat-infested rubbish on the side of the tracks, skipping around the very large pigs digging for scraps with their snouts. Finally, even the slow pace of the train exhausted them, and the dogs were left panting with their tails wagging at the joy of the chase.

  ***

  The night manager had finally answered the telephone when he realised that whoever was calling was not going to give up.

  ‘Hotel California. Good morning. Who’s speaking, please?’

  ‘Finally,’ said Gloria. ‘I urgently need to speak to Alfredo Vargas or Sam Harris.’

  ‘They checked out about an hour ago, lady. You missed them.’

  ‘This is super urgent. Do you want to earn twenty dollars? I need you to stop them from getting on the train.’

  ‘But the train leaves in five minutes.’

  ‘Honestly, has it ever left on time? Please, run down to the station and stop them from boarding. It’s a matter of life or death.’

  ‘Give me your number, and I’ll call you when I get back.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said and dictated the number. ‘Have you got it?’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ replied the manager and then added, ‘I’m leaving now,’ with the urgency of a corpse. The telephone went dead.

  The manager stuffed his feet into his shoes, shuffled to the door of the hotel and out onto the street. He was not a man accustomed to being in any sort of hurry, and he was a heavy smoker. After trotting down the road for about twenty metres, he slowed to a rolling gait and then to a slow walk, puffing and panting his way to the station. He arrived within five minutes, in time to see the end of the train disappear into the distance followed by a pack of yapping dogs. He threw his hands in the air and shrugged. He walked at a snail’s pace to the hotel
, stopping to buy some fresh bread from the baker on his way. When he got there, he attempted to call the number that he had been given. Still cuddling the warm soft rolls with one arm, he tried to dial the number with his other hand, but the telephone kept slipping across the counter. He decided to deal with the problem by eating the bread while it was hot with a nice cup of sweet coffee. The telephone started to ring when he was on his second roll.

  ‘Hotel California. Good morning,’ he said.

  ‘What happened? Are they with you? Did you stop them from leaving?’

  ‘No, my lady, they left. The train left on schedule for the first time this year, I believe.’

  ‘They already left. Oh, no. That’s terrible.’

  ‘What about my twenty dollars?’ he asked, but there was only a dial tone in reply.

  ***

  Gloria replaced the phone on the receiver and shook her head at Mike and her father. She was devastated. Sam and Alfredo were at the mercy of Wilson in the jungle.

  ‘Papi, what can we do? How will we rescue them?’

  ‘I don’t know, sweetheart. There’s no way to contact them. There are no telephones in the jungle. Mike, do you know where they were going?’

  ‘I believe they were going to a town called Riccuarte, but the journey onwards from there was secret and known only to a certain Don Moises, who comes from an isolated Indian community upriver from there. We would never find them in time. We have to hope that Wilson is only planning to steal and not to kill.’

  ‘I can send someone to Riccuarte to make inquiries, but they won’t get there until the day after tomorrow when it may be too late,’ suggested Sanchez.

  ‘Papi, there’s always someone who is spying on everyone else in those small communities. I’m sure there’s a person in Riccuarte who can help us find them. They may be abandoned or injured. We must save them.’

  Mike, who was imagining explaining to Mr. and Mrs. Harris how he managed to get their daughter killed by a man that had already tried to rape her, nodded in agreement.

  ‘Okay, I’ll call someone today and send him to San Martin to take the train,’ said Sanchez. ‘He’ll be in Riccuarte tomorrow, and I’m sure he will find our friends. Don’t worry, darling. This guy’s the best. He’s never failed me.’