Songs for Perri

by Nancy Radke

  "Yes, but apparently he's not using it. What's your room number so I can reach you if I have to?"

  "You really want to know?" He smiled broadly, white teeth flashing brightly in his bronzed face, a devilish grin that should have warned her, but didn't.

  "Of course."

  "You're sure?" he prodded.

  "Yes." What was so different about where he was staying?

  He told her. "Very well. I'm in the room next to yours...the one with the connecting door." His grin broadened as he dropped the information on her. Seeing her instant reaction of suspicious withdrawal, he tacked on, dryly, "I'll unlock my side, if you unlock yours."

  Perri could imagine the expression on his eyes, behind those dark glasses, matching his sly smile. One thing she didn't need was Hugo next door to her. The knowledge unsettled her. Had he arranged it?

  She'd had practice parrying suggestions such as he'd just made and smiled mockingly back at him. "Are you sure you didn't bribe the desk clerk, just a little?"

  "No." He held up both hands in innocent denial. "Scout's honor. I had that room before you arrived."

  "Ha!" She didn't believe him. "I don't see you ever being a Boy Scout."

  He scratched his head as if to consider her accusation. "No," he admitted quietly. "I never was. I was always... doing...other things."

  "Like what?"

  "Just...other things. Things too fierce to mention." For once he seemed unsure of himself, and she pressed harder.

  "Like panty raids on sorority houses?" As soon as she said it she wished she hadn't. His grin swiftly transformed itself into a hungry smacking of his lips as he viewed her—privately—through his dark glasses. She felt a blush start to rise before he looked away and adjusted his glasses, pushing them up higher on the bridge of his nose.

  "Actually, I wish I'd had time for things like that." Frowning, he shook his head, as if mystified by what was happening. "I don't believe it."

  "What?"

  "You."

  She looked dubiously at him and he explained what was wrong.

  "You're an interesting woman, Perri. You make me want to talk to you...to tell you things I shouldn't." She could tell the feeling baffled him. He looked decidedly put out with himself. "Even when you don't ask me questions. You'd make a powerful interrogator. Ever thought of working for the police?"

  "Are you kidding?"

  "No." He shook his head as if in a daze. "I've never felt this way...like I should tell you everything. I usually let the other person do all the talking. Do you, uh...use pixy dust?"

  "No. What's wrong? Do you have some deep dark hidden secret, you can't talk about? A skeleton in the closet, so to speak?"

  He rested his chin on the bridge created by the back of his hands. She couldn't tell if he was staring at her or at the table in front of them.

  The answer came slowly, as if pulled from him. "As a matter of fact, yes. I'm not here in Mexico for pleasure, Perri. I have a job to do."

  "What?"

  "I can't tell you. Not now."

  "Why?"

  "Too risky."

  "But—” She stopped, interrupting herself with her thoughts. He wasn't just a tourist, after all. Had she made a dreadful mistake in telling him about Walt? Was Hugo one of the men sent to kill Owen?

  It couldn't be. Suddenly frightened, she forced the idea out of her head, refusing to entertain such a dreadful idea. Hugo, for all he sometimes looked like a thug, was a very personable man. He couldn't be involved in hunting down Owen. He just couldn't.

  She knew her argument was weak. Killers could be charming when they wanted to.

  He'd been quietly watching her as the various thoughts left behind a series of fleeting expressions. First puzzlement, then acceptance, then alarm. "I'd like to know what that was all about," he commented, "but I think I'll play it safe and forego asking."

  Perri stared at the dark lenses thoughtfully. She wanted, desperately, for him to be unconnected with Owen's troubles...to be able to trust him. Only time would tell if Hugo was harmless or not. "Yes," she agreed. "I think that would be best."

  Their food arrived and they gave their attention to the meal. Perri had a taste for Mexican food and ate with a relish that Hugo matched.

  She finished before he did and took the opportunity to study him further. The small scar lifted his right eyebrow upward at the edge, giving him a sinister look. She could see it just past the side of his dark glasses.

  "Do you live in those because you like them?" she asked, nodding toward the glasses. "Or are they prescription lenses?"

  "I like to see and not be seen," he quipped, laying down his fork and pushing his empty plate slightly away from him. "That was good."

  "It was," she agreed. Then indicating the glasses which irritated her so much, she declared, "Maybe I should get a pair."

  "It would be a shame, coverin' up the brilliant blue of your eyes; although...they might keep you from getting a headache from the sunshine. Shall we go?"

  He knew how to turn a compliment when he wanted to, Perri thought. Very much a man of the world. Cosmopolitan. Well educated, too. So why wear clothes suited for the "West Side Story?" She pondered the enigma in her mind for a moment, but came to no decision before answering him.

  "Yes. Let’s go. I don't want to waste time. I have a list of hotels." Pulling it out of her purse, she showed it to him. "I thought he'd be in one of these out-of-the-way places, but now I'm not so sure."

  "Hum. Let's finish these; then tomorrow we can canvas the Golden Zone."

  "Shouldn't we split up? We'd cover more area?"

  "Tomorrow. I want to hear your description a couple of times, so I'll have it down pat."

  "Okay." She didn't mind having Hugo with her. Already she felt encouraged. His presence, plus the meal and short rest had given her a lift, both in spirits and energy.

  By the time they reached the fifth hotel, Hugo was addressing the desk clerks, Perri coming in only when they asked a question he couldn't answer.

  On the way outside, they stopped to check her list near a display case which contained items of gleaming silver inlaid with onyx and turquoise.

  He remarked how well they were made, and she agreed. A heavy silver bracelet caught her eye, the intricate pattern of a Toltec feathered serpent especially well done. It was a striking piece, unusually crafted, and she commented on its uniqueness and beauty before they moved on.

  "These are lovely, but out of my field," she said, turning to glance toward his darkly mirrored face. "We have one buyer of jewelry, but he buys directly from the craftsmen. I'll tell him about this place; he can take it from there."

  "Good enough," he said. "Your pendant is unique. Is it from Africa?"

  "Yes. It was my mother's favorite, she wore it all the time."

  "Was?" he demanded, catching the meaning of the past tense, his voice suddenly terse, his lips tightening. "You mean...?"

  "She died...seven weeks ago. I was holding her...and she was dying...and I couldn't do a thing. Nothing at all." Her voice caught, and she had to bow her head for a moment as she tried to regain her composure. "I'm sorry. I'm still weepy." Like a picture out of focus, the noise of the people in the lobby around them blurred and vanished, leaving only the silence of her grief hovering between them.

  "I didn't know." His voice was constrained, as if it were also a great shock to him, so in touch was he with her feelings.

  "I feel as if I should have done something...." She couldn't continue and Hugo led her behind a concealing fern, then pulled her close, his strong arms enveloping her, shutting out the world, offering protection and comfort and a silent imparting of sympathy.

  "What happened, Perri? How did Crystal die?" he asked, his gentle voice hoarse with emotion. It was clear he was shocked by the fact it had been such a short time ago; knowing her emotional wounds would still be fresh.

  "Car accident. She drove into some boulders. Next to our driveway."

  "I'm sorry."

 
"The hurt, the pain is still intense. I loved her so much. She was a good friend besides being my mother."

  Shaken, Perri buried her face against his chest,drawing from his strength. His muscles were hard; it was like hanging onto a man of iron, but his understanding voice and the loud beating of his heart changed the hardness into a sympathetic tower of strength. His arms tightened, telling Perri she was welcome to cling to him as long as she needed.

  Hugo pulled Perri closer to him so she couldn't see his face, contorted in pain from her announcement. It was a good thing he had on the dark glasses to hide the tears. He clamped his teeth to keep from crying out in anguish, and shut his eyes tightly.

  "She was quite a woman," he murmured.

  Perri might think he was holding her to comfort her, but it was to comfort himself, too. He had grown to love Crystal like a mother. When he had been sick, she had come to his apartment every day bringing him soup, doing his laundry and other "mom" things for him. Taking care of him.

  He had had a short but fierce battle with a disease—some foreign bug he'd picked up. Crystal had helped him get well just before he had left for Africa. When he had managed to help the tribal leader keep his people safe from a rebel threat, the old chief, Wantambu, had given him the pendant and a spear as a token of gratitude. Hugo had kept the spear, but the pendant he had given to Crystal on her wedding anniversary as a "Thank You." He had wondered why Perri was wearing it, the first time he saw her, because Crystal usually wore it all the time. But he didn't question it. Crystal was such a generous person, she could have easily loaned it to Perri.

  He fought the tears, glad that the hotel fern was large and hid them well. Perri was in better shape than he was, having had time to adjust to her mother's death. She was already starting to pull away from him, and he pulled her back. He wondered if he could even talk. He had to force himself past that point of grief and tend to the matters at hand. But it hurt. It hurt terribly.

  Crystal had always set a plate for him when he'd come by. She had understood when he needed to talk about the girl who had left him because of his job. Crystal had listened and commiserated and talked him through his depression. She said that time healed, as it had. That there would be other girls down the line, as there hadn't been. But maybe there could be. The slender form of her daughter awakened a longing that he had put behind him.

  He breathed in the sweet perfume of Perri's hair. She didn't know he had known her mother. He couldn’t tell her. Until he talked with Walt, he had to keep Perri ignorant of his true identity.

  Lifting one hand, he slipped it under the glasses to wipe his eyes. Crystal's death had left a void, ripping out part of his life. He couldn't believe he would never see her cheerful face again, never hear that lilt that came in her voice when she greeted him, or the mischief when she spoke of linking him and Perri some day.

  It hurt. Why hadn't Walt warned him? Why hadn't he said something? Anything? He knew now that Walt was grieving, but he could have let him in.

  As soon as he got Perri back to her hotel, he would run over and take a quick checkup on the older man. If Walt wasn't still recovering from the bullet wound—and probably laid up for several days—he would have shot him himself. How like the old man not to tell him. Sometimes he carried his need for secrecy too far.

  Hugo frowned as he gained more control of his emotions. He understood now the deep depression that hung over Walt. It wasn't just the danger to his son, it was the loss of his wife. Could the two be connected?

  He shook his head, as if doing so would clear the unbelievable idea, but the thought persisted. Could the person or persons trying to kill Owen be after Walt also? Or were they now after Walt because he was trying to help Owen? If Crystal had been killed, what would be the motive? Why go after the wife of an old CIA agent?

  No, no. She had been in Arizona, while Owen was still in Cuba. That was right, wasn't it? Safe at home. No connection at all.

  But his mind wouldn't release the thought. He had run into too many coincidences in his years as an agent to pass them up. Sometimes they were nothing more than coincidences and other times they weren't...and the few times they weren't it had always paid him to check them out.

  But if Crystal had been a target, then the killer would also know who Perri was...and might murder her if she returned home. He had to talk this possibility over with Walt. Where was it more dangerous for Perri to be? Here? Or in Arizona?

  For Perri it was a particularly poignant moment, of grief shared and the burden of heartache silently passed to stronger shoulders. It was the first time she felt any hope that she might someday come to grips with her mother's death.

  When her mother had died, many friends had sympathized with her, but from none of them had she received the comfort she was getting at this moment...from Hugo, of all people! Never had she felt so much a part of a person...a oneness, a rightness. The burden of sorrow was floating away, being replaced by a peaceful acceptance.

  When at last she drew back, Hugo took her hands in his large ones and held them tightly. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have asked. Let's move on, dearest."

  He sounded deeply moved, filled with compassion, Perri thought. Or empathy. Some people were very sensitive to other's sorrows.

  There was a caring, emotional man hidden behind the dark glasses and flippant manner. Perri felt herself responding to his gentleness in a way she would have scoffed at a day earlier.

  They left the hotel and he stayed with her for the rest of the day, making time pass faster and the task easier.

  "That's the last one in this area. It'll soon be getting dark," he stated. "We could continue, but you're worn out. Let's quit and get an early start tomorrow."

  Perri paused. Part of her demanded that she continue searching until she found Walt. Another part said she should check in at the hotel in case Walt had sent a message. "I don't want to stop. I'll go back to the hotel, take a long cool shower, then decide."

  "Good idea. I'll do the same—in my own room, of course," he added.

  "If only the shower stalls had stoppers in them; I'd soak my sore feet in cold water."

  "Dinner tonight?"

  "No. I'll either renew my search or go to bed." Unless, she added wearily to herself, someone slips another ticket under my door.

  "Then we'll make it an early dinner."

  "I'm sorry, but no."

  "A boyfriend back home?" he suggested.

  She grabbed at the excuse. "Yes."

  "You're not wearing a ring, so you're still fair game. We'll eat at seven. What's his name?"

  "Who? Oh...John."

  He laughed easily. "Too slow. You gotta be faster than that if you want out. I bet this John doesn't even have a last name."

  Her mind was mentally shot and all she could do was glare at him while he waggled his index finger at her accusingly and then flagged down a taxi.

  Perri allowed him to help her inside. She had been running on adrenalin and nerves the last part of the day and was visibly drooping from the strain. Exhaustion hit her in the same way a long-distance runner "hit the wall."

  She didn't object when Hugo put his long arm around her and eased her head over to rest on his muscular shoulder, his other hand brushing her hair back tenderly from where it swirled around her neck, lightly caressing the sensitive skin.

  He's a charmer, Perri thought, knowing that the tremor that passed down her spine was the result of the accomplished touch of a master.

  She really shouldn't let him take charge, she knew, but she was too tired to argue. As Anna had said, he would probably be impossible to say "no" to, anyway. Her mind refused to cope with the problem while her body gladly accepted the comfort Hugo gave so competently. This seemed the logical thing to do at the moment. She relaxed against him gladly.

  Underneath the brashness and the hoodlum attire, there was a sensitivity that continued to astonish Perri. So lost and bewildered and alone was she at the moment that she gratefully accepted Hugo's he
lp and companionship.

  Yet was Hugo helping her or using her to find Owen? There was no way she could tell. She could only hope that what she was doing was right. Once she had found Walt, she'd warn him about Hugo, give him the message, and go home.

  Fighting off her negative thoughts, Perri looked out the window. The taxi was traveling down the Malecon, the boulevard that wound along the western edge of the city. The sun was dropping low on the horizon, its brilliance making it almost impossible to look westward.

  Hugo was humming a song that she realized she had heard before—the tune was familiar—but one she couldn't place. It was a relaxing, ballad-type tune, but the beat was unusual. Before she could ask him what it was, he was humming something different. This one she knew and quietly sang the words in her low alto. He switched to sing softly along with her.

  "Your voice is better than mine," she laughed, trying to hold the notes as long as he did.

  "Practice. I always sing as I drive."

  "Are you a truck driver?"

  "Sometimes. I do a lot of driving."

  "What do you do?"

  "Right now I'm traveling around, picking up the odd job whenever I need money. It doesn't take much to live on in Mexico. I'm on a job right now that pays well."

  He must be, she thought, recalling the rate per day at their expensive hotel.

  The taxi deposited them at the main door and Hugo paid the fare. They checked for messages. There were none, but her replacement credit card was there. Thankfully she signed it and put it into her wallet.

  They walked to their rooms, laughing as Hugo described a frightened parasailer that had almost crash-landed on his balcony.

  He left her at her door and opened his. "See you shortly," he said, but she shook her head, stating she was going to rest.

  Once inside, Perri glanced quickly at the marble floor. No envelope. Relieved, for she didn't think she could take another disappointment, she locked the bathroom door and showered, letting the cool water beat down upon her tender, throbbing scalp to remove the excess heat that had almost broiled her brains.

  Putting on a yellow short sleeved blouse and a pair of white cotton shorts, she lay down on her back on the bed, feet propped up on a pillow, arms thrown askew above her head in exhaustion. A short rest only, then she'd start looking again....