“He needs a ring job,” Zack said, to no one in particular. “And, he definitely could use some pollution controls.”
Clifton grasped the handle of one of the doors, pulled it open, and ushered his nephews into a spacious foyer with a vaulted ceiling, rounded walls, and a white marble floor. The desk clerk nodded from behind a polished mahogany desk.
“I’ve already checked you in,” Clifton said, returning the nod and leading them through an archway.
They stepped into the lobby and Zack felt his feet sink into the plush red and black carpet. Here, the room was filled with mahogany trimmed sofas and high backed chairs. Crystal vases, overflowing with red roses adorned the tables. Underneath the fragrance of roses, Zack could detect the stale odor of cigar and pipe tobacco. At the end of the room was an entertainment center, its middle doors folded back to reveal a wide screen television, while leather bound books with gilded letters filled shelves at both ends. Red velvet drapes, held back with gold tasseled cords, adorned ceiling to floor windows. To the left of the sweeping white marble staircase was an alcove that held a white grand piano. To the right of the staircase was an open-walled restaurant, the tables covered in white linen tablecloths. Centered on each table was a single red rose in a crystal bud vase and folded white napkins.
“Mom would really love this,” Kyle said. “I wish she was here.”
“The restaurant used to be the interior courtyard,” Clifton said, as they walked past. “The new owners removed the walls and added a plastic skylight to the roof to keep out the elements. The doors on the other side of the restaurant were bedrooms. Now they’re guest rooms. My room is in the corner.”
He took them up the marble staircase to the second floor. Here the interior walls were open, allowing the restaurant to be viewed from above. A four-foot parapet, the only safety feature, prevented guests from accidentally plummeting into the restaurant below. Filtered light from the opaque skylight cast a somber pallor over the baskets of hanging ivy balanced on the parapet’s ledge.
Their room was clean, but modest. It had a bath, a small dresser and two double beds separated by a nightstand. No television. Not that Zack cared. He didn’t feel like watching television in Spanish, anyway.
His uncle smiled as if reading his mind. “It’s no Hilton, but you can’t get better atmosphere, food, or service. I think you’ll find yourselves happy to be here.”
Zack set down his suitcase. “Yeah, right,” he mumbled. “Like we were given a choice.”
Clifton’s smile faded. “I know. How is your mom anyway?”
“Fine, I guess,” Kyle answered. “She seemed all right this morning.”
“Yep,” Zack said. “She shipped us off like a box of freight without appearing to have any second thoughts at all.”
“Sometimes appearances are deceiving,” Clifton said.
Zack stared defiantly at his uncle. “And, sometimes they’re not.”
Clifton’s face soured, irritation showing in his sky blue eyes. Once again Zack was reminded of how little he resembled the others in his family. His uncle and his mother possessed the same dark hair and light blue eyes. And, also like his mother there was nothing shoddy about Uncle Clifton. A gold Rolex watch adorned his left wrist, his white Irish linen shirt was tucked neatly into a pair of tan slacks, and his oxblood loafers were polished to a high sheen.
“I promised your folks I’d call as soon as you got here,” Clifton said as he lifted the telephone receiver to his ear. Frowning, he punched the buttons on the phone up and down. “Your phone doesn’t seem to be working.”
“So much for the service,” Zack said.
“Be quiet,” Kyle warned.
“You be quiet,” Zack countered. What could they expect in a run down place like Guatemala where everything was publicity and advertisement? They probably wouldn’t have hot water in the shower, either.
Clifton replaced the receiver. “I’ll call later from my room. I know that phone works. So? Either of you hungry?”
“Starved,” Kyle nodded.
“Yeah,” Zack mumbled.
They retraced their steps down the wide marble staircase. Except for a young couple with a baby, the restaurant was empty. A waiter dressed in a white shirt, dark trousers, and a red cumberbund appeared at their table and handed each of them a menu – in Spanish.
Zack stared at his menu, trying to decipher the words.
“Try the pot roast,” Clifton suggested. “Guatemala is famous for its beef. I don’t think you’ll find better anywhere.”
“Sure,” Kyle said. “That sounds good. I’m starved.”
“Whatever,” Zack said, not caring what he ate, as long as he ate something. Kyle frowned, casting him a stern look as Uncle Clifton placed the order with the waiter, along with tres té fríos.
“Okay boys,” Clifton said. “Time to get down to a little business.”
“Huh?” Zack grunted, not in the mood for any kind of a lecture.
Clifton unfolded his napkin and draped it across his lap. “How much do you boys know about Guatemala?”
Inwardly Zack cringed. The last thing he wanted was a history lesson.
“Not much,” Kyle admitted.
Zack smirked. “That’s the truth. I doubt he could find it on the map.”
“Guatemala is in Central America,” Clifton said.
Kyle glared at his brother. “I know that.”
“Tomorrow,” Clifton went on, “we’re going to the ancient Maya city of Tikal located in the rain forest of the lowlands.”
“Rain forest? You mean jungle? With spiders and snakes?” Kyle asked.
“And also parrots, monkeys, and jaguars,” Clifton answered. “Of all the ancient Maya cities Tikal has been excavated the most thoroughly. Even so, only part of the city has been restored. The rest has been left as originally discovered. I’m here to take photographs and make sketches of the newer work in progress. When I get back to Orlando I’ll use the pictures and drawings for the basis of a new series of oil paintings I’ve been commissioned to do.”
He paused to take a sip of water and then went on to tell them a few more things he felt they needed to know. Such as not to drink the water or order iced drinks unless the restaurant used bottled water. That the unit of money was the quetzal and five quetzals equaled a dollar. And, for them not to get freaked out by seeing military guys out and about because although Guatemala’s civil war was over, there still wasn’t a lot of justice available to the common people.
“The soldiers aren’t interested in people like us,” he added, “but they don’t like anything that hints of rebellion. Stay out of their way and we won’t have any problems.” He gave Zack a serious look. “Especially you, kid. If you insist on having long hair and wearing that earring, then keep a low profile and don’t do or say anything that looks suspicious.”
“Mom told you to get your hair cut and clean up your act,” Kyle said.
“You should have listened to her,” Clifton said. Zack’s face began to burn.
“Also,” Clifton said, still watching Zack. “It is against the law to buy, sell, or take any ancient artifacts or art out of the country. Drugs are off limits as well. Guatemala has strict laws and if you get caught with any artifacts or drugs, you’ll be put in jail and no one will be able to help you. Steer clear of any involvement with the police.”
“I’m not a thief,” Zack protested. “And, I’m not into drugs. Get real will you?”
“Zack, listen to me. These are the facts, plain and simple. Guatemala is not as liberal as the United States and can be a pretty rough place. Keep your nose clean, don’t draw attention to yourself, especially with the authorities, and you won’t have any problems.”
The waiter approached with a tray of food, and Zack tilted back in his chair, glad for the interruption. He didn’t like the way this conversation was preceding. How much did his uncle actually know about the trouble he’d gotten into earlier in the year? But, hey, be reasonable, he told him
self. That didn’t really count. And, he hadn’t done drugs or anything serious like that. Still, there wasn’t a lot of trust in Clifton’s eyes.
He looked at his plate. He’d expected the pot roast to be carved into thin slices, the way his mother’s pot roast was at home. This meat was cut in large cubes and topped with thick brown gravy. The carrots and salad looked normal but he’d never seen beans as black as these before.
“Tres té frío,” Kyle said. “Three iced tea.”
“Did you figure that out all by yourself?” Zack asked. “Or did you have help?”
“Stuff it,” Kyle responded.
“Did you bring insect repellent as I suggested?” Clifton asked. “Mosquitoes are pretty bad in Tikal and they carry malaria.”
“Yeah,” Kyle answered between bites. “We got some stuff developed by the U.S. Army in the jungles of Central America.”
Clifton grinned. “Well, that should work. What about a flashlight? It’s easy to get lost in the ruins at night. Plus, you’ll need it to explore some of the passageways.”
“The best we could find,” Kyle answered again.
“Good,” Clifton said. “Early tomorrow morning we’ll fly to Flores. From Flores we’ll drive to Tikal. We should be in Tikal before noon.”
They finished the main course, Zack saying as little as possible, sulking through the whole meal. Just when he thought he’d be able to flee, the waiter came back and Uncle Clifton ordered flan for dessert.
The creamy custard and caramel sauce slid easily down his throat, but Zack barely tasted it. Why did everyone always expect the worst out of him? So what if Kyle was the favored nephew? Why make a big deal out of it? Zack knew from personal experience that his brother was far from perfect. But, where Kyle was concerned, everyone seemed blind.
After supper ended, Clifton suggested that Kyle and Zack exchange some of their dollars into quetzals at the front desk. To Zack, the Guatemalan bills looked less real than Monopoly money. They joined Clifton in the lobby where he’d settled into one of the overstuffed chairs and was watching an Oakland A’s baseball game. At first that didn’t register, until a promotional advertisement came on for a television station in Dallas and Zack realized that the hotel must have a satellite dish. Maybe this place wasn’t such a wasteland after all.
Chapter Three
Raymond Morales caressed the powder coated, stainless steel blade of his Navy Seal SOG knife. It weighed a little under a pound and was over eleven inches in length. There was no doubt it would do the job. Albie was out of chances. If the Canadian didn’t give up the map, there’d be no more Canadian. Raymond’s lips curled at the thought, then he chuckled, imagining the surprise in Albie’s eyes as he slid the knife in Albie’s soft gut and jerked up on the serrated edge. Albie would live long enough to know he was going to die, but it didn’t matter how soon help arrived, they wouldn’t be able to repair the damage.
Still, it might be tricky. There were always unforeseen variables whenever you killed someone in public. Raymond grunted. Albie thought that would protect him. Albie was wrong.
He’d rather it was Miguel he was gutting. Miguel was the real problem. That bastard had had the audacity to hide the codex. Then he’d made some damn fool treasure map, like he was playing pirate. Well, he’d take care of Miguel, too. No one double-crossed Raymond Morales and lived to tell about it.
In the morning he would catch a flight to Tikal and finish up. The Spanish goods were packed and crated and so were most of the stolen artifacts. As soon as he had the codex he could quit this country, maybe go to Europe, and live like a king for a long, long time. He had a buyer; all he needed was the damn book.
He sheathed the knife, then reached over and switched off the lamp. He lay in the darkness, stroking his mustache.
The red neon light from the market across the street flashed on and off onto the dingy curtains at the window. He hated this fleabag hotel, but no one who frequented this establishment had a memory and that was why he stayed here.
Mariachi music drifted up from the bar downstairs. From the hallway he heard a hooker’s giggles and a man’s voice. The door of the room next to his opened and closed. More giggles, more masculine sounds, and the rustling of clothes. Then came a slap, a thump, and sharp cry of pain. The painful cries grew louder, more intense and then shrill, drowning out the slaps or maybe the man was hitting now. Hits weren’t as loud as slaps. The bedsprings squeaked and the cries became muffled and somewhat muted. That was better, but it wouldn’t be peaceful again until the man was satisfied or the girl was dead. The management wouldn’t step in because the girl had been paid for and girls were disposable. Raymond didn’t care which result happened, just that the noise stopped.
He heard grunting coupled with soft sobs. The bed springs squeaked and once more there was the rustle of clothes. There was one more sudden slap, another thump, and this time she didn’t cry out. The door opened and closed. He held his breath and heard soft, quiet sobbing. Well, she wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyway. After awhile the door opened and closed as the girl left the room and went back downstairs. She’d show up back at the bar, all bruised and beaten and there would be a certain type of man who’d be glad to finish what someone else had already started. Chances were good that the slut wouldn’t live to see morning. Tough shit for her. Raymond didn’t care. He was just waiting for midnight.
Chapter Four
Kyle was in the shower when Clifton came by with two woven cowboy hats and a couple of paperback books.
“I knew hats would be hard to pack so I bought these for you,” he said, handing Zack one of the hats and a copy of the book. It was Frommer’s Travel Guide to Guatemala, Belize, and Costa Rica. “The travel guide will help you become more familiar with the country. Frommer’s is full of interesting information.”
“Thanks.” Zack put the hat on his head and tossed the travel guide on the bed. No way was he interested in reading about rough, tough Guatemala.
“Also, I called your mom and dad a few minutes ago and told them that you had arrived safely and had a good meal.”
“Thanks,” Zack said again.
Clifton paused for a moment after setting Kyle’s hat and book on the dresser. He placed his hand on Zack’s shoulder. “My folks were divorced when I was a kid,” he said.
Zack stepped back, out of his uncle’s reach. “Thanks for sharing.”
“Listen, Zack. Your parents didn’t send you here to be cruel. Your mom feels badly about the divorce. She couldn’t deal with you guys watching her while she moved out.”
Sure, Zack thought, defend her. “You don’t understand. We got no warning. We were packed up and sent off. When we get back everything will have changed. Mom will be gone.”
“Son, it will be okay. Your mom will be around if you need her.”
“Yeah right,” Zack said. “Like I can really believe that.” He was too proud to admit to his uncle that she’d been shutting him out of her life for months. Like last April when she’d gone to Chicago. His dad and Kyle had known, but Zack? Zack wasn’t even left a Post-it on the refrigerator. She’d been gone for three days before he’d realized she was missing. “This is my life she’s messing with, too. I want to know what happened and why.”
Clifton looked Zack squarely in the eyes. “Does it really matter?”
“Yeah, to me it does.”
The edges of Clifton’s mouth hardened. “Why? So you can have someone to blame it all on? So you’ll know who to punish?”
“Hey, man! That’s not fair!”
“Maybe not,” Clifton answered. “But, whatever the reason, it’s between your parents and it’s private.”
Oh, what the hell. Zack flopped down on the bed. He couldn’t talk with his uncle anymore than he could talk with his parents. That much was obvious.
The water in the shower cut off and Kyle appeared, a towel wrapped low around his waist.
“Hey,” he said, searching their faces. “What’s going on?”
; Zack didn’t answer and Clifton pointed to the book and cowboy hat on the dresser. “I came by to bring you hats and a travel guide.”
Kyle picked up the hat, positioned it on his head, and critically examined himself in the mirror over the dresser. “Neat,” he said with obvious approval. “But, I thought everyone wore pith helmets in the jungle.”
“This isn’t Africa,” Clifton grinned. “I was just telling Zack that I called your folks from my room. They were glad you got here without any trouble.”
Kyle glanced at his brother as if wondering what else had been said.
“I also told them that we wouldn’t be near a phone in Tikal and not to expect to hear from us for a few days. You guys better get some sleep. Do you have an alarm clock? Or do you want me to wake you in the morning?”
“We both have alarm clocks,” Kyle said.
“I’ll see you at dawn then. Good night boys.”
As soon as he closed the door, Kyle turned to Zack. “What’d you say to him?”
“Nothing. Stay off my case, okay?”
“Look,” Kyle said. “You’ve been mouthing off to Uncle Clifton ever since we got here. Stop it.”
“I wasn’t mouthing off,” Zack said. “We were talking about Mom and Dad, that’s all. Anyway, he started it. That whole lecture he gave at supper about drugs and stolen artifacts was aimed at me.”
“That reminds me, what was that line you told him about you not being a thief? He knows what you’re like. Don’t give him any trouble. Okay? Don’t even try.”
Zack was stunned. “You think he knows about that thing with the car? Do you think Mom told him?”
“Thing? You mean the thing that you got arrested and jailed for Grand Theft Auto? Sure he knows. Why shouldn’t he? It isn’t a secret. You did it. Why shouldn’t people talk about it?”
His mom’s voice echoed in Zack’s ear, “You took my Mercedes to Malibu? Why? To go surfing?” She’d never considered that it might be too cold to go surfing in the Pacific Ocean in January, especially without a wet suit. But, although she’d asked why, she’d never listened to his explanation.
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