The Payback Assignment

by Camacho, Austin S.

  “You know, I love Acapulco,” Felicity said. “People call it the Riviera of Mexico, but there isn’t much there beyond perfect beaches. This place is much bigger and a lot more urban.”

  “Yeah and noisy as hell,” Morgan said. “Now you want to find a hotel?”

  “What I really want is that haven for lost Yank travelers, the American Express office.”

  They had entered the city on a main street and soon spotted an information booth. Felicity jumped out of the truck and in the time it took Morgan to sit through a single streetlight change she was back with good news.

  “The American Express office is dead ahead on Calle 60,” she said as Morgan pulled through the intersection. “It’s at the north end of the city. Let’s get going.”

  But after a morning at highway speeds they seemed to be crawling now, through a city as congested as Paris or London. Most of the cars there were older, but drivers leaned on their horns as much as anyplace she had been. On the way they passed some lovely parks and one impressive church, but Felicity was focused on their objective. She bounced impatiently in her seat and, when traffic stopped them half a block away from the American Express sign, frustration overwhelmed her. Morgan’s jaw dropped when she popped her door open.

  “I’m going on ahead,” Felicity said. “By the time you find a place to park I’ll likely be back.”

  The statuesque redhead drew all eyes when she walked across the lobby. She was relieved to see only a handful of people inside. Their conversations hushed as all turned to stare at her. Despite her discomfort, she maintained her erect carriage and commanding manner. Her practiced eye led her to the manager without her having to ask anyone. She walked up to the slightly built man’s desk and lowered herself into the chair beside it.

  “How can I help you?” he asked hesitantly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

  “My name is Felicity O’Brian and I’m in a bit of a spot Mr…” she looked at the name plate on his desk, “Mr. Marshall. I need some traveler’s checks and probably some cash for local purchases. For that, I’ll need to have some money wired in from L.A.”

  “You are an American?” the manager asked, skepticism fighting with annoyance for display space on his face.

  “U.S. resident, yes,” she answered patiently. She crossed her long, bare legs to make sure she could maintain the man’s attention. “I was robbed, and kidnapped by three men. They took my purse and ditched me in some jungle south of here. Look, I’m registered at the Hyatt Regency Acapulco hotel and my car’s there. That should be easy enough to verify. I just need some funds for traveling.”

  The manager stared at her thighs, and ran a hand up through his short, sandy hair. “Have you a passport?”

  “In my purse of course,” Felicity said.

  “I’m very sorry,” Marshall said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “I’d like to help you, really I would but, without positive identification, I’m afraid I’m helpless.”

  “Is that the only problem?” To the manager’s embarrassment, Felicity slid her fingers inside the top of her left brassiere cup and pulled it forward. From a pocket inside she pulled a titanium American Express card. Here right cup yielded a California driver’s license. In one motion she laid them on his desk and pulled a small note pad toward herself. She wrote a name and telephone number on it and pushed it back toward him. She offered him a demure expression, actually batting her big green eyes for effect.

  “Now call my banker in Los Angeles and get me some money.”

  While she watched, he picked up the telephone and pushed the buttons to call the number in Los Angeles. He glanced at Felicity in surprise when he heard the reaction he got from a mention of her name. When he reached the right person, he handed the telephone to her. She spoke to her American banker in a friendly but businesslike manner, and handed the receiver back to the American Express bank officer when she was finished.

  “Now if you’ll point me to your ladies’ room, I’ll let you work out the details of the transfer with him.”

  After using the facilities and splashing some water on her face and neck, she returned to sit calmly in front of the manager’s desk. She relaxed, determined to show patience with the process while Marshall’s eyes flitted around the room. His nervousness seemed to match her patience.

  Neither Marshall’s nerves nor Felicity’s patience was tested for long. Within fifteen minutes, her bank had telexed expense money to her. The baffled manager went to a cage himself and counted out four thousand American dollars in traveler’s checks and another thousand dollars worth of pesos to a dirty, barefoot girl in half a dress.

  “With your card, there’s really no reason for a lot of cash,” the manager said. “Why carry so much?” the manager asked.

  “Security,” she replied. “I just feel better with the cash in my fist.” She closed her hand around her money and practically skipped back to her stolen vehicle. Morgan had found a space across the street within sight of the door. She raced through the sluggish traffic, bounced into the truck and slammed the door.

  “Well, shall we go get us some decent clothes?” Felicity asked. Her smile stretched wide enough to almost hurt her face. She had money again and to her, money was power.

  “No. First we need to find us a hotel room.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Felicity glared at him. Had he told her no?

  “You need a bath before you do anything else,” Morgan said. “I spotted a Hyatt while I was circling for a parking space. Should suit a civilized gal like you. And you better give me that wad of money.”

  “Excuse me?” she responded icily through clenched teeth, her usually soft brogue coming out. “You’ll not be telling me what to do. You’re not in charge here. Why on earth should I be handing my bankroll over to you, a total stranger, when I’m a billion miles from anywhere?”

  “Because I have pockets! If you stuff that wad in your bra you’ll look like Dolly Parton.”

  Nonetheless, when the gas-belching, backfiring pickup pulled to a stop in the hotel parking lot, she still clutched her money in her sweaty little palm. The seventeen-story Hyatt Regency Merida was not hard to spot in Merida’s skyline. The building was in no way Mexican or even Latin. In fact, the glass and silver structure was totally devoid of any local imprint. It could have been a Hyatt Regency anyplace on the planet, which gave Felicity some comfort. It would represent a total return to civilization. There was even a shopping mall across the street. As soon as Morgan parked and shut the engine off, Felicity stepped down to the ground. She had taken three steps before she realized that he hadn’t moved.

  “Are you coming? If I need to bathe so badly, you need to register us in a room.”

  Morgan slowly stood up and out of the jeep. “Not me. I’m broke. You don’t trust me with your money, so I guess you’ll have to do it.”

  Felicity’s lips clenched together, but instead of an explosion of words she gave him only a fierce stare before turning and entering the lobby.

  Stepping into a wall of cool air reminded her that her body was soaked with perspiration. Padding across the neutral colored carpet made her aware that she was barefoot. She glanced over her shoulder at Morgan and saw only a dangerous looking mercenary. Their appearance and lack of luggage nearly made her balk, but her arrogance overcame her pride and she walked up to the desk like a princess.

  “We need two rooms for tonight,” she told the desk clerk. He was dark for a Mexican, with long hair plastered down onto his head with too much pomade. His eyes moved from her gnarled hair down her tattered gown as far as he could see and slowly drifted back up to her eyes. His face said she was an undesirable guest.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we have no vacancies today,” he said slowly, the way he might speak to a person who was a little slow, or potentially dangerous.

  “That can’t be,” she said. “This isn’t even the high season. And I need a room now.” To make her point more persuasive, she pulled her American Express ca
rd from her bra and slapped it onto the counter. The clerk stared down at it skeptically.

  “Where did you get that?” he said in clear English. His eyes flashed to the bundle of cash in her hand. Did he think she had stolen the money, and the card? “As I said, I’m afraid we are fully occupied.”

  Felicity glanced around the room in frustration. To her right, three men sat around a table playing dominoes. They were unshaven and wore work clothes. That marked them clearly, not as guests or tourists, but local men enjoying the air conditioning. They watched her with undisguised lust, but she wondered if they were leering at her body or the money in her hand. She faced the clerk again, offering a tentative smile.

  “Look, you can’t turn me away,” she said in softer tones.

  He shrugged. “What can I do?” Then his expression shifted, from arrogant superiority to something like tentative fear. Morgan’s elbows had settled gently onto the counter beside her, his arms crossed loosely. She hadn’t noticed that his pistol was no longer in its holster. Probably in the sack he had placed on the floor beside his foot, but the empty holster probably still made a statement.

  “I think you’re confused,” Morgan said, in a soft yet still menacing voice. “I’m confident that if you look again you’ll find vacancies you overlooked before.” Locking eyes with the clerk, Morgan showed his teeth, but it wasn’t a smile. “You don’t want to disappoint this lady.”

  Felicity could feel whatever Morgan was projecting that made the clerk’s demeanor change from cool to flustered. He punched buttons on a computer console while he licked his dry lips.

  “Why, you’re absolutely right, sir,” the clerk said. “Look at that. Two rooms you said?”

  Felicity looked again at the three men in the lobby, who still looked at her the way she imagined sharks looked at smaller fish.

  “One room,” she said. “One room will do.”

  * * *

  Their room looked like any standard hotel room in America. Felicity entered first, noting how comfortable the two full size beds looked. A table stood by the window, under the predictable hanging lamp. Green pattern wallpaper, matching carpet and a couple of still life paintings completed the decor. Felicity headed for the easy chair beside the table. When Morgan closed the door behind them she smiled at how well the room shut out the noisy city.

  The air-conditioned atmosphere had shocked her system and exhaustion hit her like a heavy fist. As she settled into the chair’s deep cushions, Felicity realized that Morgan was right about one thing. A hot tub to soak in would be just the thing.

  “Let me in the bathroom first,” Morgan said, stripping off his shirt. “I’ll only be a minute.” He then peeled off his tee shirt, and Felicity was struck by the powerful muscles, trapezius she thought they were called, running down from his neck into bulging shoulders. Yes, she decided, a weight lifter for sure. He strode into the bathroom and turned on the tap in the sink. He was already washing his face, hair and neck with the tiny complimentary bar of soap when he pushed the door closed with his foot.

  While Morgan cleaned up, Felicity opened the closet, surprised to find no safe on the floor. The hotel must have kept a safe downstairs behind the front desk. She never even considered leaving the room to hand her money and credit cards to the presumptuous desk clerk. Instead, she cast a furtive glance about for a safe place to stash her money. Behind a drawer? No, too obvious. Inside a lampshade? No. It was the first place she would look if circumstances were reversed. Why wasn’t she bright enough downstairs to ask for two rooms? No, that was no mistake. With this much money in a strange town, she wanted a man nearby. She might not know him well enough to trust him with her meager funds, but she felt she could count on Morgan to protect her.

  Finally she decided to move the nearest bed forward a few inches and claw up the carpet just enough to spread the bills out beneath it. When her money was well hidden she moved the bed back to its exact original position. No telltale lump showed on the floor, no hint of a disturbance. The sound of the toilet flushing spurred her to move away from her hidden treasure. She was standing at the bathroom door when Morgan came out.

  “You look like an abandoned orphan, Red,” Morgan said as she brushed past him, “but you’re damned sexy for all that.”

  When she first entered the bathroom, she thought Morgan must have left the water running accidentally. Then she looked over and realized the sound was not coming from the sink, but the bathtub, which was almost full. Reaching in, she found it just a bit too hot. She turned off the “H” tap and waited a moment before turning off the “C”. She shed her rags and kicked them into a corner, but decided to check herself over before getting into the water.

  From long habit she went over her muscle tone from her neck clear to her toes. Her feet were sore but healthy. She bruised easily, and had picked up a couple of visible welts on her upper arms and legs from walking into branches. Her back, arms and legs all stung from a nasty sunburn, and tiny bumps from insect bites covered her limbs. All in all, she hurt but was not really injured. She credited her gymnastics classes with the resilience and toughness she needed in her work, and even in extreme circumstances like the last two days.

  Satisfied with her condition, she stepped into the tub and lowered herself gingerly into the hot water, feeling her pulse increase. After a couple of deep breaths she lathered her body as briskly as she could stand, and washed her hair three times, emptying the bottle of overly scented shampoo the hotel supplied. Once she felt clean she leaned back, sinking chin-deep into the water. She felt weightless, with a million tiny pinpricks on her body, and her skin burned everywhere from insect bites and sunburn. Even after the rapid-fire events of the past seventy-two hours, all she needed to put her right was the total relaxation only a tubful of heat could bring.

  With a start she snapped awake. The water surrounding her felt cooler and was covered by an unpleasant soap film. She sprang to her feet, feeling her hair drain water down her spine. Forty-two minutes had passed since she slid into a tub of hot water. She spent that time in a deep sleep, leaving her feeling completely refreshed. A nice feeling, but it had not been her plan. In fact, she realized with mounting anger that, in her weariness, she had not really planned at all. Here she was, standing in a draining bathtub, without a stitch of clothing to put on. She remembered that the hotel supplied terrycloth robes, but they were hanging in the closet.

  Surely Mister Stark was thinking of this when he maneuvered her into this damned hotel room. Well, she had plenty to tell him. But she certainly could not put her shredded dress or those nasty underclothes back on after two days in the fetid jungle. Looking around the room for cover, she settled on two large bath towels. First, she dried her body thoroughly. By carefully wrapping the towels around herself, she managed to make herself reasonably modest. Without a brush her thick hair would be impossible but she would cope with that later. She shoved the door wide open, prepared for war.

  The scene that greeted her stunned her into silence. It was as peaceful as dawn over the Wicklow Mountains back home. Morgan lay face up on the far bed, barefoot and topless, with his left arm thrown over his eyes. His chest rose and fell in the slow, steady cadence that indicates a deep, sound sleep. His mouth sagged open slightly and he gave off a sound just short of a snore.

  On the other bed, clothes were laid out the way a mother does for her young children, in the shape of a body. Just under the pillows there was a tie-dyed tee shirt with a bra on top of it in the appropriate place. A pair of blue jeans lay just below the shirt, topped by a pair of cotton panties. At the foot of the bed she found a pair of locally made sisal sandals. She knew that Morgan must have gone out to a local shop or across to the mall to pick these things up. How considerate.

  Felicity gathered the clothes and returned to the bathroom. Getting dressed provided another surprise. The jeans fit perfectly, although they were a little tight. She preferred them that way, and figured Morgan would too. The shirt was comfortable, and she decided
to do without the bra for now, planning to rinse out her custom pocket-bra in the sink later. Finally, she slid her feet into the sandals, finding that even they were the right size. She would not have thought it possible.

  Not until she was fully dressed did a more disturbing thought strike her. How had Morgan paid for all this? He couldn’t have bought her a new wardrobe with no money. That morning he had told her he only had twenty dollars, and he spent some of that to pay for their disappointing breakfast.

  She left the bathroom again to find Morgan still sleeping. Silently she shifted the bed, reached under the carpet and gathered up her bills. A quick riff through them told her she was missing about four hundred dollars. He had found her cache, but only taken pocket change, much of which he must have spent on her. She could not help but wonder how much he had left.

  She stepped silently over to her sleeping roommate. After surveying him closely it appeared the only wrinkle out of place was on his left front trouser pocket. It would be tricky to explore, especially with a mark lying down. But she knew she had the lightest touch in the business. Her hand slid smoothly into his pocket. Her two middle fingers closed on the bills. She began to withdraw them, very gradually. The paper hit the slightest snag of cloth.