by Storm, Buck
“I’ve known Chuey for years. I like this place. There’s a big, modern marina ten miles down the coast, but this one’s more my style, me and Easy and the Lazarus. The Cartel—they’re bad news. Don’t bother people out here in the sticks too much, but somehow Gomez—that’s Chuey’s nephew—got on their bad side. Something about a dice game and somebody’s sister. Never quite got the details sorted out. Anyway, Gomez—he comes tearing down here one day in an old Plymouth and runs out of road in the marina lot. They’d broken his arm before he got away from them, and the guy was really hurting. He was yelling for Chuey, but Chuey’d gone into Dia Perdido to buy a present for his granddaughter’s Quinceañera—that’s a party they have when a girl turns fifteen. Gomez wasn’t what you’d call smart, but not a bad guy. I got him on board, but those Cartel guys came screaming down in a big, black SUV a minute later and started yelling and waving guns. I told ’em I’d seen a guy run into the jungle, but they insisted on taking the Lazarus apart looking for him. Eventually, they settled down, and I guess decided not to shoot me, which was a bonus. Still don’t think they ever believed me.”
“I don’t get it,” Doc said. “If they took the Lazarus apart, why didn’t they find Gomez?”
“Ah. The million-dollar question! This old girl has a few tricks up her sleeve. Come on down below, let me show you something.”
Doc and Paradise followed Lan through the salon and down the hall to the aft cabin.
At the head of the four-poster bed, he laid his palm against part of the paneled wall. “Acts as a lever. Found it by accident one day.”
A dull click sounded, and a section of the floor at the foot of the bed rose an inch. At Lan’s tug, the section opened on hidden hinges, revealing a long, deep cavity.
Doc crouched at the edge, peering in. “Amazing. You’d never know this was here in a million years.”
“The design’s clever,” Lan agreed.
“The Lazarus was used for smuggling?” Paradise asked.
Lan dropped the door, pushed the floor down again, and the hole disappeared without a trace. “Sure she was. Ran booze during Prohibition from Canada all the way down to the Keys. Cuba, Bahamas—it’s a boat, man. The world is your backyard. Heard rumors about opiates in the South China Sea. This girl’s been around a long time. When something’s available in one place and discouraged in another, there’ll always be someone around willing and able to capitalize on it.”
“What about you? Have you been willing and able?” Paradise said.
“Let’s just say I’ve made a wake in some gray areas, but only for worthy causes. I don’t need money, and I’ve seen the damage people can do to one another in the name of profit. Drugs? Weapons? No thanks. But … medicine, books, Bibles a couple times, a wandering soul here and there—we’ve reunited a few families. I figure I’m on this planet to help, not hurt. And now here I am playing a supporting role in The Continuing Adventures of Doc Morales and Paradise Jones. Might win another Oscar for this one.”
“Yeah, there is that. And it’s appreciated,” Doc said.
A car horn blared from the direction of the marina parking lot.
“Sounds like Easy’s back with the car.” Lan threw Paradise a wink. “C’mon. You’re gonna love this.”
Back on the deck, Doc couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re kidding? An Olds Eighty-Eight?”
Paradise’s eyes shone. “Lan, I may be in love with you.”
“Well, you know, I’m lovable. Now, the Mission Del Dia Perdido is only a few miles from here. I know it well. What d’ya say we go wrangle you kids some answers?”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
What Happens in Mexico Stays in Mexico
“Shoot him!” Crystal mouthed for the hundredth time since they’d gotten back in Sammy’s Land Cruiser.
Thankfully, Hollister had managed to get the windows down, and the wind and barrio noise drowned out any communication going on in the back seat, whispered or otherwise. He eyed the back of Simmons’ head and the perfect haircut. Probably cost five hundred bucks. He also noticed the doctor kept a tight grip on the wooden box on his lap.
“Shut up!” Hollister hissed, exaggerating the words with his mouth so Crystal would get the picture.
Crystal showed her shark-toothed grin, eyes wide. “Shoooooot hiiiiiim!”
“Shuuuuut uuuuuup!”
Not that the idea didn’t appeal on some level. Just the sight of the back of the guy’s head almost sent Hollister over the edge.
Burt turned in his seat. His eyes narrowed at the expression on Hollister’s face. “What?”
Hollister conjured blandness. “What, what?”
“I was going to suggest we open my box over a nice bottle of merlot. Although I suppose you’d probably prefer a beer.”
“What do you mean, your box? And why would I prefer a beer?”
Simmons shrugged. “There are wine people, then there are good wine people, and then there are beer people. No offense.”
“And never the twain shall meet,” Hollister said.
“Sweetie doesn’t drink anyway,” Crystal said.
“What?” Since when?
Simmons’ eyes tracked a group of white-bloused, plaid-skirted schoolgirls crossing the rutted road. “Did you just call him sweetie? Very nice, Crystal. Looks like our counseling time paid off, yes?”
Crystal put her hand on Hollister’s arm. “We think we’d like to continue our sessions. Could we meet later today?”
Hollister shook his head and let it fall back to the headrest. The woman was one hundred percent certifiable.
Simmons wiped the back of his neck with a handkerchief. “I’ll be happy to continue our time when we’re back in LA. Maybe we can work a fee schedule out of the remaining forty thousand. That is, if you do indeed contribute something to finding the little tramp, which I’m beginning to doubt.”
Hollister stared at Crystal. Counseling?
Crystal did a car-seat dance move—churn the butter—and mouthed, “Shooooot hiiiiiim!”
Hollister rubbed his temples. “You know, Doctor, the girl may not even show up here. Why do you care, anyway? We found the gold. Why not just leave well enough alone? Let her go live her life. Why do you need her?”
“Need her? Interesting choice of words. Psychologically speaking, that’s fairly accurate. I need her. Bravo, beer man. Let’s just say the little tease has been begging for my affection since she was twelve. Prancing around in those movie costumes of hers. Showing off by the pool. She’s not going to walk away from me and get away with it.”
Forty grand, forty schmand. How fast could I get an arm around the guy’s throat? “She walked away? I thought you were the one who turned her down? You got a thing for young girls, Burt?”
Simmons turned, eyes widening a fraction. “Burt? It’s Dr. Simmons to you. And it’s not my fault. From a medical perspective, I mean. Young girls, women … it’s a condition. I’m a victim.”
“And that condition makes you get handsy with your daughter?” This guy makes me wanna puke.
Crystal tried to pull the gun from Hollister’s waist, but he pushed her hand back.
Simmons’ face flushed. “You know what, Hollister? I’m getting sick of your stupid comments. Handsy? First of all, she’s my stepdaughter, not daughter—so get your mind out of the gutter. Good schools, clothes, vacations—I own her. Get it? Besides, she practically begged for it that night. My wife was stone-cold passed out on the couch as usual. I’d had a few greyhounds myself. Just enough to get myself feeling loose and good. So I went into the pool house and—good timing—she was changing. Sending all the signals with her body but pretending that insipid innocence of hers, just like when she was a kid. So I told her what time it was. She could finally pony up, or I’d cut her off. Her choice. Then she had the gall to hit me with a lamp as if we weren’t two consenting human beings. If she says I forced myself on her, so what? My property, my money, my way. Besides, she’s nuts. And it’s her word against the
most respected psychiatrist in LA.”
“So you admit you assaulted her.”
“Oh, brother. Call it what you want. She’s a woman. I’m a man. I have urges.”
“Yeah, well, leave us out of it.”
Simmons’ eyes rolled. “I’ll talk slow so you can understand. I hired you, and you do what I say. Simple. If I want a cup of coffee, you’ll bring it. If I want you to do jumping jacks, you’ll do them. If I want you to bring my tramp of a stepdaughter home so I can take her over my knee and spank her, then you’ll do that. What I do with her is none of your concern. And whatever it is, she deserves it. She probably even wants it. This is exactly what I mean by beer people. You always insist on overlooking the obvious.” Something on the street caught his gaze, and his head swiveled left. “Hey, Sammy. Wasn’t that your cousin? The hot tamale from the café?”
“Why?”
“She’s walking with a white man. With his arm around her.”
“Yes, so? That’s her husband. He’s from Michigan, I think. She married him last year.”
Simmons turned, drawing his brows together. “Husband? I thought she hated gringos?”
Sammy raised a shoulder. “She does. She hates him, too. Women, you know? Who can figure them?”
Simmons craned his neck through the open window. “Tell you what, Sammy. You bring that chile pepper to my room later, and I’ll see if I can’t cool her off.”
Sammy’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.
“Take it easy, Simmons. You’re talking about the guy’s family,” Hollister said.
Simmons shrugged. “You know the old saying. What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico, right?”
“That’s Vegas,” Crystal said. “And it doesn’t work. Trust me, I tried it.”
Simmons turned in his seat. “Hey, Crystal, I’ve got to ask. What’s with the orphans? Since when do you like kids? You know, I mean other than for snacks. Why’d you want to go see the brat factory back there?”
Crystal bolted forward, but Hollister caught her with his thick forearm.
Simmons lifted his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Down, girl! Good thing your owner’s got your leash! Geez, I’m just kidding. Relax.”
Hollister pushed Crystal back, eyes drilling Simmons. “I ought to let her bite your head off and spit it down your neck. She grew up in an orphanage. Keep your mouth shut.”
“Or what, beer man?”
“Or I’ll knock your teeth out of the back of your skull.”
“Ha! I love you guys. You’re non-stop entertainment.” Simmons turned away and started to whistle La Cucaracha through his teeth.
The drop of sweat dripping from the five-hundred-dollar haircut, the insults, the perverted disrespect …
Hollister’s fingers brushed the big pistol shoved in his waistband. “Hey, Sammy. Pull off onto that road up there. Find us a place back in the woods. I saw a toolbox in the back. Let’s crack this box open and see what we have. I’m sick of waiting.”
Simmons’s eyes rolled. “See? Beer people. No patience. No sense of the dramatic. All about the instant gratification. Okay, children, since we can’t wait, we’ll do it your way. And I’ll tell you what. I’m feeling generous. If it’s a lot of money, I may even give you some kind of finder’s fee. Not that you actually found anything.”
“What do you mean, finder’s fee? Whatever’s in that box is ours,” Hollister said.
Simmons ignored him. “Up there, Sammy. Pull off right there.”
Sammy cranked the wheel, and the Land Cruiser came to a stop in a small clearing pressed in on three sides by dense brush and jungle.
The four exited the car, and Simmons placed the box on the hood while Hollister fetched the toolbox. No hammer, but the socket set contained a large ratchet that seemed heavy enough. That and a screwdriver should do the trick.
Simmons grabbed the tools out of Hollister’s hands. “I’ll do the honors. Sammy, hold it steady.” He placed the screwdriver against the lock and gave it a smack with the ratchet. The sound rang loud in the still afternoon, and a flock of birds lifted from a tree, wings beating.
“Piece of junk didn’t budge,” Simmons said.
Crystal crowded close. “Hit it again.”
The next swing of the ratchet brought a cracking sound.
“Ha! Side of the lid broke in. Must have been rotten. Moment of truth …” Simmons put his hand on the lid, preparing to open. “Drum roll, please …”
Everything’s a production with this guy. Hollister gripped the butt of the pistol. If the box turned out to be a fluke of some sort, he’d keep the doctor around to assure they’d get the second half of the eighty-thou. But one glint of gold and Simmons was on his way to shake hands with the devil. With the whole world revolving around him, the good doctor would never see it coming. The forty grand they already had and a box of gold? Hollister could live with that. And Simmons said it himself—what happens in Mexico stays in Mexico. One less pervert loose on the street.
“What’s this?” Simmons said, staring into the box.
Crystal pulled the box to her. “Don’t look like gold. Coins, though.”
Hollister relaxed his grip on the pistol, but only slightly.
Sammy reached in and pulled out a coin. “Congratulations, Señor Simmons. You’ve found yourself a box full of pesos. Must be two thousand. Maybe three. That would be close to two hundred dollars US.”
Simmons’ ears reddened. “Pesos? Just pesos? But they’re at least old, right? They must be valuable?”
Sammy held the coin up to the light, squinted and chuckled. “Oh, sí! Pretty old! This one says 1983.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Falling Through the Cracks
No nieces or nephews. Kid-less single friends. The fast paced, audition-filled life of an aspiring Hollywood actress—Paradise could probably count the hours she’d spent around children on one hand. But the cacophony of noise and tiny bodies that engulfed her in front of the Mission Del Dia Perdido made up for a lifetime of juvenile deprivation in five seconds. She tried her best to focus on one child at a time, but the situation overwhelmed her. She found a small brown hand in each of hers. Girls no taller than her waist, big brown eyes staring up at her.
Doc, Lan, and Easy received no lighter sentences. Doc—on his knees in earnest conversation; Lan—a little girl in each arm and a boy seated like a king on his shoulders. Easy trotted up the street with a group of boys, working a soccer ball between his feet like Beckham.
The pint-size army crowded and shrieked, laughed and tugged all the way to the front door of the mission where a young, ponytailed blonde woman waited, smiling. She shooed the children away in machine-gun Spanish.
“I heard the noise! Welcome to Mission Del Dia Perdido. Lan! It’s good to see you again. It’s been way too long,” the young woman said—English this time.
“You, too, Leena. Brought you some visitors.” Lan made introductions all around.
“Lan, do you know everyone in the Caribbean?” Doc said.
“I get around, kid. I’ve dropped off a few necessities here at the mission a time or two. Last time it was a few cases of antibiotics, if I remember right. Picked ’em up in the Keys.”
“And much needed, along with all the toys he’s not mentioning,” Leena said. “Lan’s a long-time friend and, honestly, a hero here. Our southern Santa Claus. He’s even taken some of the children sailing. Where’s Easy, by the way?”
“Headed up the street with a soccer ball and a million kids, last I saw. He’ll be back when he wears ’em out,” Lan said.
“They’re a non-stop adventure, no doubt about it.” Leena turned to Doc. “Are you here to see the facility?”
“Kind of. We’d like to look around the mission, if you don’t mind,” Doc said.
Leena’s expression narrowed. “Seems like a popular thing to do today.”
Doc paused a beat. “Someone else was here?”
“Can I ask why you want to see the
mission?” Leena said.
Doc glanced up and down the street. “It’s kind of a long story. Can we talk about it inside?”
Leena raised a questioning eyebrow but nodded and led the way inside.
The cool interior of the adobe building belied the Yucatan heat, caressing Paradise’s skin. Something warm moved against her hand, and she looked down, realizing with a start that one of the little girls had failed to flee with the rest of the retreat and had slipped a tiny hand in hers. Wide, pool-of-chocolate eyes stared up, unblinking.
“Hello! Where did you come from?” Paradise said.
“That’s Sofia,” Leena said. “She’s just come to us in the last couple weeks. Her mother hopped a bus for Mexico City and didn’t look back. Only seventeen, if you can believe it. No one knows what happened to the father or even who he was. Common story around here, I’m afraid. This is the first time Sofia’s made any connection with anyone here. That’s a big first step! But is she bothering you? Ven aqui,Sofia! Leave the nice lady alone!”
The tiny hand squeezed tighter.
“No, no! That’s okay! I don’t mind at all,” Paradise said.
“You’re sure?”
“Oh yes. She’s adorable.”
Leena turned to Doc. “Like I said, we had some others come today. Quite a popular spot for the middle of the Yucatan jungle. I left them alone, and they vandalized the place. Who would do that? To a church?”
“Vandalized?” Doc said.
“Yes! They moved the altar and caved in the wall with a candlestick. Can you imagine? I called the priest, and he’s beside himself. He’s a nice man, but I’d be very careful about your intentions here.”
“Can we see where they did the damage?” Doc asked.
“Sure.” She led the way.
On the platform, Doc knelt and examined the hole. He looked up at Lan and Paradise. “A false wall. There was something here for sure. You can see marks in the dust where they dragged it out.”
“Something hidden?” Leena asked. “You know, I had a feeling about them from the start. And then they were so rude!”