Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5)

by M. L. Hamilton

  As they made their way toward the building, Abe positioned himself at Marco’s side and leaned close, the tip of his wizard’s hat hitting Marco in the eye. “You know what a wizard wears under his robes?”

  Marco blinked at him in alarm. “Please don’t tell me.”

  “The same thing a Scotsman wears under his kilt.” Then he pealed off into laughter.

  Jake walked right in front of them, swinging his sword and making feinting motions. Marco was sure he was going to stab someone or else gut his own fool self. On the other side of him, Stan and Douglas were waving their staffs around, saying incantations or…what the hell did he know? Maybe they were cursing people. He sure felt cursed himself.

  “Peyton owes me so much for this.”

  “What’s that, Angel?”

  “Nothing.”

  They arrived at the Cow Palace and paid their entrance fee. Marco realized this adventure was costing him a lot of money. Once they passed inside, it was like they’d entered a different universe. He saw men dressed as wizards or warriors or some sort of hairy monster with fangs. Ogres, Douglas informed him. “Those are ogres. They’re different than goblins. Bigger and uglier and with larger fangs.”

  “Does the size of an ogres’ fangs correspond to the size of the ogres’ nether regions?” asked Abe.

  “Yes,” answered Douglas with a decisive nod of the head.

  Abe made eyes at Marco.

  In addition to the male attendees, there were a surprising number of female convention goers. Some of the women were dressed in flowing robes, their long hair loose and intertwined with vines or flowers or metallic bands.

  “Sorceresses,” said Stan.

  “I like sorceresses,” said Jake, turning around to watch a curvy blond saunter past.

  Some wore earth colors, some skimpy bustiers and tight pants, and some in tight gowns that shimmered as they moved. A large number carried swords strapped to their sides.

  Jake nudged Marco in the side. “I like a woman who carries a weapon.”

  Marco glared at him. “Lower the creepy factor a little, Ryder.”

  Jake laughed. “You gotta admit that damn, some of these women are h-o-t hot.”

  Marco closed his eyes briefly. Between Abe wearing nothing under his robes and Jake panting like a dog, they were either going to be thrown out or arrested.

  They finally made it onto the main floor, which had been broken up into streets like a medieval market. Vendors hawked their wares – pewter cups, comic books, costumes, weapons, and action figures in pristine boxes. Others sold food – kidney pie, whole turkey legs, mutton stew – and finally, the most crowded spot was the pub at the end.

  By this time, Marco’s arms ached from the crutches and his good leg was tired. The pub was situated in front of the main stage. Wizards had spell battles on the stage, while warriors defended them with sword fighting. An announcer called out color commentary, his microphone disguised as a wand.

  Abe found them a table, sensing Marco needed to rest, and they sat down, watching the combatants circle each other on the massive wooden stage. The wizards would shout out spells and point their staffs and their opponents would react, either falling on the ground, writhing or ducking and striking back. As each new attack commenced, the crowd would react with shouts and catcalls.

  “I’ll get the first round of mead,” said Jake.

  Abe clapped his hands. “I’ll take a pink mead if they have it, Jakey.”

  Jake hesitated. “It’s probably just brown, Abe.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Ask for a potion to put in it,” said Stan. “They have potion.”

  Abe’s eyes sparkled. “What’s in a potion?”

  “It enhances the power of the mead,” said Douglas.

  “So Jack Daniels?” said Marco, wishing he could have a potion himself.

  “Get me a potion too, Jakey,” called Abe.

  “You want anything, Adonis?”

  “To go home.”

  They all laughed, but he wasn’t kidding. A giant, nearly seven feet tall, had just walked by wearing the head of a bull.

  “I’ll get you a soda.”

  “Yeah, that’s authentic,” he grumbled.

  Jake and Stan hurried off to get their drinks and Abe fussed with his wizard’s hat. “It just doesn’t sit right on my dreads.”

  “Medieval world problems,” Marco said.

  “Actually,” said Douglas, giving him a bored look. “This isn’t medieval. This is a different world. Shadynotch is located outside the Milky Way in the Drabasian Universe. They can teleport from planet to planet through the use of weather magic. For instance, my wizard Stormharbinger appears in a bolt of lightning.”

  “Sure.”

  “What do I appear in, Douglas?” asked Abe, running his hands down his sparkly robe.

  “A beam of sunlight.”

  Abe nudged Marco. “You hear that, Angel, I’m a beam of sunlight.”

  Marco smiled grimly. “You certainly are,” which sent Abe into titters of joy.

  Stan and Jake returned with the mead and potion (which turned out to be a shot of something, just as Marco predicted) and a soda in a wooden cup. “That’s root elixir,” said Jake, pointing at it.

  Marco took a tentative sip. It was rootbeer. He watched longingly as Abe tossed back his shot, then chased it with the beer. God, he missed drinking sometimes.

  “I think I’m going to mingle,” said Jake, looking around. “You wanna come, Abe.”

  “Sure.” Abe unfolded his lanky frame from the table. “What do you say, Angel? Wanna go shopping for some gems for your lady?”

  “My lady doesn’t need gems, but you go. I’m gonna watch the battles for a while.”

  Abe and Jake ambled off, sipping from their mead.

  Douglas jerked his head back in the direction they’d come. “Let’s go look at the weapons. I need a new Dagger of Reckoning.”

  Stan gave Marco a worried look. “Captain?”

  “Go. Let me know if you see a lasso of truth or anything.”

  “That’s Wonder Woman,” said Douglas.

  “He knows,” said Stan. “He was being ironic.”

  “That’s not being ironic. Clearly Wonder Woman is a DC comic and this is…”

  Marco stopped listening as they walked away. He took another sip of his root elixir and watched the crowd, wishing that Peyton were here to see this. When a young woman went by wearing a black leather bustier, black knee-high boots, and leather trousers, Marco missed Peyton even more. He could just see her in that sort of get-up, her dark eyes surveying him mischievously.

  He shook himself and went back to watching the battles on the main stage. He wasn’t sure if the two sides choreographed the battles or if they were just ad libbed. Some were more entertaining than others. He couldn’t deny that the teams that really hammed it up were the best.

  “Marco D’Angelo?”

  Marco looked over, seeing a man of average height, wearing wire framed glasses, his brown hair stylishly cut, his collared shirt and jeans most likely sporting designer labels, his boots highly polished. He carried a leather jacket slung over his shoulder. Weasel Williams. Marco would never forget that thin nose, that full lower lip, but damn, this man had style. He wasn’t Weasel Williams anymore.

  “Wendell?”

  Wendell gave a bark of laughter. “I thought it was you.” He came toward the table. “How the hell are you?” He held out his hand and Marco took it.

  “Good. Take a seat.”

  Wendell dropped into the chair on the other side of Marco’s table, slinging the leather jacket over the back of it. “Marco D’Angelo.” He shook his head. “When I saw Bernardo, he said you’d become a police captain.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” Weasel Williams had gone to high school with Bernardo, which made him seven years older than Marco, but Marco still remembered the acne plagued kid with the greasy hair coming by the house to tutor Bernardo in math. He always wante
d to hang out with Bernardo, but Bernardo didn’t have time for him. “Bernardo said you’d become a millionaire.”

  “That’s right too,” said Wendell with a laugh, but it wasn’t an arrogant laugh in the least. His expression sobered. “He told me you’d gotten shot.” He nodded toward the crutches.

  Marco absently rubbed his leg. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Marco waved it off, bracing his forearms on the table. ‘Tell me about you.”

  And Wendell did. He explained how he’d gotten out of college and decided to go to work for a startup in the Silicon Valley. At first they hadn’t been able to pay him a salary, but he’d lived with his parents, so he could afford that arrangement. They’d paid him in stock options at first. A few years later, the company had gone public and Wendell had made his first million.

  “The rest, as they say, is history.” He stopped and gave Marco a searching look. “I’m sorry, but I’m sorta surprised to see you in a place like this.” Then he peered closer at him. “And are you wearing eyeliner?”

  “How much would it cost me for you not to mention that to my brothers?”

  Wendell shook his head. “You can’t afford me, D’Angelo. I’m a multimillionaire.”

  Marco laughed. “Yeah, it was the eyeliner or a long white wig.” Marco gave Wendell a closer look. “What are you doing here? You’re not in costume.”

  “I’m here for business. I’m thinking of opening up a card store.”

  “Card store? Greeting cards?”

  Wendell laughed. “Now I know you don’t belong here. No, these are fantasy gaming cards.” He pointed at the stage. “Each one has a wizard or a hero on them and they battle, kinda like this, but at a poker table. It’s big money. Some of these guys will throw down half their paychecks for paraphernalia.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen it,” he said, thinking of Stan’s apartment, Stan’s cubicle, and he suspected, Stan’s car. “So, rather than coming to conventions like this, they would go to your store to buy their toys?”

  Wendell glanced around, feigning alarm. “Don’t call them toys here. You’re a big guy, but they’ll take you out for calling them toys.”

  “Sorry.” Marco laughed again. He’d always liked Weasel Williams. He’d seemed a gentle soul. Marco’s mother, Mona, had made it her life goal to put some weight on the kid, so despite their age difference, he and Weasel had often been in the kitchen together, while his older brothers had been out playing basketball.

  Wendell waved it off. “Can I buy you a mead?”

  Marco held up his wooden cup. “I’m drinking root elixir.”

  “Right. Can I buy you another root elixir?”

  “Sure.”

  Wendell went and purchased Marco another soda and got himself a mead with potion. Marco realized he wasn’t wanting the potion as bad as he had a moment earlier. He actually enjoyed talking to Wendell. Wendell tossed back the shot and then curled his hands around the cup.

  “So, here’s my idea.” He pointed a finger at Marco. “Don’t you go stealing it now.”

  Marco shook his head. “Man, have you taken a look at me. I’m not exactly suited to this sort of thing.”

  “Right. So, these stores would be meeting places for people who follow this stuff. I’d set up some tables in the store and they could play their games. I’d also sell the merchandise, but the main part would be a social section. I’m thinking of having food and coffee, or maybe even…” He held up his glass.

  “Mead?”

  “Yeah.”

  Marco shook his head in admiration. “I think you’re onto something.”

  “So what about you? You’re kinda young to be a captain, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I think I got it because they didn’t know what to do with me after I got shot.”

  “I can’t remember what Bernardo told me, but are you married?”

  “Not yet. I’m living with a woman, my partner on the force for years, but we’ve been through some rocky times.” He turned his cup around. “After I got shot, I started drinking a lot to deal with the pain, then there was another surgery and…it got complicated. I almost lost her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He shrugged. “Things are better now. We’re back together, but I think we’re both a little gun-shy.” He flinched. “No pun intended.”

  Wendell laughed. “Why the hell are you here?”

  “It’s her fault. She takes in strays.”

  “Dogs?”

  “And people. One of her strays lost his wife a few years ago. He’s lonely and he thought this would be the place to meet women.”

  Wendell looked skeptical.

  “So I went along for moral support.”

  “You really must love this woman.”

  “I do.” He sighed. “So what about you? Are you married?”

  “No, I’ve been too busy to really focus on anything but work. I’ve bounced around to four different startups, same situation each time, and I’ve amassed more money than I know what to do with. I’m bored and lonely, and I suddenly realized I just wanted to do something smaller, get into the community and interact with people. Maybe meet someone and settle down.”

  Marco thought of his taskforce. “I get that.”

  Wendell shook his head and took a sip of his mead. “But I keep getting blocked every step of the way. The latest setback is really pissing me off.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I found a location for the first store – this pawn shop on West Portal that was going out of business.”

  Marco sat up straighter. “Pawn shop?” Why did that location sound familiar?

  “Yeah, Expo something. Anyway, I put in a bid. We were actually in escrow when the deal fell through.”

  Marco felt a shiver race up his spine. “What do you mean it fell through?”

  “The owner of the shop got a better offer, so he backed out of our deal at the last minute.” Wendell shook his head. “I’m telling you we were right at the point of no return, then I got the rug pulled out from under me.”

  “Wendell, what was the name of the pawn shop?”

  Wendell reached into his jeans and pulled out his cell phone. “I got it in here.” He pressed on the screen a few times. “San Francisco Buyers Expo.”

  San Francisco Buyers Expo? The pawn shop where Danté and Bartlet had found Lowell Murphy’s watch with the Sugar Bear engraving.

  Wendell leaned closer to him. “The whole deal stinks to high heaven.”

  “Why?”

  “I know I’m not supposed to know this, but I found out who made the other offer and he’s a snake in the grass. A lot of funny dealings.”

  Marco’s jaw clenched. “Who?”

  Wendell leaned back, alarmed by his intensity. “I’m not gonna get in trouble or anything, am I?”

  “No,” Marco said, trying to appear less urgent. “I think I know what you’re going to say, but it’s important, Wendell. It might have something to do with a case we’re working, a homicide.”

  “Okay, I just don’t want to end up in cuffs or something because I have information I shouldn’t.” He laughed.

  Marco forced a laugh as well. “We’re homicide, so unless you’re going to confess a murder…”

  “Just of ogres.” He nodded at a guy going by looking like he just climbed out of a swamp.

  Marco laughed again. “Right. Well, I don’t have jurisdiction in the Drabasian Universe, so we’re good.” He leaned toward Wendell. “Who bought the pawn shop, Wendell?”

  Wendell curled his hand around his glass. “A guy named Victor Maziar.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Rosa adjusted her sunhat and reached for the sunscreen, squirting a dollop into her hand. She felt ridiculous working in her bikini, but it would look even more strange if she sat in the lounger on a Caribbean beach in her black suit. Besides that, she’d die of heat stroke.

  As she smoothed the sunscreen up her arms, she surveyed the beach. K
ids built sandcastles in the sand. Jet skis went by, spraying up plumes of water. A few young college students tried windsurfing, spending more time in the ocean than on their boards. Many families had arranged entire camping sites in the white sand – shade structures, chairs, coolers, music. Steel drums could be heard coming from the Excelencia and waiters strode up and down the beach in tropical clothes, bringing people drinks or snacks.

  Sitting next to her, Radar had a panama hat pulled down low over his eyes. He wore Bermuda shorts, leather sandals, and a tank top, his brown arms heavily muscled for a man of his age. He appeared to be sleeping.

  A little way down the beach on her right, she could see the parasailing hut, but no one stood in line before it. An attractive young woman worked the hut, leaning on the bamboo counter, thumbing on her cell phone. Behind the hut, along the water’s edge, strode Tank in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, wearing rubber water shoes. He swept a metal detector across the sand, glancing up from under the brim of his oversized hat to survey his surroundings.

  To Rosa’s left was a stretch of beach roped off for volleyball. Bambi, in a sports bikini, was playing with some of the young men she’d met in the bar the previous night. She had on a sun visor and a pair of sunglasses. Her microphone was affixed beneath a hair scrunchy on her left wrist, an invention Tank had come up with at the last minute.

  From where she sat, Rosa couldn’t see Bass or Peyton, but she knew they were also sitting in loungers on the opposite side of the parasailing hut, continuing the pretense that they’d just hooked up the previous night.

  She shifted again and dropped the lotion in her bag. She forgot how much she hated stakeouts and waiting for something to happen. Bass had promised her the boy would be running the parasailing hut, but he wasn’t here. What if he didn’t show? What if they never got a lead on the Dios Mayas? What if she couldn’t make good on her promise to Celeste to find Joe’s murderer?