“I am not thinking, of course you could not easily hide the money from them. I will find a more discreet way to thank you.” Retrieving a pen, Halcón wrote a name and phone number on an empty Derby pack. Mendez, it read, Panama City. “He is a trusted contact, use a safe phone.”
The candle had gone out now, but Glo had found a flashlight, and was beaming it at Maggie, still on the floor, slowly and carefully peeling the tape from her mouth. “Honey, get up, don’t just sit there, let me help you with that.”
Maggie was staring hard at Slack, he thought she was trying to communicate something, but he had to focus all his attention on getting Halcón out of here. He heard a distant thrumming out on the canal, it sounded like boat engines.
Halcón took Glo’s hand. “Come, mi amor, the night has not many hours left.”
“Whoa,” Slack said. “She’s staying.”
Glo shook her head. “It’s been right nice knowing y’all, Slack.”
“What the hell is going on here?”
Halcón shrugged helplessly. “I am now the prisoner.”
Slack saw a softness in his eyes, not quick and darting now, but distant and hazy. Maybe he should have guessed, Halcón had been prepared to give away the entire ransom for Glo, the loot had been in the Suzuki, Johnny could have grabbed the keys, blown Maggie a kiss, and driven off with it.
“You been out in the moonlight too long, Glo?” Slack asked.
“I’m not sure what hit me, maybe a gamma ray burster.”
“You are going with him?”
“He’s a Sagittarius.”
Slack found that answer insufficient. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Hell, I’ve finally come to my senses, I have a life all of a sudden. Y’all don’t suppose I’m going back to Chester and what passes for his life? Didn’t I hear he was planning my funeral?”
“I will escort them,” said Frank. He was outside the door, he’d been watching this interplay, fascinated.
“Two seconds,” said Glo. She bent to Maggie’s forehead and kissed it, then began whispering in her ear as she peeled the last of the tape from her mouth.
The noises from outside grew louder. Slack looked out, an entire son et lumière seemed to be advancing up the lagoon, an invading force of launches. “All aboard, anyone who’s going. In ten minutes, it’s going to be like Mardi Gras around here.”
Glo kissed Maggie on the lips, gave her a fist, said, “Go for it, baby,” then took Halcón’s hand and followed him out the door.
Halcón paused, took Slack’s hand. “Until God brings us together, maje. Adiós.”
“Buena suerte.”
On the stairs, Halcón received Frank Sierra cordially, with a bow of respect to the man who had so long and doggedly pursued him. As they hurried down the trail, they were laughing, maybe at some old private joke. Glo turned and blew Slack a kiss. “Good luck, lover,” she called.
Maggie was still sitting, she hadn’t moved an inch.
“You paralyzed? What’s wrong?”
“Scorpion.” She barely breathed the word.
NO TIME FOR SORROW
– 1 –
The gruesome little beast had been on the rafters, where Maggie had been watching it sporadically for the last hour, seeking to distract herself, to focus on a lesser horror than her own impending death. Several minutes ago it had dropped, alighting with a soft plopping sound on her shoulder before finding refuge under her T-shirt, between the Pura and the Vida.
“Don’t just stand there,” she whispered.
He lit a fresh candle, knelt and inspected the bulge made by tail and stinger curled to strike. From outside, she could hear boat horns, shouts.
“The preferred approach is to grab it from beneath the tail while praying.” He plucked the trespasser between two fingers, drawing it from her skin by pinching a tent in the T-shirt. “This is nothing. I had one land on me in bed, a damn mother, covered with her babies, about a hundred of them.”
“Get rid of that thing.”
“We haven’t a strong case against the perpetrator; we have to let him go. I’m dealing with guilt enough. I executed a beautiful animal out there, a crocodile. I’m afraid you’re going to have to slip out of that shirt.”
“I’m beyond modesty.”
While he held the pulsing little creature, she raised her arms and slid free of the shirt. As he bore it outside, she took a deep breath, struggled up on rubbery legs, and made her way to the bedroom, selecting a shirt and pants from the pile of clothes.
Slack stayed outside, his back to her while she changed. He was staring out at the flotilla approaching the shore: a dozen boats, a pontoon barge bearing a TV truck that bristled with antennae and transmitters.
Finally came the question she was dreading: “Why didn’t you wait for me in Limón?”
He probably thought she had been completely irrational. “I’m sorry, I panicked. Jericho was going to kill Glo if Halcón didn’t return with the money in two hours.”
“You were thinking with your heart, not your head.”
She must find words to thank him for his heroic acts, his kindnesses — though maybe words were not enough. “I think that sweet hunk has the hots for you,” Glo had whispered, “so go watch some damn birds with him, take the sunset cruise.” Maggie’s parting words were briefer: “Sisters in spirit forever, Glo.”
She joined Slack at the railing. The barge was nudging its way to shore; the smaller boats were jostling for rights to the two-log dock.
“You know where Halcón is taking her?” he asked.
“He said something about returning to the Andes. They both like to ski. What are we going to tell the press?”
“We stall them, give Bonnie and Clyde enough lead time.”
“Slack, you could be in a really bad spot. I’ll say I sneaked off with Halcón, okay? I gave him the ransom and you came later.”
“Hell, no.”
The helicopter had landed not far away; she could hear the engine throttling down. Another now appeared overhead, low and menacing, spearing them in its spotlight. “That’ll probably be Bakerfield,” Slack said.
She followed him inside, where he lit a few kerosene lamps, then poked among some bottles on a shelf, finding a half-filled quart of guaro. He poured a generous ounce in a glass and took a swallow, then suddenly turned to her. “I have something to tell you. I’ve rehearsed various ways to say this, and I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble conveying what I feel, but … well, I admire you.”
That seemed not the verb he was really seeking. She waited in tense silence for elaboration.
“Maggie, I’m going to say this, and it’s not easy — in fact it’s damned scary, and maybe for you it’s phenomenally awkward news. But I’m developing a thing about you.” He drained his glass. “A fairly heavy thing.”
“A thing … well, that’s flattering.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“I was bowled over when we first met that time outside the Darkside; you were so damn tough and beautiful and caring … I read all your books, and I know I’m not your type; you like clean-shaven patricians with tuxedos and Ph.D.s. Or law degrees … forget I said that. Anyway, God knows how, but it happened. End of subject. We have visitors.”
From behind her came a ruckus: loud voices, feet stomping up the stairs. Her mind was still absorbing Slack’s “fairly heavy thing” as she turned, and she collided with a chair, almost falling over it. Before she steadied herself, several flashbulbs blinded her, and she realized — in a moment of crushed vanity — that tomorrow she would be looking ridiculous on the front page of the Saskatoon Star-Phoenix.
Within ten minutes, at least thirty media persons had filed inside; the house sagged dangerously with their weight and was loud with gabble and shouted questions. “What happened to the kidnappers?” “Where’s Gloria-May?”
Many of the reporters seemed to know him — he had been the source of many caustic sound bites. A grinning Ed Creeley s
hook their hands. “Bolshevik, eh? You should get the bullshit-artist award, Slack. What the fuck’s going on here? We got a whole bunch of eyewitness accounts that Halcón was seen boating up this way with a woman.”
“Okay, folks, I’ll say this slowly so you can catch every word: the kidnapping was engineered by Senator Chester Walker; he set the whole damn thing up.”
That was met with a sudden shocked silence while Slack calmly poured another two fingers of guaro. “Chuck also hired a drug dealer by the name of Elmer Jericho to murder his wife. That contract was not completed, Ms. Walker is safe, and Jericho is at this moment on his way to an airfield. That’s my opening statement. Maggie?”
She had not expected to be called upon so abruptly. “Well, Mr. Cardinal here was hired by the U.S. government as an undercover agent, and he should get a ton of medals. I’m fine, in excellent shape, obviously; so is Gloria-May. She doesn’t want it known where she is. She — how can I put it? — well, obviously she’s hiding, her life has been threatened.” She added brightly, “She was in cheerful spirits when I last saw her.”
She was being looked at with uncomprehending expressions; reporters who had recovered from shock were scribbling furiously as she and Slack recounted Elmer’s drug-addled threats and admissions. “I can’t get this straight,” said CNN’s Monique Delgado. “Was Halcón here or not?”
“No immediate comment on that one,” Slack said.
Creeley asked, “He get paid off?”
The house shook as six agents burst in, brandishing weapons, searching among the crowd in confusion until they recognized Maggie and Slack. A female agent drew Maggie off to a corner. She tried to fend her off, to return to Slack’s side, then was astonished to see a clean-cut young man pointing a pistol at him.
Reporters complained as they were herded toward the door, the photographers still frantically busy with their cameras.
Slack was looking at the gun with a bemused expression, sipping at his guaro. “You going to read me my rights, Theodore?”
“That man saved my life at least three times in twenty-four hours.” Maggie shouted this, for the ears of the last reporters being pushed out the door. “He saved all our lives!”
Now framed in the doorway was the grizzled bulk of Hamilton Bakerfield, looking around, his eyes settling on Maggie. “How are you feeling, Miss Schneider?”
“Damned angry. Tell that man to put his gun away.”
“What’s with the blood on you, Sawchuk?”
“I took one in the ass for the free world.”
“Is what I’m assuming right? You gave Johnny four million dollars and threw in Gloria-May Walker as a tip?”
“Tell Theodore children shouldn’t play with guns.”
“He’s going to escort you out. He’s going to put you on a flying machine. When we get where we’re going, we’re going to talk. If I don’t like what I hear I’m going to turn you over to the local civilian authority until I can get an extradition order to haul your sorry ass to Leavenworth.”
– 2 –
Blossoms from bedside bouquets filled Maggie’s room with sweet competing fragrances. To the grandest was pinned a card with at least a hundred names from her hometown. “You’re the pride of Lake Lenore.” Her parents had presented it to her last night during a brief, teary reunion while her interrogators took a break. Beverley and Woodrow were in a room down the hall: the Canadian Embassy had arranged their accommodations, a charming San José hostelry.
Shedding her pyjamas, Maggie turned on the spout of the lion’s paw tub. The smell of Bakerfield’s cigars still clung to her skin: the ordeal had ended at three a.m. While her bath filled, she clicked on the set: on Canal Siete, a panel of experts was debating the events of last night, smiling Ticos who seemed to be taking pleasure from the seduction of a U.S. presidential aspirant’s wife by their new national hero. As best she could make out, Glo and Halcón were still on the lam.
She had not had contact with Slack since they were spirited separately to San José. As she had feared, his unabashed generosity and his je ne sais quoi attitude to Glo’s elopement with the thief had embroiled him in a cauldron of trouble. But given the circumstances — and her unyielding support — Maggie was confident the authorities would soon release him.
As she soaked in the tub, she played back Slack’s confession of last night, and excoriated herself — his shy courting ought to have been met by more than stunned silence. No man had ever proclaimed his love to Maggie before — or even a “fairly heavy thing.” How could he hold such feelings for her after knowing her so briefly?
As she towelled herself, she tuned to CNN in time to catch footage of last night’s bizarre press conference. Here was Slack, calmly tilting his glass of guaro, a gun pointed at him. That, said Monique Delgado, was her last image of this “unusual key player, who continues to be held for questioning.” Operación Libertad had remained ominously silent all day, and no sightings had been made of “the mysterious Elmer Jericho.”
The White House was speaking in cautious tones: many questions were yet to be clarified. Democrats were calling for a senate inquiry and Republicans were in a quandary — some were distancing themselves from the senator, others standing by him, prepared to accept his firm denials of wrongdoing. The FBI was mum: inquiries were being undertaken.
Highlights were shown of a hastily arranged press briefing in Walker’s hotel suite. The makeup person had not been able to hide the lines of tension that marred his handsome face, but his voice held firm: “Let me make this abundantly clear, I deeply love my wife. I have absolutely no connection with this character Elmer Jericho. He is a drug addict, a thief, and a fugitive. Why would any sane man believe such a scoundrel?” Glo had been brainwashed and placed in a trance, or possibly even drugged. Ms. Schneider and Mr. Cardinal were victims of a sleaze artist. His lawyers had been instructed to commence proceedings against Jacques Cardinal for slander and the theft of four million dollars.
Maggie turned off the set in disgust and went to her parents’ room.
Beverley had had the night to absorb Maggie’s tale of her adventures, physical and romantic, and was now ready with words of advice. “It sounds to me like you backed the wrong horse, young lady, falling for a fleece artist instead of that gorgeous big redhead; he’s a very gracious man.”
“Mom, I didn’t plan it that way.”
“And him rescuing you life and limb. He cross-examined us about you; he was interested from the start. He may be a bit older than you, but you’re no babe in the woodpile, either.”
Beverley had almost relinquished hope for Maggie’s chances, and here was Galahad riding to the rescue on his painful bottom.
“I suppose he has faults,” Beverley said. “To hear him, you’d think all life is doomed on earth — but you’re probably just the antidote he needs.”
“He sure shoots a mean game of pool,” said Woodrow, as if that was enough. Slack had wooed them with gratifying results, buying them dinners, escorting them about Quepos and Manuel Antonio. But she could see the renewed glow of affection in their eyes, and was forced to consider again the irony of feckless love: sometimes the arrows stick to the target; sometimes they simply wound.
Maggie’s debriefing resumed that afternoon in the presence of a scowling Hamilton Bakerfield, monitoring a portable recorder, and Paula d’Annunzio, from the U.S. Justice Department, a straight-laced lawyer with a penchant for law enforcement jargon. Had Maggie, she asked, any idea where “the perpetrator” may have taken Mrs. Walker?
“I have answered that question at least five times, Ms. d’Annunzio. They could be in Tuscaloosa as far as I know.”
“Do you still take the view that Gloria-May Walker’s departure was a voluntary act?”
“She practically danced out.”
“She seemed under a spell?”
“There is a deep attraction, and it’s real.”
“You’re not aware if he threatened her.”
Maggie rebelled, and sp
oke with high energy: “It’s futile to try to claim that money back. A divorce judge would grant her that much. God, the man conspired to kill her.”
Bakerfield interrupted: “Yeah, but the money was given to Johnny Diego by Slack Cardinal, no questions asked.”
“Mr. Bakerfield, that was an arrangement that you and Senator Walker authorized.”
“That’s an issue of interpretation,” d’Annunzio said. “You told us earlier that Jacques Cardinal and Johnny Diego seemed on friendly terms.”
“They weren’t in cahoots, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Your account, Ms. Schneider, suggests that they planned to meet and split the proceeds.”
“Halcón offered, Slack declined.”
“But on the basis of what you tell us, there is reason to believe they have a private agenda. You are not aware of what ongoing discussions took place between these two men.”
Maggie abruptly gained her feet, in a temper at the innuendoes cast by the machine-like Paula D’Annunzio. “Why aren’t you arresting Chuck Walker? He reeks of guilt.”
“It won’t stand up, Ms. Schneider. Without Mr. Jericho, all we have is vague hearsay, inadmissible as evidence.”
“Where’s Elmer Jericho? Do you have him hidden?”
“I’m not here to lie to you, Ms. Schneider. We haven’t found any trace of him.”
Maggie turned on Bakerfield. “You let him fly away. He had a plane waiting, and no one bothered to try to intercept him. Who gave the order to frame Slack Cardinal?”
“Cool down, Ms. Schneider,” Bakerfield said. “We’re only trying to get to the nub of this. Okay, let’s go to the beginning and fill in some detail.”
Maggie sighed and retook her seat.
– 3 –
Got back late to Villas Bongo, now it’s the morning after. Some hasty transcribing of quotes from Benito Madrigal while my meeting with him is fresh. (I now own a laptop!) Lots of people in the visiting room at the Psiquiatrico hospital. He was lucid (but still insisted Halcón and Glo had conspired to steal the ransom money), seemed to be enjoying his fame, proud he had stood up to Walker’s Rangers long enough for Slack and me to escape under his covering fire. “Now the world knows the truth.” He wants to run for president again.
The Laughing Falcon Page 38