by Alice Orr
“More,” he rasped.
She’d understood that clearly and returned the can to his lips. He drank several mouthfuls but more slowly this time. He pushed himself up on one elbow from the sand. She could tell by the grimace on his face that it hurt him to move, especially to use his arms for support. She helped him as best she could to move into a sitting position on the sand. His shirt had been torn off in the water, and he had lost his sandals. He was wearing his wet trousers, and that was all.
“Have to get away,” he rasped again, even more clearly now.
Phoenix felt a touch on her elbow. She spun around, half expecting to see Slater’s adversary from the sea looming over her. Instead, it was the same vendor woman who’d given Slater the can of cola. She had another woman at her side now.
“Mi amiga,” the woman said, indicating her companion who was carrying a huge pile of T-shirts over one arm. A long, white canvas bag hung by a rope cord from her other shoulder.
The woman took a T-shirt from her friend’s pile and held it out to Phoenix.
“Para el señor,” the woman said.
Phoenix looked from the cola vendor to her friend who was smiling shyly. Phoenix could see the compassion in that smile. These women were poor and understood what it was to have trouble and to need help. Phoenix took the shirt.
“Muchas gracias,” she said returning the smile. “Thank you so much.”
Meanwhile, Slater had pulled himself upright. Phoenix handed him the T-shirt. He tried to put it on, but he could only raise his arms barely level with his shoulders, no higher. He groaned in agony just getting them that far. Phoenix had to ease the shirt up his arms and over his head.
“¡Andando!”
One of the boys who owned the horses had run up to Phoenix’s side and was motioning her to hurry.
“¡Mira!” he said with agitation in his voice.
He was tugging at her arm and motioning out to sea. Phoenix shielded her eyes again but couldn’t see what the boy was pointing at. The sun was too strong to make out anything but sparkles as bright as a mass of light-bulbs on the rippling surface of the water beyond the breakers. Then she saw it, a head bobbing along parallel to the beach and headed back in the direction of Las Tres Marias. She was sure that head belonged to the man Slater had been struggling with in the waves.
“We have to get out of here right now,” she said to Slater.
He had already managed to pull himself halfway to his feet. She put her shoulder under his arm and helped him straighten further. The boy who had told them to hurry took Slater’s other side, and the three of them began moving laboriously over the sand.
“Where are we going?” Slater asked, still in a rough whisper.
“I’ve arranged a ride for us,” Phoenix said.
“A ride?” Slater still sounded a little dazed.
“Your charger, my knight,” Phoenix couldn’t resist saying as they approached the two rather swaybacked mares and the second Mexican boy who was holding them by their rope halters.
“Mi caballo,” said the other boy, who’d been helping Phoenix half drag Slater up the beach.
Slater stared at the horses then at Phoenix in what looked like disbelief.
“I found out that there’s a bus back into Acapulco,” she said.
“Sí. El autobus,” the boy said, gesturing ahead toward the row of hotels and the road beyond.
“All we have to do is get back to the highway,” Phoenix said.
“On these?”
Slater looked skeptically at the old ponies.
“These cost me just about every penny I had on me,” Phoenix said, “and we have to hurry.”
“Sí, andando,” the boy said, agreeing with Phoenix’s concern that they make tracks pronto.
Getting Slater onto the back of the chestnut mare required the combined effort of Phoenix and both young boys. She could tell from the sharpness of Slater’s moans that he had seriously damaged his shoulder muscles in his life-or-death sprint through the waves. She wondered if he would need a doctor and where they could get one. She’d have to work all of that out later. Right now, they needed to escape back to town. Pie de la Cuesta was not the refuge she’d hoped for after all. Still, she looked wistfully back up the white sand toward the small hotel where she and Slater had made such wonderful love what unfortunately now felt like ages ago. Phoenix sighed as she gathered up the reins of the dappled horse she’d just mounted and prepared to urge her away from Las Tres Marias and toward the next pathway to the road.
“Señorita.”
It was the cola vendor again. She was tugging at Phoenix’s leg and handing up two pairs of huaraches that looked like they would be just about Phoenix and Slater’s sizes. Once more, Phoenix felt tears moisten her lashes. She couldn’t remember when she had ever experienced such generosity or when she had ever needed it more.
“Gracias,” she said.
She wished she possessed the Spanish vocabulary to say more, but there was no time anyway. The two Mexican boys were already tugging the ponies by their rope halters away from the small group of vendors that had gathered and up the beach in the opposite direction from the sea.
“Vaya con Dios,” said the cola vendor and her friend together.
“Vaya con Dios,” echoed the other vendors.
Phoenix raised her hand in grateful farewell and prayed that she and Slater would, in fact, “Go with God” wherever they might be headed.
Chapter Fifteen
Slater could hardly believe how much his body ached. All the time they were dragging him up onto this broken-down nag, he was whispering to himself, “I can do this. I can do this.” The problem was that he had to do this, and he wasn’t thinking about just keeping himself from falling off the horse as he trotted and then slowly galloped over the sand. The really hard thing Slater had to do was to make sure Phoenix stayed safe from SideMan Sax and the methods he’d hinted at for making her talk. Sax was pure thug through and through. He got a kick out of hurting people. He’d seen the glint in Sax’s eyes, stiletto sharp and made of the same cold steel. This guy was fierce in pursuit of his target, and he was after Phoenix now. He only cared about taking Slater down so he could get to her, and maybe also because he got a kick out of that, too.
Slater had run into twisted types like Sax before.
A cop can’t help but do that. Slater had learned long ago to take these characters in his stride, but all of that was out the window now. Slater took Sax’s pursuit of Phoenix very personally. Slater not only wanted Sax off the planet, he intended to put him there. The only hitch was that Slater was still a man with a badge, even when undercover work kept him from carrying it in his pocket. His assignment was to catch Beldon Laurent with dirt on his hands, or to produce the information that would help somebody else prove that dirt was there. Slater still hoped he could fulfill this assignment and keep Phoenix safe at the same time. That meant he had to avoid a final showdown with Sax for a while longer and get Phoenix back to Acapulco.
For now, Slater was making this ride along the beach slumped over the neck of the horse. Sitting upright would have been too painful to bear. Phoenix galloped on ahead with the wind in her hair. Slater picked his head up from the horse’s mane far enough to gaze at her for a moment. She looked so beautiful in the sunlight that the sight hurt his eyes, but not in the way the sand and saltwater had done. This ache went straight to his heart. He could imagine nothing better than to keep gazing at her forever. He could also imagine nothing worse than having that vision interrupted by a prison sentence or worse. The pang of that possibility carried fear with it like poison on a dagger’s point. Slater slumped back down again and kneed his pony to a faster pace.
They left the pathway from the beach to the road and clomped along the shoulder in the direction of the highway junction. Phoenix was out in front still and seemed to know where she was going and what they had to do when they got there. Slater had been vaguely aware of her conferring with the two Mexican kids
back on the beach, something about tying the horses up at the junction. He’d been too preoccupied with the pain in his body at that moment to pick up on the exact details. He was almost accustomed to that pain by now, as if his muscles had always burned as if his limbs were about to fall off. He’d begun to wonder what Phoenix’s plan might be. Had he heard somebody mention a bus?
Slater lifted his head to look over his shoulder and back along the road. His nerve endings responded immediately to the twisting movement, sending a shock of pain down his arm and across his shoulders. Slater groaned but held the position long enough to make sure SideMan wasn’t behind them. The road was clear except for a couple of dusty, old cars lumbering along, neither moving fast enough to be in pursuit of anything more than a leisurely trip from one cantina to another.
Slater turned painfully back toward the road ahead. They were approaching the crossroads, and Phoenix was slowing her horse. Slater took a deep breath and straightened up far enough to pull in on the reins and bring his horse to a slow trot. Slater forced himself to sit up straighter still. He would have sworn he could feel each vertebra grind against the next. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself as upright as he could manage. His aching shoulders slumped forward, and his neck refused to hold his head straight up just yet. Still, he was no longer slumped over his horse and hanging on for dear life. For now, Slater considered that a major accomplishment.
By the time they reached the junction, he had even convinced himself he was ready to swing his leg over the horse and slide off. The chestnut trotted up next to Phoenix’s motley mare as if on cue. Phoenix was on the ground by then, holding her horse and Slater’s while he braced himself to dismount. “Just do it,” he told himself silently. He sucked in another deep breath and started counting in his head to distract himself from what he was about to feel. He was almost to ten when the groan escaped, but he’d made it to the ground in the meantime. His knees threatened to buckle under him, but he didn’t let them. He could tell from the expression on Phoenix’s face just how much agony he must appear to be in.
“Can you make it?” she asked.
Slater nodded, though the discomfort caused by even that small movement made him wonder if he could actually perform what his nod promised. He reminded himself that he had no choice. Phoenix walked both horses to a nearby signpost and tethered them there. Slater forced his spine straight and plastered what he hoped was a smile on his face for her to see as she hurried back to him. He couldn’t square his shoulders no matter how hard and painfully he tried.
“What now?” he asked, pleased to hear that his voice could work itself past his still-ravaged throat.
“We’re supposed to stand over there.”
Phoenix pointed toward the highway. She’d taken Slater’s arm and was urging him in that direction. He willed himself to follow though his legs felt as if they weighed a ton each.
“Those boys on the beach told me we could catch a bus back to town here. They said there’s several of them running along the highway this time of day. I hope they were right about that.”
Slater heard the anxiety in her voice. He looked back down the dusty road they’d just left. No SideMan in sight yet, but he’d be coming before long. Slater was sure that SideMan would have a car, too. He was probably on the way to wherever he’d left it now. Unfortunately, there was little chance he’d drowned in the surf. A snake like Sax was never gotten rid of that easily.
“Thank heaven,” Phoenix breathed.
Slater guessed what the words meant even before he turned around to see a bus coming down the highway toward them. He whispered a prayerful thanks of his own, but that was before he registered the details of the bizarre contraption approaching them. The vehicle was designed like a yellow school bus, painted blue and white, but that was where the resemblance ended. It was probably the oldest bus Slater had ever seen still running. It was dented all over, and the paint was chipped and marred. The bulk of the body swayed low toward the shoulder on the right, as if the suspension on that side must be completely shot. The sign on the front said Coyuca even though the sign Slater noticed at the side of the road indicated the bus was actually headed for Acapulco now.
The windows were what made this rundown hulk truly bizarre. The top half of the front window had been shielded to keep the bright tropical sun out of the driver’s eyes. Dark blue velvet cloth had been stretched across the wide glass. Tassels with blue velvet balls on them fringed the fabric and bounced crazily as the bus bumped over the uneven road. The top half of all the side windows had been covered by a thick layer of paint. As the ancient vehicle pulled to a stop in response to Phoenix’s frantic waving, Slater noticed that the window paint had been decorated with carefully etched line drawings of stars and half moons and sun shapes with rays bursting around them.
Slater stared at those designs for a moment. Someone had taken great care to try to make this old wreck just a little bit beautiful. For some reason, Slater found that thought encouraging. He stepped up behind Phoenix almost with the confidence that this rattling heap could get them back to town in one piece. That, of course, wouldn’t guarantee that his aching body could survive the ride.
THE BUS WAS CROWDED with Mexicans, some sitting three to a seat designed for two. The passengers stared at Phoenix and Slater as they lurched down the aisle toward the back of the already moving bus. Phoenix had noticed, during her stay here in Mexico, how polite and unintrusive the people generally were. She couldn’t blame them for being less so now. She’d guess they hadn’t seen too many norteamericanos on this bus before today.
She and Slater weren’t looking their best, either. They both wore a coating of dust on their legs from the gallop over the beach and down the road. Slater was especially disheveled. His hair had sprung into wild waves from drying in the wind. His trousers, in addition to their dusting of road dirt, were stiff from the salt of the sea water. He was walking strangely too, with a lopsided shambling gait that told her he must be hurting badly. The other passengers must have noticed that because they had the same sympathetic look in their eyes that Phoenix had noticed from the vendors on the beach.
Probably in response to that sympathy, a man in the second row from the back got up and was motioning for the woman next to him to rise. Slater gestured for the woman to remain seated, though Phoenix saw him look longingly at the bus bench before refusing it He man-’ aged a fractured version of “Estoy bien,” but anybody could see he was anything but all right. Meanwhile, he pushed Phoenix down into the seat the Mexican man had vacated. She tried to protest, but it did no good. Thus, she was seated and Slater was standing with a precarious hold on the back of her bench, when the black Ford Bronco bumped the side of the bus full force just beneath the window nearest them. Slater staggered backward and would have fallen if helpful hands hadn’t caught him. Other passengers were being similarly assisted up and down the crowded bus.
“¿Que pasa?” someone questioned loudly over the cries and babbling that had broken out.
“It’s Sax,” Slater said as if in answer.
Slater had righted himself and returned to Phoenix’s side where he hovered protectively over her.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“It’s the guy from the beach,” Slater said. “He’s ramming the bus.”
Phoenix gasped and turned back toward the window just as the Bronco slammed the side of the bus again. She grabbed on to Slater, and he wrapped his arms around her to keep them both from being knocked to the floor. Phoenix recognized curses and exclamations in Spanish, as some of the passengers waved fists at the windows on the impact side of the bus while others cringed away.
“He’s trying to force the bus off the road,” Slater said with his arms still tight around her.
Phoenix peered past Slater’s sheltering body toward the windows on the other side of the bus. There was a cliff in that direction and sun-sparkled ocean. The bus had careened across the wide, graveled shoulder and almost struck the guardrail
s.
“We’ll go over the cliff,” she said. “Everybody on here could be killed.”
She pushed out of Slater’s arms and up from the seat. She was on her way down the aisle, shoving past agitated passengers, before he could catch up and grab her arm.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I can’t let the rest of these people get hurt because of us. I’m going to tell the driver to let us off the bus.”
She pulled mightily against Slater’s grasp. Ordinarily, that would probably have done no good, but his bout with the sea had weakened his grip. She got away and continued down the aisle. That passage was even more treacherous now because the bus had picked up speed. Phoenix stumbled and nearly fell more than once before reaching the driver.
Phoenix was scrambling for the words she needed in Spanish when the driver said, “Señorita, you have to sit down.”
“You speak English?” she asked, much relieved.
“Sí. Now, please sit down.”
She ignored his order. “You have to let me and my friend off the bus,” she said. “The man in the black car is after us.”
The Bronco struck a third time, and shrieks rose from the women passengers as Phoenix pitched forward toward the windshield. She would have crashed into the glass if Slater’s sudden grip on her arm hadn’t stopped her. She could feel the returned strength in the hold he had on her, perhaps summoned by the prospect of her being injured. Once again, the bus had veered toward the cliff, scraping along the guardrails.
“You have to let us off,” Phoenix shouted at the driver. “Then he’ll leave you alone.”
The driver had steered the bus back from the rails, but the right side wheels were still on the shoulder of the road. He pressed the accelerator toward the floor, and the bus lurched forward. Phoenix heard gravel hit the side of the bus in a fusillade louder than the cries of the passengers.
“Everybody sit down,” the driver shouted. “¡Sientanse! Nobody gets off this bus.”
The shouts and curses subsided for a moment.