Gabriel's Revenge (The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic Book 2)

by J. T. Lewis

  Arriving at the bus station, I saw an old adobe building with a sign whose aged and dust covered letters indicated it was a terminal of the Civa Line of busses. I jumped out of the Jeep and started pulling my bags out of the back. Turning toward the station, my way was suddenly blocked by the short statured professor holding out a calloused hand in my direction.

  “My friend, it is indeed sorrowful to see you go, and I have great sympathies for the loss of your friend. I know this is not a way you would envision of going back to your former life, but people are asking for you and that tells me you must be very good at what you do.”

  “London once said, ‘The purpose of man is to live, not to exist’, and I hope from the depths of my soul this sojourn helps you find what you are looking for from your life.”

  I grabbed my friend’s hand and shook it with lackluster enthusiasm.

  “I can’t promise anything professor; I can’t even promise that I can figure out what happened to Frank. But I have heard your thoughts, and I know deep down you are right, that I am just treading water here. I will try; try not to be somebody that just fills a hole in the ground.”

  “That’s all I can ask lad; that’s all I can ask. Now go and make it right; a mystery is waiting and your friend’s life can’t be wasted. He deserves your best, and I have a feeling your best is extraordinary.”

  With that he patted me on the shoulder, climbed back in the Jeep and turned to head back toward the dig. I watched him go for a few seconds, then turned and headed to the bus station, a dusty and decrepit hole in the wall.

  Buying a ticket to Lima, I learned that it was six hours until the next bus left for the capital. I also bought a lukewarm burrito from the ticket agent, and headed across the plaza to a little park with a couple of small trees, the only shade around.

  Kicking off my sandals, I sat easily on the hard packed earth, my body accustomed to the hard surfaces that abounded in this country. The knees of my well worn jeans bended easily as I crossed my legs while sitting to eat the stale food. I had but two pair of jeans left of the five I had brought with me when I had arrived; both of these hung from my frame due to the loss of weight and toughening of my body since I had been here. I had become totally acclimated to the climate and living conditions that I had volunteered for in this country, and I was totally relaxed as I took in my surroundings.

  Although it was only midmorning, there are very few people about. I noticed a couple of men relaxing down the street under the small veranda of the only saloon in town. A group of five or six kids kicking a ball up and down the road was the only sign of real activity I had observed since arriving.

  I ate about half of the burrito, re-wrapping it in its thick brown paper; I would eat the rest on the bus. I pulled my well-worn and faded Cincinnati Reds ball cap down over my eyes, no fedoras or straw hats for me; they actually got in the way more than the additional shade warranted on an archeological dig.

  The hat had actually been a gift to me from Frank before I had left the states, a thoughtful gift from my friend during what turned out to be our last visit together. I was rushed at the time, quickly shoving the cap into my luggage and shaking my friend’s hand for the last time. I had not thought about head protection of any kind as I prepared for the trip; so his thoughtful gift had actually been my most used piece of clothing.

  Closing my eyes, I thought about my friend. Why had this happened to him I wondered; what had transpired that would lead someone to murder my friend?

  Although we had been partnered up for years, we had become very close during our last investigation. He had finally opened up to me like the true friend he was during that case, a mystery that I had to admit would have made a good book. (1)

  After Betty’s death however I was depressed, even suicidal, I had finally admitted to myself just a few months before. When I had happened upon a magazine story about Julien and the dig, I jumped at the chance to get away from there as quickly as possible, leaving Frank on his own… and getting him killed.

  I quickly shook off those thoughts however; I didn’t yet know the what, or the why of it, but I would be of no use to him second guessing my every move when I got back.

  While I was thinking about Frank, I was laying on my back with my arms crossed over my chest and my eyes closed.

  I heard movement off to my right; someone was approaching slowly towards me. I stayed relaxed and listened to the quiet padding come closer and closer, the sound seeming to stop about a foot and a half from my position. There was silence for about thirty seconds before I heard the slight rustle of paper nearby.

  My right arm shot out like a snake, its mouth clamping onto a wrist with a steely grip while an exclamation of surprise escaped my prey’s lips.

  ***

  I pushed up my cap with my left hand, seeing before me a boy of about ten; my hand clamped on his thin dirty wrist, his holding what’s left of my lunch.

  Quickly dropping the burrito, he started jabbering in Spanish how sorry he was and a whole bunch of other information that I only caught part of due to my limited understanding of his language.

  I recognized him as one of the boys that had been playing ball a few moments ago; a quick look around confirmed that there are no others skulking about. They had probably gone in out of the heat. I let go of his hand and picked up my canteen, sipping some water as the boy continued his life story, his face sincere and making no effort to run.

  From what I could make out, his story was a familiar one in this part of the world. Although his father had a job of sorts, he normally only got to work one or two days a week, not enough to adequately support his family.

  I motioned for him to sit, asking him a few simple questions about his family and what his father did. I found out that his name was Juan, and that he had eight brothers and sisters. His father worked as a grave digger for a local cemetery, sometimes getting up to three graves a week to dig. He was also very proud that he knew some English words, which he then recited to me as if we were sitting in class.

  Juan seemed an honest although apparently hungry urchin, the petty thievery not likely a habit in my estimation. He was also apparently quite content to hang out and talk all afternoon if I wanted, but I had in my mind to get a couple of hours of shuteye before the bus arrived.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a couple of Sols and handed the boy the coins, his eyes lighting up at his windfall. I told him those were his if he kept an eye on my stuff while I took a siesta, and if he made sure I awakened before the bus arrived.

  Juan shook his head excitedly and thanked me multiple times before stationing himself at the next tree, alert eyes scanning the plaza for danger. I gave a short laugh as I pulled the hat back over my eyes and leaned back, easily getting comfortable again on the hard ground.

  The bells on the local Catholic church rang in the distance, making me think once again of my sweet Betty, a devout Catholic from birth. She would have insisted on us exploring the church if she had been here; she had always enjoyed exploring old religious buildings of her faith. A pang of loneliness ached in my heart as I thought more of my wife, of our life together.

  I finally had to put it out of my mind for awhile as I tried to relax and get in a short nap before the bus arrived. All of the stress of Frank’s murder was weighing on me, and I was emotionally drained. It took only a few minutes for me to fall asleep, but a fitful un-restful sleep it turned out to be.

  ***

  I found myself in the hallway as I was making my way to the room; the doorway was closed, the door itself painted with a fresh coat of paint. Opening the door, I was welcomed to a warm, comfortable and well lit room.

  I took in the ambiance for a few moments before heading to my chair and taking my seat. The cup was there as usual, filled with the steaming ebony liquid of the past. I take up the mug and drank in the heavenly brew, the coffee very hot but not burning as it traveled down, seemingly warming my soul in the process.

  I clutched the cup in my
hands like it was life-giving oxygen as I looked around the comfortable room. The flames of the fireplace caught my eye as I watched the little wafts of smoke make their way up the chimney.

  I noticed another move has been made on the chessboard; so I took some time to study the play while I sipped more coffee. I had been in love with the strategy of the game since my grandfather taught it to me when I was eight, and before I knew it I had spent a considerable amount of time in thought before making my next move. Time in this room however didn’t seem relative to anything in the real world; hours could be minutes, and seconds can be hours.

  Sitting back, I relaxed and took another sip of the black elixir, feeling it flow down my throat like liquid silk. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes, enjoying the atmosphere of the room, thankful that it was back in my life.

  Opening my eyes once more, I found that I was standing in the deep shade of a tree at night, sniffing the air told me instantly I was in Indiana again.

  As I was trying to figure out where I was, I heard someone approaching…Frank!

  I now recognized the parking lot at the courthouse, Frank probably heading toward his car at the end of the day. I tried to leave my position to go talk to my old friend, but my feet were firmly planted in the earth, as rooted as the tree I was standing next to.

  As he got to the car, he stopped to dig the keys out of his pocket. An unexpected feeling of dread came over me before I noticed someone come out of the shadows.

  “Frank! Watch your back!”

  My warning went unheeded as the shadow smoothly advanced on Frank; very quickly the man was standing behind him.

  Nothing happened; he was just standing there. Horror shot through me though as the stranger suddenly layed Frank to the ground; the limp form of my friend telling me he was no longer in control of his body.

  I could make out the form of the shadow, a man wearing a long garment and a wide brimmed hat. I was momentarily confused by the extra clothing worn by the man on such a warm night, before I noticed the stranger leaning over the unmoving form of my partner.

  Picking up Frank’s coat where it had fallen on the ground, the man removed something from it and then proceeded to cover Frank with his own coat. It looked like he was speaking to him, but I could make out no sound except the words to ‘Hey Jude’ faintly coming from down the street.

  The man suddenly straightened up and removed his hat to wipe the band with a handkerchief. I got a brief glimpse of a small round head, short hair or bald, glasses. Replacing his hat, the stranger looked down once more before tipping his hat in a kind of salute, then turned and walked away.

  An eerie melody creeped into my head, the sound of the receding man whistling like it was just any normal night for a walk.

  Sorrow filled me as I looked upon the fallen form of my friend, for I know I have just witnessed his murder. Helpless, I stood there, filled with grief and unable to move. It seems as if I have failed my friend all over again. I closed my eyes, covering them with my hands as tears started to flow down my cheeks.

  “Señor…Señor…wake up, de bus, it come!”

  Chapter 3

  August 20, 1998

  The robin’s song was repeated by another on the other side of the garden as the warm breeze meandered through the roses, carrying with it the sweet scent of cooking corn from the distillery across town. The man stood still for a moment, his eyes closed as he let the unexpected breeze cool him off from his efforts.

  He smiled to himself at the thought; this was a joy, his efforts spent in the garden far from a chore. Opening his eyes once again, he took in the splendor of his little corner of the world. Bringing this beauty to the world was his one distraction from his work, his mission, and he reveled in the earthy pastime.

  Removing the wide brimmed straw hat he used for his gardening, he wiped the band with a handkerchief. Replacing the hat onto his head, he then removed his glasses, drying the lenses as he took in the blurry colors surrounding him with a smile. Upon replacing the glasses, he again looked upon the circular garden before him, thankful that they had agreed to let him do this project in the previously unused yard.

  Roses of every conceivable color filled the space in hues of red, yellow, pink and white. A stone pathway meandered through the garden, allowing one to experience almost every specimen up close. A concrete bench sat next to a small gurgling fountain halfway through the path, a place one could relax and leisurely take in the scent and splendor of the beautiful garden.

  Sunny from morning until late afternoon, the garden was surrounded by an old stone wall, each end butting up to one of the two different majestic buildings that anchored the space. Access to the garden was gained through a small alleyway between these structures, a dark road ending at a bright and heavenly destination.

  The man smiled once again at the analogy of life this place represented to him, his work having taken him along many a dark path. His purpose was true however, and his reward in the end would be beyond description.

  A movement off to his left caught his eye, and he spent several moments trying to discern what it was. Finally, his eyes focused on the culprit, it having been camouflaged in the mulch, the black lined brown patches blending almost perfectly with the ground cover…a snake!

  The man did not move for several seconds, watching the eight foot creature wind its way through the rose bushes. Waiting until the snake wound its way a little further, he slowly and quietly made his way to the snake’s position, finally reaching down and deftly clasping it behind the neck.

  Holding the snake’s head up so as to look it in the eye, the snake started coiling itself around the man.

  “Adeodatus, what are you doing out here, naughty boy escaped again,” the man said with a smile.

  The man felt the familiar constrictions around his body as his snake, his friend, showed affection the only way he knew how.

  Thinking for a moment to remember the day’s date, the man realized that it was indeed time for another feeding of the Burmese Python.

  “Let’s get you home and find a nice juicy rat for you, shall we?”

  Walking back to his quarters, the man smiled at his pet, enjoying the comforting hugs. The snake was only a little over a year old, and it would easily make twelve feet within its lifetime.

  Entering his quarters, he hung his hat on one of the pegs by the door before taking the snake over to his pen, thinking he would probably need to make the pen bigger soon.

  Pulling a frozen rat out of the freezer, he set it in the sink to thaw. He removed a knife from a drawer in his dark kitchen before picking up a deep-red apple from a basket on the counter. Adding a half pack of saltine crackers to his selections, he worked his way over to the primitive table for a late lunch.

  He would try to get a nap after his meal, as he had much work to do this night. Another infraction had come to his attention lately, and it needed to be dealt with in short order.

  His vows demanded it.

  “It will be a busy night,” he thought to himself as he sat down on the sturdy but unadorned chair.

  Bowing his head, he crossed himself before reverently kissing the cross around his neck. Taking up the apple and the knife, he patiently peeled its skin before cutting it up into seven equal pieces, eating each piece slowly with a cracker.

  “A busy night indeed.”

  Chapter 4

  August 20, 1998

  I groggily opened my eyes and tried to come to grips with my surroundings, the reality slowly sinking in. I sat up and looked around; Juan was smiling that goofy grin as he pointed up the road toward the sound of the approaching bus.

  “De bus is come,” he stated excitedly.

  Looking up the road, I made out an old bus at the head of a slowly approaching cloud of dust. Brushing myself off, I gathered up my things before digging in my pocket for a couple more coins.

  Handing these to Juan, I thanked him for his help. The big goofy grin reappeared and he suddenly grabbed me around the waist
in a hug before he headed off into town at a run, on a beeline toward his house to show off his good fortune.

  His excitement brought a fleeting smile to my face as I walked across the road to the station to await my transportation.

  “At least I can help somebody,” I mumbled under my breath as the memory of Frank’s murder creeped back into my head, remorse again being brought to the fore of my being.

  I beat it back down with determination; there was too much to do right now, and I needed a clear head on my shoulders as I worked to get back to Indiana and start my investigation.

  The bus stopped in front of the station in a hail of noise and dust, the bus’s squealing brakes fighting for attention with the muffler-less engine. After the ancient bus came to a complete stop, I was treated to a rain of dust as it settled out of the air onto my clothes and bags.

  I removed my hat and beat it against my leg before wiping the majority of the road off my shoulders. The door slid open and I was greeted by a small dark-haired man with a few missing front teeth. Saying nothing, he merely smiled and nodded, motioning me in with his hand. Handing him my ticket, the driver nodded vigorously as he laid it in a basket and closed the door behind me.

  Making my way to a seat, I heard the grinding of gears before suddenly being nearly thrown from my feet by the unexpectedly violent forward lurch of the vehicle. I grabbed the side of a seat to steady myself for a moment before continuing on.

  I noticed there are only three other souls on the bus, none of them Anglos as Caucasians were sometimes referred to in this country. Not one of my fellow travelers lifted their eyes to acknowledge my presence, which was fine by me. I picked a dusty but empty seat well away from anyone else and settled in for the long ride to Lima.