by Jerold Last
Roger mulled that one over for a bit. “It’s crude, but has the benefit of being a simple plan that doesn’t require elaborate timing or scheming. And like all good lies, it has a basis in truth. It always surprises me that ‘good cop, bad cop’ ever works, but it does really work. I think it might be worth giving a try.”
Suzanne indicated she was done with dinner and reached over to pick up Robert. “I’ve been surprised all the way through Quito and the Galapagos that neither Barbara nor Gretchen has tried to make any moves on you, Roger. My impression is they’ll flirt with any male they find in their immediate area.”
I gulped the last of my beer, signed the check charging dinner to our room, and stood up. “Yeah, that’s been bothering me, too. I must be getting old. Or maybe I still give off cop vibes. If that’s the answer, it’s an interesting reaction they have to sensing a cop, which may be trying to tell us something about both of them.
“I have a quick stop to make at the desk. Unless Robert gets upset, why don’t you wait for me in the lobby and take a few minutes to enjoy the view.”
On the way back to our room, I walked over to the front desk. The attentive clerk on duty looked up from the paperwork he was filling out as soon as he saw me coming towards him. “Si Señor Bowman, what may I do to help you?”
“We arrived today to spend some time at the hotel. I wonder if you can tell me when our friends will be arriving so we can plan accordingly?”
The clerk rubbed his fingers together in the universal sign that he expected a gratuity for the information. “Of course, Señor Bowman. What is the name on your friends’ reservation?”
It was time for a little currency exchange calculation in my head. There are about 13 pesos to the dollar so 100 pesos would be a little more than $7.50. That seemed right for a small bribe in Guaymas, so I handed him a folded 100-peso note as I asked, “The name will be either Kaufman or Vonhorst. I’m not sure which.”
The clerk discretely checked the denomination of the bill I’d given him, smiled, checked his thin packet of reservation slips, and answered. “We show a party of three reserved under the name Kaufman scheduled to arrive tomorrow afternoon from Mexico City at about 2:00. Is there anything else I can do for you, Señor Bowman?”
“No, thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” I caught up with the others, who’d been waiting for me in the lobby enjoying the view of the beach.
Sophia started to say goodnight and go towards her room, then abruptly changed her mind. “Why don’t you two kids check out the nightlife here at the hotel? I’ll bathe Robert and put him to bed in your room. At my age I don’t sleep as much as I used to, so if you get back any time you’d like until midnight I’ll be fine. You’re going to want to have checked the hotel bar and nightclub out when you’re thinking of places to accidently-on-purpose bump into Raul and the sisters.”
“Thanks, Sophia,” answered Suzanne, “That’s a great idea. We’ll see you later. Don’t worry about your getting enough sleep. It won’t be too late when we get back. We’re looking forward to getting to bed at a reasonable hour. Robert doesn’t seem to understand sleeping in different time zones yet.”
The nightclub was built around dim light from wall and ceiling lamps, booze, and very loud rock music throbbing continuously from a jukebox. It was a large room adjacent to the restaurant, with the same high ceiling, tiled floor, and arched windows in the walls. The drink of choice at the tables and bar seemed to be Margaritas---frozen or on the rocks, with or without the salted rim on the glass, by the glass or by the pitcher. The tables were a lot smaller than those in the restaurant and were tightly scrunched together to leave a dance floor in the center of the room. They were covered with cheap oilcloth to handle drunken spills. Tequila shots and Dos Equis beer seemed to be the only visible alternatives to the omnipresent Margaritas. We scoped the place out, seeing a range of patrons from college age to senior citizens and plenty of empty tables. There were plenty of singles, all males; several same-sex groups, mostly male; and a paucity of couples. The 120-130 decibel sound level drove us out without stopping for a drink.
The bar had a more affluent touristic crowd, less noise, and the same drink selection on most of the tables. The missing couples were here in force, as well as several same sex groups of females or males and a sense we were currently in the right place to pair off for the night. It was hard to tell, but there was a stage and mike on one end of the dance floor, suggesting the possibility of Karaoke later on at night. Our room rental included a few coupons for freebies from the bar, so Suzanne and I each ordered a Dos Equis and sat at a conveniently empty table. We had a nice view of the beach and bay from where we sat.
“Nice spot, isn’t it?” Suzanne commented.
“Yeah, it’s good to just sit and relax while we enjoy the view.”
It seemed too good to be true to be sitting there enjoying the tropical moonlight without any hassles for a change. It was.
A 20-something year old drunk staggered over to Suzanne. “Let’s dance,” he demanded in Spanish as he grabbed her arm and shoulder.
This was neither the time nor the place to demonstrate Suzanne’s advanced skills in karate. I knew her first move would be to break his hold. I decided the second move would be mine, quick and invisible to anyone else in the room. Suzanne made a move, the drunk spun around so he was facing me, and I hit him with exactly the same blow I had used on the Santa Cruz to drop Raul Vonhorst, with the same result. I had made a half fist with my knuckles sticking out pointed forward and pivoted my entire body to get some force behind a blow that travelled less than 18 inches before hitting a particular nerve plexus. In my mind I had aimed for a point 6-9 inches behind the target, so the strike was moving at full speed when it hit. The drunk fell to the floor, paralyzed and struggling to catch his breath. I took Suzanne’s arm and led her out of the bar. We walked out at a normal pace, heading back to our room. My best guess was the drunk would be up and around in 5-10 minutes, but very, very sore for 3-4 days.
Once we were out in the lobby away from the crowded bar, I took Suzanne’s arm and explained. “I know you could have handled him, Suzanne, but I didn’t want anyone here to notice either of us being anything but tourists or seeing us involved in a fight. And let’s not be in a hurry for anyone to know you’re a karate champion.”
“Thanks for the explanation, Roger. I understand. It’s been a long day and we’re both tired. Let’s go back to the room, take care of Robert if he’s still awake, and get some sleep.”
Robert was fast asleep when we got back. We said goodnight to Sophia and arranged to meet for breakfast the next morning.
Chapter20.Mexico: Saturday---Hail, Hail, The gang’s all here
Darwin: I am a firm believer that without speculation there is no good & original observation.
Robert somehow sensed what we wanted and let us both sleep late Saturday morning. We finally woke up around 8 and were on our way to meet Sophia for breakfast in the hotel lobby at 8:30. The meal was served buffet style from a large table along the wall. Fresh orange juice, endless coffee, eggs prepared in several different styles, pancakes, waffles, bacon, ham, mild or spicy salsa, and several Mexican dishes whose names I didn’t know were among the choices.
We got our first real look at the buildings surrounding our hotel in the dazzling bright sunlight of the Sonoran Desert. We were surrounded by high mountain peaks off in the distance on three sides, with the beach, the bay, and the Sea of Cortez to the west. Much of the area between the bay and mountains was sand and desert, with a long line of colorful, semi-attached, 3-4 story adobe buildings along the narrow strand paralleling the beach on both sides of the hotel. The condition of the buildings varied from pretty good (the hotel) to badly damaged and needing work, seemingly at random. The adobe buildings looked like they had been through some hurricanes, which they had been, and like they were originally built cheaply, which they had also been. They looked old and shabby, even while some of them wore fresh coats of pai
nt.
Suzanne was full of energy. “Come on, Roger, it’s still cool outside, at least in relative terms. Let’s leave Robert with Sophia and take a jog along the beach before breakfast.”
We got into jogging gear, phoned Sophia’s room to make the arrangements, and dropped Robert off on our way outside. We exited from the back of the hotel facing the ocean and looking around. North of our hotel the beach curved to the west to follow the contours of the bay. The old, somewhat decrepit adobe shells of the former Club Med dormitories stood forlorn and empty, waiting for a long overdue remodel that might never come. They seemed to have suffered the worst damage from the great hurricane that destroyed the Club Med.
“Let’s jog that way,” said Suzanne, pointing the other direction towards the line of colorful adobe buildings to the south, their edges touching and distinguished from one another only by the changes in color of the walls. The line of buildings was just inland from the edge of the sandy beach and extended for several blocks. She finished her stretches and started jogging in that direction.
Each of the buildings was a square or a rectangle, with little or no architectural embellishment to lend interest to the form or shape. Yellow, beige, and brown exterior walls dominated the adobes, with an occasional pink building added for contrast.
“Pretty colors, but boring, boring, boring,” was Suzanne’s appraisal of the view as we jogged past the buildings.
Abruptly, our view to the east was dominated by a modern, high-rise concrete structure, towards the southern end of the low row of hotels and other buildings, the San Carlos Hotel and Conference Center towering over the mix of 2-, 3-, and 4-story adobe buildings. The concrete was painted bright red and white. The wide central building of 6 stories had large wings on both of its sides, one heading northeast and the other southeast towards the mountains looming behind the buildings. It was easily the width of any six of the adobes, combined. The San Carlos Hotel looked, and was, relatively new.
“Now that’s very nice!” exclaimed Suzanne. “How come you chose the Paradiso for us instead of the new hotel?”
“Several reasons,” I answered. “Remember, I didn’t choose it, Eduardo and Vincente Aleman did. I think the big reason is that’s where the Kaufman sisters and Raul made their reservations and we were supposed to bump into them accidentally. It also fits my cover story of revisiting a romantic place from my past.
“However, knowing Eduardo as well as I do, and most South American officials like General Aleman, the most obvious reason for them to prefer the Paradiso was price, about a fourth of what the new hotel charges per room. I think for them, since they’re paying for Eduardo’s room, cheaper was better. And, to be fair to both of them, the security is much better where we’re staying, which is important here in the heartland of a major drug cartel.”
A few minutes later we were at the end of the line of buildings. “You know what, Roger?” Suzanne asked. “We’ve probably jogged less than a mile and that’s plenty for me in this heat and humidity. How about we head back to our room, and this time let’s run right by the ocean where it may feel a little cooler.”
We were back to the hotel, showered, and ready for breakfast with Sophia and Robert in less than half an hour.
After breakfast we spent a delightful morning on the beach. It hadn’t gotten unbearably hot and humid yet that early in the day, so we all had plenty of energy. Especially Robert. He was fascinated by sand. We had found a red plastic pail and shovel for sale in the hotel’s gift shop. Suzanne taught him how to fill it (sort of) to assist in the construction projects. He and Suzanne built castles, forts, and abstract shapes, which Robert enjoyed destroying as much as making. He carefully tasted the sand, which he inelegantly tried to spit out. Sophia, who had carried a broad beach umbrella out from the hotel’s swimming pool to sit under and a plastic chair to sit in, introduced him to the benefits of a wet washcloth for this job.
Suzanne and I took turns carrying Robert into the warm water of the Bay for a “swim” in between the multiple construction projects. He loved the communal swims, the warm water, and the quality time with Mom and Dad, which happened all too seldom in our normal busy lives, unfortunately. He was less enthusiastic about contact with “icky” stuff like seaweed and floating objects like leaves and branches from the nearby trees.
There was also the chance for Robert to attend the college-level course beach and Bay 101 given by Professor Foster-Bowman. He learned that sand tastes bad, that salt water tastes worse, and that he could float in the warm water of the bay (with a little parental help). Eventually, he learned that it’s hot on a beach in the sun down in the Sonoran Desert. He started to fuss and cry. We all, except for Sophia who left chair and umbrella for the next guest, picked up our towels, pails, shovels, and baby gear and walked the short distance over to the back of the hotel with its huge swimming pool and stone decking, which had a good sized crowd sitting in and around it. Suzanne took the first shift with Robert in the shallow end of the pool, where he played babe magnet to the Geritol set and was once again happy with life.
The pool was a focal point for the hotel guests, many of whom were first timers and were shocked by the heat and humidity in this part of the desert. Chairs, lounges, and shade umbrellas surrounded the pool. For the young and athletic a net had been strung across the middle of the shallow end for volleyball, with water polo goals centered at the north and south ends of the pool for other would-be jocks. I remembered the set-up from my Club Med visit, when a co-ed volleyball game was permanently available from dawn to dusk for anyone who wanted to participate.
Robert had an early lunch before he took his nap under Sophia’s watchful eye. Suzanne and I took our watchful eyes back to the pool to keep a lookout for the Kaufman sisters and Raul Vonhorst. My new friend at the desk assured me the daily flight from Mexico City was due at the Guaymas airport at 1:30, which in Mexican time meant between 1:30 and 2:30 on the good days. By the time they got a taxi they should be checking into the hotel somewhere between 2 and 3 this afternoon.
Suzanne took a quick plunge to cool off, then stretched out on a chaise lounge next to mine. “You take the first watch,” she murmured, “while I try to take a nap.”
At about 2:30 people started arriving at the hotel. As a matter of fact, a total of five people arrived in two taxis. Three of the five were the group we were watching for. Suzanne, refreshed by her nap, spotted the newcomers first. “If we’re meeting by accident, we should be playing this cool. Let’s take a swim and have them find us if they want to when they look out here. My guess is they’ll check out the pool before they go to their rooms, maybe even before they check in.”
Good guess! I heard a woman’s voice calling our names as we splashed around in the pool. “Suzanne, Roger, what on earth are you two doing here?”
Looking up, I saw Barbara Kaufman standing alongside of the pool staring at us. Gretchen and Raul were right behind her. I left the social amenities to Suzanne.
Suzanne stood up in the chest-deep water, shook her head to get a gallon or two out of her hair, and replied. “Barbara, what a pleasant surprise.”
Barbara looked at her for a long second or two. “Hi, Suzanne. It’s quite a surprise for us, too. We need to check in to the hotel and take a quick shower. If you’re still down here in the pool, we’ll see you in about half an hour. If not, let’s all have dinner together here at the hotel at 7 and catch up on what we’ve been doing. OK?”
“Sure, there’ll be four of us, Roger, me, Robert, and our new friend Sophia. Sophia is helping us out with Robert while we wait for Bruce to rejoin us here. We’ll see you guys at dinner, if not sooner.”
The three of them headed back into the hotel. Suzanne watched them walk over to the desk before turning to me. “I think this is a great opportunity for me to hang around the pool while you swim a few more laps and head back to the room. I think keeping you and Raul apart for a while is a good idea. I’ll find a way to get paired off with Barbara and share some j
uicy gossip about what a jerk you’re being about reliving your Club Med experience while I want to do different things. My best guess is anything Barbara hears, they all hear. We can see if Sophia’s ‘good cop, bad cop’ plan will work.”
I went back upstairs to join Robert and Sophia, leaving Suzanne to do her thing in the swimming pool. She rejoined us about an hour later, took a quick shower, and gave us a thumbs-up sign. “So far, so good. I planted the seeds just like we discussed last night at dinner. Let’s try to be five minutes late for dinner tonight so we get to decide who sits where at the table. I’ll get as close to Raul as I can. Roger, you want to sit next to one of the sisters. If you get a choice, I think Barbara is more likely to want to go out and play with you, so sit next to her. Sophia, if you and Robert can be sort of a buffer zone between Raul and Roger, that might be very strategic.”
We ate in the same hotel lobby dining room as the previous night. The seven of us fit comfortably around one of the tables for eight. Robert sat in a high chair between Sophia and his mother, with Raul next to Suzanne on her left. Gretchen was on Raul’s left, with Barbara next to her and me between Barbara and Sophia. Whether due to his placement at the table or innate social skills, Raul was on his best behavior throughout the dinner. I followed his lead and we pretended we were two casual acquaintances who enjoyed each other’s company.