by Storm, Buck
“A couple, by any chance? Big guy? Bald? And a lady that looks like she spends all her time lifting weights and torturing babies?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s them. Absolutely. Hollister and Crystal were their names. But it was the other guy—Burt, I think—that was so rude.”
A chill danced up Paradise’s spine. “Burt?”
“Uh huh. The three of them in here, plus Sammy, who was driving. He waited in the car,” Leena said.
“Burt Simmons?” Paradise said.
“He didn’t mention a last name. Older, tan, good looking. Wealthy, I think. Fancy shoes and a linen suit. Who wears a suit in Dia Perdido?”
Strength fled Paradise’s legs, and the room closed in. All the brave talk about going back to Los Angeles flew out the window with the realization … Burt is here? So close? “Doc, we have to go! Get back to the boat. Go somewhere. Please, anywhere!”
Doc put his arms around her and pulled her to him. She didn’t resist.
“Nobody’s gonna hurt you, okay? I promise,” Doc said.
The sanctuary door opened, and Easy stepped in, shirt soaked with sweat.
“Easy, watch the front, would you?” Doc called. “We may have company close by, and we need some time to look around. They’re Americans. Two of them are the ones that chased us in Texas. May be three of them now. Yell if you see anybody coming.”
“You got it, Doc. I sound de alarm, don’t worry.” Easy ducked back out the door.
“I don’t know, Doc,” Lan said. “Looks like they found what they were looking for. They’re long gone now. I’m thinking we’re a day late and a dollar short.”
“I don’t think so. Look at the fresco behind the altar—where the hole is. The paint around the edge, it’s brighter—newer. Doesn’t look original. If somebody hid something there, it was recent. Or at least, more recent than our Spanish brothers. I’ll bet it had nothing to do with them.”
“Brothers? What brothers? What in the world’s going on?” asked Leena.
“Tell you what, Doc,” Lan said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got all the pertinent details down. Why don’t you and Paradise take a look around, and I’ll fill Leena in on the where, who, and why.”
Doc nodded. He turned to Leena. “You’re sure it’s okay if we look around?”
“Of course. Now you’ve got me curious,” Leena said.
“Thanks,” Doc said as he headed toward the back of the sanctuary.
Paradise followed. “What are we looking for exactly?”
“I’m not sure. But I know this—I would never have hidden something I really didn’t want to be found here in the building. It wouldn’t make sense. Too many people in and out. Too much chance of someone stumbling on the hiding place.”
“But they must have thought they’d come back for it. And that whatever it was wouldn’t be hidden for too long.”
“Even so. It wasn’t like they traveled in planes back then. They’d be away for months. Maybe years. They couldn’t know how long.”
Doc stepped back and studied the floor-to-ceiling mural before them. The first of several giant depictions of Bible stories covering every wall.
“The biblical account of creation. In layers representing the seven days, from bottom to top, see?” He moved down the wall to a depiction of a ship surrounded by perishing humanity begging for rescue. “Here’s the flood. And this next must be Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane. No particular order, New or Old Testament, I guess.”
“You know these stories that well?” Paradise said.
“Sure. I’ve heard them all my life.”
Paradise followed as Doc moved around the room, narrating as he went. The artist had spared no detail in his visual storytelling. Sofia tugged and held up her arms—universal kid sign for pick me up. Paradise leaned down and scooped the little girl into her arms. Light as a feather .
Leena and Lan joined them as Doc scrutinized a giant Judas throwing coins to the floor in front of a group of stern looking men.
“Imagine. Jesus betrayed for thirty pieces of silver,” Leena said.
“Hard to fathom. God in flesh,” Lan added.
Doc reached out and touched the painting lightly with his fingertips. “Not silver, though. These coins look like gold.”
“It’s a trick of the light,” Leena said. “It filters in at different angles as the sun moves, and the color of the coins changes through the day. It’s one of the things we show to tourists and pilgrims. In the early days of the mission, people thought it was a miracle. Now we know the artist used several different composites of metal flake in the paint to catch the light. Very clever.”
Doc studied the wall intently.
“What is it, Doc?” Paradise said.
“Twenty-eight,” Doc replied. “There are only twenty-eight coins. Not thirty.”
“That’s right, good eye,” Leena said. “One of the painter’s little curiosities—the missing coins. There’ve been lots of theories over the years. My personal opinion is that he was going for realism and figured at least two out of thirty would bounce away or fall in a crack between the stones.”
“Two coins. Gold. That might not be a coincidence.” Doc started down the wall, scrutinizing one scene after another.
On the platform, he paused before the massive mural of Joshua’s lost day.
A thump sounded from beneath the front pew, accompanied by a child’s laugh. Sofia swiveled in Paradise’s arms and giggled.
“I think we’re being spied on,” Leena said, then pointed to the wall. “Dia Perdido—The Lost Day. When the sun stood still. In the Book of Joshua.”
Behind them, another bump and another giggle. Above, Joshua—sword dripping blood, the slain army at his feet.
Doc scanned the fresco back and forth for a full minute, then stopped and took five steps forward, leaning to examine something he’d seen.
“What is it, Doc?” Lan said. “Coins?”
“No. But this dead soldier, look what he’s holding.”
The man in the painting lay sprawled and bloody, blank stare cast skyward. Falling from his outstretched, lifeless hand was what appeared to be a small sack.
“The bag?” Paradise said.
“Yeah, exactly. That looks identical to the leather sack we first found the coin in.”
“So?” Lan said. “It’s a sack. No coins or anything. What could it mean?”
“It’s open. And angled downward. Look at the crack in the rock below it. As if any contents might have fallen out and through the crack …”
“So whatever we’re looking for might be hidden in the crack of a rock somewhere?” Lan said.
The thump and laugh came again, and Doc turned back, scanning the floor. “Leena, where are our spies hiding?”
The floor gapped slightly under the front pew, revealing the tops of two heads and four bright, brown eyes. Another giggle, and the trap door fell shut.
“There’s your answer. Basement. These little guys have this place wired. A regular miniature Mexican CIA.”
Doc looked at the open sack on the wall again, then back at the trap door. “There’s a basement?”
Leena nodded. “Yes. It’s not open to the public anymore. In fact, it’s been sealed off for more than two hundred years. It’s kind of morbid actually. But the kids slip in and out through a crack in a boarded window. Usually on a dare. Or to spy, obviously. It’s harmless.”
“The sack is open right above the crack in the rock. Like whatever was in it slipped down below. Can we see the basement?”
“I suppose so. But the only way in big enough for an adult is through the trap door. We’ll have to move the pew. I’ve only been down there once, years ago, when they moved the pews for some renovation.”
Doc waved. “C’mon, Lan. Help me move this thing.”
In the end, it took all four of them to move the heavy wooden bench.
Leena pulled the trap up. “There’s a ladder. C’mon down.” She started her descent.
&nb
sp; Two boys stuck their heads through a side door of the sanctuary and laughed, then ducked back out, letting the door shut behind them. The same lurkers from the basement, no doubt, publicizing their escape. Sofia giggled and chased after them with a squeal that echoed in the big room.
Paradise watched her leave, then followed Doc and Lan down the ladder.
True to the rest of the ancient church, the basement offered floor-to-ceiling murals. These, however, spoke no comfort to the observer. A chill washed over Paradise as she turned in a slow circle.
“See what I mean by morbid?” Leena said.
“Are these things in the Bible?” Paradise’s voice sounded forced, even to her own ears.
“Uh huh. That’s Stephen being stoned—Apostle Paul is standing by with the coats in his arms. He was Saul then, though. There’s the ground opening and swallowing disobedient Israelites. Remember that? And this one’s pretty gross, Jezebel being eaten by dogs after she fell off the wall. Good old King James, warning—adult content. No one ever said the Bible was rated G. You can see why the kids dare each other to come down here.”
Doc moved to the wall that would have been directly beneath the sanctuary platform and the Lost Day mural. “And this one?” he asked.
“Ezekiel’s bone yard. The Valley of Dry Bones. That’s Ezekiel with the beard. The angelic looking figure behind him is God, both giving and explaining the prophecy.”
“And over here, these are bones rising up and coming to life?”
“That’s the idea. But this one’s another mystery. The guy in the back that doesn’t match, see him? The priest? He’s rumored to be Father Salazar, the Jesuit, who first came here to build Mission Del Dia Perdido. If you look close, you’ll see he’s handing gifts to children. He was known for his kindness and loving demeanor. Of course, the artist had to go and paint the children half skeletal, which is spooky.”
Sparse light from cracks in the boarded windows made the painting difficult to see. Doc leaned down for a closer look.
“What happened to Father Salazar?” he said.
“Oh, Father Salazar’s a big deal! He became a local legend. Still is. A saint in the minds of the people. The story goes that he never really died, but God took him up in a ball of flame. Kind of like an Enoch thing. They call him El Fantasma around here—the ghost. Supposedly, he leaves gifts—candy, coins, little toys—for good children while they sleep. Kind of a Yucatan Tooth Fairy. They have a parade every year in his memory.”
“So he disappeared?” Lan said.
“The truth isn’t so exciting. He’s buried out in the old cemetery. It’s back in the jungle a few hundred yards down a dirt track. Nobody goes there anymore. Doc, why do you ask about him?”
Doc straightened and turned. “Because the gift he’s handing that little guy there? Two gold coins. And we’re right below the empty leather sack. I bet Salazar’s the key. He has to be. And he’s standing in the middle of a biblical graveyard. Leena, you say nobody goes to the old graveyard?”
“Not that I’ve ever heard. There’s a new one now. In town. Although even that’s a hundred years old. It’s much closer.”
“So Salazar’s grave is completely isolated unless you go looking for it?”
“Uh huh. Which nobody does.”
Doc smiled. “This may be a long shot but, Lan, you and Easy feel like helping me dig up a Spanish priest?”
Lan grinned back. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t done stranger things.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Dancing in an Alternate Universe
Hollister sipped his Negra Modelo and considered his wife over a shadowed corner table at the open-air Vieja Cabra café.
Clean clothes tonight? Sure, they were still workout clothes, but clean nonetheless.
Quiet, too. No burping or humming disco tonight. No moron or old man.
All very un-Crystal. It rattled his nerves.
The temperature was almost bearable. Not cool but close. They’d arrived with the sunset, and now the place had completed its metamorphosis from restaurant to full-blown bar. A sombrero-topped man about five years older than the nation of Mexico sat on a stool in the corner, singing and playing guitar along with an electronic drum machine.
“Is that guy singing ‘Material Girl?’” Hollister said.
Crystal stared absently out toward the night. “Yeah … Madonna.”
Weird how tropical moonlight could make out-of-tune, broken English somehow sound good. A few tourists and ex-pats shuffled to the rum-soaked rhythm on the tiny dance floor.
Crystal’s detachment unnerved him.
“What’s eating you?” Hollister said.
“Nothing.”
“You’re not hungry? You haven’t eaten all day.”
She pushed a plate of tamales toward Hollister. “You eat ’em. I don’t want the MSG.”
“What MSG? This is the middle of the jungle. They never even heard of MSG here.”
“Not organic. High in fat. Gross. Smelly. Looks like a dead fish. Fill in the blank. Who cares, anyway?” She rubbed her eye with the hard heel of her hand.
“Are you crying?” Yeah, very un-Crystal. “What’s with you, man? What’s going on? You’re starting to freak me out.”
A big tear rolled freely, and she didn’t try to hide it this time. She faced him. “Why didn’t we ever have kids?”
Now, this WAS The Twilight Zone. Hollister glanced around for the hidden cameras.
Sombrero Methuselah finished with Madonna and began a fresh round of musical abuse—“Living on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi.
“Are you serious? You and me? What are you talking about? We’re the last people who should have kids.”
“Why? You don’t think I’d be a good mom?”
If ever there was a loaded question …
“Are you saying you’d want to? Wait a minute … Is this a serious conversation? Knock it off. We can barely stand each other.”
“Those kids at the orphanage. I picked ’em up and everything. I shoulda broke that stupid Simmons’ neck for calling them snacks. They’re so cute and happy! And that lady, Leena? She wasn’t bad. Something about her reminded me of Sister Jan from the orphanage. I don’t know; maybe there’s more important things than the cage. Anyway, don’t be a moron, moron.”
“More important things than two people trying to murder each other in the name of entertainment? That’s something I never thought I’d hear come out of your mouth. This is absolutely insane. Listen to yourself. Who are you tonight?”
“Shut up, Hollister. Don’t act like you don’t remember the way it used to be. You know who I am. It’s just been a long time. Besides, you’d be a good dad, even if you are older than dirt.”
How long since she’d used his name? It sounded strange.
“Me?” An exasperated sigh escaped him. “Crystal, what are you talking about? What is this?”
“Here’s what I’m talking about, moron; let’s have a baby.”
She might as well have punched him in the face. Or hit him with a bat. Or kicked him in the crotch. In fact, all of them at once would’ve at least been more Crystal-like—instead of a let’s-have-a-baby nuclear bomb exploding in his face. This conversation was already weird, but the word “baby” shoved it out of the spaceship and into plain old alternate universe territory.
“Wha … What about old man? Moron? Soft? Stupid? And worse! What about all that? Now suddenly you want to have a baby? Out of thin air? You’re yanking my chain.”
Crystal shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not out of thin air. It’s the kids. Listen for once and get over yourself. I don’t mean those things I call you. Well, maybe I mean them a little, but mostly I just like to watch the back of your neck turn red. It’s cute.” She absently scratched an armpit. “C’mon. Have a baby with me.”
The look in her eyes … Something he hadn’t seen in years.
Or maybe hadn’t wanted to see.
Or maybe had wanted to see …
&nb
sp; It all scared him way more than normal Crystal crazy.
Something inside shifted and softened a fraction. “Crystal, look. A baby’s serious business, you know? It ain’t something you take lightly. It ain’t a toy. Or a dog. It needs a mom and dad to actually take care of it. Ones that love each other! You of all people should understand that. Think back when you were a kid. Look at us! It takes time to make a decision like that.”
“You look at us. You don’t think we love each other? Why do you think I stuck around all these years? And I have taken time. Ever since this afternoon.”
Hollister leaned forward. I gotta get a hold of this. “Let me spell it out for you, okay? A—You’re crazy. B—You dance around and sing all the time, and not in a normal way, in a weird way. C—You burp half the things you say. D—You like to hit things. E—You’re crazy. F—You’re nuts … What else? I could go to Z and start backward again. It’s not a short list! You think I love that? You get more whacked by the minute.”
Crystal leaned forward and squinted.
Is she deaf?
“That’s crap, moron. All that stuff is exactly why you love me. C’mon, let’s have a baby.”
Hollister reflexively put his fingers to his temples and started to rub, but stopped short.
The headache was gone.
“Wait, did you just say you loved me?”
Crystal dug in her ear with her ring finger and made a show of watching the dancers. “Actually, I didn’t come right out and say it.”
“But you do. You’re telling me you love me now. You.
Crazy Crystal.” Crystal’s eyes rolled. “What are you talking about? Why are you making a big deal out of it? I tell you all the time.”
“No, you don’t.”
“In my own way …”
“Your own way—like a right hook? Or a body shot?”
“Yeah. Love taps. But only you, you know. Never a kid. ’Cause that’s not what moms do.”
“Is this why you got dressed up tonight?”
“What an old man. You want me to say it? Fine. ’Cause I love you. And I loved the way you told Simmons off. Even the way you kept me from killing him. And then how you didn’t kill him either ’cause the gold wasn’t in there, and you still want the other forty grand. See? I love everything about you. Including your dumb, red neck.”