by Lucia Sinn
Nellie kept her eyes on the wall and lowered her voice. “David was Bud’s nephew.”
“What?” Julie shocked response was so loud that Nellie frowned and put a finger to her lips.
“Not everyone knew it.”
“This is crazy, Bud told me he was raised in Indianapolis and his father was Mexican. Anyway, he looks nothing at all like David. How can this be?”
“Bud’s mom came down here with a mission group and got herself pregnant by a married man—a cowboy in Guanacaste—a mestizo. She went back to Indy and had the baby, but Bud tracked the father’s family down several years ago. Found out he had aunts and uncles and cousins and brothers and sisters—a whole extended family. Poor as dirt, I might add. He took David under his wing and brought him to San Jose for his schooling.”
“Nellie, you’ve only been here a few months. How come you know all these secrets about Bud?”
“Bud came to me when I first opened the place. Asked if I’d pass on any useful information I overheard.”
Julie shut her eyes and opened them again, seeing Nellie in a new way. “You mean to tell me you’re a secret agent, too?”
“Lord, no,” Nellie said. “I just agreed to work with Bud and let him know if I heard about any suspicious things about drug deals, or military plans. Drugs and war are all tied up together down here. You can hear a lot if you keep your ears open, especially after the men have had a few beers.”
“Isn’t it kind of dangerous? Spying like that? Why would you want to get involved?”
“Why not? I needed any friend I could get. Anyway, why shouldn’t I help my country? I told you I worked at the Legion Hall. A lot of the men were disabled from serving in the wars. When Bud asked for my help, it seemed like a natural, patriotic thing to do. In turn, Bud’s done a lot to help me get started. Like sending you to me that day—knowing that I needed someone who could understand Spanish and speak English.”
“Bud told me David did some work for him, too. Do you think he was murdered?”
“Possibly. Bud isn’t sure if it was that, or just an accident. There’s so much going on around the world and one never knows these days. But I’m afraid you’re still in danger. Someone left something here for you last night.”
Julie had been about to ask Nellie more about Bud, who he really worked for. But the look on Nellie’s face sent a chill through her body. “Left something for me? Who? Was it Cody? Did you see him and his sidekick?”
“I didn’t see them, but—.” Nellie’s eyes went to the door.
“But what?”
“One of my waiters. He brought me something to give you.” Nellie went to the small decorated ox-cart that stood beside the door. Carefully, she lifted off a potted plant, put it on the floor, and extracted something with a chain that sparkled in the light.
Julie steadied herself against the counter top. She doubled over and pressed her arms against her waist.
“You’ve caught cold,” Nellie said. “Walking in the rain was crazy.”
“It’s not the cold.” Julie stared at the pendant resting in the center of Nellie’s outstretched palm. She felt disoriented, as if she were in one of those dreams where the past and the present merge into a puzzling labyrinth. The pendant didn’t belong here in the kitchen of the Memphis South. One side was a gold watch with black roman numerals, covered with celluloid. Julie knew what was on the other side before she turned it over: a small enameled painting surrounded by gold filigree. It depicted a medieval nobleman with shoulder length hair, a ruffled shirt, and a red plumed hat. Someone had brought it from Italy years ago and given it to Julie’s mother. Nothing expensive, but somewhat unique, and always, it elicited comments when Maggie wore it with an open necked blouse.
No one had ever seen a pendant just exactly like that. It was always kept on the top shelf of Maggie’s wooden jewelry box, resting comfortably against navy blue velvet. Now, it was in Costa Rica. Julie moved her lips silently and told herself it wasn’t the same pendant, it was just a weird coincidence. But she knew better.
Nellie put her arm around Julie’s shoulder. “What is it?” she whispered, “Is it something you lost?”
“Not something I—.” Julie’s throat tightened. “It belongs to my mother. Where did the waiter get it? What did he say? I have to talk to him right away.”
“He said someone left it for you last night. A couple of men came in and said to tell you they were going back to the states and—” Nellie bit her lip
“And what?”
“And that you’d better too.”
Julie covered her face with her hands. “They’re going after my mom. That’s what they’re telling me.”
“But why would they hurt your mom? You’re the one who witnessed the murder.”
Julie stood up and began pacing.
“It’s not just what I saw, Nellie. There was some money. My friend gave it to me, but they say it’s theirs. And they want it back.”
“Jesus. Drug money?”
Julie nodded. “I suppose you’ll tell Bud.”
“So. All you have to do is give it back, right?”
“Not so simple, I’ve spent some of it—a lot of it, actually. They might settle for what’s left.”
“But your life will be worthless after they get it. They want you dead.”
“I can’t worry about that part of it. Whatever happens, I’ve brought it on myself. I can’t let them hurt my mom. For all I know, they’ve got her right now.”
Nellie looked toward the telephone. “That’s easy to find out, baby. Just call her.”
Julie said: “Of course, I have to call her anyway to warn her. It’ll be expensive, I’ll pay you.”
“I know you’ll pay me, now start dialing!” Nellie tugged on Julie’s arm and pulled her to the phone.
*
Julie rested her forehead against the wall for a moment, trying to remember her mother’s area code and telephone number. But when the operator came on, she heard the numbers coming out of her mouth and they sounded right.
Finally, a static-filled connection was made, followed by a long, trilling sound. Julie pictured the white cordless phone that sat on the front desk in the hallway; envisioned the slight look of annoyance that surfaced whenever Maggie had to interrupt what she was doing to answer the phone.
“Another telemarketer, I suppose,” Maggie would complain, wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she emerged from the kitchen. Julie always wondered why they didn’t simply put the land line in the kitchen since that’s where her mother spent a large part of her time. But it had been on the desk in the hallway when Mom and Jed were married, and on the desk it stayed.
Jed and Mom might not be home, but at least she’d get the answering machine and could leave a message warning them that they were in danger. The phone rang once, and she braced herself to wait until it had rung five times and the message tape clicked in. To her relief, Jed answered the phone before it had rung a second time.
“Yes?” His voice sounded unnaturally high, tense.
“Jed. It’s Julie.”
“Yes?” he repeated.
What was wrong with the man? Didn’t he realize who he was talking to? “I need to talk to Mom as soon as possible. What time is she coming home?”
There was a pause. “I don’t know.”
Julie slumped against the wall. “Why? What happened?”
“Maggie’s been kidnapped by a man who called and warned me that if you don’t get back here with his money, he’s going to kill her.”
“Oh my God! I suppose you’ve called the police?”
“Of course I’ve called the police. Where in the hell are you and what is this all about? What have you done?”
“The man who called, Jed. Did he leave a place where he could be reached?”
“No, he didn’t. Men like that don’t tell you where they are.”
“Well, when he calls back, tell him you’ve heard from me and I’m coming home on the next plane.”
>
“When? When are you coming?”
“As soon as I can get on a flight, I’m going straight to the airport.”
“You do that. Otherwise, you may not see Maggie again.”
Julie’s legs went watery. She had never heard Jed sound so distraught. He was supposed to be the rock they all leaned on. She tried to sound confident. “I’m sorry about this Jed. But I promise you, I’m coming home immediately and I’ll have what they want.”
“What kind of a mess are you in?”
“Nothing that can’t be remedied. Mom’s going to be fine, don’t worry.”
“Easy for you to say.” Jed’s bitterness and rage came crackling across the telephone wires. But there was no use letting things escalate into another one of their usual arguments.
“I’ll call you soon,” she told him. “I have to leave now.” She hung up without waiting for him to answer.
She turned to Nellie, who was watching her with a worried expression. “It’s your mom, isn’t it?” Nellie said. “Something’s happened to her.”
“I’ve got to get to the airport. She’s been kidnapped, they’re holding her hostage till I come back.”
“One of my boys can drive you there.” Nellie was already summoning one of the waiters, rummaging in a drawer for her car keys.
Adrenaline pumping, heart pounding, Julie picked up her backpack. It was too late to do anything about the check to the Bishop’s Relief Fund; the money was gone. She’d have to hope they’d settle for what she had. She’d stop at her rooming house, check out, then go to the bank. She was almost out the door when something pulled her back. She couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye.
Nellie gave her a bear hug. “I want to hear from you,” she said in a husky voice. “Let me know what happens, promise? Don’t leave me wondering.”
“I promise,” Julie said. “When you see Bud, just tell him I went back to Indiana.”
“Will you ever come back?”
Julie remembered the cool, fresh smell of the air as dawn broke over the mountains in Santa Clara. The vibrant voices of cicadas joined by the croaking of frogs at twilight. The scent of flowers. Oscar and Rosita. Dancing with Enrique under a velvety starlit sky. It was beginning to seem like only a dream, and that frightened her. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be,” she told Nellie.
Nellie nodded. “Just remember, you always have a job here.”
Tears of gratitude blurred Julie’s vision. “I’ll be in touch,” she called over her shoulder, following the waiter out the door.
Later, after she hassled with the bank to get her money, they drove past the Gran Hotel on the way to the airport. Julie strained her eyes to see if Bud might be sitting at his favorite spot on the loggia. But she could see only the twirling fans and groups of people clustered around the tables. She envied the carefree tourists pondering their travel books and planning day trips while they sipped pina colodas or ice tea with lime.
From the square outside the opera house came the mournful wail of the ocarinas as Nicaraguan merchants splashed through puddles of water, peddling their shabby wares. The clouds parted in the leaden skies, sending a feeble ray of sunlight through the mist. A clot of emotion rose in Julie’s throat. Just for a little while, she’d had a glimpse of happiness. Would she ever feel that way again?
*
The airport traffic seemed unusually dense. Several tour buses blocked the front door of the terminal, and swarms of tourists milled around the sidewalk outside. A red-faced duffer wearing a polo shirt and checked seersucker pants tried pushing his way through the crowd only to be knocked down. A small group of white haired women formed a circle and helped lift him to his feet.
“What going on out here?” Julie asked.
The driver of Nellie’s car shrugged, as puzzled as she by the commotion. “You still want out?” he asked.
“Of course, I have no choice.” She thrust several bills in his hand, and jumped out of the car, holding her backpack across her belly for safety. It looked peculiar, but she couldn’t take a chance on losing the money.
“What is it?” she asked a woman with deeply wrinkled folds of leathery skin hanging from her sharp cheekbones.
“Oh it’s terrible,” the woman cried. “There’s an American Airlines strike. We’re stranded.”
Julie knew that all of these people would soon be clawing and bribing their way onto other overbooked airlines. Queues were forming at the ticket counters. She tried to sneak ahead in one of the lines only to be met with physical resistance. A spindly lady with a straw hat poked her with an umbrella, and several of the waiting passengers hissed while blocking her path. “My mother is being held hostage,” she wanted to scream. But what was her mother’s life worth when their precious travel plans had been interrupted?
“How long have you been waiting?” she asked a young American boy with a shaved head, tank top, and sandals who seemed to find the whole frantic scene amusing.
“Couple of hours. I’m hoping they’ll get us to Miami and then put us up there for the night for a free day of extra vacation, maybe.”
Oh God, to be so young and carefree. The last thing Julie wanted was a free night in Florida. She spotted an airline official with an air of authority striding through the crowd, looking straight ahead. Impulsively, she stepped forward and tugged his arm. “This is an emergency,” she said in Spanish. “I have to get home, my mother is dying.”
He looked at her with sad tired eyes. She felt nervous about lying, but in a way it was the truth. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll do the best I can for you. But there are hundreds—” he paused to wipe his forehead.
Julie reached in her bag, pulled a bill from the top of the pack, and pressed it into his hand. The man cocked his head to one side and glanced down. Julie braced herself for the worst. Of course, he would be totally insulted. Now she’d never get home; he’d probably fix it so she was the last one to leave.
But when he looked up, his fleshy lips were spread into a sly smile. “Follow me,” he said, leading her to one of the waiting areas. “Do you mind a few stops along the way?”
“How many stops?”
“Probably four.”
“Four?”
“Sorry, but it’s the best I can do. It’s a Guatemalan airline. Just short stops in Nicaragua, San Salvador, and Guatemala City. You connect with Delta in Miami, then on to Indianapolis.”
“Fine. If it’s the best you can do, I’ll take it. But won’t I need a ticket?”
“Yes. It will cost $1,200 American dollars. Cash.”
She felt a surge of outrage that quickly dissipated. He was ripping her off, but she had to get back. “All right,” she agreed,” and when does the plane leave?”
“Half an hour. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes with your ticket.”
Julie sat down and closed her eyes, trying to clamp down on the rush of worry filling her brain. What were they doing with her mother? Was she suffering?
She felt a hand on her knee and was hit by the strong odor of whiskey. Startled, she sat upright and saw a middle aged man with a thinning wreath of sandy hair, pockmarked face, and several days’ beard.
“Can I sit on your lap, honey?” He pointed to his backside. “Keep me from getting it shot.” His upper right arm under a tank top sported a large serpent tattoo—a hideous creature with fangs and gimlet eyes.
Julie moved back from his boozy breath. “What makes you think you’ll be shot?”
He uncapped a silver flask and took a short pull. “Ever been through Nicaragua, babe? They got soldiers waiting at the airport with anti-aircraft. If I’m on your beautiful lap, you’ll take the flak, not me.” He gave her a long slow wink that formed deep creases in his sunburned face.
Oh God, all she needed was this drunk following her around. Why would they let an inebriated person on the plane—especially one who was drinking so blatantly? The flight attendant gave them a curious glance, and yet, when it was time to board, she gave
them a bored look, took their tickets, and allowed him to stagger down the jet way. The drunk sat down beside Julie and the plane took off within minutes.
As they swooped down to land in Nicaragua and Julie saw rows of army helicopters lined up, seemingly poised for combat, she began to wonder if the man was really as drunk as he seemed. Maybe he had a legitimate worry. The captain’s voice came over the intercom: “We will stop just a few minutes in Nicaragua. Do not move from your seats. Do not attempt to go into the terminal.”
Julie peeked outside, half expecting to see gun toting militia, but all she saw was a small airport and—true to the Captain’s promise— they were soon nosing upward into the clouds. The roads and streets seemed deserted. “What is it?” she asked the man. “Where is all the traffic?”
“No traffic. No cars. It’s a poor country.” He lifted the flask to his lips. “Not a good vacation spot, babe.”
They were allowed to disembark for an hour layover when they reached San Salvador. There was no jet way, so the passengers stepped onto moveable stairs, then walked across the airfield into the terminal. Armed guards wandered the airport and guarded the exits. The soldier’s tawny faces were unsmiling and immobile; their dark eyes darting back and forth suspiciously.
It was frustrating to know that Enrique was in this country, but there was no way she could go up into the mountains and find him. In a spurt of wild, irrational optimism, she scanned the crowds hoping that by some chance his face would appear. There were travelers from many nations, but it was easy to spot the affluent Americans who raced toward the duty free shops to stock up on perfume and whiskey. How much did they really save, and was it worth the risk of the stuff breaking and spilling out all over the other things in their suitcase?
“Hey, let’s go out that door and get some fresh air.” Julie’s woolgathering was interrupted by the drunk who materialized at her side.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Those security guards are pretty determined not to let us out any door except the one we came in.”