by Alice Orr
“I am going to outrun este diablo”,” the driver said.
“Let us off,” Phoenix cried. “We don’t want anybody else to get hurt because of us.”
“Está bien, señorita,” the driver said flashing a smile at her in the rearview mirror. “We have a good chase.”
There was a murmur from the seats behind Slater and Phoenix. She turned to see the rest of the passengers grabbing tightly to their seats and to each other. Some had hunkered down in the aisles and were grasping the seat legs that were bolted to the floor. Slater pulled Phoenix to the floor and did the same. The driver laid on the horn. He was steering the bus wildly from one side of the road to the other and hollering phrases in Spanish she couldn’t understand. Phoenix strained up out of Slater’s arms to see. They were approaching the city limits now. The traffic was heavier here. The driver snaked the bus between and around vehicles, blasting the horn all the while. Phoenix forced herself up far enough to look out the windows on the left side of the bus. There was no black Bronco in sight.
“He’s still back there,” Slater said. “He’s still after us. He won’t give up.”
“Who is he?” she asked, trying not to sound as panicked as she was beginning to feel.
“Don’t you know?”
She glanced back at Slater who was regarding her with a quizzical look on his face.
“Why should I know who he is?” she said. “You’re the one he’s after.”
Slater appeared even more perplexed.
“That’s right, isn’t it?” she asked. “This is the same man who tried to shoot you at the hotel this morning and then followed us to Pie de la Cuesta?”
Slater studied her face a moment longer. “That’s correct,” he said at last. “He’s after me.”
Phoenix felt like asking how Slater could act surprised that she’d figured out what was going on. She’d have to be stupid not to. He didn’t think that of her, did he? Of course, this wasn’t the place for such inquiries. Slater was holding on to her with one hand. With the other he gripped a seat leg so tightly the cords stood out on his arm. She knew that had to be hurting him, but she didn’t tell him to let go. She had no desire to hurtle toward the windshield again. She’d clamped on to Slater just as tight as the driver maneuvered the careening bus at unbelievably high speed through the traffic into Acapulco.
“This guy can really drive,” Slater said admiringly.
“Gracias, señor,” said the driver.
“The thanks go to you, amigo,” Slater responded.
“Now we have to get you two off here safely,” the driver said. “Pablo,” he called out. “Come here.”
A young man dressed in a bellman’s uniform, probably on his way to work in one of the city’s hotels, leaned forward from the seat behind the driver and next to his ear. They spoke in Spanish for a moment but too fast for Phoenix to make out the words. Pablo sat back, almost toppling onto his seatmate as the bus veered sharply once more. He spoke just as rapidly then to that seatmate who leaned back and passed on the message to the person behind him. Whatever they were saying was quickly communicated among the passengers toward the back and along the sides of the bus.
“What’s going on?” Slater asked.
“I don’t know,” Phoenix said. “I can’t understand what they’re saying.”
“We’re making a plan,” the driver said.
“What plan?” Phoenix asked.
“You will see.”
Phoenix knew she mustn’t ask more now. He had to concentrate on driving. They were barreling toward the heart of Acapulco at what had to be approaching rush hour. She bit her lip as the bus swerved perilously close to a Volkswagen taxicab. They were nearing the busy corner across from the street market Phoenix had visited this morning. Just as she was recognizing the landmark the bus slowed, pitching suddenly to the right and up over the curb. The driver yanked back on the handle to slam the door open as the bus pulled to a stop.
“Andale,” he shouted as passengers began to pile forward. “You two stay here till I tell you to leave,” he said, grabbing Phoenix’s arm to keep her from getting off the bus with the rest
Slater and Phoenix pressed back into the space between the front seat and the driver to let the other passengers get by. “I think we’re being rescued,” Slater said, shielding Phoenix from the scrambling crowd.
“Ahora,” the driver said, pulling at Phoenix’s arm. “You two go now.”
About half of the passengers were already out of the bus. Slater pushed her to her feet but didn’t let go of her.
As they passed the driver, he said, “Muchas gracias,” and sounded like he really meant it.
“De nada, amigo” was the answer. “Me gusto mucho.”
Slater looked questioningly at Phoenix.
“He says he enjoyed it,” she translated, wishing she felt the same.
Then Phoenix and Slater were outside the bus in the midst of a crowd with Pablo at their side.
“Keep your heads down,” he said, dragging on Slater’s arm to bring him down shorter than the surrounding camouflage of bodies.
Slater cooperated, but Phoenix heard him groan at the effort. She also heard Pablo speak to Slater once more.
“This is where I work,” he said, pushing something into Slater’s palm. “Come there later if you need a place to hide. You will do that best among other americanos.”
Slater nodded but didn’t have time to answer. The crowd was already hustling Slater and Phoenix toward the opposite curb. A pathway opened in front of them then straight to the open door of a waiting cab. They crouched low through the barrage of pats on the back and wishes for “Buena suerte,” until they were inside the Beetle and speeding off down the Costera Miguel Aleman into the center of Acapulco. Phoenix raised her head just high enough to peek out the rear window and scan the road behind them. There was no black Bronco in sight. She breathed a sigh of relief, however momentary, and resettled herself in Slater’s arms.
Chapter Sixteen
“Vamos a Walmart,” Phoenix said to the driver.
“What are you doing?” Slater asked hoping she actually had a plan in mind. He’d had no time to think anything up yet himself.
“We’re going to do some more shopping,” she said.
“Shopping?”
First the street market this morning, now, if he’d understood right, she was taking them to a Walmart store. He was beginning to think that whenever things got tense she went on a buying spree.
“I’m going to practice my profession just one more time,” she said.
“And was exactly does that mean?”
“I’m going to change your image.”
“What are you talking about?” Slater asked, though he was beginning to catch a glimmer of what she must be getting at.
“Somebody’s after you. Right?”
Slater hesitated. This was the same thing she’d been suggesting back on the bus.
“What makes you think he’s after me?” he asked carefully. “Maybe he’s after you.”
She’d been huddled close to him, exactly where he wanted her to be. She sat up now and turned toward him.
“You don’t have to tell me what you’ve done,” she whispered so the driver wouldn’t hear. “I only care about keeping this man, whoever he is, from finding you before we can figure out what to do.”
She was staring at him hard and directly into his eyes. He couldn’t find a single hint of insincerity in her face. His instincts, and a long history of listening to falsehoods, told him nobody was a good enough liar to look as innocent as she did right now and not be. Slater took a deep breath and decided to go with his instincts, though the suspicion still rankled that even those instincts were being influenced by how beautiful she looked and how soft she felt.
“Okay,” he said despite his suspicions. “I’m putty in your hands, but I think you’d better make yourself unrecognizable too.”
She looked as if she might disagree.
&nbs
p; “Sax has seen you,” Slater told her. “He’ll be looking for both of us.”
Again, as on the bus, she betrayed no sign of being familiar with SideMan’s name. Slater had a lot of questions he wanted to ask her about that and other things, but for now he would play along.
“You’re right,” she agreed nodding. “I don’t want this man to find you because of me.”
“Exactly.”
“What did the man from the bus give you?” she asked, pointing toward his clenched fist.
Slater had all but forgotten about the card Pablo had shoved into his hand. He opened his fingers and looked at the card now.
“It’s from the Princess Hotel,” Phoenix said, leaning over to look. “That’s where we went to see Porfiro the other morning. The young man from the bus must work there.”
“Pablo,” Slater said. “His name was Pablo.”
“Right. Pablo,” she repeated sounding preoccupied. She’d taken the card from Slater’s hand and appeared to be reading it over carefully. “Pablo might have a good idea here. What better place to hide than right in plain sight.”
Slater didn’t know how he felt about going where he might run into Porfiro again. This situation already had enough complications to it. Besides, what would they do for money? His wallet was back at Las Tres Marias, and he’d gotten the impression that Phoenix spent the last of her pesos renting those horses on the beach. His answer was soon in coming. The cab pulled into a parking lot in front of a huge building with a tall Walmart sign.
“Go into the underground garage,” Phoenix directed the driver.
He nodded. Slater had already taken note that most of the service people in Acapulco spoke English as well as Spanish.
“Wait here. I’m going to the cash machine,” Phoenix said, pulling a plastic card from the pocket of her shorts and showing it to the driver. “You wait here, too,” she told Slater. “I’ll be right back.”
“Whatever you say.”
At least, now he knew where the money would come from. He suppressed the recurring thought that it might be the loot from Laurent she was tapping into. That didn’t matter much to Slater right now. What he had to concentrate on was the fact that they were apparently about to enter a very public place. He’d been keeping an eye out for Sax ever since they got off the bus. There’d been no sign of either SideMan or the big, black Bronco he was driving. Still, Slater was on the alert. If he had anything to say about it, this would be the short-est shopping spree in Phoenix’s history.
Unfortunately, she appeared to be in less of a hurry than he was. Once they were inside the store, she wandered up and down the aisles, studying the shelves and dropping her purchases into the cart she was pushing way too slowly for Slater. Meanwhile, he watched in all directions, wishing he hadn’t lost his gun in the ocean. He had a spare hidden back in his room at La Escarpadura, but Sax would be watching that place for sure. Or, he’d have some flunky doing it for him. In Slater’s experience, characters like Sax tended to pick up small-time confederates wherever they went, petty criminal types in need of money, to do sneaky little odd jobs. No telling who Sax might have latched on to down here.
Slater watched every face as if it might belong to a potential attacker. He’d like to tell whoever might have gotten mixed up with Sax that he was a real wrong number, the kind of heartless thug who doesn’t leave loose ends behind. They’d have to figure that out for themselves. Right now, Slater’s job was to keep his eyes peeled for one of those loose ends to show up here. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d do if that happened. They were in the hair care products aisle at the moment Maybe he could dump shampoo on the guy’s head and lather him into submission. Slater couldn’t help chuckling to himself at how absurdly vulnerable they were. He was very much relieved when they’d finished with Walmart at last. They hailed a cab on the Costera and headed for Pablo’s hotel. Slater still had misgivings about going there, but at least they’d have a room with a door they could lock behind them.
The Princess was definitely not Slater’s usual digs. He’d pegged the place for upscale tourist territory the other day. He generally preferred something a little closer to the bone, and there was definitely nothing even near to bare bones here. The lobby was an open-air atrium with balconies circling it high overhead and supported by tall, mahogany columns. Across the atrium floor, groupings of plush couches were crowded, mostly with Americans, who sat along the marble railings surrounding large lobby fountains as well. Beyond these milling masses, the vast lobby area opened onto grounds with pools, waterfalls and restaurants in what looked like every direction. Slater didn’t like that. This place was too big, too open, too busy to keep tabs on efficiently. He also didn’t like the way one guy in a security uniform was looking at him. Slater knew he was dressed like a bum right now, but he still didn’t want to be treated like one.
Phoenix took care of at least this concern by sashaying straight up to the security man and asking for Pablo. Slater could see the effect her smile had on the hotel cop. In an instant, he was scrambling off to do her bidding. He probably would have given her his gun if she asked for it. Slater’s cop instincts twitched yet again at how comfortable Phoenix was with manipulating people, especially men. He had to conclude she’d had a lot of practice.
Still, when Pablo came hurrying up to them a few minutes later and hustled Phoenix and her bank card cash through the registration process, Slater couldn’t help being grateful for her special talent at greasing wheels. In no time at all, they were in that locked room he’d been thinking about. Phoenix was bustling around, checking out the bathroom, throwing open the doors onto the terrace, exclaiming about the beach view. Slater was only vaguely aware of all that. He’d plopped down on the bed and was already well on his way to unconsciousness.
SLATER DIDN’T so much wake up as come to. The first thing he heard was the sound of surf hitting a beach. He was reminded of Pie de la Cuesta and SideMan Sax. Slater rolled over, and the cry of his sore muscles was yet another reminder of his last encounter with surf. But where was he now? The room was bright and airy and filled with morning sunshine. Slater pushed himself up onto the mound of pillows someone had propped beneath his head. He remembered now. He was at some big tourist hotel across the bay from the center of Acapulco. He was also nude and alone.
Slater pulled his still aching body out of bed and looked around. On the dresser was a stack of folded clothes. He’d already noticed that the ones he’d had on when he got here were nowhere to be seen. When had they gotten here anyway? It must have been late afternoon, almost evening. It was morning now, the next morning he assumed. He’d slept the evening and night away, maybe sixteen hours or so. He’d never slept that long at one stretch in his life. There was a white, lightweight terry cloth robe at the bottom of the bed. He put it on. Phoenix certainly had them traveling first class. Once again, Slater couldn’t help but think of Beldon Laurent’s money.
The pile on the dresser didn’t do much to quiet his misgivings—very nice threads with tags from shops labeled Princess Hotel Underground Mall. Phoenix had been giving that bank card of hers a workout again this morning. She must have a real cushy nest egg stashed away. She’d bought him shoes, shirts, slacks, underwear, shorts, even a bathing suit all in his size. A note in an envelope bearing the same hotel insignia as that on his bathrobe pocket was propped against the pile of clothes.
“I’ll be back soon,” it read. “Take a long, soothing shower. Relax. Breakfast is on the terrace.” It was signed, “Love, Phoenix,” with a drawing of a rising sun after her name.
That signature melted Slater’s heart. Whatever suspicions had been gathering there like a dark cloud drifted away into the sunlight. He walked to the terrace doorway. Two cushioned chairs sat next to a low, round table. A tray on the table brimmed over with fresh fruit, pastries, a coffee carafe, china dishes, polished silverware, linen napkins. Slater sat down in one of the chairs and lifted the lid of the carafe. The aroma of Mexican coffee, rich and strong,
drew him in. He leaned back against the cushions and gazed out past the terrace wall. The surf he’d heard hitting the beach did so much more calmly here than at Pie de la Cuesta. A fringe of foam washed up on a beautiful, white beach, nothing like the wild, ripping tide of Pie de la Cuesta. As Slater poured his first cup of coffee, he could almost believe he was on a leisurely vacation in paradise—almost, but not quite.
PHOENIX TRIED NOT to let the others in the elevator see how agitated she was, but once she was out of the door onto her floor, she ran all the way to the room. She felt as if she’d been delivered a one-two punch straight to the stomach. Now she had no choice but to do the same to Slater. She burst through the door as he was walking out of the bathroom. He had a white towel wrapped around him, and his hair was wet and wavy. The muscles of his arms and shoulders rippled as he patted his body dry with another towel. For a moment, the gorgeous sight of him made Phoenix forget what she was there to do.
“I still have a hard time lifting my arms very high,” he said. “How about helping me dry my hair?”
He handed her the towel and stepped close. She took the towel and reached up to rub his dark waves. That put her flat against his chest. She could feel the moist warmth radiating from his skin and smell the clean scent of him as his arms folded around her.
“You should have been here to take that shower with me,” he murmured.
He pulled the tail of the pale peach linen blouse she purchased this morning out of the waistband of her eggshell, loose linen slacks. She’d wanted to think of herself and Slater as just another tourist couple when she picked this outfit from the rack in a dress shop in the underground mall. She’d even coordinated it with beige leather strap sandals and a matching shoulder bag. She could hardly look more normal and benign, but that was only on the surface. She had made these wardrobe selections and put on this outfit before she’d found out the two pieces of shocking news she was here to tell Slater now. She stepped back out of his arms as his lips began a trail of kisses across her eyelids.