by David Pierce
So what I was quizzing Jeff about were such trifling matters as, was Dan reliable? If he didn't show, would it be because of something truly world shattering or merely some picayune get-out, like his dog had the mumps or his horoscope in that day's Puerto Morelos Gazette said avoid sea trips? Jeff assured me his old pal was reliability itself. What about his barnacle-hulled, bulkheaded, double electronic (whatever that meant) clunker of a boat we didn't even get to see? Extremely dependable but a mite slow, said Jeff, max speed about twelve knots. I wondered aloud how many boats Dan had already run on the reefs or scuppered or floundered, which is when Jeff said, "Only one."
"Oh, is that all?" I said with exaggerated relief. "That's like dying only once. I suppose all hands were lost, except him."
"Nope," said Jeff calmly, puffing away. "Ever heard of Morro Bay?"
"Nope," I said.
"I have," Sara piped up from beside the other side of Benny. "It's in California somewhere."
"Correct, darlin'," said Jeff. "You get real heavy surf in the harbor mouth there, sixteen-foot waves easy. You also get about three deaths a year up there from boats capsizing, so Dan did good just walkin' away from it."
"More like dog-paddling away," I said, beginning to quiet down slightly. "Probably collecting seashells as he swam. Oh, look, everyone," I said, pointing, "a Bananias treus, you can recognize it by those bunches of green, banana-shaped things hanging all over it."
Jeff chortled, then said, "It's up to you of course, darlin', but I doubt you'll do better than Dan Peel, not that you have a lot of choice this late in the game."
"There is that," said Benny from the seat beside me.
"Right on," said the twerp.
"You, I'll get to later, Benny," I said.
I got to him on the airplane on the afternoon flight back to Mérida from Cancún, as soon as I'd opened my eyes again after takeoff and had visited the bathroomette to wash my hands.
"Benjamin," I said. "Excuse me ever so for disturbing you," I said. "I can see that you are busy looking out the porthole at those fascinating white fluffy objects, but I was wondering, if you didn't mind terribly, letting me in on how we are going to get ourselves from Mérida down to Dan's mud scow. Or if that's too much to ask, perhaps you might drop me a wee hint. Maybe we could make some kind of guessing game out of it to while away the hours."
He grinned across the aisle at me.
"OK," he said. "I'll give you a hint. How does Jorge transport my hammocks to the shipper?"
I thought back.
"In his old truck," I said.
"Voilà," he said. "I already had a word with him about it just in case. Who's going to look for us under a pile of hammocks in that old wreck of his?"
"No one, I hope," I said. "I also hope we can breathe under all that close-weave."
"At least Benny came up with a way to get to the boat, which is a lot more than you did," Guess Who offered unnecessarily from the seat adjoining mine.
"The delegation of insignificant details to trusted hirelings is surely the key to successful leadership," I reminded her, smiling at her fondly. "Do you really imagine Caesar spent his time worrying over trifles like whether his elephants were getting enough vitamin C in their diets? Of course not. His mind was on other, larger matters."
"It's the first I've heard that the Romans used elephants," Benny said. "I always thought it was the other guys."
"Well, Benny, even you don't know everything," I said. "And besides, it's been a closely kept family secret forages."
Even the twerp was amused at that one, although she rolled her eyes heavenward in mock disbelief.
After we'd landed at Mérida, we caught a cab to the hotel, where we all changed into apparel more suitable for the business types we were supposed to be—me and Benny in suits; a skirt and blouse for Doris—and then we walked the few blocks to our office building. We said hola to Fred, who was reading a tattered old Mexican wrestling magazine, as we passed his desk, caught the elevator, opened up the office, and then me and Benny went into conference in the inner room, while Doris plopped herself down at her desk and started bringing her diary up to date, which literary work I seriously doubted would ever rival Pepys'.
I began the conference by asking Benny what the time was. He looked at his watch and announced it was a quarter after four.
"Do you think lunchtime is over now up at Febrero Segundo?"
"I should think so," he said. He went over and opened one of the windows to air the place out a bit.
"OK," I said. "Here is what we are going to do, or rather what you are going to do while I sit back and admire your prowess." I got out the local phone book and after several red herrings finally found a number for Febrero Segundo under "Governmental Services—Provincial." Then I switched on the intercom connecting the offices and asked Doris to please join us if she could bear to tear herself away from her purple prose for a minute or two. I jotted a few words down on the slip of paper with the jail's phone number on it, then explained to Benny the gist of what he should say to Lt. Esparza and what we wanted from him.
When Doris slouched in, I handed her the piece of paper, which she looked at with a mild show of interest.
"Doris," I said. "Would you get a Lt. Joaquín Esparza on the phone at that number, my little chickadee? What you say is written underneath: 'Lt. Joaquín Esparza, por favor, Sr. Keith aqui,' which means, "Mr. Keith here." Then when you get him, you say, 'Momento, por favor,' and Benny'll take over.¿Comprende?"
She tossed her phony curls, turned, and went back out to her desk to use the phone there. Benny picked up the one on my desk.
"Anytime, Doris dear," I called out.
She dialed. She said to whoever answered, "Lt. Joaquín Esparza, por favor." There was a pause. Then Doris called out, "What's he saying?"
Benny called back to her, "He's saying he's out of his office at the moment."
"Even better," I said. "Benny, leave a message asking him to call back, like we said."
Benny nodded.
"Thank you, Miss Day, that'll be all," he said into the phone. "I'll take over." Then he asked whoever it was on the other end to kindly ask the lieutenant on his return to call Mr. Keith, whom he met briefly the day before, at the United States Cultural Association, spelling out the difficult bits. Then he said, "Thank you," and hung up.
Doris came back in immediately. "You really are a bunch of totally dim bulbs," she said scathingly. "Why didn't you leave him our office number?"
"Oh, damn!" I said. "Benny, how could you be so thick? God almighty, you've ruined everything."
Benny looked suitably crestfallen.
"If he looks up the number in the book, as he probably will," Doris steamed on, "that Ethel downstairs will probably invite him to The Nutty Professor. I don't believe you guys sometimes."
"Doris," I said. "Would you do me a small favor, please? Pretty please?"
"I doubt it," she said, wandering around the room looking for something to break or throw or spill.
"When the phone rings, as it will shortly do, answer it by saying sweetly, 'U.S.C.A., good afternoon'—or 'buenas tardes,' if you so desire."
She directed a suspicious look at me.
"OK, big shot," she said, marching over to my desk and glaring down at me. "What's goin' down?"
"Why nothing, darlin'," I said, trying to look as innocent as Benny always does. "Can't a busy executive expect a call? Now simmer down and trust your elders and wisers and go back and scribble some more in that searing, scorching diary of yours, the book that tells it like it never was, the tome that plumbs new depths of raw, naked emotion but is also a sensitive and moving tale of a tender young bud's first flowering under the gentle twin caresses of sun and spring rains—"
Just as I was getting into my stride, the phone rang. All of us jumped out of our skins. Doris ran to her desk; she and Benny picked up their phones at the same time.
"U.S.C.A.," she trilled. "Buenas tardes." Then she said, "Momento, por fa
vor," pressed the talk switch on her intercom, and said loudly into it, without covering the telephone receiver with one hand so the lieutenant could hear, "Mr. Keith, Lt. Esparza on line one."
Line one, I thought. What next. That's the trouble with working with amateurs, they always want to ad lib.
"Thank you, Miss Day," Benny said. Doris hung up, then propped her skinny frame in the open doorway to listen.
"Lieutenant, thank you for calling back so promptly," he said. "You may recall meeting myself and Mr. Blackman yesterday."
The lieutenant said something I couldn't hear, but he was obviously admitting that he did indeed recall.
"I am telephoning for Mr. Blackman, of course, on a matter of some considerable gravity," Benny went on pompously, "to the United States of America. There may also be a not inconsiderable sum of money involved." Here Benny dropped me a quick wink; there was a brief pause while the subcommandant said something else.
"Well, sir, therein lies the problem," Benny said. "As it is a matter of some confidentiality as well as some importance, I am reluctant to go into details on an open phone line. I'm sure you can appreciate that."
Another brief pause.
"We could indeed," said Benny. "But I am not sure it would be wise for Mr. Blackman particularly or for myself to be seen on your premises too often—we do make a rather noticeable couple, I'm afraid." Here Benny gave a mild chuckle. There was another brief pause.
Then he said, "Exactly. What I, therefore, propose is this, if it meets with your approval, naturally. Perhaps you could drop by here at our offices on Calle sixty-three—at your convenience, of course, but we would prefer the meet to take place tomorrow if at all possible. Naturally we would cover any expenses that might be incurred by you and your driver"—another little wink—"or if you prefer, we would be delighted to send a car for you."
There followed another pause, not so brief this time. Benny told me later, when he was translating the conversation for me and Doris, that under all the politeness what the lieutenant said was to the effect that World War III couldn't prevent him from paying us a visit and that tomorrow would be fine by him but it would have to be either before or after the commandant's siesta, since as second in command, he was forbidden to leave the jail for any reason but a dire emergency while the Big Boppa was off duty, so how did noon mañana grab us?
"Excellently," Benny said. "Tomorrow at twelve would be ideal for us. In your own vehicle, as you wish. By the way, we're at Four-nine-nine Calle Sixty-three, between Fifty-eighth and Fifty-sixth. Hasta mañana, then, and many thanks from Mr. Blackman, myself, and the government of the United States."
He hung up and turned to me with a self-satisfied expression, and quite rightly.
"How was that, amigo?"
"Sensational," I said, patting him on the dome. "As usual. And I loved your ad libs about 'a not inconsiderable sum of money' and 'any expenses that might be incurred.' Then I added magnanimously, "Doris, 'line one,' good thinking, my pet."
"So now you got your lieutenant comin' tomorrow," said Doris from the doorway. "Then what?"
"Then what?" I exclaimed. "Wait till you cast your orbs on him, then what. Your false eyelashes will be fluttering like a hummingbird's wings, only faster. You'll have to insert a few asbestos pages in that diary of yours is then what."
"Ethel," said Doris. "She's got to be in it somehow. You got to Ethel, but I don't see how. Or when."
"Simple, child," I said smugly. "You must try and keep up more with the latest technology, as I strive to do. Why, I daily pore over communications manuals and electronic textbooks."
"Sometimes twice daily," agreed Benny solemnly.
"There exists," I said, "a device. A gizmo. A hookup. Call it a connector, which is a simple tool that might best be described as a cradle for two telephones. What you do is lay one phone one way and the other the other way, as close together as possible, so the speaking end of one is talking into the listening end of the other. Ethel, say, gets a call from a certain lieutenant, say. She immediately rings me up on her second phone. She puts the two receivers in their little cradles and there we are, me and the Louie, chatting away merrily to each other."
Doris looked disappointed.
"Oh, is that all?" she said. "Although when you set it up with Ethel beats me."
"I never said I did set anything up with Ethel," I said. "Did you hear me say anything like that, Benjamin?"
"Not in so many words," Benny said.
"I merely said it could have been done that way," I said, getting to my flat feet. "Now, anyone hungry? I must admit to feeling a bit peckish. I don't know why, but that iguana fricassee I had on the plane didn't fill me up."
"Those six beers you had might've," Doris muttered.
So we locked up, we departed, we elevatored, we said adiós to Fred, we strolled to a café, we snacked, we drank moderately, and then Benny and I, hoping to give the locals a thrill, went off to search for a pool hall whose location he vaguely remembered, while Doris went back to the hotel and the pool without a hall. In fact, it was so small it was almost a pool without a pool.
We found the pool hall eventually, a large, windowless abode open to the street, with a good twenty battered and cigarette-burned tables in it, most of them in use. The cost per table was forty-five cents an hour. All the youths seemed to be playing Chicago, a bizarre variant of pool wherein, to start the game, half the balls are lined up with gaps between them against one long cushion and the other half along the other, with one ball, the four, I think, against the middle of the cushion at the far end. I soon got the hang of it, though, and whipped poor Benny two games out of four and then thrashed a wall-eyed, drunken local who tried to hustle me one game out of five, at fifty cents a game. I'm not one for making excuses, but you try shooting decent pool on felt that's been repaired with Johnson's Band-Aids. It also had channels in it you could have sailed shrimp boats in.
On the way back to the hotel I bought us ice cream cones; next to the ice cream stand was a busy laundromat, and Benny remarked, "Those things kept me alive for six months once."
"What things?" I tasted my strawberry cone, which was fair.
"Washing machines," he said, licking his double chocolate.
"How did washing machines help you stay alive?" I reflected. "Maybe it was cold and you slept in a dryer. I saw a TV program once where a guy showed how you could cook all these things in an automatic dishwasher."
"Must have made the macaroni soggy," Benny said. "What I did was borrow this official collector's key for an hour—cost me a hundred bucks and another fifty to get the key copied. It was one of those complicated brass cylindrical ones, and what it did was open all Bendix machines cash boxes. I'd put on a white cap and white jacket and hit the laundromats about noon, because the real collectors do it last thing at night. I never took enough out of any one machine so anyone would notice a few quarters less, but I heard now they got a sealed counter in them like juke boxes so the operator can tell how many times each song is played or each machine is used, but I don't know for sure, I just heard it."
When we arrived back at the hotel it was, by happy coincidence, apéritif time, so we sat in the café out front and apéritifed, me on a cold, cold Corona and Benny on a gin and tonic with a squirt of fresh lime juice in it. After a while he said, "What kind of shape are we in for tomorrow?"
"Pretty good," I said. "We got a few things to do but they won't take long."
"We better fill Sara in," he said, "somewhere along the line."
"Yeah, I guess," I said, waving off a kid about a foot high who was trying to sell me a packet of Cheez-its.
"She's something else, she is," he said. "She'll go anywhere, she'll do anything, she's got all the guts in the world, and she's bright."
"She's coming along," I said. "I've always prided myself on my ability to see the hidden potential in people, and was hers ever hidden."
"She looks kind of cute, too, in her new duds."
"Really?
" I said. "Can't say I've noticed. And they're my new duds, if you want to get technical."
We sat there for a few minutes eyeing the passersby—the endless stream of vendors, the energetic tourists, the long and the short and the even shorter. Pretty Mayan girls with their white-shirted escorts were starting to form a line at the Rex movie house just off to our left, where something called Escape from Cuba was playing.
"Maybe we ought to see that," I said to my friend. "It might give us some ideas."
"We're cool," said Benny. "Not to worry."
"You may be cool," I said, "but I am impatient, amigo mío, I tell you that. I am ready for action. Action is ready for me. It's all been very pleasant, traveling around hither and yon, taking in the sights, listening to grizzled sea dogs spin their tales, and seeing you in a steam bath is something I will long remember, but enough is enough. I am ready for action. I crave it. I must have it. I thirst for it, I dream of it. I am also worried, Benjamin. I haven't slept a wink since last night except for a bit on the plane. I am deeply worried."
"About what particularly?" Benjamin gingerly patted the top of the head of a limping mutt that was scrounging under our table.
"About everything particularly," I said. "As if we didn't have enough to worry about before, now we got that damn bird watcher to worry about too."
Benny thought it over for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers.
"I got it," he said. "Have another beer."
I acquiesced. Was it not Leonardo who once remarked that the simplest solutions are often the most elegant?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
We drove to the office early, or comparatively early, the following A.M. While I'd told Benny that the few things we had to do before the entrance of Lt. Esparza wouldn't take long, they still involved a couple of hours of toil and trouble.
So after opening up, I unlocked my suitcase, we distributed several more props about the premises, and I dumped the suitcase out back. Then, while I dictated a couple of letters to Doris, Benny made a quick shopping run for some last-minute items. When he came back, while Sara was typing up the letters, we devised our scenario for the forthcoming drama, ran over it three or four times to fix the details in our busy little brains, then ran over it with Sara when she was finished with the typing; after that, I tore up and burned in an ashtray on the window ledge the scrap of paper on which I'd made notes.