“So I like cocaine,” Dave said. “Does that make me a bad guy? Besides, as you and the rest of the flight we were just on now know I don’t have anything on me. If I’d have had so much as a generic aspirin in my luggage they would have found it and hauled me off to the pokey.”
“Can you wait just a day? That’s all I’m asking. I'd just like to get settled in before you start risking our entire trip for your drug habit,” Zack pleaded.
“Fine,” Dave relented, “but if I end up not being able to score later I’m going to kick your ass.”
“You can try,” Zack said with a smile. He and Dave had gotten into it more than once over the years, both playfully and twice out of real anger. And every time Zack had easily overpowered his smaller friend. Dave’s real strength didn’t come from knowing how to handle himself in a fight so much as knowing how to talk his way out of one, hence his need for Zack to bail him out of all the trouble his big mouth had gotten both of them into over the years.
“Here,” Oscar said, handing them each a business card. “If you need anything just call me and I will bring it to you.”
Zack tried to hand his back but Oscar wouldn't take it.
“I don't need one,” Zack insisted. “I don't party.”
“Keep it,” Oscar said with a wink. “In case your friend loses his. Sooner or later everything gets lost or stolen here, even from the resorts. Best to keep your passports and other valuables on you at all times. And whatever happens do not score on the street or the beach. There are undercovers everywhere looking to take advantage of dumb Americans. They’ll sell you an eight ball and then have their partner pick you up and extort every last dime you’ve got on you. I’ve seen it countless times.”
“Trust me I know,” Dave groaned.
“I still can't believe that the cops do that,” Zack said.
“They don't make much,” Oscar explained. “So they have to make it up somewhere and not just with tourists. I get pulled over twice a week and I'm from here. One way or another they get their cut.”
“How is that legal?” Zack asked, perplexed.
“It's just how things work here,” Oscar shrugged. “It's called La Mordida, or the bite. It's become so engrained in our system no one even bothers to complain, except turistas. The Commandante turns a blind eye so long as he gets his cut of the action. Down here he is the law of the land. The only person he answers to is the Governor. Everyone else follows his lead in a 'shit flows downhill' kind of way.”
“What happens if you don’t have more than a few bucks on you?” Zack was hoping he wouldn't have to find out during their stay but he also knew how relentless Dave was. He figured it was better to understand how things worked just in case his friend landed them both in hot water again.
“I’ve heard some of them will take you back to your hotel to search for more,” Oscar said. “Others might just take you out to a deserted stretch of road, kick the shit out of you, and leave you to find your way back home. Then again, there is always the possibility they will leave you to rot in a Mexican jail.”
“That’s all bullshit,” Dave chuckled. “Mexican prisons aren’t all that different from American ones. I got hauled in once in tee-jay.”
“You got taken in to the station,” Oscar corrected. “Prison is much, much worse.”
“So that's not just an old wives tale?” Dave asked.
“I assure you it isn’t,” Oscar said, a knowing look in his eyes. “I spent five years in a super max up in Chicago. One of the toughest places I ever did time. It was a piece of cake compared to the two weeks I did in Sinaloa. At least they feed you in America. Three hots and a cot, even with overcrowding. Not to mention cable TV. Down here you get crammed in a cell with a bucket. If you’re friends and family don’t bring you food you starve. And don’t even think about catching a cold, because by the time they get a doctor to give you a check-up you’ll most likely be dead from whatever made you sick in the first place.”
“What did you do time for in Chicago, if you don’t mind me asking?” Dave shot Zack a look as if to say he’d gone too far.
“It’s cool,” Oscar casually replied, seeing the tense exchange between them. “I don’t mind talking about it. Assault with a deadly weapon, plus several probation violations they tacked on, and possession.”
“Wow,” Zack said, hoping in the back of his mind that Oscar had truly changed his ways and wasn't planning on robbing and killing them before dumping their bodies in a ditch on the side of the road.
“That's crazy man,” Dave added.
“I’m lucky,” Oscar said. “Got into a bar fight one night and shit got out of hand. I put five shots into a rival gang member but the guy lived somehow, which is a fucking miracle. If he hadn’t I would still be locked up. Prison changed my life.”
“How so?” Dave asked.
“Before that all I cared about was partying all the time, getting in trouble,” Oscar told them. “I had no plan for the future. I ran with the wrong people and made one bad choice after another. Shit gets crazy when you’re out on the streets every day. Always something going down. Always some new trouble. You’re surrounded by your boys and you don’t have time to think about the consequences of your actions. In prison I got plenty of time to do just that – to think. I decided I didn’t want to live like that anymore. I was losing too many friends. Life didn't have any meaning. I was just waiting to die. I decided that when I got out I would come back home and start my own business.”
“Good for you man,” Dave said in a congratulatory tone.
“It's been all right,” Oscar shrugged. “Always plenty of rich people looking for a fancy ride into town.”
“I hope they're not all like that guy that was arguing with you when we first saw you,” Zack said.
“Mostly they're like you but every now and then I get lucky and it's a bunch of cute girls all giggling and changing into bikinis,” Oscar bragged.
“Nice,” Dave said.
“I'm going to roll up the window so you can just kick back and relax,” Oscar said. “We'll be there in no time.”
Oscar closed the partition between them while Dave fiddled with the radio dial in the back. Zack held his breath, waiting to be inundated with some other kind of rap music, but was pleasantly surprised when good old American rock and roll came out of the speakers instead in the form of Mick Jagger wailing about giving the devil a break. Dave poured them both a shot of chilled tequila from the mini bar. He held one out for Zack, who reluctantly took it. Dave clinked the glasses a little harder than he intended to as a pothole caused the car to unexpectedly jump. They both laughed, pleasantly surprised that their drinks hadn't been lost in the commotion.
“Here's to a Spring Break none of us will ever forget!” Dave said, wasting no time slamming down his shot immediately after the toast. He stared at Zack who was still holding his glass. “Well? You gonna hold onto that thing all day or are you planning on drinking it?”
Zack nodded then slammed the shot as fast as he could, tilting his head back to get it all down at once. It burned in his throat but he fought off the involuntary tears welling up in his eyes. Dave laughed and poured them both another shot.
“Take it easy man,” Zack said. “We just got here.”
“Just trying to get my money's worth,” Dave protested, raising his shot over his head. “To Cabo!”
“To Cabo,” Zack answered back, clinking glasses once more and slamming back his shot. “And all the hot chicks in bikinis you can shake your dick at.”
“Amen to that brother,” Dave laughed. “A-fucking-men!”
Chapter Five
The heat was already starting to make her dizzy as she stumbled along, listening to the little voice in her head.
You'd still be in that awful cell, the voice reminded her again, had I not came up with a plan to escape. If I had just given up the way you keep trying to you'd be waiting to be dragged off like your friend was and murdered.
Her mind f
lashed back again to that awful place. Alexis had managed to work one of the boards in the back of her cell loose, the salty ocean air from the nearby pounding surf having caused the bottom of the wood to rot out in crumbling pieces. She'd dug into the damp, cool soil with her fingers, ignoring the blinding pain in her hands as she tunneled into the ground like an animal. Every few hours another “customer” would arrive and select a fresh victim. Alexis was grateful for once to be overlooked, even if a wave of guilt and shame crashed over her each time they dragged another one off kicking and screaming. She'd worked all night, goaded on by the sound of blood curdling screams outside as much as the pitiful whimpering of the others locked in the adjoining cell, the blubbering and pleading somehow amplified by the complete darkness of her surroundings.
“Please,” the voices cried out. “Please just let me go home! I just want to go home!”
Don't stop digging, the voice had told her then. This is your one shot!
She thought of Corina for some reason as she pushed herself to dig faster. She'd just managed to make enough space to wriggle painfully under and escape by the time the first rays of light were beginning to fill the sky. Getting to her feet she heard a wail of agony coming from where she'd arrived as the girl next to Francois – Karen he'd called her – was butchered alive in front of the grim skeletal statue. Her killer took a steaming pile of entrails from the fresh gash he'd made in her stomach and held the slick guts over his head in triumph while the crowd roared in appreciation.
Don't pass out, the voice warned her. Block it out or you're a goner.
The morning air smelled acrid, like burned meat mingled with marijuana smoke. Alexis knew she had no time left to waste with fear or panic. It was just a matter of minutes before they came looking for her, the only one left to sell for slaughter.
Who would have thought you'd ever be glad to be picked last? She chuckled to herself, feeling madness descend over her like a warm, invisible cloud as she turned and ran.
She lit out for the water, crouching down low in the early morning cold just in case. When she reached the beach she turned left and headed south back towards Cabo San Lucas. She'd sprinted as long as she could, the crunch of the cold sand feeling good on her sore insteps. The muscles in her legs screamed as if she'd just run a marathon. She'd pushed herself harder than she'd ever dreamed but fear and adrenaline had kept her on her feet, moving forward in the direction of the hotel, back towards the safety of the real world. There were a series of crisscrossed tears in the normally smooth skin of her long legs from where she'd run through patches of untamed land, unconcerned about the ripping away of several layers of skin that now shrilly stung. She'd come across a small dirt road that she assumed led back to the highway just as the sun burst up over the horizon, the tall cacti casting long shadows that looked like sinister pitchforks in the dry dirt.
You're almost there, the voice crooned. Soon this will all be a terrible memory. You'll go on talk shows and tell your story, maybe even sign a book deal. You'll be a celebrity, a hero just because you survived.
The sound of an engine's roar brought her out of her stupor. They were coming for her. Her time was officially up. They'd discovered her absence and sent people to retrieve her. She turned around and saw the old black Nissan barreling down on her, a terrible but familiar face floating behind the wheel like a cartoon devil. She fell to her knees and raised her hands to her face as the vehicle came to a sliding halt inches from her head. She could feel the heat coming off the grill. A fresh wave of dread crashed over her.
Looks like it's too late now sweetheart, the voice said. You had your chance and you blew it. Nice try but no cigar. See you on the other side kid.
The car door opened and Angel got out, smiling with relief at the sight of her.
“Buenos Dias Flaquita,” he crowed. “We were starting to miss you.”
Alexis devolved into a hysterical fit of tears. Her eyes burned as she cried, more out of frustration than fear. She was beyond fear in that moment, too exhausted to feel anything. She knew the end was close, that it was inescapable now, and she cried pitifully, snot running from her nose. She prayed that it would be quick and painless but knew that wasn't likely, not after she'd almost escaped. They were sure to punish her more for it. There was no way around that now.
Angel impatiently grabbed a fistful of her hair with his right hand, the stubby calloused fingers yanking until she let out an involuntary gasp. With his left hand he slapped her so hard she saw stars. Before she could open her mouth to speak he struck her over the head with something hard made out of metal. There was a loud pop and she felt hot blood pour from the stinging wound in her cracked skull. She fell to the ground, her cheek burning against the hot dirt. A glossy, black scorpion came rushing up to greet her from underneath the shade of a nearby cactus. The last thing she saw before she passed out was Angel's dusty sneaker stomp down hard and crush it to death.
Chapter Six
Zack was feeling much more relaxed by the time they reached resort row and made their way out of Oscar's wonderfully chilled transportation into the tropical heat of Cabo. Dave had managed to get him to do three full shots of tequila between the airport and the hotel and he was becoming aware of a persistent nagging in his bladder. He realized he hadn't taken a piss since LAX about the same time as the liquor began to intensify the problem. He sprinted past Dave – who was busy doling out tip money to Oscar like Willy Wonka handing out sweets to children – and rushed into the lobby of the nearest hotel. He barely made it, rushing into the first available stall while fumbling with the zipper of his jeans and cursing in a buzzed stupor. He let out a low, deep moan of relief as the hot jet of urine came steaming out of him, forming tiny bubbles in the water below. Zack absentmindedly noticed that they resembled a series of interconnecting amber-tinted skulls that seemed to grow in exponential numbers by the second, until the whole bowl was practically filled with them.
Like something you'd see inside a catacomb, Zack pondered, or a mass grave.
A cold shiver ran down his spine at the morbid thought. Zack forced the image from his mind and flushed the toilet. He took his time washing his hands and face in the cool water from the sink, letting his nerves settle back down before heading outside. He was feeling like a million bucks by the time he jogged over to the curb again, the visceral sense of dread that had unexpectedly gripped him just moments before now completely forgotten. Oscar was long gone but Dave was standing next to their luggage. Zack hurried over and grabbed his bag, swinging it up and behind him.
“Where are we staying again?” Zack asked.
“Last one on the left,” Dave said, trundling forward with his wheeled bag. Zack followed, enjoying the feeling of the gritty sand underneath his flip flops as it crunched against the hard stone road beneath.
“So why didn't we just have Oscar take us all the way up to the front of the place like normal people then?” Zack prodded.
“I never let anyone know where I am going if I can help it,” Dave said, the paranoid look he usually had back at home returning full force to his buzzed face. “That's how you get robbed or held for ransom. Trust me. It happens a lot down here. It's practically a respectable occupation in places like Mexico City.”
Zack nodded, realizing at last why Dave had made such a huge fuss with the customs official for demanding to know where he was staying. Makes sense now that he didn't want to announce it to the entire line of strangers from the plane.
“Okay,” Zack said. “So why not hire security guards then? It's not like you can't afford it.”
“Pass. That's a guaranteed way to make yourself a target. You might as well just announce you've got ransom money. Besides they'd just slow us down with the ladies,” said Dave, wriggling his eyebrows for maximum effect.
Another thought struck Zack as they strolled along. He turned to his friend. “Remind me again how are you going to score drugs off that guy later if you won't let him know where you're staying?”
“That's easy,” Dave explained. “We'll place the order in town. It's safer that way anyway. You never know who is listening in to your calls down here. Front desk clerks are known to sell information to local thugs in exchange for a cut of the action. That's why you never let them plan your vacation activities either. Everything you do should be last minute, totally unscheduled. Cuts down the chances of them picking up on your routine and lying in wait for you when you don't have one. Am I right?”
“Wow,” Zack laughed, coming to a halt to stare in awe at his friend. “That settles it. You really are the most paranoid person I know.”
“Sorry man. Old habits die hard. I'll dial it back. I promise,” Dave said as a dark look flashed across his face. “It's just that when you've had people come after you for your money you start to second guess everyone you meet. It becomes like a defensive instinct. I don't even notice I'm doing it.”
“It's cool man,” Zack said dismissively, hoping to change the subject to something lighter. “We're on vacation now. Just try to relax and enjoy yourself.”
They walked up the long driveway to the front of the five star resort to find young men in fresh-pressed uniforms parking cars and helping guests carry their luggage. One of them tried grabbing Dave and Zack's bags but Dave waved him off.
“No gracias mi amigo,” he said with an amused chuckle. “My bags stay with me.”
I guess he's right, Zack thought. Old habits do die hard.
Near the front of the resort lobby they passed a parked police car with the trunk open. An older looking cop with a barrel chest and a thick black mustache was picking up a row of pink suitcases one at a time off the sidewalk and loading them into the back. He stopped and stared menacingly at Dave and Zack as they passed. Dave stared back with a defiant smile but Zack looked down at the ground all the way until they'd reached the front doors of the hotel.
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