The Hauntings of Scott Remington

by Robert B Marcus Jr

  Using Edward Windsor’s driver’s license and the key, I got the bank’s permission to open the box, and with the passport I had no trouble withdrawing $50,000 from Edward’s account. Of course, it always helps to know the bank president. I had done him a favor many years before.

  Manuel was waiting for me outside, convinced, I’m sure, that I wouldn’t pay him. He was shocked when I handed him $10,000 with my right hand, since it was more than I had promised him. In my left I held another $10,000 that he stared at greedily.

  “You want this?” I asked, wiggling my left hand.

  He couldn’t speak. He could only nod eagerly.

  “Tell me something I don’t know about the three fellows standing over there to the right that locked me in the cabin last night.”

  “N-nothing. Don’t know n-nothing.”

  “Too bad.” I started to put the money in my pocket.

  “W-wait. I don’t know nothin’, but maybe this will help.” He reached into his own pocket and pulled out a small square of paper and handed it to me.

  It was a business card on which was written “International Labor, Inc., Buenos Aires.” A phone number followed, but no address. Nor the name of any executive or other person.

  “I don’t see how this will help,” I told him.

  “They work for them!” he exclaimed. “Three men work for them.” He pointed eagerly to the card he had given me.

  At this point our conversation ended.

  Because I looked across the street straight into the malevolent eyes of Eve’s mother, accompanied by one of her thugs. What in hell was she doing here?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ten feet from the old woman glared the man who had tried to attack me on Vacation Cays. His eyes were still empty, his face still void of all emotion. There are people in this world that it is best never to meet. I was one of these; he was another.

  The old woman’s hand flicked, and the motion told me there were other adversaries.

  I glanced around and toward my left moved two men, two more to the right. And I knew there were more. I had heard from somewhere that Eve’s mother owned a house in George Town.

  But in any event, it couldn’t be a fluke that the old biddy was here, on this street, at this time. It had to be Manuel. There was no doubt in my mind that he would play two sides against each other and take money from both.

  Eve’s mother had probably known all along where I was, but sending a party out to attack me in the small Mayan village might not have generated many volunteers when everyone knew I’d return to civilization at some point. And Manual had no doubt told them when and where I would return.

  And the three thugs on the boat, that no doubt worked for the old bitty, was always around as well. And they were still hanging near me.

  “Take your money and go into the bank,” I told Manuel, suspecting that the old lady also wouldn’t hesitate to change her loyalties at the slightest provocation. Not for money, like Manuel; no, she was evil, and he would be a witness.

  “Why?”

  “Because if you don’t, you’ll be dead in less than a minute. Wait a long time, go out another door, and get a plane back to Cozumel.”

  “The boat—”

  “Your life is more important than the damn boat. Go!” I shoved him toward the bank door and considered my options.

  Obviously, when you’re heavily outnumbered you can’t fight everyone at once, particularly when they’re armed and you’re not. I didn’t know for sure that they were armed, but I rather suspected it. At least as much as I suspected that the sun would rise the next morning.

  The problem was that in all directions I was outnumbered. I briefly considered returning to the bank, but they would wait me out and they would be in even better position whenever I left the bank. Maybe they would probably just put a sniper somewhere and take me out that way. That’s what I would do if I were in their shoes.

  I turned left, because those two men were not as big as the other two I could see. Besides, there were three thugs behind me. Decisions made in battle are often based on even less logic.

  Surprise was gone for both sides at this point. I knew they were after me, and they knew I knew. Speed took the place of stealth. I ran at the two men.

  I keep my physical abilities hidden except in times of emergency. I didn’t play sports in high school, even though I was by far faster and stronger than anyone else in the school. Even then I felt it better not to advertise my physical superiority, and later it became even more important. So, when I finally run, my speed always takes people by surprise.

  I was on them before they could reach into the holsters under their arms. I ran into the right shoulder of one and the left of the other. Their eyes flared wide, then they flew in two different directions and I kept running. There was a cluster of about ten people ahead of me and I used them as a shield, hoping the thugs would refrain from firing into the crowd. I slowed enough to weave among them, then turned from Panton Place onto Albert Panton Street. I wonder who Albert Panton was flashed through my head as I regained my speed.

  The first thing I did on Albert Panton Street was run smack into the chest of another adversary, which was bad for him.

  I was bigger, I was stronger, I was moving faster—at least before we hit—and he was catapulted into the street to tumble in front of a squealing car. The impact slowed me down enough for his partner to grab me.

  That was something he quickly regretted. He had me by my left shoulder, and with my right fist free I whirled and punched him in the side of the face. He let go of my shoulder, wobbled, then flopped to the ground just as his partner encountered the bumper of an old Toyota.

  Two down.

  I ran.

  Albert Panton Street ended a block later at Fort Street. I looked around. A bike, a car, a motorcycle—I needed something . . . anything. I couldn’t outrun them; there were too many. They probably expected me to run toward the airport, but I knew I didn’t have a chance there. Even if I managed to get on a plane, they would be waiting for me at the other end. That’s the trouble with planes; their destinations are preordained.

  Instead, I turned right, toward the Legislative Assembly and Town Hall. Behind me I could hear shouting. I ran again, this time a little slower since I was tiring.

  When I reached Eduard Street I turned right, trotted down it for a little while, then went right on Cardinal Street, not too far from being back on Panton Street.

  Ahead, on the left side of the street, was a two-story collection of small shops. The stairway to the second floor was outside, old and rickety; I dashed up without hesitation, ignoring the creaks and groans. Upstairs, there was no corridor. The shops led into each other side by side. The first was mainly old jewelry, specializing in doubloons mounted on rings, hung on necklaces, soldered to forks, dangling as earrings, or simply sold as coins.

  I ran through the shop, found a T-shirt shop next to it. THE CAYMANS! was all the first shirt said. Not very original, but I was out of the shop before I could see what was on any of the other shirts.

  The next shop had a balcony, which connected with the balcony of still another shop. I waited there, on the balcony just behind the door. Two men followed me without thinking the problem through. With my assistance both went over the railing to the street below. I tried to make it look like they tripped, but two people rarely trip and plummet from a balcony to a sidewalk at almost the same instant. I was in the next shop before either hit the ground. I didn’t think anyone saw me throw them over.

  Two more shops, one selling black coral, the other various odds and ends, including island music, rushed by. Blaring over the speakers was a Jamaican favorite, “Big Bambo
o.” At least no one would be able to hear my footsteps as I ran. The Caymans were solidly built on British tradition, so why was their primary music Jamaican? Probably because they used to be part of Jamaica.

  The end of the building led to another set of stairs going down. Behind the building was another row of jewelry and T-shirt shops. I looked for an escape as I wondered how many enemies were left. I had taken out three, maybe four, permanently. The one hit by the car and the two who flew off the balcony were out for the duration, perhaps dead. The one I’d knocked down on the sidewalk might have recovered by now, but I must have had some effect on their numbers. I couldn’t be sure, of course, and I was sure there a bunch left, including the three who had followed me off the boat.

  What I really needed was to capture one alone in a place where I could interview him.

  But where?

  A few seconds of thought made it clear to me that I needed to switch from the defensive to an attack mode. I would go after one, not just take my chances that one would follow me.

  With this firm resolve, I turned and walked on the sidewalk around toward the front of the building. A crowd of several hundred people were massed there, surrounding the two fallen angels, I presumed. I couldn’t see anyone who either looked like my pursuers or looked like they might be my pursuers. I moved forward to join the crowd just as a police car and an ambulance arrived. Two cops quickly created a hole in the crowd, scattering the gawkers toward the sidewalks. At both ends of the street traffic was building up, and several drivers too far back to see the cause of the holdup began to blow their horns. It was ideal. In this chaos I could seek them out easier than they could seek me.

  I stayed immersed in the crowd under the balcony. With my back to a solid wall, I didn’t think anyone could surprise me. Before long I caught a glimpse of the man whose face I had pummeled sneaking through the crowd on my side of the street. I slipped into a doorway ten feet away. It was a Realty office, where I discovered that a million dollars would buy me a three-thousand-square-foot house close to the beach. Looking at the photos, I wasn’t sure that I would be getting much more than location.

  An eager young brunette appeared by my side, salivating for a sale. Who wouldn’t, if every sale was for a million U.S. dollars or its equivalent? What was the commission rate here? Even five percent was fifty thousand dollars. Enough to buy a decent dinner.

  “Are you interested in moving to the Caymans?” she asked, displaying the twinges of a British accent. I didn’t know if she was trying to hide it or create it.

  “Not full time,” I admitted honestly.

  “Maybe a winter home, then,” she went on. “You know, the weather here is beautiful the entire year. You never get snowed in.”

  “I’m sure,” I said, paying little attention. My enemy was passing by the window. The left side of his face was red and swollen, his eye almost shut. I could see anger bursting through the swelling.

  “I could show you a few properties if you wish,” she persevered.

  As I moved closer to the window, he turned and saw me. He should have yelled for reinforcements. I’m sure in retrospect he wished he hadn’t come after me alone. But he did. He was by the door and it was too tempting.

  “I would love to see that one,” I said, pointing to the nearest picture.

  “Let me get my car keys,” she replied enthusiastically.

  Redface burst through the door, anger flaming on his face.

  “Is your car out back?” I asked the Realtor.

  “Through that door,” she replied. Then, seeing she had another customer, she asked, “Are you thinking of moving to the Caymans?”

  Redface clenched his teeth, grabbed her, and flung her against the wall. Her head hit with a thump loud enough to make me flinch and she collapsed to the floor, unmoving.

  I ran for the back door and he followed.

  As I had hoped, there was a small back room before the back door. I knew he thought I was fleeing, and that was his mistake. When he exploded through the doorway, I hit him in the head with the wooden chair that sat at the small desk. His eyes rolled up and he too rendezvoused with the floor. He was out. Again. He would definitely have a headache later.

  Knowing that I had a while before I could begin my interview, I took the time to check the Realtor. She was breathing regularly. Her pupils were fine. I went over and locked the door, pulling down the shades and putting up the CLOSED sign. I hoped she didn’t miss one of those million-dollar sales.

  Redface was resting peacefully when I re-entered the back room and closed the door. There was a large tank of bottled water by the back door, and I filled up a coffee cup I found and poured the water on his face. Nothing happened so I did it three more times before he began to sputter.

  “Have a good sleep?” I asked.

  His eyes opened, focused, unfocused, then drifted shut again. I kept pouring water on him until he finally opened his eyes for good and stared at me. A venomous glare materialized as he recognized me and began struggling to get up.

  “I’ll kill you—”

  “If you so much as twitch another muscle except your mouth to answer my questions, I’ll clobber you again with this chair.” I picked up the back of the wooden chair. The chair had broken on impact with Redface’s head, but there was enough left to imply that this time it would be his head that would do the breaking.

  He knew I was serious and that he might not survive another hit. He had no further complaints and didn’t move.

  “That’s better,” I said after a few moments of silence.

  He clenched his teeth but still said nothing.

  “What do you want of me?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” I went on. “With the easy way you tell me what I want to know, then I’m through with you. With the hard way, I keep hitting you with the chair until you either answer or die.”

  He stared ferociously, barely able to control his anger. I was very surprised by his reaction; it wouldn’t have been mine in his place.

  “First of all, I want to know where Eve and her family’s house is.”

  “You pathetic creature,” he spat. “How could you possibly understand why we hunt you? It shouldn’t matter to someone destined to die soon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  But he said nothing, just stared at me with those malevolent eyes. Deep inside, a part of my soul shuddered.

  I got nothing more out of him. I asked him several questions, but he said nothing more, no matter how many threats I made.

  Now, I have sympathy for children and injured dogs, but not for people trying to kill me, though I realized that the reference he made to my impending death just reflected the orders he had from his boss, Eve’s mother. I concluded that he was more afraid of her than he was of me.

  When he didn’t answer the fifth question, I hit him with the chair, hard. I looked back as I left through the back door: his head was flopped to the right and there was blood drooling out of his mouth. He might have still been alive. I didn’t know, and at that point I didn’t care.

  I was glad that the Realtor was in the front room and hoped that when she awoke she called the police before opening the door to her back room and finding Redface dead.

  Destined to die soon? It certainly seemed as though he was quoting a foreordained outcome. What did he mean? Did he mean anything, or was he just threatening me? The only thing he’d indirectly admitted during my questioning was that he and his companions were indeed trying to kill me. Did he know that someone else was after me as well?

  I walked down side streets toward the west until I ran out of
city and came upon some scrub bush. It didn’t look all that different from Yucatán. I crawled into a small stand of trees, sat down, and waited until dark. I needed to think.

  The question was how to get off the island. I had little doubt that every reasonable method of transportation would be patrolled. Eve’s mother now seemed to have an almost an endless supply of thugs. I wanted to know her motive, but that was a problem I could spend more time on later. Now I needed to think of way off the island.

  The airport was out of the question. It was tiny, and I was sure it would be swarming with people looking for me. The same was true of the boat I had arrived in. It would be watched, and besides, Manuel was working for them as well.

  Could I charter another boat to take me? Maybe, but a small boat on the ocean was more vulnerable to larger boats that undoubtedly would be better armed. I had survived the trip from Yucatán to George Town simply because it was assumed that the three killers on board would take care of me, and if not, I would be easy to catch when I arrived. That would not be true this time around. I had no doubt that a number of surveillance aircraft and boats would be watching the waters around George Town for any departing boat large enough to weather a trip across the open water of the Gulf. I was convinced that whoever was after me commanded vast resources and for unknown reasons now chose to bring them against me.

  Still thinking about how I could possibly get off the island, I lay down and fell asleep.

  I had just finished carving my daughter’s name in the wall at Mayapán. Tired, walking slowly over to my house, where my daughter and my wife awaited me, I heard noise erupting from the north wall of the city. Other people around me began to run, and I ran too.

  In a moment I was at my house.

  “Save our baby!” came my wife’s cry as I burst through the curtain that covered the front door opening.

  Holcan warriors filled the streets, their spears and swords gleaming in the late afternoon sun, slashing everyone they came across, stabbing those who moved after they fell to the ground.