by James Hilton
“Bunch of assholes. They don’t even know how to cross a road properly.”
Danny rubbed the back of his hand across his face. “They’re just kids on holiday, Clay. They’re not the ones we’re here to sort out.”
Clay grunted in agreement, but gave the young men another sour look in the rear-view mirror before turning his attention back to the road ahead.
“We’ll drop our stuff at the hotel and then start asking questions. A quick shit, shower and shave and I’ll be ready,” said Danny.
“Shit, shower and shave? Who said that, Socrates?”
“Aristotle Onassis.”
Danny rolled down the window, enjoying the sensation as the warm air hit his face. His skin was tanned dark from his time in Miami. He lowered his sunglasses as a woman dressed in a bright orange thong bikini strutted past the car. She too was tanned to a golden hue, and had curves in all the right places. She returned Danny’s gaze for a moment then looked away, evidently uninterested.
“She loves me, she loves me not,” laughed Danny.
“The fact that she’s twenty years younger than you might have something to do with it,” added Clay.
“I’m hardly an old man.”
“You’re probably the same age as her father.”
Danny gave a wry smirk. “Shut up, Clay. Since when did you become the voice of reason?”
Clay bared his teeth, which elicited another brief chuckle from Danny. He pointed to an ornate road sign. “Heads up, that’s us. Mayan Fiesta dead ahead.”
The towering building was a shrine to steel and smoked glass, stepped like the famous pyramids that dotted the Yucatán landscape. Manicured palm trees lined the entrance. A circular fountain sprayed water high, each droplet reflecting the sun in an undulating rainbow.
Danny looked around the grounds and gave a brief nod of approval. The sparkling waters of the Caribbean Sea lay to the east while the more sheltered Nichupté Lagoon separated the hotel zone from the mainland proper. Speedboats and catamarans vied for space in the lagoon harbour. The sound of carefree laughter drifted on the air. “Well, this is shiny.”
As Clay stopped the vehicle in front of the main lobby area, a uniformed valet opened the driver’s door.
“Welcome to the Mayan Fiesta Resort and Spa.” The young man flashed a genuine smile, his white teeth contrasting with his mocha skin and coal-black hair. “Do you require any assistance with your luggage?”
Clay towered over him as he got out of the car. “No thanks, we’re travelling light.”
Danny received a quizzical look from the valet. “Just one bag apiece. I think we’ll manage.”
“Sí señors, I understand. Travelling light.” He rolled the words around on his tongue as if trying them for the first time.
“Don’t park it too far away, we’ll be heading back out in a short while.”
He gave Clay a short salute. “I’ll keep it close by and ready for you, señor.”
Clay handed the young man a twenty. “You can stop with the señor thing. My name’s Clay. This is my brother Danny. I hope dollars are okay?”
The valet glanced between the two brothers and nodded. “My name is Giorgio and US dollars are very okay. If you need anything, anything at all, just give me a call. I know all the best bars, the best beaches.”
Danny liked the kid. He was bright and enthusiastic. “I think we might take you up on that.”
Giorgio slipped into the driver’s seat. “You know where I’ll be.”
* * *
Danny opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the balcony while he waited for Clay to finish showering. Sounds of music and laughter drifted up. Good sounds. Happy sounds. The pool deck below was populated by a multitude: holidaymakers lay stretched on sunloungers, while others splashed around in the water. A game of water polo was in full swing. Beyond the pool lay the ocean, the shade of blue a thing of true beauty.
There were two taps on the door. Danny answered promptly. The woman outside was short and wide with distinctive oval eyes. She wore a pale green uniform with the Mayan Fiesta logo embroidered on the upper left breast.
“Hola, señor. Is everything satisfactory with your room?”
Glancing at her name badge, Danny answered, “Yeah, everything looks great. Thanks, Geri.”
“I’ll be looking after your room for your stay. If you need any extra towels or anything like that, just call housekeeping.”
Danny thanked her again. Geri turned and moved back to the utility trolley stacked with soaps, towels and toilet rolls.
“Hey, Geri.”
She paused. “Sí, señor?”
“Did you hear anything about those college kids who went missing last week? Kinda crazy, wouldn’t you say?”
Geri looked up and down the hallway before answering. She stepped close to Danny, her lips contorting into an irregular pout. “Those kids are not the first to go missing. Between you and me, they won’t be the last.”
“Where’d they go?”
“I’m not sure. There are a few rumours going around.” She shrugged her rounded shoulders.
“Gangs?”
“Not the kind you mean.”
“So not cartels or street hustlers?”
“No, but they both cause a lot of trouble of their own.” Geri shook her head and puffed out her cheeks. “But no, this is something… different. But like I say, it’s only rumours.”
Dropping his voice and adding a little of his Scottish brogue, Danny said, “Well now, you’ve got me on a hook. What kind of rumours?”
“The hotel doesn’t like us talking about it, none of the hotels do. Bad for business…”
Danny inched closer. “I guess kids from the States going missing isn’t the kind of thing they would put in their brochures.”
“You got that right. All of the staff know about the missing kids; we hear the stories. But we have to work here, so…”
“I get it, Geri, but you can tell me. I love a good mystery.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“Most of the ones that disappear go out into the jungle on day trips and don’t come back.”
“And what do you think happens to them? Kidnapped?”
Geri crossed herself before she answered. “El Diablo takes them.”
“The Devil?” Danny raised an eyebrow. “Really? I know I’m a gringo, but I’m not a stupid gringo.”
Geri gave him the flat-eye. “I know most people do not believe in him but he’s very real. He doesn’t take many of them but if you think how many people visit Cancún every year, he doesn’t have to. If he took one in every ten thousand…”
Danny rubbed his chin. “So, what makes you think this is the work of the Devil rather than the cartels?”
“When the cartels take someone they usually turn up dead in the street as a warning not to cross them. These kids get lost and stay lost—not the cartel’s style. They go out on their own into the jungle and are… taken. This has been happening for two or three years now.” Geri held up a finger. “El Diablo.”
“What have the police got to say about it?”
Geri gave a single huff of a laugh that spoke volumes. “Police? Most are fat or lazy or in the pocket of those cartels you just mentioned. Police? Pah!”
Feeling like he was getting nowhere fast, Danny fished his wallet from his pocket. He pulled out twenty bucks. “Thanks for your help, Geri. Would you see if we could get some beers for the room? Modelo, if you have it. No hurry— we’ll be out and about for the rest of the day.”
“Sí, señor, I’ll make sure you get your cerveza. I hope you enjoy your stay at the Mayan Fiesta.” Geri moved to the next room and gave the door a double tap.
Danny poked his head back into his room. Clay was inspecting himself in the mirror. He tugged a few strands of dark blond hair down over his forehead. Danny said nothing; he knew Clay was self-conscious about his scars at times.
“You g
ood to go?”
“I am. Who were you sweet-talking? I know we’re in Cancún but we’re here for Celine.”
“I was talking to our maid, Groucho. Just asking a few questions, seeing if she knew anything about anything.”
“And did she?”
“Not really.”
“Not really or not at all?”
“She knew about kids going missing but swears the Devil is taking them. It’ll be the chupacabra next.”
“Hmmn,” said Clay absently as he adjusted his shirt. “You got any kit with you?”
“All I could bring was a knife in my bag and my shim set. Too risky trying to hide anything more in your luggage these days.” Danny tapped his fingers against his narrow webbing belt to show where he kept his compact lockpick set, an item he had used many times.
“I’ll have to pick something up while we’re out and about. I wish I had my bowie.”
“Too big to carry, unless you can get a chest rig to go under your shirt. That’s why I like these.” Danny used his thumb to open the blade of his Fox ERT. The sturdy tanto blade was less than three inches long, the edge razor-sharp.
Clay took the knife from Danny. The weapon looked like a child’s toy in his hand. “I’ll find something bigger.”
8
The smell of pancita filled the room, mingling with the grey streams of cigarette smoke that drifted up from virtually every table. Gavin rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, the tripe and chilli broth doing a fair job of numbing his lips. A long swallow of the dark Modelo beer helped to cool things down. He stuffed another of the bite-sized hauraches into his mouth.
The food was only one of the reasons he liked to visit the rural cantina. The beer was ridiculously cheap. It cost more to buy a crappy Coke than a quality Mexican cerveza. The women, if he wanted them, were also very cheap. The half-dozen girls who worked the room had on his previous visits assured him that nothing was off limits, fifty US dollars for an access-all-areas pass. Yet Gavin had no need of such services. Plenty of that to be had back at the compound.
The real reason he felt drawn to the bar was the looks he received from the other patrons. They knew where he was from, knew who his friends were. As he made a circle in the air with one finger he caught the look in the eye of the waitress. There it was. That combination of nervousness and fear, and, dare he believe it, respect?
The good-looking waitress brought a second plate of hauraches and another Modelo to his table. The smile she gave him showed neat white teeth. As she turned away, Gavin stopped her in her tracks by resting his hand on the flatness of her stomach. The heel of her shoe made a mouse-like squeak on the tiled floor.
“What’s your hurry? I might need—” he let the pause drag out, enjoying the young woman’s discomfort “— something else.”
The energy of the room shifted. Many eyes were upon him.
“I’m very busy. There’s only two of us working today.”
Gavin dismissed the other waitress without consideration. She was older, short and portly, waddling around the bar on pudgy legs. No, not his idea of fun at all. He increased the pressure of his palm upon her midriff. “But what if I want… something that’s not on the menu?”
Her jaw tightened. “We have other girls for that.”
Gavin’s mocking laugh came as two sharp barks. He pushed her away. “Thank you, Daniela.” He laughed again as she heard her name. It was one of the first tricks he had learned from the master. The sharp twitch of the head, the questioning look, the mark wondering how he knew anything about them. If he knows my name, what else does he know about me?
Daniela gave him a sideways glance as she moved back to the kitchen. She brushed the front of her shirt where his hand had rested.
Smiling to himself, Gavin finished his food at a leisurely pace. He made a show of standing up, stretching his arms above his head. He stood a foot taller than most in the room. The legs of his chair scraped harshly across the tiles. He dropped the notes from his wallet as if paying his bill was beneath him. There were no comments from the local crowd. The patrons of the cantina seemed more interested in examining the contents of their glasses. He gave another of his canine laughs and strode briskly out through the front doors.
The Dodge pickup was the only vehicle on this side of the parking lot. In comparison to the beat-up trucks that sat in a cluster on the far side of the lot, his vehicle looked like it had just come from the showroom.
The signal lights blinked as he pressed his key fob. He paused, looking back over his shoulder. Someone there? He turned slowly, his hand moving towards his belt.
Nothing.
But as he hauled his lanky frame into the Dodge, his world turned to pain. A rapidly moving shadow detached itself from the nearby bushes and closed on him. The shadow held a stubby pistol in its hand. A sharp series of clicks sounded and Gavin slumped to the ground, one foot still inside the truck. Taser. His body convulsed as his nervous system was overloaded by the debilitating effect of the stun gun.
He tried to reach for the pistol nestled in the small of his back but his hand trembled and refused to move. Something hard crashed into the side of his head, then darkness claimed him.
* * *
Slap!
“Hey…”
Slap!
“Hey. Wake up!”
For a moment, Gavin thought he was dreaming. The sharp edge of the boot pressing into his chest dispelled that illusion in a second. His hands were secured behind his back, his legs taped tightly at the ankles. He lay on a slight incline, his feet lower than his head.
“What the hell is this?”
The voice that answered was as cold as an Arctic wind. “What does it look like?”
Gavin strained at his bonds, bucking from side to side. “You’re making a big mistake! Do you know who I am?”
“I know exactly who you are.”
“Is this some kinda joke?” He looked around. “Where the hell am I?”
The pressure on his chest increased, making it difficult to breathe. “Well, you’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
It was a woman’s voice. A fucking woman?
A strange sensation took up residence in his bowels as he gauged his situation. The figure before him stepped back. She was dressed in a jumpsuit, with an army-style waistcoat buckled over the top. She wore gloves, and her face was covered by a balaclava.
With slow deliberation, she pulled the fabric mesh from her face.
Gavin stared up at her. “Who the hell are you?”
Her skin was the colour of black coffee. The right side of her face was smooth and flawless. The left side was an industrial accident. Bands of salmon-pink tissue knotted into a cruel mask. She held up her hand, covering the ruined side of her face.
Gavin stared at her for long seconds. “Shit! I know you. But you can’t be you. You died. I watched you die…”
“Correction: you thought you watched me die.” She dropped her hand. “Now it’s my turn.”
Gavin rolled onto his side, then managed to sit up. A noose pulled at his neck. Scooting around on his butt, he could see the other end of the rope was tied to the trunk of a wide tree. A length of the same mountaineer’s rope traced a path from his ankles to the rear of his truck.
His eyes followed the rope to the truck. The Dodge’s engine was running.
He sucked in a great lungful of air. “Heeeeelp!”
The woman shook her head slowly. “You can scream like it’s an Olympic event. We’re five miles into the jungle. Nothing out here to hear you but iguanas and insects.”
Gavin pulled desperately against his bonds, the rope biting, rubbing his skin raw. “Wait. I can give you money. I have lots of money.”
“Really?” She walked slowly towards the pickup. “How much to get my life back?”
“Wait…”
“How much to get my sister back?”
“Please…”
“How much to give me peace?”
“It w
asn’t me.”
She paused at the open door of the truck. “But you were there. You didn’t stop them. You laughed as they played their games, laughed as they did this.”
Liquid spilled from his bladder as she tapped her ruined features with a gloved hand.
She leaned into the truck and moments later the Dodge began to roll forward. Slowly at first. The slack in the rope tightened within a couple of fear-filled seconds. Gavin rose from the ground, stretched between the vehicle and the tree. He tensed every muscle in his body in a desperate attempt to free himself. The ropes bit ever deeper into his skin. He tried to call out, to beg for release, but the words were caught fast behind the tightening noose. The skin at his ankles ripped first, then something deeper in the joint gave way with an agonising pop. An unbearable pressure invaded his skull, the muscles in his jaws bunching tighter and tighter until one of his molar teeth splintered into jagged shards. Capillaries ruptured in both of his eyes, spreading red tendrils across his fading vision.
The critical structure of his cervical vertebrae held for less than four agony-filled seconds then snapped, severing his spinal cord.
* * *
Ghost watched impassively as the truck rolled, driverless, down the hill, dragging Gavin’s headless corpse behind. Moments later there was a loud thud. The Dodge had met with a tree somewhere on its path.
Pulling back on her sleeve, she exposed the skin of her left forearm. A series of six straight scars lay there like an oversized barcode. Drawing a compact blade from her belt, she added a seventh. Ignoring the stinging warmth, she turned a half-circle until she found what she was looking for.
Gavin’s head had rolled a good fifteen feet down the road. After pulling a heavy-duty refuse sack from her hip pocket, she lifted the grisly trophy by the hair and let it fall into the bag.
9
The girl looked down at her feet as she walked. She could see them moving, knew they were hers, yet could not feel the floor beneath them. Her mouth was hanging open. Stark lights burned above her as she followed with robotic steps the person in front of her. A taste she struggled to identify soured her mouth. Raising her hands to her nose, she inhaled. She smelled like a hospital ward, antiseptic. Had she been in an accident? Was she in a hospital? A burning pain between her legs caused her hand to creep there in turn. What the hell?