by Alice Orr
The sun was so bright Slater had trouble making out details against the glare. Sunglasses were the one thing he had forgotten to bring with him from the room. Still, the man in the beach chair at the far end of the same thatched palapas where Slater and Phoenix had been sitting earlier couldn’t be anyone other than SideMan Sax. Who else would be out here on the beach in this heat with a suit on? As Slater eased closer, he could see it was a white suit, no doubt SideMan’s concession to the tropics and not purchased at the street market like Slater’s getup, he would guess. Fortunately, this wasn’t a fashion competition. He and Sax were here to duke it out over much more crucial territory than that.
If Sax thought of any of this as crucial, he definitely wasn’t letting it show. He’d slid his skinny body into lounge position deep in the old wooden chair with his legs stretched out straight in front of him and his feet propped on one of the rickety square tables that went with the chairs. His polished wing tips had been replaced by woven Mexican sandals much classier than Slater’s rubber-soled ones. Sax was a cool customer all right. He leaned back in the chair with his dark glasses perched on his nose, staring out to sea. Maybe he’d already checked Slater out on his way from the hotel and knew where he was even now. Sax would know Slater wasn’t likely to start any gunplay out here. He and Sax were alone on this stretch of beach for now, and that was the way Slater wanted it. There’d be no innocent bystanders to worry about, nobody to keep him from focusing full attention on what he had in mind. Slater pulled the gun out of his pocket as he approached Sax’s chair.
“You don’t need your piece,” Sax said in a drawling voice that betrayed little interest in what was going on.
“You must have eyes in the side of your head,” Slater said. “I hear that’s true of a lot of snakes.”
He hadn’t put the gun away even though it was fully visible now. His open shirt was flapping in the breeze and wouldn’t hide anything.
“If you’re trying to get my back up, you can forget it. That kinda cheap trick stuff don’t work with me.”
“I can see you’re just kicking back out here enjoying the scenery,” Slater said.
He’d moved between the chairs one down from where Sax was sitting and positioned himself with his back to the sun. Sax had the visual disadvantage this way.
“I’m not enjoying anything about this dump,” Sax said with the old sneer in his voice. “Scrawny dogs and peddlers. That’s all you see here.”
“Maybe you haven’t been looking in the right places.”
Sax pulled his feet off the wooden table and sat forward in his chair, straightening the lapels of his white suit jacket over the white polo shirt he had on. The shirt was buttoned all the way to his neck which made Slater wonder if this guy had any blood in his veins for the sun to heat up. Sax stood slowly and brushed off the back of his trousers with his hand. He walked around the table and took a stance on the ocean side of Slater.
“Maybe I shoulda been lookin’ where you had your eyes lately,” Sax drawled. “Up that Farraday broad’s skirt.”
Slater knew it was a challenge the minute he heard it. Maybe he knew that’s what it would be even before Sax opened his slimy mouth. Slater would have loved to stick his gun in this guy’s ear and give him the kind of scare he was asking for. On the other hand, the part of Slater that was still more cop than man with a woman under his skin needed to find out exactly what Sax had in mind. Besides, eventually, Slater would be looking for more of a showdown with this creep than a gun in his ear could give.
“If you hate it so much here, why’d you come?” Slater asked.
“I’ve been keeping my eye on you, and I don’t like what I see.”
“How’s that?”
“You’ve been draggin’ your heels since day one, and now I see why. You’ve gone sweet on the chick.”
Slater clenched his jaw to keep himself from saying what he thought about hearing this piece of trash talk that way about Phoenix.
“Good thing I am here,” Sax added. “I’ll be takin’ over now. I’ve got a feeling I can find out what Laurent wants to know. Maybe I’ll go up to that room of yours and get down to some interrogating right now.”
Sax’s sneer was wreaking havoc with Slater’s self-control.
“You stay away from her,” he said, taking a deliberately menacing step toward Sax and glaring into his smirking face.
“You lookin’ for a piece of me?” Sax taunted.
He was backing away from Slater now, beckoning him to follow.
“I don’t want just a piece of you, Sax,” Slater growled. “I’d like to sweep up this beach with the whole enchilada.”
Sax threw back his skinny neck and laughed. A silver tooth glinting in the front of his mouth caught Slater’s attention and seemed to ignite his temper with its flash of reflected sun. He took his first swing then, but he didn’t have the kind of sure footing he needed to connect. His size and weight made the sand shift beneath his feet. Sax feinted away and continued to back off toward the surf. He probably had a weapon on him somewhere, but he’d made no move to grab for it yet.
“I don’t blame you for bringin’ her out here,” he said with his snake smile on his face. “This is just the kind of no-tell hotel where I’d take a lying, thieving tramp like her.”
Slater understood that these words were intended to send him even further out of control. He told himself that wasn’t happening. Still, staying in control didn’t mean he couldn’t beat the crap out of this jerk. Slater lunged forward and grabbed Sax’s arm, squeezing and twisting hard. Sax must have learned some martial arts in his shady past because he made a quick, deft turn out of Slater’s grip. Sax reached behind him, but Slater was too fast for him. He struck Sax’s arm hard just as he was pulling his weapon from the back of his waistband. The gun spun from his grip and buried itself in the sand several feel away.
They had been moving steadily down the beach toward the water. Sax couldn’t get back to the hotel side of the sand without going over Slater. Sax turned and, to Slater’s surprise, ran into the surf. Slater followed. As soon as he did, he realized why Sax had made this move. The sand shifted beneath Slater’s considerable weight, making him stumble as he trailed Sax into the moving water. Slater could feel the undertow already, even before he was in up to his knees. Sax bounced along ahead, just out of reach. His skinny, lightweight frame was an advantage out here.
Slater would have been wise to get back to the beach, pull his piece and force Sax onto dry land at gunpoint. Maybe Slater had lost control after all because, at the moment, he couldn’t have cared less what was or wasn’t wise. All he cared about was getting his hands on Sax and wringing his scrawny neck. That thought consumed Slater’s mind and filled his heart, so much so that he failed to notice the breaker rolling in to smack him hard just above the knees and pull the sand out from under his feet.
Chapter Fourteen
Phoenix saw them and broke into a run. She’d thought they weren’t out here at first. The sand was empty except for two Mexican boys on horses—one dappled, one chestnut—moving slowly way off down the beach. She was about to head back to the hotel when her brain registered that the two boys were pointing and gesturing toward the sea. She let her gaze follow those gestures and saw the two men grappling there. She might not have recognized Slater if it hadn’t been for his size. His hair was plastered flat and streaming. His shirt was pulled halfway off and soaking. He was struggling to keep upright as the other man leapt on top of him, trying to force him down into the water. She could almost feel the exhaustion in Slater’s legs as the current pulled against him. She’d been out in that surf on her previous trips to Pie de la Cuesta. She knew how powerful the undertow was here, and they were out farther than she’d ever dared to venture. She could tell that their grapplings were gradually carrying them out farther still.
“Come back, Slater,” she cried.
The wind carried her words off with it. Slater would never be able to hear her, but maybe
that was best. He needed to concentrate on keeping his head above water. Any distraction might prove fatal. That far out, with somebody holding his head submerged and the current pulling him down as well, Slater might drown.
Phoenix gasped at the thought. She was into the surf herself now with the foam lapping against her bare legs. She could feel the force of the tide pull already, sliding the silt away beneath her feet, buckling her knees so she had to step backward to keep from falling. She wanted to rush to Slater’s aid, but she knew she couldn’t make it. She was a good swimmer, but not strong enough to get to him in this riptide current that all the guidebooks warned against. Apparently, Slater and whoever he was wrestling with hadn’t read those warnings. Phoenix watched, feeling helpless, as the two men bobbed and staggered beyond her reach.
She had to do something. She’d guessed that Slater’s opponent in the surf was probably the same man who’d been on the phone earlier and maybe the person who shot at him that morning as well. That meant, if Slater made it to the beach, he’d still have to get away from here. Phoenix headed out of the water, scolding herself for thinking in terms of if Slater got back to the beach instead of when. She scrambled as fast as she could through the sand. She’d lost one sandal to the surf, and the beach was scorching. She didn’t care. She just kept on scrambling.
“Muchachos,” she cried against the wind. “Muchachos, vamos aguí.”
She suspected her Spanish was wrong. She couldn’t remember the correct way to say “Come here” at the moment. She’d captured the attention of the two boys on horseback anyway. They were looking curiously in her direction. Then, one of them picked up his reins as if he might be getting ready to ride away. They were both riding bareback using rope bits as halters. She must look like she was trying to run them down. She couldn’t let them get away.
“Tengo dinero,” she cried, groping in the pocket of her shorts.
She’d had her money in there when she was shopping at the street market earlier. Fortunately, that money hadn’t fallen out or the credit and bank cards either. She understood that these boys would only respond to cash.
“Tengo mucho dinero para sus caballos,” she shouted.
She was amazed and grateful that the Spanish words she needed had managed to appear on her lips at just the right moment, like a miracle. The boys urged their horses toward her as she stumbled across the sand.
SLATER HAD NEVER RUN from a fight in his life, but if he could get himself free long enough that was exactly what he intended to do this time. He’d gotten himself into this situation by not listening to his head. He had to make up for that now.
Slater grasped Sax’s throat in what might have been a choke hold had he been able to get a grip and keep it. Slater spluttered and wheezed as his mouth and nose filled with salty water. The choke hold hadn’t worked. He’d have to try something else. He charged upward to gulp a full breath of air before suddenly releasing his resistance and allowing himself to be pushed beneath the surface. Sax must have been startled by the change because he toppled off balance.
Slater felt Sax’s hold loosen. This was an opportunity that might not present itself again. Slater dove the short distance to the bottom, grabbed a fistful of the coarse sand there and headed back toward the light above. He broke the surface with a plunge and found Sax in midturn as if he might have been trying to figure out where Slater went. He grabbed Sax’s arm and flung the fistful of sand directly into his eyes. Sax clawed at his face while struggling to keep afloat.
Again, Slater recognized a moment of opportunity. He let go of Sax and struck out toward the shore. He hadn’t done much swimming outside of pools. The long, smooth strokes that worked well there weren’t so easy here. He had to arc his arm high and chop it down through the surface in a hard plunge in order to achieve the power he needed to move forward. All the while he was doing this, the force of the rushing tide drew backward beneath the surface of the water, trying to tow him out into its depths. The wave breaking beachward over his head and propelling him with it provided only an instant of relief from the ocean’s pull. He could almost hear the call of water witches and demons of the deep beckoning him to come and sleep with them. That illusion urged him on.
He had used up much of his energy in his grappling with Sax. Slater knew too well how little stamina remained for battling the sea. He gulped ragged mouthfuls of air as he thrust his face upward then ducked back underwater where he held his breath until his lungs nearly burst while he stroked with what strength he had left. His throat burned from the briny water he had swallowed and grated from the sand that mixed with the swirling sea. His eyes stung even when he squeezed them shut. He opened them on his next upward lunge for breath and saw the shoreline ahead, maybe not so far off but still what felt like lifetimes away.
Slater understood that it would be wise to swim parallel to the shore for a while in search of a break in the waves before making for land. He didn’t have enough steam left for that, and he knew it. He was weakening fast. In a matter of minutes, he would be beyond hope. His arms and legs would cease to be a match for the power of nature, and he would be carried outward then down to the home of those beckoning voices he’d imagined a moment ago.
The temptation was great to let go now, to drop his aching arms to his sides, to stop gasping and gulping and allow himself to slide into what would very soon become a simple peace. He acknowledged what a relief that would be at the same second his sea-sodden brain recognized what it had been thinking. His body plunged forward then, as if spurred by a will beyond thought. He wanted to live. He had to live, and to do that he must fight harder than he had ever fought before.
His muscles responded with a charge that could only have come from his heart, as Slater called upon resources he’d never known he possessed. His arms lifted through the pain of overtaxed sinews and beyond the thrash through the water. His legs pumped as if he were running for his life, which of course he was. He gulped air and sand and spray then submerged again to focus all that was in him on the thrashing and pumping. With every ounce of strength and courage he could muster, Slater willed himself under the breakers and through the backward tow in one last, mighty stretch toward land.
Then, in the final possible moment, when he was certain he could not lift his arm one more time through the strain and pull he’d already inflicted upon his tortured shoulder muscles, he was in the shallows. His feet found the bottom, and he staggered forward. He tried to come upright, but he couldn’t manage it. Doubled over and stumbling, Slater lurched toward the beach as his lungs coughed up sea and sand. His eyes were too ravaged by saltwater to open more than a slit without burning pain. He could allow himself only an instant’s glimpse of sunlight shimmering on shallow waves before his eyelids clamped shut against the brightness. He was stumbling, falling and rising again, half blind when hands touched his arm.
Pain leapt through his shoulder as if he’d been prodded by molten steel, and he tried to cry out. He could tell he had torn the muscles there so badly that they would be a long time mending, but he didn’t care. He had reached the shore, and he was alive. His eyes streamed sea water and tears, and his throat rasped toward a cry of joy he couldn’t yet utter. He dropped upon the sand and rolled over onto his back, almost oblivious to the aching agony in almost every part of his body.
Slater thought he heard his name being called through the rushing ocean roar that still filled his ears. For a moment, he thought he was being revisited by those sea witches he’d imagined. As his eyelids fluttered open just enough to take in the apparition leaning over him, he understood that another spirit altogether was beckoning him now. She’d been calling him all along though he hadn’t comprehended that until this moment. Hers had been the voice which summoned that last surge of will to pound through the waves past endurance so he might save his life and be with her.
“Phoenix,” he whispered without sound.
“SLATER,” SHE CRIED. “You have to get up. We have to get out of here.”
“You have to stand up,” she said. “I’ve figured out how we can get away from here.”
Slater croaked a sound too rasping for her to understand.
“What did you say?” she asked.
Two beach vendors were standing nearby watching. One of them, a woman in a brightly multicolored skirt and white blouse, came forward now. She was selling cans of soft drinks from a flat, wooden box she carried on her head. She held out a can to Phoenix, a brand of cola she’d never heard of before. She’d salvaged a few pesos from her transaction with the boys. Phoenix dug in her pocket for the money, but the vendor woman shook her head.
“No necesita pagar,” she said. “For him.”
She gestured toward Slater, and Phoenix was even more startled by the words of English than by the offer of help.
“Gracias,” she said and took the can.
The woman had already popped the top open. Phoenix knelt down beside Slater and held the can to his lips. He didn’t open his mouth at first, and the liquid ran over his chin. That seemed to rouse him, and he took a gulp that Phoenix could tell was too much too soon. He choked, and she moved the can away.