by PJ Skinner
She dressed at a snail’s pace, frightened to emerge from her bedroom into the apartment and to discover the truth. She wandered into the office where she met Marta, who was worrying her quiff with a round brush. Sam kissed her hello and wished her good morning, as was the custom.
Mike was sitting at the table eating a slice of toast with a thick covering of butter. He looked up and asked, ‘You all right, Sam? You look a bit rough, girl. That Gloria will kill you one of these days.’
Sam looked straight into his eyes, which really hurt her against the bright light of the window behind him. She could see that he was neither joking nor angry.
‘I feel rough. Have you heard from Gloria this morning?’
‘No. I guess she’s still snuggling up to Alfredo under her pink eiderdown. She’ll arrive in her own sweet time. There’s no hurry.’
Sam realised that everyone had known about Gloria and Alfredo before she did. She also noted that Mike was familiar with Gloria’s bed linen. But she did not comment, as she needed to stay on Mike’s good side. Staggering to the table, she helped herself to some toast. She tried to figure out what was going on but decided not to say anything unless she had to. She ate the dry toast and drank black tea, hoping to quell her urge to vomit. Tati was hanging around the kitchen door, staring at her as if she were naked. Maybe Gloria had already told Tati what had happened. Why did Mike not know yet?
When there was no mention of the car crash that morning, Sam assumed it was another example of the odd culture of Calderon. She got on with planning the trip to Riccuarte. Mike was both meticulous and miserly with his funds. The trip was planned to the last cent. However, he was not fully aware of Alfredo’s inability to keep to a budget. Sam decided to bring extra cash to fund the inevitable shortfall [how does Sam know that Alfredo can’t stick to budget?]. She got Marta’s cooperation to raid the petty cash.
She was relieved when Gloria came in at lunchtime, acting as if nothing had happened. Sam caught her eye and eventually managed to get her into the kitchen without Marta, who hated to be left out of any gossip.
‘What happened after I left? What happened to the car? Doesn’t it belong to your father?’
‘Don’t you worry about that, Sam. My father was glad that I’m safe and not at all worried about the car. He has lots of cars.’
‘And the police? Are you in trouble for driving drunk?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. My father has dealt with the police in his own way. They won’t make any trouble.’
‘Okay, that’s great,’ said Sam, not understanding how this had been achieved and not wanting to ask as she suspected that she already knew the answer and would not approve.
‘He’s given me another car for now. You mustn’t tell Mike about the accident, in case he fires me for nearly killing you and Alfredo. Can you imagine what would have happened to the treasure hunt if Alfredo had been killed?’
Sam could imagine what Mike’s reaction would have been all too clearly.
‘Of course I won’t tell him. Are you sure everything’s going to be okay?’
‘Everything will be fine. My father’s so relieved that I have a job, he’s prepared to pay anything for me to keep it.’
Sam had heard about Gloria’s father. Marta had been a fountain of indiscreet information about his chequered past. Gloria was his only child. Sam understood his fondness for his feisty daughter.
‘That’s great news,’ said Sam. ‘Your father sounds like a lovely man.’
‘You have to stop me drinking so much, Sam,’ said Gloria.
‘Sure, and get stabbed with a cocktail stick,’ answered Sam, laughing.
‘It’s weird though, Sam.’
‘What is?’
‘I had new brakes and a refill of fluid put into that car last month. They shouldn’t have failed so soon. I gave the mechanics a severe talking to this morning. They promised to check them today and get back to me when they find the problem.’
‘Hmmm. With my limited experience of customer service in Calderon, I’m sorry to say that I don’t think it’s that weird, Gloria,’ said Sam, winking so that Gloria knew she was joking.
Gloria shrugged and left the office with Marta, who begged for the chance to get out of for a couple of hours to buy supplies for the trip. Alfredo arrived afterwards. He was still very drunk and not making much sense. Mike made him lie down in the spare room and shut the door.
Later that afternoon, Wilson came into the office to discuss the trip with Mike. He seemed surprised to find Alfredo in the kitchen but covered it up by making a coarse joke. They were sitting at the kitchen table drinking strong coffee together when Gloria and Marta came back from shopping. When Wilson saw them come in, he stood up suddenly, scraping the chair on the kitchen tiles and stumbling backwards. He grabbed the counter to stop himself from falling. He had gone a funny colour.
‘Are you alright, Wilson?’ asked Alfredo.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. I thought I saw a vision.’
Alfredo, who knew all about Wilson’s appetite for women like Marta, accepted this as the fine art of exaggeration for the sake of effect and went on drinking his coffee. Wilson could not settle down again after this and after a couple of circuits of the office space, he left, muttering excuses.
‘What’s wrong with Wilson?’ asked Sam.
‘Un coup de foudre, I think,’ answered Alfredo. ‘He likes Marta. Well, actually, he likes all women, I think.’
‘Huh,’ said Sam, who tried not to show her alarm at this turn of events. On one hand, she was relieved. Perhaps the torrent of pink fluffy toys would cease. On the other hand, she was horrified that he had focussed his attention on his next victim already.
Marta just giggled and flicked her hair from side to side, as if she was glad to be the centre of attention.
***
Wilson had left the office in a total panic. He was hyperventilating and shaking with fright by the time he reached the street. His shirt clung to his back where a veneer of cold sweat had surfaced. Leaning against the wall of the building, he tried to regain his composure. With trembling hands, he removed a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and took one out to smoke. After struggling to light it, he took a deep drag, which only served to give him a major coughing fit that almost removed his lungs. He stopped coughing and straightened up, red in the face with effort. He took another drag of his cigarette and had a renewed bout of coughing.
A small, bald man with a ferret face who had been watching this from the shadows placed himself right in front of Wilson, uncomfortably close to him. He spoke in a hiss.
‘Wilson Malvado?’ he asked.
Wilson nodded wordlessly, trying to hold down the cough, which was forcing itself up from his lungs.
‘I have a message for you from El Duro. You have exactly one week to pay him his money, or he will cut off your dick and stuff it down your throat.’
The small man smiled, apparently pleased with his delivery and the effect it had on his victim. Wilson was still choking but now more with increased panic rather than cigarette smoke. He managed to catch his breath long enough to speak. ‘I’ll have his money very soon. I promise. A week’s not long enough. If he’ll give me a month, I’ll pay fifty per cent on top. I swear.’
‘Double it and I’ll see what I can do,’ said the man, who planned to take a large cut of the extra money.
‘Okay okay, just give me a few weeks. I’m on to something really big. It’s a done deal, if you let me get on with it.’
The man had heard about Wilson and doubted this very much. But El Duro was rumoured to be related to Wilson and had a soft spot for him. He would surely give him a couple of extra weeks to save his manhood. He stuck out a child-sized hand and spat in the palm.
‘Shake on it,’ he said.
Wilson shuddered as he felt the spit transfer to his hand and only just stopped himself from wiping it clean immediately. The man turned on his heel and strolled down the street with his hands in his
pockets.
Wilson rubbed his hand on his trouser leg to remove the drying spittle. He could not believe what a nightmare the day had been. First, there was the abortive car crash. Jose Falconi, the man he had paid to rig the brakes on her car, had called early in the morning to tell him about Gloria’s car crash on the outskirts of Calderon.
‘The job on the brakes was a success, Mr Malvado. The car was a total wreck. I’m pretty sure that no one would have survived a crash like that.’
‘I should hope so, too, considering how much I had to pay to get it done. Is Miss Sanchez dead, then?’
‘I’m not privy to that information yet, so I can’t confirm any casualties. But I can find out for you later.
‘Casualties?’
‘Yes, I believe there were two people in the car. A Miss Sanchez and a Mr Vargas’
‘Jesus. Are you sure?’
‘That’s what my source says.’
‘Okay, thank you. I appreciate the heads-up.’
Wilson had been elated about the accident until he found out Alfredo had been in the car with Gloria. Jesus! What if Alfredo had been killed and the secrets of the treasure with him? He would be a dead man, too. He could not believe his bad luck. So, he went to the office to find out what was happening. He was completely flummoxed when he met Alfredo there and he had not mentioned the car crash at all. Maybe the police officer was mistaken? Perhaps only Gloria had been in the car. However, when she also waltzed into the office as if nothing had happened and started chatting to Marta, Wilson was stunned.
That woman must be made of steel. She did not have a scratch on her and she had not even mentioned the crash. Wilson could not understand it. He was completely unaware that some people actually wore seatbelts. It never would have occurred to him.
It was a disaster. He had always been concerned that Gloria would tell Mike about his debts and other shady dealings. But now with the prospect of finding the treasure, Wilson had to be sure that never happened. If Mike fired him, he would not be able to get the information he needed. He would be toast. He had to get the treasure for himself, or El Duro would make him pay. It seemed like his luck was about to run out. He would play it by ear for a couple of days and act again only if he had to. After all, Mike was still treating him like a long lost brother and had even forwarded him some of his salary. This was not the behaviour of a suspicious man.
***
On the other side of Calderon, the mechanics in the garage surveyed the wreckage of Gloria’s car, which had been hauled over the engine pit.
‘How the fuck did she survive this?’ asked Felix, the head mechanic.
‘I don’t know. Can you smell the whisky? They must have been drunk as skunks.’
‘Miss Sanchez says the brakes went. I don’t know how that’s possible. I replaced them and refilled the brake fluid just a few weeks ago. Perhaps she was driving too fast. It wouldn’t be the first time.’
The other mechanic snorted.
‘She’s some woman. I wouldn’t mind taking that firebrand into my bed.’
‘The boss would kill you for sure.’
‘Yes, but it would be worth it.’
They both laughed. The head mechanic slid into the pit under the car and poked around underneath it. His companion leaned against the crumpled vehicle and smoked an illegal cigarette. Suddenly, there was a commotion under the car and the head mechanic swore loudly. He emerged, rubbing his head, which he had hit on the axle. He had gone a funny colour.
‘Holy fuck, Angel. Someone has tampered with the brakes,’ said Felix, visibly shaken.
‘Seriously? Are you sure it wasn’t the accident that did it?’
‘No. Someone has made small holes in each brake line. They must have used a gimlet or something similar. The fluid would have been forced out bit by bit each time the brakes were used until it ran out. Oh my God, someone tried to kill Miss Gloria. We must tell her father straight away in case they are still trying.’
‘Don Sanchez? Are you kidding me? What if he blames us? He will make us disappear,’ replied Angel.
‘It’ll be much worse if he finds out and we weren’t the ones who told him.’
‘You’re right. I’ve heard he’s a man who likes to take revenge. You should call him now. He likes to be at home for lunch. I’ll take some photographs of the damage to the brakes. We need to cover our butts on this one.’
‘That’s a good idea. You never know what might happen next.’
Felix went over to the grease-covered work bench and moved piles of stained paper and random wiring out of the way. The telephone was under a stack of copies of invoices owed by the rich clients who used the garage but were not too bothered about paying their bills. He rifled through them for the telephone number of the Sanchez residence. Then he pushed them aside and grabbed the receiver. He got through to the Sanchez household and asked to speak to the boss. He could hear the indignant grumbling caused by his interruption of the boss’s lunch, a sacrilege unlikely to be forgiven. He almost hung up the phone but decided that the damage had already been done. He could hear the heavy footsteps making the wooden floor creak, as Hernan Sanchez made his ponderous way to the telephone. There was a bout of laboured breathing and then the sound of a chair being pulled up.
‘What the devil do you mean by disturbing my lunch, Felix? This had better be important.’
‘Señor Sanchez, it’s a matter of life and death,’ replied Felix. ‘I think someone tried to kill your daughter last night.’
There was a long silence punctuated by more heavy breathing.
Finally, Hernan Sanchez asked, ‘I thought she crashed the car. Are you absolutely sure about this, Felix? And I mean absolutely sure?’
Felix knew what he meant but there was no going back now. He had the evidence in his workshop.
‘Señor Sanchez, I swear on the Virgin. Someone tampered with the brakes.’
Hernan Sanchez hung up the telephone without saying another word. He called over to the maid, who had returned his lunch to the oven and was hovering in the kitchen waiting to take it out again.
‘Agatha, bring me my address book.’
The tiny maid scurried into the study and returned with an ancient address book, dropping several loose pages on her way and bending down to pick them up. She could not read so she could not put them back in the right place. She looked at her boss in supplication. He waved the problem away and beckoned her forward. He had soon shuffled the pages into the right order and looked for the correct number. In the book, Hernan Sanchez had some contacts from the old days, whom he knew to be au fait with dodgy goings on in Calderon. Someone who could find out who had rigged the brakes on Gloria’s car and why. He grunted with satisfaction as he found the number and dialled it immediately.
The phone was answered by someone who had his mouth full and had obviously also been disturbed at their table.
‘Hello. Who’s calling me at this hour?’
‘Segundo, it’s Hernan Sánchez. I’m sorry to disturb you at your meal but I need your help and it can’t wait.’
The tone of voice at the other end of the line immediately became apologetic and obsequious.
‘Señor Sanchez, you do me a great honour. How can I, Segundo Duarte, help such an important man?’
‘Segundo, my daughter had a crash last night, which she was lucky to survive. It was not an accident. I need you to find out who cut the brake lines. Can you ask around? Use your discretion. I’m sure someone will have told someone, who told someone else, if you know what I mean.’
‘Of course, boss. I’ll get right on it. The scum who did this will pay.’
‘Don’t do anything foolish, Segundo. We need to know who paid him to do the job and why it was done, before he pays for his savagery.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand. You can rely on me. Thank you for thinking of me. I will not let you down.’
‘Thank you, Segundo. Quick and quiet, please.’
Señor Sanchez hung up and signalle
d to the maid that he would now like his lunch. Agatha brought the food to the table and served him a new platter. Unusually for him, his appetite had now quite disappeared. He toyed with the food for some time before abandoning it. He felt sick with worry for his beloved daughter and wondered what sort of trouble she could possibly have got into that had led to such extreme measures being taken against her. He would not tell Gloria for the time being. The poor girl had enough problems in her life without this.
He took his coffee in the study and was soon snoozing in his big, leather chair. [Is it likely that he would be able to sleep after drinking coffee and hearing that someone had tried to kill his daughter?]
***
Back in the office, Mike chatted to Sam.
‘Isn’t it great, Sam? I’m so excited about the possibility of finding the Incan treasure. I’ve always dreamed of being a wealthy man and having my own yacht. When I was young my mother, God rest her soul, was a bit of a social climber, and she constantly forced me into social circles where I couldn’t compete in terms of money or education. I realised very quickly that in Britain, class was something that couldn’t be purchased but I was determined to better myself anyway and set about reading every book I could find. I travelled far and wide getting experience in other cultures and countries.
As I got older, I realised that very rich people liked to invest in riskier schemes as a side-line to all those boring bonds and properties. It’s like an expensive casino for them. The rewards can be huge—and hugely unlikely—but they like to take a punt sometimes. I was perfectly placed to put them in touch with my contacts worldwide, many of whom were specialized in finding unlikely projects for investment. The lost treasure of Atahualpa is an entrepreneur’s dream. It has everything: adventure, history, violence, mystery. I’ve had no trouble at all convincing Edward to put up the money to pay all the salaries and office bills in Calderon, funding the trips to the jungle and so forth.’
‘That’s great,’ said Sam, ‘I’m feeling pretty excited myself. I’ve been working very hard on my Spanish in case I need to communicate without Wilson. I admit that I’m not pleased that he’s coming along to Riccuarte but I do understand. Alfredo’s very fragile right now.’