The Chalupa Conundrum

by Lyle Christie

  “Absolutely not, but I get the feeling you might feel differently.”

  “Oddly, there aren’t a lot of rational explanations left for what happened to the team. I’ve gone over the entire place myself, and there aren’t any signs of foul play except a little blood and a few scratches on one of the walls. Other than that there’s nothing. No footprints, tire tracks, animal tracks, or other. They all apparently disappeared in an instant.”

  “There has to be a logical explanation.”

  “I agree, but one has yet to be discovered,” I responded, taking a minute to finish my glass of horchata.

  I watched as Lars’s expression changed, and he began to look ever so slightly more serious.

  “Tag, I’m curious how it is you came to be involved in this affair? Do you work for the University or the Embassy?”

  Oh, here it was—yet another moment in which to detail the humiliation of revealing that I was here to rescue the woman who left me for another man.

  “Neither actually, though I suppose I’m temporarily working for UCLA, or, more specifically in this case, Dean Donald Delaney.”

  “Oh, what do you do for a living?” he asked.

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  “And his ex-girlfriend was one of the archaeologists on the team,” Alessandra blurted out.

  Gee, thanks for mentioning that little fact. I suddenly thought about kicking her in the shin.

  “Oh, that’s terrible. Having a personal connection like that must make it all so much harder to deal with,” Fabiana said, sounding legitimately concerned.

  “Thank you, but so far I’m coping pretty well considering the situation.”

  “You must be the sweetest man in the world to come all this way to try and find her,” she said.

  “What can I say? Even after we broke up, we remained close, and, believe it or not, she even called me on the night of the disappearance and told me there were things in the camp and that she needed my help.”

  “Things?” Lars asked.

  “Yeah, but I still have no idea what she was referring to—unless it’s Chalupa’s minions.”

  “Regardless of what happened, calling you says something very special about your relationship,” Fabiana said.

  “They only went out for a couple months,” Alessandra interjected, which I found a little odd, considering the fact she had spent the last few days telling me how much more meaningful she thought my relationship with Estelle had been.

  “It’s not about time. It’s about the connection, and obviously she knew she could count on Tag. I think it’s wonderful and romantic,” Fabiana said, smiling and placing her hand on my knee.

  “And a little tragic. As it turns out, Estelle was about to marry another man.”

  “Yet you still came.”

  Fabiana sighed as she looked into my eyes, and it elicited yet another tidal wave of blood unto my man region.

  “So, if there wasn’t a lot of evidence of foul play, then what could have possibly happened to them?” she asked.

  “Well, that’s where we get back to the whole King Chalupa thing.”

  “Which is entirely ridiculous,” Lars said.

  “Agreed, though Alessandra and I had an experience last night that…”

  “We were obviously drunk,” Alessandra interrupted.

  “Well, yeah, but I’ve never experienced anything like that from alcohol.”

  “The jungle can play tricks on the mind at night. Believe me, it was nothing,” she said.

  Apparently, Alessandra didn’t want her little Lars-bear to know anything about our escapade with King Chalupa’s minions. Oh well, I wasn’t here to talk about ancient myths and legends.

  “I’m going to take a dip in the pool. Would anyone like to join me?” Fabiana asked.

  “Well, Alessandra?” I asked as I looked to her for approval.

  “I have business to discuss with Lars, so if you want, you should go for a swim,” she said.

  “Yes, by all means. My place is yours to enjoy. You would be doing me a favor by keeping Fabiana company,” Lars added.

  “Well, in that case, I’d be honored to take a dip in your pool,” I said.

  Fabiana smiled at me, stood up, and proceeded to remove both her top and bottom revealing the tan lithe figure that had propelled her onto every major magazine cover and, in turn, into the hearts and minds of millions of men and women across the world. She obviously saw the look of shock on my face and smiled as she spoke.

  “This probably sounds a little silly, but my swimsuit isn’t actually designed to go in the water. I hope you don’t mind if I swim in the nude,” she said.

  “Oh, I suppose I’ll just have to adapt,” I responded.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Dances with Supermodels

  FABIANA TOOK ME by the hand and led me over to the pool’s edge, and I was suddenly feeling as though I were at a potential social faux pas crossroads. If my hostess had decided to be naked, was I supposed to follow suit and un-suit, so to speak, and, if so, how would her boyfriend and my non-girlfriend-of-sorts react? Thankfully, Fabiana spoke up and put my fears to rest.

  “You can wear your shorts, though we generally follow the more European tradition and go nude,” Fabiana said.

  I looked to Lars for confirmation.

  “Naked is the rule rather than the exception,” he said.

  “OK then, full commando it is.”

  Fabiana dove in and surfaced a little ways away then cast her gaze back at me. When in Rome I muttered under my breath as I slid off my shirt and shorts and walked over to the diving board. If I was going to parade around in the nude, I was at least going to do so with a splash—literally. I stepped up, took three consecutive steps, bounced, then performed a decent jackknife dive to enter the pool. It was a strange dive choice, but I hoped my false confidence might cover my feelings of awkwardness. I surfaced a few feet from Fabiana to find her clapping, and, oddly, it made me feel like a trained dolphin at Sea World, which was a good reason to avoid any more diving board antics.

  “Well, now you’ve set the bar pretty high,” she said.

  “Not really.”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” she said, as she climbed out of the pool then stepped up onto the diving board, strolled to the end, and turned around and edged out onto her toes.

  Her wet body was glistening, and I could see the muscles in her pert, round buttocks tensing as she readied herself for her dive. She crouched then hopped backwards off the board and did a perfect rear jackknife that created only a semblance of a splash as she entered the pool. She popped up, and it was my turn to clap. Holy shit! The supermodel could certainly dive. Meanwhile, Lars and Alessandra appeared at the edge of the pool, and Alessandra delivered a look of supreme judgement that more or less implied that she would be taking note of my actions, and anything I did in the next hour or so would be held against me in the collective court of female opinion—at least that’s the vibe I was getting.

  “Do you two mind if we excuse ourselves for a bit? We need to go to my office, as Alessandra has documents for me to sign, and I have some stuff I need her to look over,” Lars said.

  “No problem, I’m sure Tag can keep me busy while you’re working,” Fabiana said, swimming up behind me and placing her arms around me as she rested her chin on my shoulder.

  This placed her lovely full breasts directly against my back, and Lars didn’t appear to be the least bit bothered, but I personally thought things were getting extremely weird. Oddly, the man of the house smiled and nodded, then he and Alessandra left, thus leaving me alone with the beautiful Fabiana.

  “I guess it’s just the two of us now,” I said.

  She slid off me and started swimming butterfly stroke, which wasn’t for rookie swimmers and entailed some serious strength and pool time. I joined in and kept pace with her until she stopped and gazed over at me with a challenging look in her eye.

  “How about a little race—perhaps fi
ve laps of butterfly?”

  “What’s the winner get?” I asked.

  “Whatever he or she wants.”

  Gulp.

  “Well?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “OK, let’s do this.”

  We climbed out and stood on the edge of the pool and eyed each other. Needless to say I was extremely distracted by her naked magnificence and hardly heard her next words.

  “OK, on three. One, two, three!” she said, diving in and gaining a substantial lead.

  I faltered but took off a second later and put in some serious effort to pour on the speed. As a swimmer in college, I was pretty fast, so I was assuming I could easily catch the beautiful supermodel then leave her far behind. Such wasn’t the case, however, and, in spite of doing my best, I was barely able to catch up. After three laps, we were dead even, and I was working my ass off to match her stroke for stroke. Sweet Jesus—she moved through the water like a fucking barracuda. On our final lap, I poured on the speed, but she responded in kind, and we made it to the far end of the pool with her about an arms length ahead of me. She had won, and, as she recovered, she floated on her back, and her lovely pointy nipples were piercing the surface like a couple of periscopes from the most beautiful submarine ever launched. Meanwhile, I spent my recovery time treading water a short distance away, where I had a moment to contemplate my swimming companion’s exceptional athleticism.

  “I take it you’ve spent some time in the pool,” I said.

  “I was an alternate for the Brazilian women’s Olympic team.”

  “That explains a thing or two—your speed being the first and your figure of course being the second.”

  She smiled and stood in the shallow end of the pool, and her wet, naked, and glistening body was sending very powerful jolts of electricity from my brain to my penis. The signals were so strong, in fact, that I feared standing in water might get me electrocuted.

  “You’re the only guy that’s managed to finish that close. I’m impressed.”

  “I’ve been chasing beautiful women my entire life, but I think my mid race boner might have been slowing me down—hydro-dynamically that is.”

  “Either way, you should be proud.”

  “I suppose, though if I’d had your speed in college, I might have won a few more races.”

  “Don’t feel bad. You’re very fast. You just happened to have come up against someone even faster.”

  “The story of my life.”

  She smiled.

  “So, what’s my prize?” she said.

  “I guess that’s up to you.”

  “How about we move to the Jacuzzi and talk about it.”

  “Um…”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No, it’s just that…”

  “It’s just a Jacuzzi,” she said, taking my hand and guiding me into the little alcove beside the pool.

  Yeah, just a Jacuzzi. Try telling that to my penis who just happens to have had a lot of fun times in the last six months, with about seventy percent having been spent in or near water—usually a Jacuzzi. She climbed onto the edge, and her glorious backside was made all the more prominent as she slithered up out of the water. I followed her lead, and my semi bumped its way over the warm stone tiled edge as I climbed out and joined her. We walked beneath an arch and emerged at the Jacuzzi, and the area reminded me of a set piece for a science fiction fantasy movie because of its smooth rock walls and open ceiling which would be spectacular under a star filled night. At the moment it was midday, so the best view was at ground level—namely my hostess. Fabiana hit the button for the jets, and we climbed down into the roiling water, where I sat directly across from Fabiana, who immediately placed her feat on either side of my legs. It was an interesting orientation, and one that sent impure thoughts and copious amounts of blood to Tag Junior.

  “So, how is it you went from competitive swimming to modeling?” I asked.

  “I was discovered at a swim meet if you can believe it.”

  “Oh, I can believe it. Were you in high school or College?”

  “College—freshman year.”

  “So, you were whisked away to the runways of Paris, Rome, and New York?”

  “Yeah, but I still managed to finish my business degree.”

  “That wouldn’t be easy to pull off in the middle of an exciting modeling career.”

  “I know, but I can’t model forever, so I plan to have something reliable to fall back on when the lights and fame fade.”

  “I don’t think you have a lot to worry about there, as you’ve been blessed with some pretty substantial genetics, which means you have quite a long career ahead of you.”

  She smiled and leaned forward and placed her hands on my thighs, and her touch was enough to push me from semi to full fledged boner.

  “You’re a nice guy, Tag, and honestly I don’t meet a lot of nice guys in my world. Everybody wants something, whether it’s money, favors, or just a date with a famous model.”

  “What makes you think I don’t want a date with a famous model?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do, and you’re in luck, because I don’t really get enamored by fame or famous people. I generally only get enamored by people who are intelligent, interesting, or funny.”

  “You don’t care about looks?”

  “I suppose I do, but I move beyond them pretty quickly if the person is a dumbass.”

  “So, which of your criteria am I?”

  “So far—beautiful, interesting, and intelligent.”

  “Not funny?”

  “It’s still early.”

  “How about if I asked you to pull my finger?” she said, as she pointed her finger at me.

  I instantly laughed, having never expected a supermodel to make a reference to a silly fart joke.

  “OK, you’re officially beautiful, interesting, smart, and funny.”

  She smiled and stared into my eyes, but behind them I could detect a hint of sadness.

  “I get the impression all isn’t well in your world at the moment,” I said.

  She stared for a moment as she decided how much she wanted to reveal to a perfect stranger, but she appeared to come to some kind of resolution and spoke.

  “Lars is cheating on me.”

  “Then Lars is as dumb as fuck.”

  “Perhaps, but it doesn’t change the facts.”

  “So, how did you find out?”

  “A number of late night texts on his phone, and he comes and goes at strange hours without explanation.”

  “As a private investigator who has spent many a night pursuing these kinds of allegations for clients, I can confirm that those are a lot of the usual signs, though, seriously now, who could possibly compare to you?”

  “The very same person who’s meeting with him at this moment.”

  “Alessandra?”

  “Yes.”

  I thought about it, and, oddly, it made perfect sense. Alessandra said she had been dating someone, but that it was complicated—complicated because I suspect her boyfriend-of-sorts was otherwise involved with another woman. It was also complicated, because, if it were true, it would be a conflict of interest regarding the Chalupa land deal. It was highly unethical to be humping a person who could have a direct impact on whether or not you get approval for your project. Thus, both parties would make a very obvious point of keeping their grab-ass exploits under the table—literally. Ha! To think I had thought it might be that fucking kissing bandito Ernesto.

  “Shit—that makes sense,” I said.

  “Yeah, especially when you take into account how much time they have been spending together—even before the Chalupa project. Lars is very involved with the Department of Antiquities and the national museum, so he is always attending their events and donating money.”

  “Well, in spite of Alessandra being quite a woman, he has to be pretty dense to believe he can find greener pastures than the one he’s currently in.”

>   “Are you calling me a cow?” she asked with a smile.

  “Not intentionally, though if you were, you’d be a beautiful and exotic cow with spectacular udders.”

  “Oh, do you think so?” she asked, as she lifted her breasts out of the water.

  I made a high-pitched mooing sound like a baby cow and puckered my lips, and Fabiana laughed, but then her looked turned serious again.

  “The sad truth is that deep down I probably wasn’t all that happy with Lars, but it still hurts to be rejected.”

  “Yeah, I get it, as I know a thing or two about feeling rejected.”

  “Ahh—I believe you’re referring to your missing ex.”

  “I sure am, so, believe me, I know how you feel.”

  I had a moment to think, and my scrot-sense suddenly started to tingle as I thought about something she had said a moment ago.

  “So, when you said he comes and goes at strange hours without explanation—where do you think he goes?” I asked.

  “I suspect he’s meeting Alessandra at his penthouse in the city. He uses it as an office, and it’s a perfect love nest for his philandering on the side. I should know, as he used to take me there when we first started dating.”

  I looked at the girl across from me and no longer saw the bigger than life supermodel. Instead, I saw a girl with a broken heart, and it didn’t matter how many magazine covers she was on—breakups sucked.

  “Fuck Lars. You’re beautiful, intelligent, fast as fuck in a pool, and have an amazing career. Guys will be falling at your feet.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t want a guy who falls at my feet. I want the guy who can stand up beside me, hold my hand, and want the real me—not the girl on the magazine cover.”

  She had a point.

  “Mr. Right is out there somewhere.”

  “Maybe he’s even closer—possibly in this very Jacuzzi,” she said.

  “You never know.”

  As I pondered that thought, she leaned in, wrapped her arms around me, and kissed me with her soft, warm, and utterly enticing lips. Soon to follow was her tongue, but I was ready and greeted it properly, and our slippery embrace caused the fire in my loins to grow hotter with each passing second. I thought my flag was already at full mast, but now I realized it was well beyond that stage and was about to blow from my pole. Wait a minute. What the hell was I doing getting fresh with the man of the house’s girlfriend—least of all when he was a potential suspect in the case I was working on? Soon, however, those thoughts were eclipsed when Fabiana reached down and took hold of Tag Junior and started gently stroking him from tip to balls.