We left my lovely visiting faculty apartment, climbed aboard the FJ Cruiser, and headed west towards central San Jose. Fifteen minutes later, we were parked in front of the entrance to Frederico’s and were soon entering a different kind of nerd kingdom. Every guy secretly, or even openly, wanted to be a special operations soldier—the badass maverick who could kick any and all ass and save the day and rescue the innocent when the world was going to hell in a hand basket. The problem was that it was a really difficult job and one that few would ever actually pursue. It looked like fun in the movies and on television, but the reality was that it took a lot of hard work and nearly superhuman effort. So, the next best thing for the typical lazy slob was playing first person shooter video games. This allowed the combatant to safely test his skills and devour an entire bag of potato chips without ever having to leave his or her home—or chair. The true weekend warrior, however, took it just a step further and played paintball or Airsoft. It created the actual physical effects of running and gunning without the fear of violent death, and, truth be told, many paintball players became quite adept at the reflexes and skills involved in close quarters combat, though nothing could ever compare to the fear and adrenalin rush created by real bullets. Regardless, all of the afore mentioned activities, minus the video gamers, of course, required the same clothing choice, and, if I hoped to conduct a covert operation in the jungle, then I needed to blend in with the scenery, and that meant some decent camouflage.
As we roamed through the various aisles, I could sense Alessandra’s growing unease, and it didn’t get any better when we reached the jungle fatigues aisle. They actually had a pretty decent selection, and some of it incorporated state of the art eye disruption pattern technology. In the old days, uniforms were pretty basic shades of green or wavy striped patterns, but evolving warfare meant evolving camouflage, and the latest stuff was designed using computers to disrupt our brain’s ability to distinguish patterns. How important was this for tonight? I had no idea, but after the last trip to Chalupa I wasn’t taking any chances. I found my correct size pants and was happy to see that they had lightweight breathable fabric. I found a matching top made of the same fabric then moved down to the lady’s section, where Alessandra just stared at me.
“Is this really necessary?” she asked.
“No idea, but it certainly can’t hurt.”
“I think I’ll look ridiculous.”
“Don’t worry, we can cut away your pant legs and turn them into short shorts.”
“Jackass.”
I stepped back to gaze at Hot Sauce and did a little mental math in order to quickly decide that she was likely in the size ballpark of about 35-24-35—give or take an inch. I grabbed the appropriate pants and shirt but erred a little towards a smaller size in the hope that it might be a little snug in the chest and butt and look just a wee bit more sexy. I held the pants up to her waist and saw that her long legs made them ever so slightly short. Oh well, once again I figured tight seemed right.
“Alrighty then—let’s go try this stuff on,” I said.
“OK, but just so you know—I honestly think the whole camo uniform thing is ridiculous.”
“Acknowledged, now stop fucking around and let’s do this.”
We carried our stuff over to the dressing rooms and found that there was only one available.
“Do you want to take turns?” I asked.
“No, I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.”
“So, we’ll share?”
“Yeah, but I hope you’ll be able to control yourself when you see me in my bra and underwear,” she said.
“I believe it was you who initiated the kiss at the waterfall, so I’m hoping you’ll be able to control your carnal impulses when you see me in my bra and underwear,” I countered.
“Oh, and what kind of bra do you prefer for your man-boobs.”
“Front clasp, so it’s easy to take it off and relax when I know I’m in for the night.”
We entered the dressing room and quickly realized it was a little smaller than expected, and I found it to be particularly funny. Alessandra didn’t find it quite as funny, but her expression showed she was mildly amused at our predicament. We started stripping down and inadvertently bumped and slid body parts until we were both standing in our underwear, and, as we turned to grab our respective item, we ended up facing each other, and our position and proximity were eerily similar to the moment on the waterfall. My eyes quickly fell upon her gorgeously barely clothed body before returning my gaze back up to see her staring with a smug smile.
“Oh, do you still find me attractive after boning a supermodel?”
“Yes, I do as a matter of fact. Do you still find me unattractive because you’re boning a billionaire?”
“No, asshole, as I find you very attractive, but I’m wise enough not to let some stray feelings of lust complicate the fact that you’re emotionally involved with another woman, or should I now say women? And in either case I’m obviously…”
“Secretly, or, should I say, unofficially involved with your boyfriend?”
“Not what I was going to say,” she responded.
She stopped talking and slid on the pants and accidentally bumped me with her breasts. I can’t say I was bothered, at least not in the traditional sense, but I was starting to make a real effort at not getting a boner. I slid on my pants, then the shirt, and saw that we were both ready to go outside and see how we looked. We exited to find several weekend warrior nerd types checking themselves out in the mirror. Alessandra and I joined the pack, and all eyes turned to take in the only female in the bunch. I couldn’t blame them, as she looked ridiculously hot and would have been right at home at some cosplay event like Comicon. Clearly, my body assessment skills had been fairly accurate, and I had wisely found the right size to accentuate her spectacular curves.
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Like Rambette.”
“Lovely,” she responded with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
“Don’t worry, we’re almost done! Now, come on—let’s go find some gloves and balaclavas.”
“Gloves and pastries? Seriously? We just ate.”
“You’re thinking about the Middle Eastern pastry spelled b-a-k-l-a-v-a. I’m talking about a balaclava—a knit hat that covers most of your head and is not intended as a snack—unless you’re a moth.”
A young college aged guy standing a few feet away turned in our direction and smiled.
“Are you two gearing up for the big paintball tournament?”
“No, we like having sex outdoors, and this keeps the police off our back—literally.”
“Oh.”
“He’s kidding, and no—we’re getting these stupid outfits so that we can…”
“Enter the tournament,” I interrupted, giving Alessandra a subtle glare.
Apparently, she had forgotten about the vow of secrecy she had made, and, while it was unlikely this goofball would tell anyone about our secret mission, operational security was operational security. The guy, however, was suddenly more interested, as I suspect he imagined Alessandra might get to see him gloriously firing at his foes with his brightly painted little balls.
“My name’s Miguel. Perhaps I will see you this weekend. My team is called the Leopardos de la Selva, or in English, the Jungle Leopards.”
“Excellent, our team is called the Profesores con Grandes Tetas. I imagine you already know what that means in English.”
It meant professors with big tits, and it made Miguel smile as he gazed at her lovely tetas. Oddly, Alessandra didn’t appear very amused as we left Miguel behind and found the aisle with footwear. I went through the various models until I found a pair that were a hybrid between a combat boot and a heavy duty tennis shoe. Alessandra already had decent hiking boots, but her keen feminine shopping instincts quickly brought her to a pair of interesting looking hiking boots which she said she might consider at a later time.
“Alright
y, time to find headgear and perhaps a camo bra for you.”
“I assume you’re joking about the bra.”
“Hell no, with your biggundos bouncing about the jungle, they’ll see you coming from a mile away.”
“And just who are they?”
“Anything with a pulse. I’m talking Jaguars, monkeys, lab nerds, Chalupan men beyond the age of puberty, Chalupan men below the age of puberty, and perhaps even half-man, half-beast demon creatures. It’s common knowledge that the undead have a thing for breasts. In fact, the ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead said that they believed that a woman’s nipples were the windows to her soul.”
“Do you ever get accused of acting like a ten year old?”
“Ever since I was eleven.”
Next were the balaclavas, and I had to admit that Frederico’s had a pretty amazing variety. They came in different colors, styles, and fabrics, and, as I looked over the various brands, I factored in the heat and humidity and decided upon a nice light camouflage patterned one.
“So, when you said balaclava, you could have simply said ski hat,” Alessandra said.
“No, as ski hats are for skiing and only cover the head, while these garments cover both the head and the face. It’s completely different.”
“So, we’re basically dressing up like ninjas.”
“Camouflaged ninjas.”
“This outfit is getting seriously embarrassing.”
“Relax, it’s just military sheik, but I think you’ll be glad once we’re up in the bush.”
“Once you’re up in my bush.”
“Was that a joke? Are we back to funny Hot Sauce—because I like funny Hot Sauce.”
“Don’t get too used to it. I’m sure you’ll do or say something annoying, and I’ll become bitch Hot Sauce.”
“You haven’t technically been bitch Hot Sauce since we met, and that even includes the orange assault last night, though you have definitely been emotionally taxing Hot Sauce.”
“Whatever, let’s get out of here.”
“So, no camo bra?”
“No, we’re just going to have to take our chances.”
“That’s fine with me. I like your nipples, and that means we have only one last item to find.
“Which is?”
“Combat vests!” I said, excitedly.
She rolled her eyes as we moved on to a different aisle and found the vests. I, of course had one at home, but had opted not to bring it, having never imagined I’d be stomping around the jungle. I grabbed my size then found one for Hot Sauce, which I strapped on to her in order to make sure it fit properly. In my opinion it was a was perfect fit, as each of the vertical straps pressed her breasts ever so slightly together and emphasized her formidable cleavage. I definitely liked the look—a lot, and it made her resemble one of those models you’d see in the misogynistic posters common to gun stores.
“Is this really necessary?” she asked.
“Do you carry a purse?”
“Of course.”
“Well, this will be your purse in the jungle.”
We grabbed some special hiking style water bottles then took our things to the front register, where I dropped my charge card and paid for the entire lot. Finished shopping, we climbed into the FJ Cruiser and returned to my faculty apartment, where I planned to check in with Greaves. I called his cell, and he answered after only one ring.
“Hello, Finn. How goes the investigation? Anything exciting happen since yesterday?”
“Yeah, a lot, actually.”
“I hope it’s not supernatural in nature.”
“No, but it’s certainly interesting and brings our local billionaire under suspicion.”
“Von Träger? Do tell!”
“So, last night I did a little surveillance and found out that Lars knows Hector Gomez.”
“The guy who held you up in the alley?”
“Yep.”
“No fucking way!”
“Way—I’m afraid.”
“What do you think it means?”
“Not sure, but that’s what I intend to find out. Speaking of—do you know a researcher by the name of Nate Pearson? He’s an American, but he works at the remote Von Träger lab near Chalupa.”
“No, but I’ll look him up if you want.”
“That would be great, and there’s another guy named Wainright. He’s a Brit and also works at the lab. I saw both of those fuckers with Hector.”
“If he’s a Brit, I probably won’t find much.”
“Well, if you don’t that’s OK, as I also have another friend looking into them as well.”
“So, where to from here?” he asked.
“I’m doing a little covert mission tonight.”
“Anything I should know about?”
“Probably better if you don’t.”
“Well, be careful and check in with me when you can.”
“Thanks, I will,” I said, hitting the end button.
Alessandra was looking at me questioningly.
“I thought we had operational security in effect. What makes you think you can trust Greaves?” she asked.
“He’s a government guy.”
“So?”
“So he has nothing to gain, as he doesn’t have any kind of involvement in the matter—other than finding sixteen missing United States citizens.”
“So, why can’t you accept that it could be the same with Lars?”
“Because he employs the guy who tried to kidnap me.”
“Allegedly.”
“Honestly, it sounds as though you’re trying to convince yourself more than me.”
“I wondered how long it would be until I heard from the psychology PhD candidate.”
“Yeah, and I wondered how long it would be until I heard from funny Hot Sauce again.”
“Not long, as you just heard from her.”
“Yeah, though it was more deflection than humor.”
“Seriously now, Finn—you’ll eventually see that Lars is a good man, and when you do, I’m going to totally rub that shit in your face.”
I wished I could believe her, but my own eyes didn’t lie. I saw what I saw, and nothing could change the fact that Hector was buddies with Lars. The only weird part was that Nate seemed like a genuinely nice guy, and I couldn’t see what exactly his role could be in all this. Suddenly, my phone rang, and I looked down to see that Doug was calling. Hot damn! Maybe he would have some news about my conspirators and shed a little light on this ever deepening mystery. I hit the accept button and immediately heard Doug’s voice.
“Are you with Fabiana?”
“No, I’m with Professor Alessandra Hitzig—better known by her students as professor Hot Sauce.”
“Who’s she?”
“You’re the tech wiz. Why don’t you bring up her picture.”
Alessandra looked at me with a puzzled expression, as she was obviously wondering why in the hell I had asked Doug to perform such an unrelated task, and I listened to the sound of Doug’s fingers whizzing over the keyboard until the noise stopped, and he groaned.
“Fuck you,” he said.
“What was that Doug?”
“I said fuck you. When you’re not with a fucking supermodel you’re with a girl who might as well be one.”
“I would have to agree, though Alessandra is technically a prestigious archaeologist and my personal liaison in the search for the missing UCLA team.”
“Seriously now, how do you find these women?”
“Honestly, I think they find me—as my sincerity and warmth are like a beacon of light in the darkness that is our empty existence,” I said, as I looked at Alessandra.
She casually smiled then smacked me on my ass.
“Ow!” I said.
“What happened?” Doug asked.
“In my mind, a cry for help from a beautiful though frustrated and lonely woman,” I responded.
She hit me again, only this time a lot harder.
“Ow! Fu
ck!” I cried out.
“Now what happened?” Doug asked.
“Oh, just another cry for help from that same woman.”
“Funny—to me it just sounded like you were whining like a little bitch.”
“I’ll remember you said that when I’m picking out your birthday present.”
“Yeah—at the Dollar Store. Now, if you’re done whining, I can tell you that I found out your friend Hector Gomez is a nobody.”
“Nobody—meaning?”
“He’s a civilian—a nobody—a loser like you.”
Doug liked to make fun of me ever since I left the Agency, but I think the truth was that it was all rooted in the fact that he missed me.
“So, why does Lars Von Träger associate with a nobody?”
“No idea, but Hector is as clean as they come. In fact, I’d even go so far as to say he’s too clean. No parking or speeding tickets—nothing criminal whatsoever.”
“Any connection to Von Träger Industries? Perhaps tax records or employment history?”
“Nope. According to Costa Rican records, he works for a company called Mundo de Agua. They manufacture water purification systems, and he’s listed as a sales associate. Personally, I get a bad feeling, as he’s a little too clean, which might mean his identity is some kind of cover.”
“Which would make him the perfect person for dirty jobs.”
“It’s possible, but only in context with your personal interactions with the guy. If every person who shoved a gun in your face had actually been arrested, there wouldn’t be enough prisons on this earth to house them all.”
I took a moment to think and was slightly annoyed that Doug couldn’t find out anything useful.
“Well, shit, what about the other guys?”
“Same story. They’re all clean, and, believe me, I checked everything—tax records, school records, motor vehicle registrations—you name it, and the British guy I even cross checked with INTERPOL and our friends across the pond. Both MI-5 and MI-6 gave him a clean bill of health.”
“What about Lars? There isn’t a billionaire on this planet who doesn’t have a few skeletons in his closet.”
The Chalupa Conundrum Page 36