by Owen Parr
“Are you a priest?” One of the men asked in English. Both men were now behind me as I stood at the urinal not giving me much space. I didn’t like people invading my space. Especially, when I was supposed to be holding my piece—well, you know what I mean.
“Yes, I am,” I answered. “And, I would appreciate it if you would stand back a little.” Faking a Spanish accent for some idiotic reason, I turned my head and saw that both men were Chinese, or at least Asians. Immediately, the hairs on my neck went up initiating a fight-or-flight response and increasing the levels of estrogen and testosterone in my system. Shit, I had not seen these men before. I assumed they were part of the Chinese officials group, and I hated myself for having missed these two in my original observation.
“You have been watching our group have lunch. Why?” The Chinese guy on my immediate right demanded, not moving an inch from behind me.
I began laughing, as a means of distracting the two men while I planned my next moves. As the two Chinese men looked at each other, trying to figure out what the hell I was laughing about, I turned to my right and The Hulk in me unleashed a massive strike with my right elbow on the Chinese man’s face to my right. Hearing his nose break and seeing the blood spatter on the white tile walls. I continued my motion to the right and, lowering my left shoulder, I scooped the second little man off the floor with my left hand grabbing him through his legs. With my right hand, I held onto the man’s neck, raised him over my head and violently threw him against the wall. The first thing that hit the wall was the back of his head, rendering him unconscious. Mistakenly, the first Chinese man attempted to get up off the floor only to receive a quick kick in the jaw, his teeth biting off a piece of his tongue, and knocking him out. Blood was spattered all over the floor and walls of the small bathroom. Quickly washing my hands and face, I removed as much blood as possible. Turning my jacket inside out to reveal a khaki-colored blazer, I detached my religious collar from my black shirt and removed the white-haired wig I had been wearing. I took one last look in the mirror as I shook my dirty blonde hair, and with my left hand I reached for the door. Stepping out, I pressed the lock button from the inside, securing the bathroom, at least for a while, from anyone wishing to enter.
Walking out of the bathroom, I located the Cubans who were now saying their goodbyes to the Chinese in front of the restaurant. I walked off in a different direction but remained close enough to pick up the trail of the Cubans when they walked away. I assumed that the two men in the bathroom would be discovered in a few minutes, and the Chinese officials would know someone had been watching them. Whether they would communicate that or not to the Cubans, I did not know. Protocol told me that they would. So, I figured the Cubans would be alerted and would search for listening devices upon arrival in their rooms or be on the lookout for someone following them. I was still pumped from the action in the small bathroom.
The Cubans hailed a taxi in front of the restaurant, and I jumped into another taxi, a beat up light blue Volkswagen Beetle whose front passenger seat had been removed to accommodate a passenger in the back seat. I told the driver to follow the Cuban’s taxi. Sitting back, I tried to calm down from the adrenaline rush I had just experienced. My heart was still pounding from the experience as I registered a slight uneven heartbeat.
“Americano?” The driver asked. He was massive in size and not very clean.
“Sí,” I replied, not really wanting to get into small talk.
“¿Le gusto el restaurante?” He asked. I guess he assumed I spoke Spanish.
“Muy bueno,” I replied, closing my eyes and covering my face with both hands while I caught my breath. “Mucho tequila, duele cabeza.”
The taxi driver laughed, but got the point that I had a headache and he left me alone.
Dialing Jackie, I looked around the small cramped taxi to identify a foul odor. It stank from something — his lunch, him, or who knows what it was. As she answered, I said, “We may have to make alternate plans in order to listen”— pausing — “to your parents talk about our wedding.” I did not want the taxi driver to pick up anything from our conversation.
“Understood,” she said. “Where are you?”
“I think I am going to stop at the Hotel Presidente. I’ll call you from there,” I replied. “Where is your sister, Melissa?”
“She is on overwatch at the hotel lobby. She is doing great,” she replied. “Are you all right? You sound a bit winded.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Too much tequila, maybe,” I said, noticing the driver was looking at me through the rearview mirror. I looked at the driver and smiled.
“¿La Señorita?” The driver asked, as I disconnected the call.
“Sí. La Señorita,” I replied, trying to cut the conversation short.
“You going to marry at the San Angel Inn?” He asked.
Shit, this gordo guy was relentless. He just didn’t stop talking.
“Yes. How long before we get to the hotel? You already lost my friends in the other taxi,” I said, making an attempt to change the conversation and sounding a bit perturbed.
“Sorry, sir. I always say, if you are going to die and go to hell, you should come to die in Mexico City because it takes forever to get anywhere,” said the driver, laughing.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I responded, politely laughing with the driver and trying to calm down. ‘Can anyone die from a bad smell?’ I thought.