by Garry Ryan
“Amazing!” Arthur said.
They watched in silence for five minutes. Whales surfaced, spouted and every so often rose up to touch the horizon. Then they were gone.
“We’re going back to our room. Lane needs to change his shoes.” Arthur pointed at his partner’s feet.
“Waves will sneak up on you.” Alejandro smiled and followed them along the curving path leading to their room.
Alejandro sat on the patio and sipped his water while Lane and Arthur got ready.
Lane joined Alejandro on the patio. Alejandro looked across the pool. Fuentes sat on a blue lounge chair and watched as his children swam. His wife sat next to him holding their youngest child, who was asleep, wrapped in a gold towel.
“It all looks so ordinary. Parents caring for their children and relaxing by the pool,” Alejandro said.
Lane nodded.
“You have a family?” Alejandro sipped his water and looked right at the ocean.
“A nephew and a niece and her son and husband.” Lane frowned.
“There’s a problem?”
“Our niece moved back into our house without her husband.”
Alejandro nodded. “He is not good for her?”
“He’s very nice. His mother is a . . .” What do I call Lola, exactly?
“A fresa?”
“A very good word for Lola!”
“This Lola, she is a showgirl?” Alejandro winked.
Lane laughed.
Arthur stepped out onto the deck. “What’s so funny?” Lane told him. Arthur smiled. “Yes, come to think of it, she is a showgirl.” He looked at Lane. “Lola tried to get our niece to put on white makeup before introducing Christine to her country club friends.”
“Your niece has dark skin?” Alejandro lifted an eyebrow and a brown arm.
“She’s —” Arthur looked at Lane before continuing “ — biracial.”
Alejandro shook his head. “I can’t understand why it makes a difference.”
Arthur put his hand on Lane’s shoulder. “Lola told Paul that she didn’t want him around our grandson Indiana after Paul had to shoot a killer.”
Alejandro scratched his head and looked at Lane.
Arthur continued. “He killed a murderer and arrested his wife. They were a team. They travelled around robbing and killing people. The man was about to shoot a boy.”
“I read about this. They killed a couple in Cancun and another in New York?” Alejandro squeezed his plastic water bottle and it crackled.
Lane nodded.
“And this Lola, she went for your, how do you say, huevos?”
“Huevos?” Lane asked.
“Eggs.” Alejandro mimicked grabbing his crotch.
“Balls,” Arthur said.
“That’s right. Some people are like that. They try to take your strength away.” Alejandro looked across the pool at Fuentes and his family. “They think that they can take from others without consequence to themselves. They are usually rich and powerful and believe that they cannot be touched.”
They looked at the pool and watched Fuentes as he pointed at his son who was splashing water in his sister’s face.
“What was taken from you?” Arthur asked.
“My mother and sister. I was nine.” The bottle crackled in Alejandro’s hand. “Fuentes ran them down in the street. My little brother and I watched it happen. The police said it was an accident. My father was working in Canada at the time. He moved us there after the funeral.”
“And he —” Lane cocked his head in the direction of Fuentes “— brought you back?”
“In a way, yes. We have different natures, he and I. I want him to face the consequences of his actions. He thinks he is immune from them.” Alejandro stood up. “We have some work to do before that will happen, amigos. Are you coming?”
“Where?” Arthur opened the sliding glass door and stepped back into the room.
“Manny and his boys have a place just inland from here.” Alejandro followed Arthur inside. Lane locked the sliding door then the door to the room. They walked along the hallway, past the children’s playground, upstairs to the lobby and outside. Alejandro had a white Chrysler 300 parked out on the street. They climbed inside, Alejandro started up and they drove toward San José. He turned left at the cemetery and travelled a kilometre north. A man in a white hat, shirt and pants sat against the white wall at the entrance to a clutch of white condominiums. Beside the man was a metre-high wall engraved with the image of a whale. Lane looked at the man, the way his body sagged and his arms hung at his side.
Alejandro said, “Manny and his boys have a couple of condos there. The ones where the Harleys are parked.”
“Do you have any contacts with the local police?” Lane asked.
“Yes.” Alejandro looked sideways at Lane. “Why?”
“That man propped up against the wall is dead. The bikers are sending a message. It may be the man who tried to sell us cocaine this morning. Manny and the boys are marking their territory.” Lane took a long breath. Like dogs pissing on each other’s scent.
Arthur turned to look at the body. “How can you tell?”
Lane shrugged. Believe me, I can tell.
Alejandro’s phone rang thirty minutes later as they sat drinking coffee under an umbrella on the patio out front of a San José restaurant called Pete’s. “Hola?”
Lane and Arthur listened to the rapid-fire Spanish.
Alejandro pressed END on the phone, put it on the table and pointed his index finger to his temple. “One bullet in the side of the head. Close range. These guys think that no one can touch them.”
“Not for much longer,” Arthur said.
I wish I shared your optimism.
That evening, as the sun stretched long fingers of lazy light across the resort, Lane sat on the patio waiting for Arthur to get ready. They had a six o’clock reservation for dinner.
The noise of automatic gunfire carried over the water but was drowned when a wave crashed on the beach.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 14
chapter 12
In the morning the staff was usually smiling with friendly holas. But this morning, as Lane and Arthur walked around the pool to the breakfast buffet, there was worry and an undercurrent of what Lane took to be anger. An unpleasant smell rose from the beach. As Carlos poured their coffee, Lane saw people gathering near the water. A grey–blue shape lay on the beach, rocking in the waves. A larger wave curled over the body and splashed down on its back. Blood oozed from a series of puncture wounds above its eye. The wounds reached halfway along its back. “Is that the whale calf?” Arthur asked.
Lane nodded as three quads buzzed up the beach. The manager of La Luna Cortez looked first at the whale’s corpse then out at the ocean where a pair of whales swam and spouted. They were abnormally close, just beyond where the waves began to gather on their gallop to the beach.
A man arrived riding a horse and trailing three others linked by a rope. He wore a straw hat, a long-sleeved shirt and washed-out jeans. He leaned over and talked to the manager, who was shading his eyes with his right hand. They talked for a few minutes; then the rider nudged his horse’s ribs with his heels and continued along the beach. The manager looked back at the resort and frowned.
Arthur said, “It was the guys in the cigarette boat, wasn’t it?”
Lane nodded. “I think so.” So many people here rely on the tourists for their families. Manny, Bonner, Fuentes and Keystone are not making themselves popular with the locals.
The stench intensified as the sun baked the carcass. Lane stood up, leaving his coffee unfinished. “I’m going up to the lobby to use the WiFi.”
Arthur looked toward their room. “I’m going to get changed, then come back to keep an eye on the beach. Come and get me when you’re done.”
Lane followed Arthur to the room, picked up his laptop and phone, then went out and along the hallway. He looked left through the portal at the whale’s mouth where he’d seen Celia S
anchez’s body. He walked past the entrance to the children’s play area. Brown-haired twin girls of seven or eight looked up at their father as they waited for him to open the door. The smell of bleach lingered in the air and became more intense when the father opened the door. Lane continued on to the stairway and made his way up to the lobby. He sat down, opened his laptop and checked his email.
Uncle Lane,
Hope you are finding time to enjoy the sun and the beach. Sam is on the rug beside me as I write this. Christine and Indiana are sleeping.
Dan came over today to see Indiana and Christine. I left them alone to talk and took Sam for a walk. Dan was gone when I got back, and Christine was putting Indy to sleep. I don’t know exactly what is going on, but I hope they can work it out.
When do you and Arthur get back?
Matt
Lane began to type.
Matt,
Thanks for letting me know what’s going on. I’m also hoping that they can figure things out. We all knew that Lola was difficult to deal with. Linda was a real eye-opener for me. She moved far away so she wouldn’t have to deal with Lola. Dan, on the other hand, is the kind of person who feels loyalty toward his parents. It is his strength and weakness. As a result, he has a difficult choice to make.
We’re doing well here. The place is beautiful. The food is wonderful, and Arthur is out soaking up some sun.
I don’t know how much longer we will be down here. There are a few things we need to check out before returning.
Love,
Uncle Lane
Next he opened a message from Nigel.
Lane,
We’re still working on the Frederick angle at Thirsk High School. Frederick Lee has a spotless record, but I watched the guy leave school on the security cameras. The other kids gave him a wide berth and no one except a high-stepping blonde girl would make eye contact with him. The other odd thing was that none of the boys nearby would even glance at the blonde. Lee drives a black Mercedes SUV with right-hand drive. There’s just something about the kid that makes me think we need to watch him. You know how you tell me to trust my gut? Well, my gut is working overtime when it comes to Mr. Lee.
Hope you’re getting some time in the sun down there. I know Lori is joking about you getting a tan. Better not disappoint her!
Nigel
“Pinche narcos!” Janet, the angel-faced waitress, wore a black skirt and vest, had her black hair tied back and presented an uncharacteristic frown as she set a cappuccino on the table in front of Lane. He followed her gaze past the railing to the reservations desk where Fuentes had arrived with his entourage of family, maids and bodyguards. Two bellhops in blue hotel shirts and shorts pushed a pair of carts piled high with luggage.
“Palmilla!” Fuentes said, then threw a handful of plastic door keys at the woman behind the desk. She leaned to her left as one of the cards whipped by her ear.
The manager stepped out from a side door. He crossed his arms and watched as Fuentes led his group outside to a waiting pair of white Suburbans. Lane noticed the bellhops using exaggerated care when they loaded the baggage. Then he looked at the faces of the staff standing around the perimeter of the foyer. No one spoke. The Suburbans pulled away. The staff glanced around at the various exits as if expecting some calamity to arrive.
Frederick flexed his right shoulder. The decreased level of pain, itching and tingling told him the wounds were healing. He looked over his computer monitor as people entered and left the library. His teacher, Mr. Harvey, talked to the librarian and did not see a student with his arm up.
Frederick went over the aftermath of the shooting in his mind. His clothes were safely stashed in a garbage bin at the local daycare. It was unlikely anyone would go through bags of shitty diapers to look for evidence. The gun had been wiped clean and tucked next to the seat of the Mustang. The only thing he worried about was blood. If any was left behind from his wounded shoulder, his DNA would connect him to the car and the gun.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember whether he’d wiped away all blood spatter on the seat, then recalled the yellow, green and purple bruising he’d seen around the pellet wounds this morning. To assume there was no spatter would be a mistake. He needed a backup plan now, one involving a passport and cash.
Lane and Arthur sat on the deck chairs on the patio outside of their room. The tropical night was punctuated with stars. The middle of the complex was being pounded with music from a tiki party on the beach. To their left a gathering of Canadians sat near the pool. “Shit! I spilled my drink!” a deep male voice announced.
“You’re such a klutz, Steve!” A woman’s nasal voice was loud even over the tiki music.
“Shut up, Anita! Get me another drink!” Steve said.
Another voice, conciliatory, yet just as drunk, said, “Relax. I’ve got it.”
“Arnie’s got it!” Anita said.
Arthur got up, opened the sliding glass door and went inside; Lane followed. Arthur said, “Sounds like the drunks are auditioning for a reality show.”
Lane sat on his bed, leaned a couple of pillows against the headboard, grabbed the remote and began to flip through the channels on the flat-screen TV. Arthur went into the bathroom. “Just putting some cream on my knees and elbows.” The TV blinked to black as the lights went out and the whir of the air conditioning died. Lane got up and felt his way to the bathroom. The music from the tiki party had gone silent.
Arthur asked, “What happened?”
Lane looked in the direction of the door to the hallway. There was no line of light between the floor and the door. “I don’t know.”
Some light came in through the door to the patio. Lane felt around for the closet door, opened it, touched the safe’s keypad and entered the numbers. The safe opened and he retrieved his phone and credit cards.
“What are you doing?” Arthur asked.
“We’re leaving the room and going outside.” Lane felt around for his sandals. “Got your shoes on?”
“Yes.”
“Ready?” Lane felt Arthur’s hand on his shoulder. He opened the door and looked into the hallway. The only light came from a locked glass door leading outside. He stepped into the hall, turned left and saw a solitary exterior light illuminating the pathway to the pool. They felt their way along the hall, down the steps and out onto the pathway. Lane looked left. Half the resort was in darkness. Lights illuminated the grounds and the pools. Smoke drifted from one corner of the complex. He caught a whiff of raw petroleum.
“FIRE!” A man pointed at the smoke, then at a woman on a second-floor balcony. “Anita!”
“FIRE!” Anita pointed at the moon. “STEVE!” The red tip of her cigarette was visible.
Steve pointed with a half-empty Corona. “Anita baby, are you okay?”
Anita leaned over the balcony. Her ample cleavage cut a canyon in the moonlight. “Come get me, baby!”
Steve’s feet started moving. His arms and shoulders were a little slower. He leaned right and fell into the bougainvillea next to the pathway.
“Dos cervezas!” The voice came from the other side of the pool.
“This is better than fuckin’ Romeo and Juliet,” someone said.
Lane looked away from the bizarre balcony scene and toward the café where lights shone through the windows. “Let’s go over there.”
A man in a straw hat walked along the illuminated hallway next to the café. He wore a muscle shirt to showcase his blue tattoos. He carried two fishing poles in his right hand and pulled his luggage with his left.
Lane and Arthur stood outside and watched with a few of the waiters from the café. Another man walked past. The wheels of his golf cart thumped over the tiles. His elementary-school-age son and preschool daughter followed, then his wide-eyed wife carrying her purse and a box of golf balls.
Arthur said, “He certainly has his priorities figured out.”
Lane raised his eyebrows as the maître d’ from one of the restaurants said, �
��Please, we need everyone to go to the beach!” She began to wave guests forward to where tables and chairs were being set up. Lane found a table with white seat covers and a tablecloth. He sat down. A woman sat down across from him, cradling her sleeping son in her arms. The boy’s father sat down next to her. Another family, including grandmother, aunts, mothers, brothers and grandchildren, sat down. One of the children was sound asleep and stretched across two chairs. A teenaged girl began to translate from Spanish to English and back again.
About an hour later, after the staff had brought warm towels down to the beach and Arthur had run out of things to say to their tablemates, Lane got up and went for a walk. He followed the lit stairway up to the resort lobby. Firemen stood outside the front doors. Oxygen tanks and helmets lay scattered around the pillars. A police officer with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder stood leaning against a wall. Alejandro was there wearing jeans, a black T-shirt and sneakers. He stood away from the crowd and talked on his phone unnoticed among the hotel staff and various emergency workers. He looked up and nodded at Lane, then cocked his head in the direction of the karaoke bar. Lane went outside and saw fire engines and ambulances parked around the fountain. More firemen, police and resort security gathered here and there. He walked back through the sliding glass doors and downstairs to the sunken karaoke bar. Alejandro sat in a chair with his back against the wall. Lane sat down next to him.
“Arthur is fine?”
Lane nodded. “They have us down on the beach. The staff is taking good care of us, passing around sandwiches, warm towels and coffee.”
“The hotel staff will tell you that the fire was electrical. An accident. One of my friends is a fireman. He says that there was a strong smell of kerosene where the fire originated in the laundry. He thinks someone set fire to a load of towels in a dryer. It’s next to the elevator and the fuse boxes for one side of the building. So the hotel’s calling it an electrical fire and my friend is saying it was arson.”