The Chalupa Conundrum

by Lyle Christie

“I would like to believe you, but there is a lot at stake here. Lives are literally on the line, so I need your solemn promise as a gentleman that this little secret remain between us.”

  “No problem, but seriously though—what would happen if it got out?”

  “There would be hell to pay, and people would get hurt.”

  Interesting. That sounded a little like a threat.

  “Well, don’t worry, Lars. You have my word as a gentleman that I won’t mention a thing, though I am curious how you plan to deal with Fabiana. She’s a nice girl and deserves to know the truth.”

  “I agree, but I don’t want to rock the boat until the Chalupa deal is done. You know the old saying about a woman scorned.”

  “I do.”

  “Excellent, then I believe we have an understanding,” he said, as he smiled and held out his hand to shake.

  “We do,” I said, taking his hand and completing the gesture.

  At least I hoped so. There was still something about Lars that made my scrot-sense tingle, but it might have just been a mild case of jealousy, as the fucker was secretly boning two of the coolest girls I’d met in a long time. How could I have possibly thought that Ernesto was the cockblocker when my real romantic adversary was the dashing billionaire? Alessandra and Fabiana appeared at that moment from around the corner, and the latter was now dressed in a short, slinky little silk summer dress that was white and thin and showing off her curves. I continued to stare even as she looked my way, and her warm smile seemed to hint that I might have just found love after all.

  “Well, Tag and I had better be going. I need to get back to San Jose for my meeting,” Alessandra said.

  “Yeah, I think I’ll get dressed,” I said.

  I put on my clothes and felt a lot better at no longer being the only naked person in the vicinity, and, once I was dressed, we exchanged pleasantries and headed back towards Alessandra’s FJ Crusier. I paused a few steps into our journey and stole one last glance at Fabiana, and she blew me a kiss. I blew her one back and turned around and smiled from ear to ear until I noticed Alessandra looking at me.

  “You two seemed to hit it off.”

  “Well, yeah, she’s a very nice girl,” I said.

  “I think you mean nice and beautiful.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah, as do you, obviously. I saw the look on your face when she took off her bikini.”

  “Oh, I was just a little surprised.”

  “Surprised? I thought you were going to cum in your in your pants.”

  “That’s ridiculous, as I’m clearly wearing shorts.”

  “Whatever, man-whore,” she said, as she shook her head in dismay.

  We climbed into the FJ Cruiser, and Alessandra started the engine, but this time we took a different route to the main highway, and, this one, unlike the dirt road we took from the Chalupa ruins, was paved and smooth as a baby’s bottom. We went through a similar drawbridge style checkpoint, and a guard in the same uniform as the other one waved us through, and, as expected, his face lit up when he saw Alessandra. Sweet Jesus. How many times had she been out here? We reached Guápiles Highway 32 and joined in with the fairly light midday traffic, and neither of us were particularly talkative thus far. Unable to hold back any longer, I finally broached the subject I knew was on both of our minds.

  “So, the mystery man is none other than Lars Ortega Von Träger. Now I understand why you said complicated.”

  “You’ve been dying to talk about this—haven’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  “I hope you understand how important it is that you keep this to yourself.”

  “I do, but I can’t help but wonder what the fuck was up with that moment we had on the waterfall. Those weren’t the actions of a person with a secret boyfriend—at least one that she’s actually in love with,” I said

  “It was an unusual moment of weakness.”

  “I can’t help but think it’s possible you were acting out because you were perhaps a little tired of having to keep your relationship with your little Lars-bear under wraps.”

  “Oh, is that why?”

  “I think it’s certainly possible, and it would make it a lot clearer why you kept trying to use my feelings for Estelle as the barrier between us. Obviously, it allowed you to avoid facing your own situation.”

  “That’s ridiculous, because I’m happily in love with Lars.”

  “Yet not officially together.”

  “Because he’s waiting until the Chalupa deal is completed. He doesn’t want the press focusing on his private life when they should be celebrating the new heritage site.”

  “Making the waterfall just a temporary distraction?”

  She stewed a moment.

  “Honestly, I don’t know what that was, so can we just drop it for now?”

  “Consider it dropped, but I do think your little Lars-bear was hiding something other than your relationship.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Judging by his expression, I got the feeling that he recognized the name Hector Gomez.”

  “You’re just looking for reasons not to like him.”

  “I’m an investigator, and it’s only my keen objectivity that’s at work here. Nothing more.”

  She stared at me for a moment then smiled and shook her head.

  “Is this all because you’re jealous of Lars? If so, it seems a little ironic considering how chummy you got with Fabiana.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw her blow you that kiss.”

  Good thing she didn’t see the other blowing that was going on.

  “That kiss was about having a nice day together, and to tell you the truth, I actually feel sorry for her.”

  “Why would you feel sorry for a supermodel?”

  “Because she’s a person under those fabulous looks, and, right now, Lars is shitting on her by fucking around with you.”

  “How do you know she’s not fucking around on him?”

  Shit—that was an interesting counterpoint, and one in which I was technically a participant. Two fucking days in Costa Rica, and I had not only taken part in a three way, but was was now mixed up in a love quadrangle.

  “If Fabiana were screwing around, it would only be in response to Lars’s infidelity.”

  Alessandra eyed me curiously as though she could sense something in my voice.

  “What did you guys do while Lars and I were meeting?”

  “Meeting? I think you mean humping, and for your information we enjoyed a nice swim. What else would we do at a pool?”

  “I don’t know—you were both naked and looking pretty chummy when we left.”

  “Don’t put your guilt on me.”

  This was certainly a different experience than the drive out here. Instead of talking and exchanging pleasant anecdotes about each other’s lives, we were arguing like an old married couple—and we were neither old nor married. Alessandra had apparently had her fill, for she reached down and cranked up the stereo, and thirty talk-free minutes later we were on the outskirts of the city and navigating the busy late afternoon traffic. Ten more minutes after that we were parking in the lot below the guest housing. I grabbed my bag from the back and walked over to Alessandra’s door, and we quietly stared at each other for a moment, as neither of us was sure what to say.

  “OK, Hot Sauce, it’s silly for us to be arguing, so I’m sorry for getting you all riled up about your relationship with Lars.”

  “I wasn’t exactly riled up.”

  “Close enough, but that’s fine, because your relationship is none of my business.”

  “I suppose I kind of made it your business when I kissed you at the waterfall.”

  “Yeah, but that seems pretty mutual, and even more so after we drank that fucking Cacique Guaro then got chased by mythological beasts and followed it up with some epic sex.”

  “It was pretty epic.”

  “More epic than the sex you had with Lar
s today?”

  “I’m not going to answer that.”

  “It’s OK, as I already know the answer is yes. Now, what time is your meeting?” I asked.

  “Six, then we can meet for dinner afterward if you want.”

  “Sounds good. Perhaps we can find something new to argue about.”

  “Perhaps, or we might just get along and have a good time.”

  “Waterfall or epic sex good?”

  “Not that good.”

  “Oh well, such is life. So, what are you going to do until your meeting? Do you want to come up and hangout at my place in the meantime?”

  She thought for a moment and appeared to like the idea.

  “Sounds good, plus I really need to pee.”

  “My toilet is your toilet.”

  She followed me upstairs and immediately went into the bathroom while I put my bag away in the bedroom and grabbed my iPhone. I went out to the living room, grabbed a beer, and took a seat on the couch and checked my email and messages. I had gotten exactly twenty-one emails in the last twenty-four hours, the last one being the picture of Fabiana and me. Ah—such sweet memories. Alessandra finished up in the bathroom then joined me in the living room where she snagged my beer and took a sip.

  “Sorry, did you want a beer?” I asked.

  “No, it’s OK. We can share this one.”

  “That sounds a little intimate. I’m not sure Lars would approve.”

  “Lars isn’t here.”

  “Meow! Kitten has claws!”

  Together, we finished off the beer, then I went and grabbed two more, and we clinked bottles and took a sip.

  “Oh shit!” I said, after setting my beer down on the coffee table.

  “What is it?” Alessandra asked.

  “I’m supposed to call Greaves, so that he knows we made it back safely.”

  I dialed his cell number, and he answered on the third ring, sounding unusually cheerful.

  “Hello, Finn, I’m assuming you made it back safe and sound,” he said.

  “I did—in spite of certain setbacks.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’ll tell you later over drinks, otherwise you’ll think I’m nuttier than a fruitcake.”

  “Now, I’m intrigued.”

  “As you should be. We had quite an adventure, and speaking of which, did any of the Embassy people pick up the camp’s laptops and their satellite internet unit from the communications building?”

  “No, they found it looking as though it had been ransacked. Nothing but shattered equipment and some papers strewn around the room.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, our most promising theory at the moment involves a thousand year old ghost king, but I can’t imagine what the hell he would do with laptops and internet access.”

  “What everybody else does—search for porn.”

  I laughed.

  “I suppose it’s as good a reason as any to steal a computer.”

  “So, no good news from your trip up country?” he asked.

  “Not exactly, but it was definitely interesting, especially meeting Von Träger, but I’ll save that story for another time as well. I have company and can’t stay on the phone too long.”

  “No problem, we can catch up tomorrow.”

  “OK, Ciao!” I said, hitting the end button.

  I finished my second beer and realized I really needed to pee, so I left Alessandra in the living room and hit the ol’ baño, but, as soon as I entered my porcelain kingdom, I realized I might just have a second deuce in me. I went to the door and locked it, but, this time, I gave it a little lift to make sure the internal latch was fully seated in the notch. I returned to the toilet and realized I had forgotten my iPhone. Oh well, I would just have to fly solo on this one. I relaxed, and, just as I released the first fecal projectile, I heard a bold knock at the door.

  “Um, I’m busy in here,” I said.

  “We need to talk.”

  Oh my God. What the hell did I do to deserve this treatment—over and over and over?

  “Can it wait until I’m done?”

  “No.”

  “I’m afraid it has to at this point. I’m past the point of no return.”

  “Open the door.”

  “I can’t.”

  She tried to push open the door, but I had been clever enough to make sure the lock was properly seated. She therefore wasn’t getting in unless she decided to break down the door. I heard her storm off and assumed she had given up. Sweet Lord! What the hell had suddenly gotten into her? A moment later, I heard her footsteps and then a metallic sound. Apparently, she was fiddling with the lock, and that was a very bad sign, as bathroom doors could be unlocked in an emergency—generally with a standard screwdriver or, more likely in this case, a butter knife. I therefore flushed the toilet, and, a second later, I heard a very obvious click followed by the door swinging open, and there before my eyes was a very angry looking Alessandra.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Maybe you should tell me.”

  “Other than taking a shit, I’m not sure what answer you’re looking for at this particular moment in time.”

  “Maybe this will help. Look familiar?” she asked, as she turned my phone so that I could see a picture that had just arrived via text.

  Oh shit. It was a nude selfie from Fabiana.

  “What a sweet girl to send me a text,” I said.

  “Yeah, sweet. Perhaps you should read the note that accompanied the picture.”

  She clicked the screen, and there was the text, and, as I read it, I felt both exhilaration and apprehension.

  “As I said—what a sweet girl.”

  “Sweet? Perhaps you didn’t read it correctly. Dear Tag, I miss you already. I hope you like the pic, and it reminds you of our day together. I haven’t had sex like that in a long, long time. Let’s do it again. XXOO, Fab.”

  “I don’t think she meant it literally.”

  “Then how did she mean it?”

  I struggled for a good answer, and, lacking one, I went with the truth.

  “OK, fine, she meant it just like it sounds.”

  “To think I had to listen to your bullshit guilt trip all the way back here today.”

  “Well, technically I do have the moral high ground on this one, as I only entered into this sordid love quadrangle after you had stepped in and broke up their relationship.”

  Alessandra’s face reddened, and I could see her anger welling up from deep inside, and I wondered if perhaps it was time to deescalate the argument and apologize. An angry woman was dangerous, and sitting on a toilet made me as vulnerable as a duck on a tiny little porcelain pond, so I needed to tread lightly and carefully.

  “OK, I admit it. It was a dick move to give you shit for something for which I was equally guilty. I’m sorry. Now can I please finish what I’m doing before we discuss this any further?”

  She continued to stew, but something in her eyes showed that my words had managed to ease her growing anger, and thirty long seconds passed, and she relaxed, turned, and left the bathroom. Thank God for small miracles! I put myself fully back into the task at hand, with my goal being to exfiltrate the toilet as quickly as possible just in case Alessandra attempted another bold assault. I finished and decided to take a quick shower to give Alessandra even more time to reflect and cool down, and, after drying off and getting dressed, I returned to the living room to find Alessandra calmly sitting on the couch, where she was reading a magazine. Oddly, she smiled, which made me a little nervous. Was it a legitimate smile or the smile of someone trying to lure me into a false sense of calm before punching me in the face.

  “Apology accepted, and, while I don’t find any good reason to apologize to you, I will anyway, as I have no reason to be jealous or judgmental of your tryst with Alessandra. I’m also sorry I didn’t tell you about Lars, and, more importantly, I’m sorry for kissing you at the waterfall and leadin
g you on.”

  “What about the kiss on the walk back from the lab?”

  “Oh shit, I forgot about that. Well, honestly, I’m still not sure about that one.”

  “And the super awesome hump session?”

  “Again, still too foggy to have an adequate opinion.”

  I held out my hand.

  “Truce?” I asked.

  “Truce,” she said, as we shook hands and peacefully began the third stage of our relationship.

  We were officially colleagues once again, and I can’t say I wasn’t a little relieved. Sure, the kiss at the waterfall and the dreamily fantastic sex later that night were both amazing, but arguing with a woman I’d only known for three days was even too much for my oddly tumultuous relationship standards. Six o’clock rolled around, and Alessandra left for her meeting while I stayed and relaxed in my room and enjoyed a rare moment of downtime, which I used to sit quietly and think about all that had transpired. I was approaching my third day in Costa Rica and no closer to finding out what happened to the UCLA team. Worse still, I only had three avenues of interest. One was a man named Hector Gomez, one was a man named Lars, and the final one was a ghost king, so it was definitely time for another beer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Trojan Whores

  I OPENED ANOTHER beer, took a sip, and decided it was time to let my fingers do the walking, and so I pulled up my friend Doug’s number. He was a career CIA analyst with access to pretty much anything and everything of interest in the world of data, and that meant he might be able to track down my Latin menace and perhaps give me at least one area of interest to focus my search. Three rings later, he answered his phone.

  “What do you want this time?” he asked.

  “That’s how you greet your dear friend?

  “Of course.”

  “Well, it makes me wonder yet again if perhaps you and Beeber were separated at birth.”

  Beeber, full name Justin Beeber, was a former CIA tech nerd, and had been the third member of the elite unit we had formed while working together at the Agency. We had jokingly called ourselves the Three Amigos in honor of the movie, and, by combining the intelligence gathering, analysis, and action into one cohesive unit, we drastically increased operational efficiency and, in turn, had a shitload of success. But, like all great things, it came to an end, and Beeber, unlike Doug, had left government service and entered the private sector, where he started a multimillion dollar security software company in San Francisco. Annoyingly, he, like Doug, always answered my calls by asking what I needed.