by Greg Lyons
I pocketed the whole wad, closed the top of the safe and locked it. Billy pulled the tarp back over and we scattered branches and dirt over it again. We looked around to see if anybody had seen us, but we knew that no one was around because Mati hadn’t barked.
We took the shortcut through El Monte to get to the airstrip. It saved us about twenty minutes compared to getting there on the asphalt roads through Campo Mata. We came out of the jungle at the far end of the airstrip, near the place that I had planned to have us wait for the Cessna to turn around to race it. I was still a little sore with Billy and Todd for not choosing my mission instead of almost getting killed at Pablo Malo’s place, but at least I knew that they’d probably go for my mission idea next Saturday.
We saw the red flatbed Chevy parked by the yellow one-storey building on the left side and halfway down the runway. The building was where Guillermo Santos, the customs agent, would check all the stuff that the Cessna brought into and took out of Campo Mata. There were only three rooms in there. The main one had a big table with a two-way radio on it, a few sets of rubber stamps, an ink-pad and one in-and-out box full of all the customs paperwork. Guillermo, who was really fat and smelly, never seemed to get up from his chair behind the big desk. Most of us figured that he just slept in the chair. There was a stinky bathroom with a toilet that didn’t work most of the time. The third room was where all of the stuff that came in and out on the Cessna was stored. That door was always closed and locked and we’d never seen inside. Guillermo kept the keys to both of those rooms on a key chain clamped to one of his belt loops.
Billy and I raced down the middle of the airstrip. We’d put the playing cards back on the forks of our bikes and the noise as they clacked in the spokes got louder and louder the faster we went. Mamba beat Billy’s rust bucket, as usual. It never was much of a contest. We jumped off our bikes next to the flatbed full of fireworks. A thin old man sat on one of the hundreds of cardboard boxes that were stacked on the ground in front of the truck. He looked like he was about eighty years old, but it was hard to tell. He stood up and smiled at us, showing us the last five or six teeth he still had in his mouth. At least they were really white.
‘Chicos, you are the first ones here,’ he said in Spanish.
Well, that was good news. We didn’t really know when he’d show up, so we were worried that the best stuff might already be gone.
‘Two boxes of sparklers, four boxes of string firecrackers and thirty rockets,’ I replied. ‘Oh yeah, if you have anything new this year we’d like to see it.’
The old man looked us both over like he was trying to decide if he could trust us. Then he stood up and walked over to the cab of his big truck. He motioned with his arm for us to come over there, so we did. He opened the car door and pointed at two boxes in the passenger seat of the cab.
‘Chicos, these are bombitas,’ whispered the old man as he looked over our shoulders at the window of the airport building. Seems he was making sure that Guillermo wasn’t watching us, but we knew that the fat man couldn’t see us from the chair that he never seemed to leave. ‘They are illegal to sell, but I can sell some to you young men if you promise not to tell anyone where you got them. Can I trust you?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Billy.
‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ I replied almost at the same time.
‘OK then. They cost a lot more than the other fireworks,’ whispered the old man. ‘That is because they are very powerful. Each one is really half of a stick of dinamita. You must make sure to keep them in a cool place until you use them. They have longer fuses than normal firecrackers so that you can be far enough away to not blow yourselves up. I will give you another roll of fuse line so that you can tie on some more if you want.’
Now this was cool. Billy had a big smile on his face, even though I knew he was trying to act all adult-like and responsible. We both knew that we shouldn’t buy them, but that wasn’t going to stop us. This was going to be great.
‘We’ll take eight of ’em,’ I said.
The old man ended up getting all of the bolivars that we’d taken from the safe. We were a little short of money for everything we’d wanted, so we had to give up some of the usual strings of firecrackers and sizzlers. But we didn’t give up the bombitas.
The fireworks were in plastic bags hanging from our handlebars and we were just getting on to our bikes to head back to camp when we heard the sound of the Cessna’s single engine in the distance. That meant that it was just about ten o’clock in the morning. We looked out in the direction of Caracas, to the north, where the plane always took off from and always went back to. It was just a speck in the light blue sky.
Then we heard the sound of a different type of engine coming down the dirt road leading to the customs building. We recognised that one too. It was the sound of Pablo Malo’s jeep. Billy and I looked quickly at each other, jumped on our bikes and made a beeline for the first path into the surrounding jungle. When we got into the cover of El Monte, we hid our bikes – being sure to take off the playing cards – and sneaked our way back to the edge of the trees.
We could see the front of the customs building and in the distance the jeep bouncing down the dirt road, covered in a cloud of blue smoke. A minute later the beat-up jeep lurched to a stop in front of the building and Pablo jumped out. He looked the same as he had the day he and Loca attacked us, but this time he had left the dogs at the banana farm. Guess he wasn’t taking any chances on us again. The jeep was only about twenty metres away from us. I could see the shotgun propped up in the passenger seat next to a couple of taped-up shoeboxes. We could hear the sound of voices coming from inside the building, but we couldn’t tell what they were saying.
‘I’m gonna try to get closer and spy on them,’ I whispered to Billy. ‘I want to know what they’re saying.’
‘You’re nuts,’ hissed Billy. ‘No way, don’t do it.’
‘They’re up to something and I want to know what it is,’ I replied. ‘You go on back to camp and take my bag with you. I won’t want to be lugging that thing around if I have to hightail it outta here. I’ll meet you back at my house. Make sure you hide the fireworks under my bed.’
‘Avery, please don’t do it,’ pleaded Billy. ‘Pablo will kill you if he catches you.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. You go on. I’ll see you in a bit.’
Billy sneaked his way back to the bikes, grabbed my bag of fireworks and left me there alone. I was about to come out of the shade of the trees when the front door to the building swung open and Pablo came out. He walked over to the side of the jeep closest to me, picked up the shoeboxes and then went back inside, this time without closing the front door. I could hear the sound of the Cessna’s engines getting louder. I stepped out of El Monte and ran on my tiptoes to the nearest wall of the customs building. I was pressed up against the wall like a leech on a leg. I skirted along the wall until I was right next to the open door and listened to them talking.
‘This is the last time, Pablo,’ said Guillermo. ‘It is getting too risky. Capitán Gómez has been nosing around here a lot more lately.’
‘I will tell you when enough is enough,’ growled Pablo Malo. ‘I pay you more than you’re worth and you are already in this way over your head. And don’t worry about that police chief. I will be taking care of him soon. You just stamp the boxes and put them on the plane.’
‘But I can’t keep doing this. Someone will find out sooner or later, and when they do I’ll be thrown in jail. They will toss the keys in the river.’
‘That’s not going to happen. With Gómez out of the way, we’ll never have to worry about getting caught,’ replied Pablo. ‘The plane is almost here. I’ve got to use the bathroom. Give me the key.’
I heard the rattle of keys, followed a moment later by the opening and closing of the bathroom door. I knew that Guillermo’s back was to the front door because he always faced the airstrip. I peeked around the doorway and s
aw the fat man’s back as he dabbed a rubber stamp on the ink-pad and stamped one of the boxes. I made certain that Pablo was in the bathroom. When I pulled my head back I saw the shotgun in the passenger seat of the jeep. That gave me a great idea.
I didn’t stay at the airstrip much longer. When I heard Pablo Malo come out of the bathroom, I skedaddled out of there and went straight to the golf club to find Capitán Gómez. I saw the police car in the parking lot of the club when I got there. It was there almost every Saturday. Gómez loved to play golf with the gringos on his days off, even though he was terrible at it. He had even played a few rounds with my dad when I caddied for him. They both liked to drink beer when they played, although my dad never drank when it was a tournament. By the time they reached the last hole they were always in great moods and talking really loud and laughing all the time. Orange Fanta never made me act like that.
I walked into the clubhouse, past the golf shop and the locker room and out of the back door, where all the caddies stood around waiting for the golfers to pick them.
‘Hola, Avery,’ said Raul, who was my favourite caddy.
‘Hola, Raul,’ I said. ‘Have you seen Capitán Gómez?’
‘Yeah, he teed off about an hour ago,’ he replied. ‘He’s probably on seven or maybe eight.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll try to catch him at the pond. Hasta luego.’
I got to the eighth tee just ahead of Gómez. His playing partner was Mr Slater, who would normally be playing with my dad except that my dad was helping my mom get ready for the party that night. Both men smiled and waved when they saw me and I did the same back.
‘Hola, Avery,’ yelled Gómez.
‘Hi, Capitán. Hi, Mr Slater,’ I said.
I didn’t expect to see Mr Slater with the police chief and I was wondering if this was going to be the right time to talk to him.
‘Umm . . . can I talk to you, Capitán?’ I said. ‘It’ll just take a minute.’
Mr Slater raised his eyebrows, but then he started to walk over to the tee to take his shot over Mata Pond.
‘I’ll just go on ahead,’ he said. ‘We’ll hook up at the clubhouse.’
‘OK,’ said Capitán Gómez. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’
The police chief turned back to me.
‘So what brings you all the way out here to talk to me?’ he said with a pleasant smile.
‘I need to talk to you about Pablo Malo.’
The smile vanished from his face. He looked down at me with a really concerned expression. His forehead grew a bunch of frown marks that I hadn’t seen before and the sparkle in his eyes disappeared just like that. Now I was really, really wondering if it was such a good time to talk about Pablo Malo. He put his hand on my shoulder and made me walk with him away from Mr Slater and out of hearing distance. He kept his back to the tee and made me stand in front of him.
‘You must stay away from that man,’ he said. ‘He is very dangerous.’
‘I know,’ I replied. ‘Billy and Todd and I found that out the hard way.’ I waited a second then made up my mind to follow through and tell him what I knew. ‘Remember the day you brought in the dead guy who had been shot?’
He nodded.
‘Well, before you chased us away, I noticed that he was wearing a fancy belt buckle with matching silver tips on his boots.’
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘The buckle and the tips were part of a set. I’ve seen lots of gauchos who’ve won rodeos wear them. They always come with a matching pair of spurs. The dead guy was missing his, but I saw the wear marks from them on his boots.’
‘I’m listening,’ said Capitán Gómez.
I told him all about what happened during our mission to steal bananas. He listened very carefully and he did not interrupt me even once. His hands were on his hips the whole time.
‘So that’s what happened then,’ I said. ‘But there’s more that’s happened today.’
I filled him in on Guillermo Santos and what had been said in the customs building. When I was done he pushed his golf cap back on his head and scratched his forehead. He pulled the cap back down and looked at me. He smiled and then sort of chuckled, shaking his head from side to side at the same time.
‘Well, that is quite a story, young man,’ he said. His pencil-thin moustache smiled at me. ‘You are like a curious cat, aren’t you?’ Then he grew more serious. ‘But this is a dangerous situation. You cannot go back into El Monte to your hideout until I have investigated further. Do you understand me? Pablo Malo is a bad man. I have known this for a long time. It is said that he has killed men down in the diamond district, but no one has been able to prove anything. I will make a visit to the banana farm on Monday.’
‘Capitán, I will stay out of El Monte if you promise not to tell my parents about all of this,’ I replied.
That made him laugh again.
‘I can promise you this. I will not tell your parents unless it is absolutely necessary. That is the best I can do. OK?’
I could tell that was the best offer I was going to get from him.
‘OK,’ I said.
Chapter 6
Next Time No Salt
The orange sun was about twenty minutes from disappearing below the horizon. People were starting to show up at our house for the Fourth of July party. There were cars parked all along the street and now some folks were parking their cars on the street behind our house, close to the fence that kept out El Monte.
All of the doors to our house were open. My dad had set up tiki torches in the field behind our house. I counted twenty-four of them, and next to each one was a wooden picnic table with an American flag tablecloth on it. My mom and dad were standing next to our big outdoor barbecue pit talking to the Slaters and the Fultons. The pit was closed but clouds of hickory smoke poured out from the edges of the heavy steel cover. There were two other huge barbecue pits on flatbed trailers parked next to ours and smoke was coming out of them too. I’m guessing that they must have had about three whole cows and who knows how many pigs cooking. My dad and some of his golfing buddies always drove over to Anaco – which was the nearest real town – about a week before the party to pick out the animals that we were going to eat.
Someone inside the house changed the music from rock and roll to Brazilian samba, which is what happened whenever the adults wanted to start dancing. I grew up listening to Latin music, and the first song was one of my favourites – it put me in an even better mood. And it wasn’t just me. In the windows I could see the silhouettes of adults who had started dancing to the cool beat.
Billy and Todd came out of the back door and walked over to where I was sitting in one of those fold-up aluminium picnic chairs. They had brought their own chairs, so when they got to me they set them up and sat down too.
‘Billy told me what happened at the airstrip,’ said Todd. ‘Sounds like Pablo and Guillermo are up to no good.’
‘Yeah, but I haven’t figured out what just yet,’ I replied after taking a swig of my 7Up. ‘I think Capitán Gómez has an idea, but he wouldn’t tell me.’
‘You think we can trust him?’ said Billy. ‘Gómez, I mean.’
‘Sure. He’s a cop,’ I replied. ‘If you can’t trust a cop, who can you trust?’
‘Yeah, I guess so,’ said Billy, ‘but I’m more worried about him telling our parents about us trying to steal bananas.’
Billy’s parents were really strict, and he’d get into even more trouble than Todd and me if they found out we were trying to steal things – even if it was just bananas.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘The secret’s safe with him.’
‘Hey, guys, look at that!’
Todd was pointing up in the sky to the left of us. It was a dark cloud of something and it was moving towards us, getting bigger. Some of the adults had seen it too. Then I saw Mr Slater looking at something right above where we were sitting. My eyes followed his just in time to see a huge flock of birds flying right o
ver us, heading straight for the approaching black cloud. It took a second for everyone to remember what was going on, because it only happened a couple of times a year.
‘The swallows and the queen machacas,’ I yelled out. ‘They’re back! This is so cool.’
The clouds of bugs and birds were going to collide pretty close to us. It looked like the swallows were going to have a party that night too. And then it happened. All of a sudden there were swallows diving down and flashing around, snatching up all of the flying queen ants they could eat. The yellow light from the tiki torches reflected off the birds as they zipped around like bats. After a while you could even smell that strong, nasty odour that squashed ants gave off when you stepped on them.
There must have been a million of those flying ants in that black cloud, but they were taking heavy casualties and losing the battle with the birds. Little pieces of ants, and some whole ants, started to rain down on the ground around us. I picked up one of them, careful to keep my fingers away from the humongous pincers. Billy and Todd did the same thing. Holding the huge queen ant in the fingers of my right hand I aimed its pincers at the tip of the thumbnail of my left hand. They were opening and closing, trying to get a piece of me. When the pincers felt it, they chomped down and the two sharp ends buried themselves in the tip of my fingernail. Once those pincers got buried the queen ant couldn’t – or maybe just wouldn’t – open them. They were stuck on for good. Like we always did, I pinched the ant’s body off. All that was left on the tip of my fingernail was the ant’s head. The three of us did this ten times; once for each fingernail.
‘You guys ready?’ I said. ‘Let’s go and creep out some girls.’
Even though we did it every time the birds and ants had their awesome battle, the girls always obliged us by screaming and running away. And we always obliged them by running after them, yelling at the top of our lungs with our machaca fingers reaching out to get them.
Denise was right in front of me running as fast as she could and looking back in freckle-faced horror at my ant-zombie fingers. She was taller than me, and I think that she could run faster than me but she wasn’t. Maybe fear slows you down. Her blonde ponytail was flopping around on her shoulders and her yellow sundress kept swishing this way and that. I guess that she’d finally had enough when she all of a sudden stopped in her tracks and turned around to face me. Not expecting it, I almost ran smack into her. Somehow I managed to dodge her but in doing so I tripped and fell on the grass and almost knocked over one of the tiki torches. She stood there looking down at me with a mad look on her face and her hands on her hips. I could hear Billy chasing Denise’s twin sister, Cathy, somewhere near the barbecue pits. Todd had probably given up early to grab something to eat.