Rain unto Death

by Alex Ryan

  “I don’t have an answer for you,” Rex said, “other than what I’ve told you. This will end, whether you want it to or not. My guess is you would probably rather it end. Whether it ends with you holding an ace card or not is up to you. With that I’ll leave you.” He walked out in the kitchen area, scanned the counter for a pencil and a paper, tore a piece off a notepad and wrote the number to his pager, and returned to the bedroom. “Call this number, and then enter a number where I can call you back. It’s up to you.” He placed the paper on the bed.

  “If you want to do anything before you leave, you better do it now.” Isadora replied, as she lay back in the bed.

  “Try to stay safe” Rex said as he unlatched the front door and left.

  Maybe it was because he saw that bare chested, white guy with the scraggly beard and the Jesus hairdo dancing in the corner, or maybe it was because he was on his sixth Corona of the evening ,working on a twelve pack, but he felt less self-conscious at the Disco de la Casita de Palo, than this morning. The guy with the handlebar mustache wasn’t there, or if he was, he wasn’t visible, but the place was packed, just like the club in Tijuana, but there were no donkeys thank god, and the girls were just a little bit more interactive with the crowd.

  The music turned from Mariachi, to seventies disco, and now a Devo song was playing. I got a rocket in my pocket and I don’t know, what to do. And he had a rocket in his pocket, and staring at that thin figure in the black lacey lingerie didn’t help it, despite the untoward circumstances. A part of him wanted to accept her offer. It’s that stiff thing with no conscious, just purpose and drive. Isn’t it funny how we are wired to tie that action with love and commitment, when it’s so much simpler to leave the two separate, like in the animal kingdom? The real question is how tied are we?

  Some dollars came out, and a round, brown skinned girl wearing a G-string sat on his lap, and ground on it for the next two songs. “Veinte dólares para el privado,” She whispered in his ear.

  In his drunken state, twenty dollars for whatever didn’t seem too bad. He wasn’t exactly sure what she was talking about, but he pulled a twenty out of his pocket, and slipped it to her. She guided him across the room, past a couple sombrero clad doormen that looked more like bouncers, and led him in to a small room that was more like a small wooded changing area with a cheap plywood door.

  Something was wrong though. Suddenly, he became clear again, almost immediately. Something didn’t smell right, and it wasn’t the stench of urine from the open latrines in the back. The girl seemed to vanish into thin air. He could see the figure of a dark man with a short afro approaching through the cracks in the door, and then heard the unmistakable click of a switchblade knife. He scanned the small wooden booth, constructed in to the corner of the building. That’s why he didn’t see the girl. The drywall on the corner was hinged. She slipped through it in to a crawl space. That is how they make people disappear here. They lure them back in to the corner, knife them, and haul them out the back through the crawl space. Rex pushed the partition inward, slipped inside, and closed it. He could see streetlights filtering through the crawl space. The girl was long gone.

  The man with the short afro yanked the wooden door forward and lunged into empty space. Rex couldn’t see him clearly, but saw his shadows through the drywall crack. The crawl space went up, as well as laterally. The man would expect Rex to exit the back. Who knows what kind of welcome party waited outside? Probably a van headed to the ocean or an open pit. Rex scaled the crawl space vertically, and grabbed for something heavy. He found a loose brick in the dust.

  Slowly, the hinged drywall trap door eased inward, and the man slowly looked to his left as he entered the crawl space. He expected to see a man straddling the crawl space to get away. He did not expect a man to be directly above him, holding a brick. Rex drove the brick down hard on to the man’s head, causing his skull to crack, killing him instantly. He pulled the man the rest of the way into the crawl space, pulled the drywall trap door shut and exited the booth, past the sombrero clad bouncers, back in to the crowd. He quickly pushed past the people, staying in the shadows as much as possible, and left the disco in a hurry, driving the Isuzu pickup as fast as it would go through the streets, not looking back to see if anyone was following him.

  Never mind that he paid for a full night at the motel down the street, he couldn’t go back there. Someone made him. Who? The girl? The girl had no idea where he was staying or where he was drinking. It was the manager. The guy with the handlebar mustache. He ratted him out. He told El Rey someone was looking for his girl. The man with the switchblade knife was El Rey’s way of saying he didn’t like that.

  He made his way to the highway. He drove north. It took almost two hours to reach the border. Finally, he was safe.

  He woke to the sound of a buzzing beeper. He had slept all night in the truck, parked near the bay in Chula Vista. A street sweeper overtook his parked vehicle, the driver admonishing him visually by pointing to the sign from his cab window on the right side. It was a number, from Mexico showing on the display.

  Rex fired up the truck. He was low on fuel, but he needed to find a phone. There was a gas station two blocks away with a pay phone. He dialed the number and waited for the answer. The phone picked up. “Hello?” a female voice answered. It was Isadora.

  “Yeah, what you got?” Rex replied.

  “He’s going on a trip to Chicago tomorrow night. Reservations have been made at the Sheraton hotel. He is meeting someone for dinner.”

  “Okay. Got it. Thanks.” The phone went dead.

  The driver wheeled the metallic green Lincoln Continental into the civil aviation entrance of the Ensenada International Airport. On the tarmac sat an ATR 42, a large, twin engine passenger turboprop. El Rey and Isadora boarded the aircraft through the built-in steps in the door, and took their seats. The large turboprop aircraft appeared to be fitted out as a transport more than a passenger carrier. There were some seats in front, but the remainder of the aircraft was empty. They were the only passengers aboard. Through the open cockpit door, Isadora could see two pilots. Another man dressed as a pilot took a seat behind the cockpit door.

  “Such a large airplane for just the two of us,” Isadora remarked.

  “Yes. I own it,” El Rey replied. “But, we have some passengers coming along.”

  A short while later, a bus loaded with a girls’ school soccer team boarded, and took the remaining seats.

  The relief co-pilot sealed the passenger entrance, signaled to the passengers to fasten their belts, took his position in the cockpit, and after the engine startup and a twenty minute wait, they taxied out to the runway and took off, bound for Chicago Midway airport.

  This was the aircraft’s third flight operating as Rio Enterprises, S.A. charter aircraft. Within the last two months, it made flights from Ensenada to Florida, and Oregon, each with a load of school children for various invitational destinations.

  “Where are these children going?” Isadora asked.

  “To an invited game. I am providing them transportation. For free.” El Rey answered.

  “That is very generous.”

  Although the whole trip seemed to be very odd to Isadora, she started to appreciate the attention, and the glamor. At the same time, it didn’t seem quite right. El Rey was a difficult man to read, almost impossible. He met the man in the lobby of the Sheraton hotel. He introduced him as Hasan. It was necessary to have a private dinner with Mr. Hasan. Business was to be discussed and it would be boring, so why be subjected to the discomfort?

  The truth was Isadora would be more than happy to be subjected to the discomfort of the two men’s shoptalk. She would neither understand it nor relate to it. No, she related to the shiny candles, the flowing champagne, and the little appetizer things. She had been exposed to those before, for a brief time. She didn’t entirely lie about her background. Just a little.

  She was conflicted though. The plush pillows of the hotel room and the u
nlimited wet and dry bar were seductive. But El Rey was not. That man, the white guy, whose name she still did not know, the one that had seen her naked yet did not partake, was on her mind.

  That day at the ballpark was on Rex's mind. Did El Rey even see him? He might have possibly gotten a glimpse of him. He did clean up nicely in the blue suit, however. What about the man in the disco? Surely El Rey knows by now that someone is looking into him. Or maybe not, maybe he just thinks whoever that gringo kid was, he was after the girl. After all, if El Rey really suspected this mystery man was after him, he would probably want to know why, and who sent him, before dumping his body in to the ocean.

  El Rey was obvious. He was seated at a round table with a white linin cloth. There was a Middle Eastern man with a bald head sitting across the table from him. Rex did his best to make a couple of passes behind El Rey to get a better look at the man and possibly snap an instamatic shot, but he couldn’t get close enough to hear their conversation.

  The man named Hasan looked at the menu. “Do you think that they cook all of this food on the same cooking surface?” He asked.

  “Why do you ask?” El Rey replied.

  “In our culture, pork is unclean. Not only do we not eat it, we don’t permit our food to touch a surface it has been on.”

  “I think then maybe you want the pasta with no meat,” El Rey replied.

  “I’m not a vegetarian.”

  “Have the fish then. They bake it.”

  “I trust your flight to Chicago went well?”

  “A luxury flight it was not.”

  “But nobody asked any questions? Customs?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Good. That is a good sign.”

  “How about the winery?” Hasan looked around for the waiter.

  “I have not seen it since after they installed the equipment. It is that hard to get to.”

  “As it should be.”

  Isadora was in the upstairs bar overlooking the river, seated alone at a table, drinking what appeared to be a fancy, fruity mixed drink, as if she was lounging in Cabo. Chicago wouldn’t work for her.

  “Hey,” Rex said, taking a seat.

  “This is not a good place for you to be. Someone might see us,” Isadora replied.

  “Then go to my room. 4001.”

  “Are there drinks?”

  “Bring one with you.”

  El Rey and the other man would be occupied for a while. Service was slow as it was. On one hand, Rex needed to be back in the restaurant to garner information from the man talking to El Rey, but on the other hand, he wasn’t getting anywhere and he had probably collected about as much intel as he was going to. Besides, he needed the opportunity to get a debriefing from Isadora. He kicked off his shoes and waited. Five minutes later there was a knock on the door.

  “I see you even brought a drink for me. How nice.” Rex observed.

  “No, I bring two for me. I don’t think you would like a lady’s drink.” Isadora replied.

  “No matter. I’m still on duty. So bring me up to speed. What happened?”

  Isadora sat the drinks down on the nightstand next to the bed and took off her own shoes. She let herself fall to the bed. Her slit dress fell to the side, but there was nothing he hadn’t already seen. “We fly in this big airplane with propellers from the Ensenada airport to a small airport in Chicago. Senor Castillo says he owns it.”

  “The airplane?”

  “Yes, the airplane.”

  “What kind of plane was it?”

  “I don’t know the name. It’s was big. It has propellers. Two of them. Maybe twenty or thirty seats, but the rest of the airplane was empty. No seats.”

  “Interesting. You came alone with El Rey, I mean, Mr. Castillo?”

  “No. A girl’s high school sports team came with us. Mr... El Rey as you call him, says he brings high school teams to events in the United States, for free.”

  “He also owns a winery, just bought it, in state of Sonora. Someplace in the mountains.”

  “It sounds like he is branching out.”

  “I know you say he does bad things, but he seems to be good for the community.”

  “What about this guy he’s having dinner with?”

  “His name is Hasan.”

  “Does Hasan have a first name, or a last name?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t ask. El Rey would get suspicious if I ask too many questions.”

  “Somebody tried to kill me in Ensenada two days ago. Do you know anything about that?”

  Isadora looked surprised. “No. Why?”

  “I was thinking you might know.”

  “Mr... El Rey asked me if I knew that a white man was looking for me. I said I was unaware, but scared if that was the case. I didn’t know what else to say.”

  “Actually, that’s probably the best thing you could have said.”

  Isadora finished the first drink and started on her second. “Has anyone ever told you that you look very handsome with a fresh shave and a suit?”

  “No, but thanks.”

  “You felt nothing, at all, when you saw me the other day, sitting on the bed?”

  “You just got finished doing something that I wanted to do very much, except it was with someone else.”

  “Can I share a secret?”

  “I hope so. I’ve been counting on that all along.”

  “El Rey doesn’t... work, normally.”

  “This kind of borders on TMI, but keep going.”

  “TMI?”

  “Too Much Information.”

  She smiled. “Nothing went inside of me. He is unable. Too old maybe.”

  “But you were wiping yourself off with a towel.”

  “Sweat. Sometimes, he tries to make things happen by hand, but it never works.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Don’t lie to me. It’s something you want to hear. I can tell men’s intentions. I am good at it.”

  Not that she was correct, but, well, she was correct. The images were still there. It didn’t change much. But it did change something. Just a little.

  “Have you ever even done it with a man you actually wanted to do it with?”

  “I have only wanted to do it with a man twice in my life. The first was a boy in high school that wanted to marry me. When my parents found out, they were furious. He disappeared after that. Then I left home.”

  “What about the second time?”

  “That’s right now.”

  Chapter 6 – Anything you say, Dear

  Simon was waiting in the conference room in his secure, high-rise office with a file spread out on the table. He had maps. Photos. A whiteboard. Carly was in the lobby arranging some trade periodicals on the waiting area. Rex walked through the door. “Simon said to meet him in the conference room,” She told him, not bothering to look around.

  “So, I’ve been having this problem, right...” Rex replied.

  “There are some cups in the exam room. Help yourself.” Rex chuckled.

  Simon was studying the spread of papers, maps, and photos intently. “We’re about to have a visitor. That person will be here any time,” Simon advised as he grabbed a marker.

  “Who is this visitor?”

  “A CIA agent. Someone the deputy director trusts. He decided to go ahead and assign this case to one of his internals, finally.”

  “Is that a good thing?” Rex asked.

  “There are no egos in this business. You either solve cases or you don’t. The more help, resources, and cooperation we get, the better. While you may be good at this, you are young, new to this business, and unseasoned. Don’t get overconfident. Credit doesn’t count here. Money does. The more that the client sees that we are getting somewhere, the freer we are to spend, and earn their money.”

  “I see.”

  “Good. Because you are about to meet her.”

  “Her?”

  A tall, slender blonde woman with deep blue eyes walked in the do
or. She looked to be in her late thirties, possibly early forties, dressed in a tan, wool business suit. She carried a hard briefcase. “Simon Bowe?” She asked as she placed her briefcase on the table. She towered above Simon.

  “Yes.” He reached out to shake her hand.

  “My name is Kirsten Maples. I understand the deputy director knows you personally. Your reputation precedes you.”

  “Yes, well, thank you, to say I know him is a bit of a stretch, but I’ve met him before, at a couple of functions when I was with MI5.”

  “Who is this man?” Kirsten asked.

  “Meet Rex Muse, he’s my counterpart. He’s the man in the field working the case.” Simon replied.

  “Pleased to meet you, Ma’am.” Rex extended his hand.

  She shook it half-heartedly “Is this man cleared?”

  Simon took a deep breath. “Rex, would you mind excusing us for just a moment, I need to have a word with Ms. Maples.” Simon winked.

  Rex left the room and shut the door behind him.

  “They’re all like that,” Carly said, smiling.

  “Like that? How?” Rex asked.

  “Controlling. Dominating. Wanting to be on top. Just a warning, should you happen to end up in the sack with her.”

  “What?”

  “CIA, FBI, hell, CHP. They’re all control freaks, trying to scale the ladder two rungs at a time. The women are even worse than the men.”

  “How do you suggest I deal with it?”

  “Have you ever been married?” Carly asked.

  “No.”

  “That was a rhetorical question. I knew the answer. If you had, and you’d ever been through marriage counseling, they tell the potential husband, ‘to end the argument, it’s anything you say, dear.’ That’s how you deal with it. Just try not to be so overt and condescending.”