On Tenterhooks

by Greever Williams

  They spent the next hour listening to his advice on how to prepare for the imminent conflict. Abby took copious notes, but there weren’t any real instructions in Biker’s words. To Steve, they sounded more like a full-hearted pep talk to an underdog team facing long odds.

  So be it. We’ve got to trust that he’s gonna tell us anything he can to help, otherwise, what’s the point of even trying?

  As the sun went down, their waiter lit the nearby chiminea and the torches that lined the patio. The heat from the fire felt good on their bare arms. Steve took stock of his companions at the table. They all seemed rapt with Biker’s words, even Veronica. They watched as their mentor recounted possibilities of what to expect, but nothing was concrete.

  “Ultimately, folks, the thing you have going for you is each other. Use that tool, and it’ll save your bacon.”

  Despite just having met Biker, and it’s happening under dire circumstances, each of them already trusted him. Maybe it was because none of them could explain the events that had led them to this point. There were too many unfounded fears and coincidences. There had to be something larger at work. Biker’s explanation of their small, but crucial, role in a grander design seemed to sit well with each of them.

  Maybe it’s just the knowing itself.

  They had all been living with a grief that had gnawed at them from the inside.

  Biker was not sugarcoating the situation, but Steve sensed that he was holding back about how bad their chances were. In the current surroundings, it was hard to believe that they would soon deploy as if they were some sort of special forces unit. Steve surveyed his “troops”: Martin, with his oversized bifocals and graying temples; Abby with her notebook and music player; and Veronica with her short, spiky hair and even shorter fuse. But he knew that there was more to each of them—Martin’s faith, Veronica’s strength, Abby’s casual confidence. How much could they rely on these reserves in the days ahead?

  When Steve heard Biker say, “So, let’s recap,” he snapped back to the moment.

  “I’ve told you as much as I can about what’s to come. I know you’re scared. I understand. I would be surprised if you weren’t. If this is too much, too soon, just walk away. I will not let you go unattended, and I swear to you that I will continue to do my best to protect you from anything Preacher throws your way. Get on a plane, go back home and do your damnedest to live the normal life you deserve. I wouldn’t blame you, nor would anyone look down on you.”

  The table was very quiet, as each of them pondered the choice that was set before them. After several long moments, Veronica spoke first, “Steve, I want to know what you think.”

  Steve nodded, “Okay, but I can only speak for myself. You each are going to have to make your own decision.”

  They all nodded.

  “To me, it boils down to a question of faith. I believe Biker has given us a true picture of what lies ahead if we make this decision. We know the odds and the challenges we’d face. I don’t want to think of a lifetime of wondering who is behind me or who I will be fighting off in my nightmares. So, I have to ask myself, do I trust that I’ve got what it takes to make it? Do I have enough faith in God to see me through? Julie had faith—in herself . . . in me . . . in us . . . and in God. If she were here, she’d tell me to do it. In her letter, Julie told me to be strong. I feel strong. I feel faithful.”

  He looked at each of them as they hung on his words. “I am gonna do it.”

  Abby let out an audible sigh of relief. “I am with you Steve,” she said, before anyone else could speak. “Yesterday, I was terrified at the idea of having to face him again. But now, well . . . it just feels like the right thing to do.”

  Looking at Steve and Biker, she continued: “I trust you both. And I trust in myself to do what’s right. Just like Julie, Zack told me to be strong too. I think this is what he meant!”

  She pounded the table. “I am up for it!”

  Steve nodded; Abby smiled and leaned back in her chair.

  “And I don’t think we’ve got much of a choice here,” said Martin, chewing on his straw. “Biker has laid it out for us with no niceties. We’re not going to ever get rid of this unless we do it right. Plus, the good book talks of ‘an eye for an eye.’ I am looking forward to giving that thing back some of the pain he caused all of us. Count me in.”

  “So now everybody’s gonna turn and look at me,” Veronica muttered. They did.

  “Well I sure as hell am not gonna be the one to break up the band,” she said, twirling her napkin around her finger. “Everything you all have said makes sense to me. I’ve made mistakes in life, and I have regrets. But with you all, I seem to click.”

  She surveyed her companions at the table.

  “No matter what happens, I do not ever want to be old and gray, and look back on this moment and regret not seeing this thing through ‘til the end. Together, I think we can stand tall and show that old bag of bones that he picked the wrong foursome to mess with. And I am very much looking forward to doing just that. I’m in.”

  Steve turned to Biker, “So there you have it.”

  Biker nodded, “Yep. I’m impressed. And I’m humbled. You people are the reason why I keep doing what I do. You’ve got grit and cajones big enough to sink a ship. It is an honor to know you.”

  Despite his colorful phrases, Steve knew Biker’s word were sincere.

  “So here’s what you’re gonna do. Tonight, we’ll go back to your hotel, and y’all will get some sleep. I’ll be right outside your door. You won’t be disturbed. Tomorrow morning, a ferry leaves here for the mainland at 6:20 AM. I want you to be on it.”

  The table was so quiet that Steve could hear Abby’s pen scratching across the page of her notebook.

  “It’ll take you to a town across the water called Playa Del Carmen. When you dock, you’ll see Juarez Street across the beach from the ferry landing. Walk up ‘bout a block, and you’ll see the 5th Street Bus Station. I want y’all on the first southbound bus, bound for Chetumal. It usually leaves right at 8AM, so do not be late. There’s only one per day. It won’t be full, but there’ll be tourists on it with you—other Americans, Europeans. You’ll blend in well.”

  “Playa Del Carmen. . .Chetumal,” Abby repeated as she jotted her notes.

  “The ride to Chetumal is long—about five hours, but you ain’t goin’ that far. The bus will stop in a town called Felipe Carrillo Puerto to let the passengers stretch their legs. I want y’all to get off the bus there. It’ll probably stop somewhere in the main square. There’s a car rental place there. Get a car and drive south on the Federal 307.”

  “Federal 307,” said Abby.

  Biker paused and let Abby catch up.

  “Got it,” she said, looking up from her notes.

  “After about an hour, the road’ll fork. You need to take the left fork. This’ll getcha off the highway and onto a much smaller road. The signs will tell you that you are heading for Majahual. After about 20 miles, you’ll see a huge rock outcropping on the left hand side. Across from it is a small dirt road.”

  He traced the route on the table with his finger.

  “Take that road. It’ll take you up into the hills above a small town called Costa Maya. The road ends at a campground. Most likely, it’ll be abandoned. I want you to drive off the road and into the woods.”

  He wagged his finger at them: “It is very important that no one sees the car parked there.”

  “Why?” asked Steve.

  “Because I don’t want anybody else involved in this. Call it being overly cautious,” Biker replied. “From there, you’ll find a path at the campground that’ll lead to a hiking trail that runs through the scrubby woods in that area. It’s a rough trip, so wear some comfortable shoes, if you’ve got ‘em.”

  “About two miles in, you’ll see a campechy tree on the right of the trail. It’s got yellow flowers and stands about 15 feet tall—taller than anything else in the area. Turn off the trail at that tree and look
for an even smaller trail. It’s been a while since anyone’s used it, so you’ll have to look hard. You should be able to pick it up on the side of the campechy opposite from the main trail.”

  He continued to trace the route on the tabletop. “Take that for about another mile and a half, and you’ll arrive at your home base, La Casita Del Paloma.”

  Veronica’s eyebrows furrowed for a brief moment. “The Little House of the Dove?”

  “Yep. Kinda like a safe house, I suppose. I haven’t used it in years, so it might need a little bit of TLC when you get there—no power, no running water. There’s a well out back that should be plenty full with all of the rain around here lately.”

  Steve chuckled, “So, you’re sending us off for a fight to the finish at a place named after a symbol of peace?”

  “I know,” Biker grinned. “The irony’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

  “Indeed,” Martin agreed.

  “Anyways, there’s a shed out back with some oil for the lamps in the house. Next to the shed is a red rock. Under it is the key to the house. There’s a bunch of canned goods and stuff like that in the kitchen, enough to hold you for a couple weeks, which should be plenty. They’ve been there a long time—might taste a little bit like the inside of a cow’s ass, but they should be edible at least.”

  “If you want anything else, fresh fruit ‘n stuff like that, get it in Felipe, because that’ll be the last place to get any groceries. But don’t waste any time. This is essential.”

  He tapped the table with his index finger.

  “Right now, Preacher is nowhere near us. In fact, he may have left the country even. But once you get outta range of me and I drop those shields, he’ll be onto you. Don’t waste time in Playa Del Carmen or Felipe. I want you to get to that cabin and get situated. Use that place to your advantage.”

  “How long do we have to get there before you drop the shields?” Steve asked.

  “I’ll hold them until tomorrow night.”

  “Why do we have to rush?” asked Veronica. “Can’t you give us a few more days to prepare or whatever?”

  “Because he and his ilk are getting more brazen. He attacked Abby directly in that alley. He risked me finding him because he saw an opening. Now, that could be a good thing for ya’ll, meaning that he’s getting reckless.”

  Biker shrugged. “But, it also means that he could do some collateral damage if he got too desperate. I don’t want to risk more than we have to. Besides, he’s unstable. He might not show up for a week. The fact that he’s unpredictable to a degree scares me, but it also means that you might be able to slip in around his chaos and end this thing permanently.”

  “Then should we just leave now, tonight?” asked Steve.

  “No. We’re gonna part ways in the morning. After that, I’d suggest sleeping in shifts, keeping watch, all that. Sleep will be fleeting. Right now, I want y’all to go back to the hotel and get a good night’s rest. I want y’all to be able to think and act on your feet.”

  Martin yawned and stretched, as if on cue. The serenity of the quiet conversation dissipated with the scraping of chairs, as the group rose for the walk back to the hotel.

  As they walked, there were only a few whispered words amongst the foursome. Steve took the lead. Abby and Martin followed a few paces behind him. Veronica was next. Even in the dim light of the streetlamps, Steve could see that she had her hand in her pocket, and he knew it gripped the gun Biker had given her. Biker hung back several paces. He lit a cigarette and kept in time with them, scanning the quieting streets of the town, a wary herder, guarding his flock.

  Steve purposely kept his pace slow as he walked down the hill in the moonlight. A light cool sea breeze caught him between each storefront as he walked. Seeing the stores dot each side of the sleepy beach road made him comfortable. The salty smell and quiet crash of the waves at low tide provided him with a peaceful solitude. He knew that what lay before them was a monumental task, and that possibly he, or even worse, his companions, might not come out of it alive. They all shared that knowledge, yet each one of them was unwavering in the face of it. For the first time in a long time, each of them had something solid to grasp. He already knew that he could count on each one of them to play their part. He walked slowly, because it felt like his last mile.

  Last chance to do the “normal” thing.

  From here on out, it was going to be surreal, or too real for real life. He and the others savored the peaceful and secure feeling that accompanied them.

  As they came upon the Hotel Carmelita, Steve passed by the alley and walked to the front of the building. Should he take them around the block once more? Biker’s words had been stern—he wanted them to get some rest. Steve led them across the parking lot to the front door of the hotel, opened the door wide and held it for his companions. Abby and Martin came first. Once again, Abby looked exhausted. They seemed to be holding each other up as they passed. Veronica passed through next. “And so it begins,” she said, resolutely.

  As the three of them headed up the stairs, Steve waited for Biker to arrive. He watched as the tiny orange glow of the man’s cigarette burned bright in the dimness of the lot’s overhead lights. “You go on ahead,” he said to Steve. “I’ll be out here watching.”

  “You’re not coming in?”

  “Naw. I am gonna soak up a little more of this fine sea air. But I’ll be around.”

  Steve let the door close and joined Biker in the lot. Biker gestured with his head toward the hotel. “Look after them. Hold onto each other, and you’ll be finer than frog hair. Make it work, man.”

  Steve recognized the finality of Biker’s tone. The conversation was over, at least for now. He waved a goodnight and headed in.

  Chapter 39

  The next morning, Steve was the first to wake. It was early, but the sun was up and the vendors across the street from the hotel were prepping for another busy day as the next wave of cruise ships inched into sight across the horizon. The sun glittered, the waves crashed in the distance and the cries of the gulls told him that today was going to be simply another day. He dressed and brushed his teeth. Without bothering to shave, he woke the others and began packing. As they struggled to shake off sleep, Steve left the room to see if Biker were still outside. When he failed to see the familiar figure in the hallway or the lobby, he returned to the room. It was only then that he noticed a folded note taped to his door. It was on the hotel stationery, with his name written on the outside.

  Steve called the others. When they had assembled, he opened it and read it to the group:

  Steve,

  I had to leave early this morning, but you are all still safe, for the time being. Stick with the plan. Don’t waste any time and do not miss that bus out of Playa Del Carmen. I won’t drop your defenses until you are well on your way. Remember what I told you last night —take care of them and make sure you all take care of each other.

  We’ll meet again.

  - B

  Abby was the first to speak, still peering at the letter over Steve’s shoulder. “That’s the same handwriting from your first note, Martin.”

  Martin nodded. “Sure is,” he said, studying the scrawling letters.

  “Well that’s it, folks,” Steve said. “Let’s get this party rolling. We got us a bus to catch.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were on the ferry that took them across the small stretch of the magnificent aqua waters of the Caribbean Sea that ran between Cozumel and mainland Mexico. The 10-mile trip took 45 minutes, so they arrived at the dock in Playa Del Carmen with about an hour to walk the five blocks to the bus station. Just as Biker had told them, it was an easy walk up Juarez to the bus depot on 5th Street. Steve and Martin got in line at the terminal to buy their tickets, while Abby and Veronica walked across the street to the mercado to find some breakfast for the trip.

  At eight o’clock sharp, they boarded the bus bound for Chetumal. Steve was relieved to see that it was a full-sized coach with comfortable
seats, overhead storage and even working AC. He had pictured their vehicle as one of those chicken buses he’d seen on television, consisting of more livestock than human passengers. Although it intrigued him, he didn’t relish the idea of travel all the way to Felipe Carrillo Puerto with a goat for a seatmate.

  They moved to the back of the bus almost by instinct, putting as much distance as possible between them and the door. Although they hadn’t been first in line for boarding, they had their pick of seats in the back; other passengers had filled in the seats from the front. The fumes from the on-board bathroom told Steve why the back half of the bus was so empty. Coupled with the scent of human sweat and years of diesel fuel soaked into the upholstery of the bus seats, the miasma was noxious, even with the windows of the bus open. Steve moved a few rows up from the bathroom with no complaints from the group. They settled into their seats, and Abby used her phone to take a picture of the bi-lingual sign posted on the bathroom door: