The Bonita Protocol

by P J Skinner

  ‘It’s Yves St Laurent. I bought it in Miami,’ she said. ‘Those are great boots.’

  ‘Louboutin, he’s new, but I think he’s fabulous.’ Amanda faltered, and feigned awkwardness. ‘Are you from Calderon? I don’t have any friends here yet. I’d love it if you could show me around.’

  ‘Of course. It would be my pleasure.’

  Gloria hung on every word Amanda said as if hypnotised by a cobra. Sam, who didn’t have a fashionista bone in her body, felt a bit jealous of the obvious mutual admiration they were generating. She walked past them to the car and said ‘let’s go then,’ opening the door and getting in. She was followed by David who got into the back.

  ‘Who is that lady?’ he said. ‘I don’t like her.’

  ‘She’s my new boss. Don’t worry, you don’t have to like her but she’s not so bad once you get used to her.’

  ‘Will you play with me when we get home?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Gloria kept them waiting another five minutes while Amanda complimented her clothes, her hair, her son - ‘what a precious angel he is’. Gloria was usually a good bullshit filter but she seemed to be under Amanda’s spell. Sam was tempted to sound the horn but resisted. It might be good for Gloria to hang out with someone even more self-absorbed than she was. There was no harm in her having a little fun.

  While she waited, Sam reflected on her choice of job in a tinpot company in Sierramar when she might have got something better. She had her reasons. While it was not the best paid job or the most senior on offer, she hadn’t had the chance to manage a drilling campaign on a complex deposit before. Her last roles had concerned management of people and her abilities in that field were not in question.

  It was not the chance to hone her geological skills out of the spotlight, which brought her back to Sierramar. She had been concerned about Gloria and Alfredo for a while. The last few conversations they held had highlighted Sam’s concern when even Gloria, famous for her vibrant and no-nonsense attitude to life, could not hide the misery in her voice. Sam’s heart had a habit of ruling her head. She was conscious of it, and knew it might hold her back in her career, but love was always going to win over money in Sam’s world.

  ‘Do you like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?’ said a voice from the back of the car.

  Chapter III

  The sun struggled to burn the heavy mist off the runway as it rose over the ridge parallel to Calderon’s airport. Sam crouched shivering beside her luggage in the draughty airport departure building. She had never been a fan of getting up before dawn and she craved her bed. A cup of tea would have sorted out most of her woes but the outlets were still closed, and only sold black coffee almost solid with sugar.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Rhett enter the building and scan the departure hall for her. His outfit suggested Clark Gable on safari and made her snigger. Only the ludicrous hat, complete with corks, marked him out as an Australian. Despite being used to eccentric gringos in their midst, local people had their jaws on their chests.

  She straightened up and waved at Rhett, trying to look untroubled by the hour or his bizarre outfit. He glided across the tiled floor towards her like he was on wheels.

  ‘Ready to rumble?’ he said. ‘I’ve got the tickets.’

  ‘Great, let’s get checked in.’

  ‘That your bag? I don’t know how you’re going to get it to camp.’

  Sam didn’t rise to the bait. Whatever the problem was, there would be a solution. After nearly ten years as an exploration geologist she had learned to take every challenge on its merits. She gave Rhett her passport and he handed it to the man at check in with the tickets and his own passport. The airline’s representative took the tickets and made a show of checking them against a list he had clamped to a clipboard in front of him. He shook his head and grunted.

  ‘We do not have a reservation on this flight for you,’ he said, in Spanish.

  ‘What did he say?’ said Rhett.

  ‘He says we aren’t booked on this flight.’

  Rhett’s face fell. ‘Again? Typical,’ he said, ‘this always happens. We need a new travel agent.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ said Sam.

  ‘Did I miss something?’

  ‘A misunderstanding. Leave it to me,’ said Sam, and stepped in front of him.

  Having previous experience in Sierramar meant that this excuse about reservations had not convinced her. If they needed spaces on a flight, the local airlines always picked on tourists or gringos to bump off first. Sam fixed the check-in clerk with a steely gaze.

  ‘Colonel Fernandez will be most disappointed if we don’t travel,’ she said in crisp Spanish. ‘Please can you check the list again?’

  ‘Colonel Fernandez?’

  ‘Yes, the boss of the Geographical Institute. We’re doing a survey for him in Arboleda.’

  The man had gone pale. He had obviously turfed them off the flight for another General or politician, and now was in a quandary. He fiddled with his clipboard. Sam peered over the desk and spotted her name and Rhett’s on the list. They had been crossed out with a blue ballpoint pen. Bingo.

  ‘Ah, there we are,’ she said, pointing at them. ‘They have already been ticked off your list. You must have done that by mistake.’

  ‘Oh, yes, there you are. Silly me.’ He had the grace to look embarrassed.

  Sam plonked her bag on the scales, staring at him in defiance, daring him to remove it. She held out her hand waiting until he placed two boarding cards and a baggage tag in it. Nodding curtly, she turned away in triumph to receive Rhett’s approbation but she was disappointed as Rhett had not waited to see the result of her game.

  She sighed and went to look for Rhett, finding him outside the terminal where he leant against the wall smoking a cigarette.

  ‘Where’s your bag?’ he said. ‘Aren’t we going back to the office?’

  ‘On the plane, I hope. Here’s your passport and boarding pass. See you on board.’

  She smirked and turned to head for security. Rhett grabbed her arm, swinging her around.

  ‘How did you manage that? he said. ‘Did you bribe him?’

  Startled and insulted, she shook herself free.

  ‘I’ve never bribed anyone in ten years at this job. I used my local knowledge to persuade him to look again.’

  Rhett took a deep drag on his cigarette and narrowed his eyes as if seeing her for the first time. ‘I was wrong about you,’ he said. ‘You’re far more dangerous than you look. I like that.’

  He smiled but Sam did not reciprocate. Prick. She stomped off to clear security leaving him to finish his cigarette.

  The flight to San Pedro bucked and weaved in the turbulent skies over the Andes. The woman beside Sam had her rosary beads out, and recited incantations and prayers interspersed with mutters of ‘God have mercy on us,’ every time the plane bounced. There were gasps as the wings waggled and some of the overhead lockers opened to release plastic bags full of groceries onto people’s heads.

  Queasy herself, Sam tightened her seat belt and interlaced her fingers on her lap, trying to appear stoical. Rhett did not bother to hide his disquiet.

  ‘Holy crap,’ he said, trying to look out at the engines. ‘It gets worse every time.’

  ‘Have you been to the site often?’ said Sam.

  ‘Once, when we first got here a couple of weeks ago. This bouncing is something to do with the heat rising from the land. Planes can’t land after midday because the turbulence gets so bad.’

  Before long the engines cut back and the wheels came down with a reassuring clunk. A hair-raising landing later they were on terra firma. In true South American style, all the passengers applauded. For once Sam could sympathise. She let out the breath she had been holding and unfastened her belt.

  ‘Still got both your kidneys?’ said Rhett.

  ‘I hope so’ said Sam. ‘Let’s go and find a taxi.’

  Sam did a recce of the taxi stand to ask lo
cal people questions about standard fares to Arboleda. Armed with the information she had gleaned, she bartered with the owner of one of the less ancient cars to take them there. With her brisk manner and grasp of Spanish, she bamboozled him into accepting a mere ten percent increase over the local rate. He heaved her bag into the back of the vehicle.

  ‘Vamos,’ he said.

  ‘How much are we paying?’ said Rhett.

  ‘The equivalent of thirty dollars,’ said Sam.

  ‘But I paid twice that.’

  ‘Stick with me. I’m a cheapskate. Money is not infinite where I come from.’

  After examining the plastic covered back seat, Sam produced a cotton sarong from her rucksack and laid it on top before sitting down.

  ‘You’ve done this before,’ said Rhett.

  ‘I can’t lie,’ said Sam, trying not to be pleased. Grateful that he was willing to follow her lead on local matters, she tried to adjust her initial dislike into something more neutral.

  The first hour of the journey took them along tarmacked roads through straggling villages that petered out metres before the next one started. Most of the houses were old style adobe with tiled roofs, but some breeze block constructions with rebar poking out through flat zinc sheeting broke the monotony. Poverty abounded, visible in the eyes of the skinny children begging at the side of the road and the ragged clothes flapping on the ubiquitous clothes lines.

  ‘This place is a dump,’ said Rhett, winding up the window.

  The sealed road petered out and soon they were driving on gravel. The shock absorbers creaked and groaned as the car was thrown around by the multitude of potholes pitting the surface. The road narrowed until it was a single lane with passing places every hundred metres or so.

  As they rose up the side of a steep valley the drop off at the side of the track became more and more alarming. There were no barriers to prevent vehicles from slipping off the road and down the cliff. Sam had an unwelcome view of the chasm from her seat in the car.

  ‘Bloody hell, this road is terrible,’ she said. ‘Are we getting danger money?’

  ‘A bus fell down the cliff recently and they still haven’t found it,’ said Rhett.

  ‘Aren’t you afraid to drive on this road,’ said Sam to the taxi driver.

  ‘Of course. But God will protect me from the road of death.’

  ‘The road of death?’

  ‘That’s what they call it.’ The driver crossed himself causing the car to swerve. Sam grabbed the back of the passenger seat in fright.

  ‘What did he say?’ said Rhett.

  ‘It’s called the road of death.’

  ‘That figures.’

  By the time they arrived at Arboleda, their nerves were in tatters, not helped by the taxi having to reverse around a blind corner to make way for a bus that would not. The taxi shuddered to a halt between a shop and restaurant on what passed for a main street. The houses were mostly breeze block construction or wooden and raised on stilts. Rain lashed down on the zinc roofs causing a cacophony of sound which deafened them. It ran off the edges and down into the street, filling the hand-excavated gutters with muddy slush cascading over the discarded rubbish which threatened to dam them.

  They tottered out of the vehicle and Sam paid the driver who gave her a receipt with his name, Carlos, and phone number on it.

  ‘Call me when you want to go back to the airport,’ said Carlos. ‘I’ll come and collect you.’

  He reversed with difficulty in the muddy street and set off for San Pedro, spattering them with mud.

  ‘We’d better eat now,’ said Rhett. ‘It’ll take at least four hours to get to Cerro Calvo.’

  ‘How far is it?’ said Sam, observing the leaden skies with a heavy sigh.

  ‘About nine kilometres. But it feels like twenty. You’ll see.’

  They went up the rickety steps of the restaurant and sat at a corner table beside one of the windows. The manager was smoking a cigarette behind the counter and did not move when they came in.

  ‘Do you want lunch?’ she said, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and sniffing loudly.

  ‘What have you got?’ said Sam.

  ‘Chicken soup and pork chops with potato cakes.’

  ‘Two lunches please.’

  ‘What did she say?’ said Rhett.

  ‘She has chicken soup and pork chops for lunch.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yes, the only choice around here is lunch or no lunch so I ordered one for you. Do you want a fizzy drink?’

  ‘I’ll have a diet coke.’

  ‘I can’t guarantee that but I’ll ask. Señora, can we also have a fizzy drink please? Do you have coke?’

  ‘I have Inca Cola and Fioravanti.’

  ‘One of each please.’

  The woman pushed her way through a beaded curtain that looked as if it was made of mouse droppings. The sound of a fridge opening and bottles clinking came from the next room. She emerged with two bottles and two murky glasses. She wiped inside of the glasses with her filthy apron as a prelude to opening the bottles.

  ‘Oh, that’s okay said Sam. ‘I have an opener.’

  The manager thumped the bottles and glasses down on their table and disappeared into the back room. Rhett sat looking at the bottles with their rusty tops, an expression of disgust on his face. Sam took out her penknife and opened the bottles. She spat on the corner of her t-shirt and wiped the glass at the top of her bottle, feeling Rhett’s eyes boring into her.

  ‘Spit is antiseptic,’ she said. ‘There could be fly shit or rat pee on the bottles.’

  She took a long swig of the Fioravanti which was so cold it gave her brain freeze. The high content of sweetener made her feel sick. Rhett did not move. The bottle sat in front of him, condensation running down the glass and onto the table.

  ‘How do people live like this?’ said Rhett.

  ‘I guess they’re immune to germs. I avoid anything that isn’t cooked or bottled unless I’ve washed and peeled it myself. That seems to work most of the time, but every now and then…’

  Rhett shuddered.

  ‘I don’t know why I agreed to come here.’

  ‘Why did you?’ said Sam.

  ‘Amanda’s father made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. He’s not a man who accepts no for an answer.’

  ‘Ah. My friend Gloria’s got a father like that.’

  ‘Gloria? Isn’t she the sheila that Amanda’s adopted?’

  ‘She’s my best friend. I’ve known her for years.’

  Rhett sneered.

  ‘You mean she was your best friend. Amanda doesn’t share. You don’t stand a chance.’

  Sam had already seen evidence of this. From the moment Amanda clapped eyes on Gloria, and vice versa, the two women had lived in each other’s pockets becoming inseparable. They went out late at night to all Gloria’s former haunts, downing tequila shots and dancing the night away. Gloria didn’t invite Sam to these drunken parties.

  ‘You hate parties. You always want to go home early,’ she had said when Sam objected.

  This was unfair. Sam loved dancing, but she preferred to get home before dawn on a school night. Amanda arrived at work later every day, but as the boss and owner of the company, no-one complained. Rhett seemed happy enough squiring the women around town. Sam hadn’t figured out his role yet but he wasn’t the soul of discretion so she was sure to find out sooner or later.

  Gloria’s absence hurt Sam’s feelings, but it meant she could get to know David and hang out with him without Gloria getting jealous. David took a while to warm to her, but once he realised Sam would make Lego and play adventurers with him, he became infatuated. They watched Power Rangers and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and old episodes of Scooby Doo which gave David an excuse to cuddle up to Sam and pretend he was afraid of ghosts.

  Alfredo still disappeared every evening for a couple of hours but he started to join David and Sam on the sofa in the afternoons. He often smelled of drink and
Sam had to bite her tongue not to lecture him. No one knew better than Alfredo how trapped he was by his drinking.

  ‘It’s my fault, you know,’ he said. ‘Gloria doesn’t love me anymore because I can’t stop drinking. Do you think it’s too late to win her back?’

  ‘No yet,’ said Sam. ‘She’s got a crush on Amanda right now, but I think you’re safe.’

  Alfredo snorted. Sam had taken her chance.

  ‘If you want a serious opinion, I’d say you have to choose, and soon. You can’t have both. Gloria won’t compete, she’ll dump you and move on.’

  The rain continued to fall on the town, pouring off the zinc roofs into the street, pitting the surface and filling lake sized puddles. There was no sign of a let up. All around the black clouds sat on the hills collecting more ammunition to drop on the sodden streets.

  The manager brought their soup, a watery broth with bits of chicken in it. Sam’s soup contained a head which she wrapped in a paper napkin before forcing herself to down the soup which was quite tasty. Rhett didn’t see the head or he might have been forewarned. A pair of hen’s feet floated to the top of his bowl of soup.

  ‘What the fuck?’ he said, and pushed the bowl away, slopping it over the sides.

  ‘They don’t like to waste anything,’ said Sam. ‘Take them out and eat the soup. It’s pretty good.’

  ‘You must be joking.’ He sat with his arms folded, chewing on a stale bread roll with concentrated fury.

  The second course was less edible as the pork chops were so overcooked, they could have been used to re-sole shoes. Sam ate some of the chop, the potato cakes and ignored the lettuce and tomato garnish.

  ‘Can you give me some cash please? I want to buy some cases of water and hire a mule to carry them up,’ she said, standing up.

  ‘Get a mule for me too.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Aren’t you taking a mule?’ he said.

  ‘No, I’ll walk, thanks. I’m not keen on riding.’