But the ghost was gone.
“I am inspector Romero,” the short man in the brown suit said as he entered the room with a Styrofoam cup in each hand. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
He sat one of the cups down in front of Catrina.
Suddenly it became the most important thing in the world, to hold that cup, to feel the hot liquid sear down her throat. She tried to move her hand, but it wouldn’t budge.
Again and again, she gave her body orders to move, but it just sat there.
“Señora Flaherty,” the detective said. “Are you all right?”
Catrina couldn’t talk. She again willed her hand to move. It did, just a millimeter, but it moved.
The detective was speaking, but she couldn’t understand the words. She could only concentrate on one thing at a time.
Must get coffee.
Her hand shivered. It rose from the table. It shakily moved towards the cup.
She was there! She folded her long fingers around the cup. It was warm. She could feel sensations.
Detective Ramiro jumped to his feet to help her with the coffee.
With a massive effort of will Catrina picked up the cup. Her hands were shaking so badly, the coffee spilled over the top. It burned. It hurt. It didn’t matter. She had to drink the coffee. All the answers were in that cup.
She raised the steaming liquid to her mouth and let it burn its way down.
She had a coherent thought.
That’s the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted.
Romero was talking again. He was asking her questions.
It took over an hour for the detective to interview Catrina. At times she was clear and concise, at times she mumbled incoherently.
Finally, the detective rose from his seat. “I’ll get someone to take you home.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I am very sorry for your loss.”
Catrina shook her head. “No.” She got to her feet. “I need to walk, to be alone.”
Ramiro led her through the maze of hallways to the front entrance.
Her Explorer was surrounded by an army of technicians. The bodies were gone. She turned to the bushes and threw up.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she began walking. She had no idea where she was going; she had no idea where she was.
I could have saved Hope. And the Comandante. I was just too caught up playing the part. Helpless slut my ass. I brought Hope to Mexico. Ted didn’t want her here. He was right.
I turned over a rock and a bunch of snakes crawled out. It should have been me. I’d give anything to change places with her.
If only I’d been on alert.
“Sí, señora,” the bar tender said. “What can I get for you?”
Huh? I’m in a bar. How the hell did I get here?
“Señora?”
“I’ll have a double vodka Martini. Three olives.”
Chapter 35
The Gulfstream G5 touched down at Aeropuerto Internacíonal de Managua at one-thirty-seven p.m., as planned.
A Mercedes limousine waited for Oliver “Mac” McCarthy, one of Hollywood’s top producers.
Mac slipped into the leather and maple interior, sat back in the comfortable seats and poured himself a bourbon.
What the hell? Why not?
After all, this trip was all-expenses paid. It wasn’t costing him anything but his time and it was a good idea to get out of Hollywood anyway. Let the noise about an underage girl settle down. His manager would arrange something with the girl’s parents and the problem would go away.
The limo wound though tropical jungles and up twisting mountain roads. Mac looked up the Hotel San Cristobal on Google. He knew it was an outlandishly expensive lodge on the slopes of the San Cristobal volcano. Eco-tourism at its finest.
The road lifted out of the rain forest and up the lightly-wooded slopes of the volcano. Mac rolled back the sun roof and stood. A column of gray smoke rose from the volcano’s summit.
That thing damn well better not go off while I’m here.
After more than two hours on the road, the Mercedes finally pulled into the driveway in front of a rustic lodge.
An Indian in a white bush suit and pith helmet opened the door. Mac climbed out and stretched his back and legs. Even in a luxurious limo, it was a long ride.
“Señor McCarthy, come this way, please,” another Indian in a white suit said. He picked up the two oversized bags the chauffeur pulled from the trunk. “Let me show you to your room.”
The lobby of the hotel was empty. As they passed by the pool, Mac noticed several beautiful girls in tiny bikinis and several more in nothing at all.
Grade A Prime hotties from Europe and America.
The Indian led Mac to a suite of rooms on the second floor. From one window he had a magnificent view of the volcano, from the other, he could ogle the lovely femflesh down by the pool.
“El Patron is not here today. He wishes that you enjoy yourself. Make the most of our poor offerings. He will meet with you tomorrow.”
What the hell? No one keeps Mac McCarthy cooling his heels.
“I took the liberty of inviting Ingmar and Sofia to help you relax.”
Mac entered the room to find two scantily clad, exceptionally stunning women drinking Martinis on the red leather sofa.
The blonde rose from the couch. “I am Ingmar.” She was taller than Mac in her six-inch stilettos and had a body that would stop traffic. “This is my friend Sofia.” She pointed to the gorgeous red-head lifting herself from the sofa. “She is from Argentina.”
Sofia was tall and slender with curves in all the right places. She had red hair, brown eyes and olive skin.
I’ve never seen bigger hooters, at least not natural ones.
“I will leave you in their capable hands,” the Indian said and backed out of the room.
Sofia picked up one of Mac’s suitcases and started to unpack. Ingmar ambled over to the bar and mixed Mac a drink.
“I hope Kentucky Spirit will do,” Ingmar said in her Swedish accent.
She plunked a couple of ice cubes in the glass and poured the shot.
“Branch water?”
“Uh . . . yes.”
Mac was off his game. Usually, with two spectacular broads, he’d already be maneuvering them towards the bedroom.
Dinner was catered in his room by two young Indian girls, then the party moved down to the pool.
By the time Mac, Ingmar and Sofia made it to the pool, six or eight women were swimming in the nude. It didn’t take long for Mac to lose his pants.
When he woke the next morning with Sofia on one side of him and Ingmar on the other, he thought his head would split open. His mouth was dry and tasted of stale cigarettes.
He rolled over Sofia, taking time to grab those magnificent breasts on the way over.
My God. I could get lost in those things.
He stumbled to the bathroom and relieved himself. He thought his pecker would come off, it was so sore.
By the time he made it back to the suite’s living room, the two Indian girls were arranging coffee, fruit and pastries on the side table.
Mac grabbed the youngest one’s breast. They were still pert and pointing upward. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen.
“This is what I like. How about you two come by my room this afternoon for drinks?”
The door opened and the Major Domo stepped in.
“The jefe will see you at eleven am. You have plenty of time to shower, shave and get dressed, if you can concentrate.”
Without another word, he turned and left.
Ingmar sauntered into the room with a swagger that made him stand at attention.
Could he really do it again? After last night, he was surprised he could even feel his dick, much less get a hard on.
Ingmar poured coffee and handed him the cup. “You better get going. El jefe doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Mac picked up a croissant and nibbled at it.
Ingmar turned him towards the bathroom and swatted his bottom.
“Shoo. Go. Get ready.” She smiled a nasty smile. “We need to get you showered.”
He stood nude in the huge tile-lined shower stall while the two women washed him down. Sofia laughed and hung a wash cloth on his hard penis.
I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Why was he here anyway? Who would care about a movie shot in this Godforsaken country?
By eleven a.m., Mac was cleaned up, dressed in khaki trousers and a Hawaiian shirt and almost had his head clear.
Major Domo led him down the stairs and to a large meeting room.
Odd, I still haven’t seen one other guest in this big hotel.
“Coffee?” Major Domo asked.
Mac nodded his head.
“Fruit or pastries?”
“No thanks. I’m good.”
Mac took his coffee and nursed his head. He stood at the large windows looking up at the volcano. Did he really see a glow around its opening? Could that be lava flowing down the slope?
“It is a little unnerving, no?”
The voice came from behind him. Mac spun around to see a sight he never thought he’d witness.
El Pozolero, the most powerful drug lord in the world, stood in front of him in jeans and a T-shirt stretched beyond its limits.
“I often sit here and wonder how long it will be before this is all gone away. The hotel, the forest, everything, covered in smoking lava.”
“I’ve done dozens of movies filmed in Hawaii, worked on a hundred sets with volcanoes, but I’ve never seen anything like this. It makes me feel small. Infinitesimal.” He walked over to El Pozolero and extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Jefe.”
“Señor McCarthy, it is my honor. I have been a great admirer of your work for many years. I have to ask you, all of those starlets, is it true about the casting couches?”
Mac laughed. “Those stories are urban myths.” He paused. “Although, I’ve bagged my share of them.”
The Major Domo handed El Pozolero a glass.
“But with such a powerful, good looking man as you, the women, they must throw themselves at you.”
Mac smiled and took on an attitude of superiority. Who was this little Mexican bastard after all? Just the head of a bunch of druggies. “There are those, of course. The ones who are desperate to get discovered. They’d do anything, fuck anyone to get a chance at a lead role.”
Mac accepted the drink the Major Domo handed him. “It’s the stars who are harder. Once they’re big time, they think they don’t have to bow down to producers anymore. They even start their own production companies so they think they’re out of our power.”
He took a drink of his bourbon. God, it was good. “What they don’t realize is that we still hold the power. You don’t see some dumb chick producing an Indiana Jones flick or Star Wars do you? They have to come to us when they want to be in a big blockbuster. We still hold the high card.”
“Very interesting.” El Pozolero sat on a cane back love seat facing the volcano. “And the international stars. You know Victoria Caballero, do you not?”
“Yeah, I did a pic with her early in her career. That’s one hot piece of ass.”
“You have traveled a long way to visit me. Perhaps we should get down to business.”
Mac took another sip of his bourbon. “Okay.”
“I want to make a movie. I’ll finance it of course. I expect it won’t cost over two or three hundred million dollars.”
The American caught his breath. Did he really hear that? This third world drug lord was going to give him three hundred mil to make a movie? What was the catch?
“Uh, yeah. Interesting. What is this movie about?”
“It is about my life.” El Pozolero stood and walked out onto the deck. “I have lived an interesting life. I was born to a whore in Tijuana. I had no education, no hope. And here I am, on Forbes ‘one hundred richest men on earth’ list. I am more powerful than most presidents. That should make an interesting story, no?”
“Most impressive, Jefe. But we need to bring in writers. We need to know what the conflict is, what obstacles you had to overcome, where the story is going. Why do you even want to make this movie? I would think you would want to stay in the shadows.”
The drug lord turned to Mac and laughed. “You do not know Mexico. There I go where I want, do what I want. I am king. I decide who will be the next president. Half of congress owes me for their seats. I own the governors of half a dozen states. I am untouchable.”
He set his glass down and came over close to Mac. He bent down and put his face in Mac’s. “I am Robin Hood, Juan Murietta. The people of my country love me. I build more schools and hospitals than the government. I help widows and orphans. I create thousands of jobs. No one would dare try to stop me.”
“Okay, let’s say that’s true. But why would you want to make an American movie? Your fan base is in Mexico.”
“Sí, mi amigo. You are correct. But with the right stars, it could be a hit in Los Estados Unidos, a blockbuster, as you say. You get me the stars and we’ll make a fortune. Then the Americanos will realize I’m not such a bad guy. Their DEA will have to look at other cartels.”
There was a moment of silence as Mac thought. Could he be right? But what would he want. Would Mac wake up some morning with a horse’s head in his bed?
“Who did you have in mind?”
“To start with, Victoria Caballero. She will play my girlfriend. Maybe Selena Gomez to play my wife.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Mac was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Would he get out of there with his life? “The most sought after Latina in Hollywood and one who calls her own shots. No one can get Victoria to play in anything she doesn’t want to.”
El Pozolero sat in the love seat next to Mac. “Oh, but, my friend, there’s a reason I chose you. You have, what shall we say? Incredible powers of persuasion. You’re legendary for bringing the right stars to the right picture. And if you fail, well, I have some subtle methods of persuasion myself.”
Mac swallowed. His whole life flashed in front of his eyes. “Hollywood isn’t Mexico. You can’t force someone to make a picture they don’t want to make. This isn’t some cheap mob film.”
“You leave that to me. You just get me a meeting with La Caballera. Once she hears what I have to say, she’ll want to make the film.”
Chapter 36
“Cat, this is Ted. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours. Give me a call. Right away.”
Ted sat his phone down on the coffee table. He sat and stared into the darkness beyond the window.
He heard Chris rustling around in the kitchen, but didn’t turn to look.
Where were they? Why didn’t they call? Did this mean that El Pozolero has them too?
It was too terrible to contemplate.
“Coffee?” Chris came into the room in his pajamas and bathrobe with a steaming mug in his shaking hand.
“Yeah, thanks.” Ted accepted the mug.
Chris sat on the sofa across from Ted, put his own cup down on the coffee table and ran his hands through his long blonde hair.
“We’ll hear from them,” he said to the floor. “Cat’s probably on the trail of a hot lead and can’t answer your calls. Their phones are probably off.”
“Yeah, but they’ve been out of contact for a long time. I called Hope before we started our stakeout and she didn’t answer. That’s over ten hours ago.”
The two men sat and watched daylight creep over the Sea of Cortez. Neither spoke. Ted’s right knee bobbed up and down. He made no effort to control his nervousness.
“Do you think . . .” He started to say.
“We don’t know anything,” Chris said. “There’s no sense in buying trouble.”
Ted got up, walked to the patio and began pacing.
Time passed slowly.
Ted’s cell phone vibrated, then buzzed. He ran into the living r
oom to scoop it up.
“Ted Higuera.”
“Señor Higuera, this is Yolanda from the Fidepaz Hospital. You are Ezperanza Higuera’s brother, no?”
“Yes. Oh my God. Is she there? Is she all right?”
“Who is it?” Chris was so close that Ted could smell the coffee on his breath.
“Sí, she is here. She is in critical care. You must come to the hospital. Right away.”
“What happened? Why is she there? Was there another woman with her? A blonde.”
“I am sorry, señor¸ I cannot answer those questions. You must come, talk to a doctor.”
Ted pushed the end button on his phone. “Saddle up. She’s at the hospital.”
“My God. Is she all right?”
“They wouldn’t tell me anything.”
While Chris pulled on his clothes. Ted looked up the hospital on his phone.
“It’s not too far away. We can get there in a few minutes.”
They took the elevator to the parking garage and ran to the Jeep.
Ted slid behind the wheel. “The girl said that she was in critical care. She wouldn’t tell me anything else.”
“C’mon, let’s roll.” Tears were welling up in the corners of Chris’s eyes. “I was beginning to think . . .”
“Don’t go there, bro.” Ted tore out of the garage as if the devil was chasing him. “We’ll know in a minute.”
They turned right onto Abasolo Street and headed out of town. In only a few minutes the bright purple building appeared on the other side of the road. Ted almost passed it, then slammed on his brakes, sending anything that wasn’t tied down into the front seats.
The small lobby had a concrete bench against the wall where several worried looking people sat. On the other wall were the ubiquitous plastic chairs Ted had seen all over Mexico. Opposite the glass door was a semi-circular desk with two women working behind it.
“Hi, I’m Ted Higuera. Someone just called me about my sister.”
“Señor Higuera. Please have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”
Ted looked at his friend who was already pacing around the lobby. “She says they’ll be with us in a minute. Wanna sit down?”
The Cartel Strikes Back: The Ted Higuera Series, Book 5 Page 22