“If you are finished, Major, you will come to the cabin. And you also Señor Armstrong.”
“We will be there shortly, Señor.” He put his arm around my shoulder and led me a few feet away. “Jack,” he said, “bit of a mess here. These guys are not who I was supposed to meet. They convinced the sheriff—”
“Police Captain Malo.”
“Yes, but how did you … never mind. Anyway he released me into the hands of this gang.”
“You’re sure these are not the—”
“When we arrived at the cabin, there were four bodies piled in front of the door. Shot through the head. They were Cuban.”
“Nice guys. So why don’t we get the hell out of here? I have a friend looking out for us.” I looked at him and rolled my eyes toward the spot I assumed Gearheardt was hiding. “To tell the truth, these guys don’t look all that sharp. And what was the singing all about?”
“I was conducting a church service. These men may be killers, but they’re Catholic.”
I was not sufficiently theologically gifted to respond to that. “So they won’t let us leave?”
The gold tooth answered that. “Asshole, (I assumed he meant me) you and the major get inside. We will talk there.” He was carrying a Swedish K, a very mean machine gun pistol. Highly lethal if he knew how to use it.
“That’s Julio,” Crenshaw said. “He’s very neurotic.”
I stepped through the door and saw half a dozen men sitting in folding chairs in a circle. A fireplace warmed the room. I walked to it and turned to warm my backside. I assumed that Gearheardt had watched the action and was aware of the serious weaponry the Cubans had.
As Crenshaw passed Julio he was hit on the shoulder by the Swedish K. “The Pope can be wrong. He is infallible but he can still make the mistake.”
“That wasn’t my point at all, Señor Stupido,” Crenshaw retorted, rubbing his shoulder. “You are serving that Godless Castro. That can hardly be a moral basis for your ridiculous position on the Holy Father.”
One of the men sitting in a folding chair smiled and nodded affirmatively. Julio looked at him and the man turned away. Julio went outside after barking a grumpy ‘stay here’ in the direction of Crenshaw and me.
Crenshaw made his way to the fireplace, joining me with his back to the fire. “The man is hopeless,” he said. “The Catholic priesthood in Cuba must be run by idiots.”
“Major, I would imagine that it’s a little tough to get good priests in Havana these days.” As soon as I said it I realized that I did not have the slightest idea what I was talking about and that once again I was surrounded by mad men. Crenshaw was evidently the new parish priest of this outlaw Cuban murdering gang. Who, I assumed, also had something to do with the upcoming (unless I stopped it) assassination of the president of Mexico. Father Crenshaw had his work cut out for him.
Although they were all armed, the bible class sitting around the room did not look particularly deadly. If Crenshaw had not told me they had murdered the four Cubans he was originally set to meet, I would have expected to break out the hymnals again and get on with the meeting. I assumed that Crenshaw, now strangely silent and contemplative, knew that Gearheardt was about. Even with the overwhelming odds against him, I had no doubt that Gearheardt would devise a plan to ‘rescue’ us and we could get on our way back to Mexico City. At least the mission to rescue Crenshaw had been a success.
Sounds of laughter came from outside. No one seemed concerned that I moved away from the fireplace toward the door.
Gearheardt was now sitting with the men at the bonfire. He had evidently just finished a seriously funny story. The men were laughing uproariously. Even Julio was laughing, pointing at Gearheardt.
Gearheardt saw me and stood up. “Jack, there you are. And hello Major Crenshaw.”
Crenshaw had come up by my side. “Hello, Mr. Gearheardt,” he said.
“A little problem on the rescue issue, Jack. I must have fallen asleep and these gentlemen relieved me of our weapons. Sorry about that.” He smiled.
“So you thought you would entertain them with a few jokes?” My voice shook with fear or anger. I wanted to shoot Gearheardt.
“Just the one about the donkey in Tijuana. See, he was gay and the club—”
“Damn it, Gearheardt, you were supposed to watch my back.” I trailed off, realizing that arguing with Gearheardt was pointless and unprofessional.
Julio finished wiping his eyes with his bandana. He was still chuckling as he stuffed it back into his pocket. He turned to me.
“Now we will tell you, as you say in your country, the cow will eat the cabbage how.”
“In our country we have no idea what that means,” Gearheardt, the jerk, said.
After a mumbled conference between Julio and one of his henchmen, he looked back at us. “It means that we will tell you exactly what you will do and there will be no discussion. Comprende?”
Gearheardt, Crenshaw and I looked at one another. No one seemed to have a better plan.
Crenshaw, who was after all senior, finally said, “We will listen to what you have to say. I seriously doubt if we will have no discussion. We’re not exactly—”
The Swedish K caught him across the face before he could get his hands up. He fell backward, blood already streaming down his face as he hit the ground.
“This is not a joke, Jesus-man,” Julio said.
I knelt and wrapped my handkerchief around Crenshaw’s head and helped him set up. He was immediately alert and I didn’t think any permanent damage was done.
“Well, you certainly have my attention,” Gearheardt said. “What is it that we are supposed to listen to and not discuss?”
Julio looked at Gearheardt for a moment. Evidently trying to figure out if he was being made fun of. He adjusted his machine gun and stepped closer to Gearheardt.
“You and Señor Armstrong will leave us. Now.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Julio (he pronounced it with a hard J). No discussion, right?” He looked at me with that smirk I wanted to kick. “Damn, Jack. Are you up for leaving or should we just draw the line in the sand? I kind of like it here.”
I spoke out of the corner of my mouth. “I’m sure there’s more, Gearheardt. Could you please just try not to make the situation worse than it is?”
“I’m trying, Jack, but I would like to shove that gun up his butt before we leave.” He reached for Crenshaw’s arm.
“He stays with us, Señor Wise-guy.” Julio stepped forward and kicked Gearheardt’s hand away from Crenshaw.
Gearheardt’s head was still down, but I could see him biting his lip. He straightened up slowly. “Señor Julio, don’t press your luck.” He took a step closer to the Cuban.
The Swedish K blast at Gearheardt’s feet was incredibly loud. And unfortunately hit one of the other Cubans in the foot. He jumped up and began dancing around the fire, holding his shoe and yelling. The other Cubans, including those who emptied out of the house and drew weapons, started peering at the surrounding forest, looking for the attackers.
Julio looked chagrined but tried to pull it off. “Let that be a warning to you, Señor Gearheardt. We mean the business.”
“I dare you to shoot someone else, Julio. Go on, if you really mean the business.” Gearheardt’s contemptuous laugh even made me mad at him and I was on his side.
After a moment the commotion settled, the wounded man only whimpered, and the Cubans were vying to stay farthest out of the line of fire of Julio, who put the gun to Crenshaw’s temple and shoved hard enough to cause the major to wince and pull away.
“You are going to make sure that the assassination takes place, Señor Gearheardt. You will not stop the assassin and make yourself the hero of Mexico. You are thinking that the Mexicans will kick the Cubans out of the country. Yes? But that will not happen. We will take the government. The blame will be on the CIA, and my country will be the hero in South America.”
“Oh yes, the old ‘kill the president and
blame it on the Americans trick.’ Oldest one in the book.”
“You are not the funny man that you think you are, Señor. If the President is not killed, then the Jesus-man (he shoved his gun at Crenshaw’s head again) will be tortured and killed.”
“You are assuming I give a shit,” Gearheardt said.
Crenshaw looked up and smiled at Gearheardt. Blood ran down his face. “The feeling’s mutual.”
“Thanks,” Gearheardt said.
Julio looked confused. He swung his pistol toward my head. “Then I will kill him.”
“He’s the assassin,” Gearheardt said. “That would gum up the works for sure.”
Gearheardt laughed as if that would be unfortunate and then went on. “And he is also the only one, thanks to the Major here, that is authorized to be near the President, and also carry a weapon.”
“You think I am a fool, Señor Gearheardt?” Julio asked. There was a threat in his voice. His men shuffled uneasily away from the area behind Gearheardt.
“I think everyone is a fool until they prove it,” Gearheardt replied.
“Then you are not afraid to die? Is that it, Señor Gearheardt?” Julio seemed to be searching for a level from which to confront Gearheardt.
“Being afraid to die is not rational,” Gearheardt said. “I will either have an afterlife or I won’t. Assuming my afterlife is not hell, and I can’t believe that it would be, then its heaven or nothing. So those choices are both pretty acceptable. As to missing the life I would have had had I not died—”
“Which you are about to do,” Julio growled.
“Hear me out. You asked if I were afraid to die. So the life that I would be missing after I died could only be compared to heaven. I have never heard anyone describe heaven as ‘not quite as good as life.’ So I think the answer to your question ‘Am I not afraid to die?’ is yes. I am not afraid to die. Your double negative makes it awkward to make my position clear. That’s why I took the time to explain the logic behind my answer.”
Crenshaw loosened the makeshift bandage around his head and wiped his face with it. “I’m afraid there are a few holes in your logic, Gearheardt. Not the least of which is the assumption that you are not going to hell.”
Julio tried again. “We will do my first thing.” He pointed the weapon at Crenshaw. “He stays here. You and Señor Armstrong will go make the assassination happen.”
“I think your Catholic fire and brimstone crap is a bit out of date, Major,” Gearheardt said. “You might not know the Internecine Creed, but—”
“The what?”
“Exactly. So how do you expect me to take your ramblings on the life hereafter seriously.”
“I know the Internecine Creed, Señor.” It was one of the Cubans standing by the fire, his hand not holding the Uzi stretched in the air. He seemed to be asking permission to recite it.
“Good man,” Gearheardt said. He rolled his eyes and shrugged at me.
Crenshaw straightened up on wobbly knees. “By God, I’ll not have you mocking the Catholic—”
“Enough!” Julio unloaded another short burst from his machine gun pistol, scattering the Cubans. This time he had fired in the air. “If you are not worth killing.” He pointed at Crenshaw. “And you are the assassin.” Me. “Then I will kill you all. We don’t need no Norte Americano to do our job for Cuba.”
I was almost on his side now after listening to Gearheardt goad Crenshaw with his double talk. But not quite. And I sensed Gearheardt was not serious but just trying again to gain control of the situation.
“Jack, help me get the mackerel snapper into the cabin before we leave.” Gearheardt put Crenshaw’s arm around his shoulders and I did the same from the other side.
“I haven’t heard that one since I was a kid, Mr. Gearheardt. Mackerel snapper. Rather childish, isn’t it?” Crenshaw winced as he spoke, his legs were still wobbly.
“I’ve been called that a few times.” Gearheardt said. “Didn’t bother me.”
We reached the doorway and I fell back to let them through the door. Inside, Gearheardt guided Crenshaw to a couch and dropped him.
“So you’re Catholic?”
“Fordham University. 1963,” Gearheardt said.
Crenshaw threw back his head and laughed. “A bloody Jesuit. I might have known.”
“Gents, before you start speaking Latin and swinging around those little silver softballs with holes in them, might we get back to a discussion of what we do. Julio will be in here in a minute.”
“Nothing to plan, Jack,” Crenshaw said. He sat forward. “Obviously you’re not going to shoot the President. And if the Cuban—what was his name, Victor?—gets close, you shoot him. Don’t worry about me. I’ll have these boys well in hand.”
“I’m sure you will, but you can count on us giving you some help. Somehow,” I said.
Gearheardt was thinking, his eyes narrowed at Crenshaw. “I’m curious about a couple of things, Major. First of all—”
There was no ‘first of all.’ Julio and two of his gang clomped into the cabin. “Get out. Get out before I change my mind and shoot you all,” he said. He grabbed me by the elbow and turned me around. He started to grab Gearheardt who looked back at him. Julio dropped his hand back to his weapon. “Go,” he said.
A delay in our leaving while Gearheardt insisted and convinced the Cubans to give our weapons back. “The paperwork involved in losing your weapon is life-threatening,” he said. “Do you ever have paperwork in Cuba?”
All of the Cubans wanted to share a paperwork story with Gearheardt.
“Yep, yep, heard ‘em all. Same thing in the U.S.” he said. “Look, keep most of the bullets. We just need a few in case we run into wolves or something on the way back down the mountain.”
They actually gave us back a few bullets.
“Gracias. Gracias. You guys stay warm up here. There’s a burro roast in Calixtua tomorrow if you get hungry.” We were making our way through the small crowd, past the fire, in the general direction we had come from.
“What’s this about a burro roast?” Crenshaw shouted from back in the cabin.
Gearheardt smiled at me. “Let these Cubans explain it to him.”
We were back in the forest. Gearheardt seemed fairly confident in our path. I was lost. It seemed like hours ago when we had been moving slowly toward the Cuban camp.
“They’ll take care of Crenshaw,” Gearheardt said. “Some decent guys.”
“How is it that you always get along so well with the enemy, Gearheardt? Those guys aren’t decent guys. Their murdering Cubans.”
“Jack,” Gearheardt said, continuing to walk and let branches snap back into my face, “in college I met a lot of smart people. They led with their head. In Asia, I met a lot of horny soldiers. They led with their dicks. You see, in politics, you lead with your asshole. So the troops aren’t bad guys. They’re just led by an asshole. That’s why politics is the ugliest of human activity.”
“Elegantly put, Gearheardt. But I do see your point.”
“When I meet folks, I usually can type them as head, dick or asshole pretty quickly.”
“I’m sure they’ll be rewriting the sociology textbooks soon. But my question is, what the hell is our plan now?”
We were almost to the road and a small light was dancing in the dune buggy. Gearheardt held up his hand and we slowed, creeping forward.
It turned out to be our driver, using a small flashlight, trying to see up the dress of the sleeping Marta. He saw us approach and came to us.
“Señorita has a pistola,” he complained.
“And she will use it if she catches you looking up her dress, Pablo. Let’s get going back down the hill. Try to get your piece of junk past the turtle mark on the speedometer this time.”
I jumped in the back, waking Marta and warning her to hang on.
“Where are we going? What’s happening?” she asked sleepily while the driver was removing the rocks from behind the wheels.
&nbs
p; I looked at Gearheardt and saw him shake his head.
“Don’t try to talk, Marta. I would suggest you find something pretty solid to hang on to. If that’s an appendage of Jack, that’s okay. But I’ve challenged the old man to get us down this hill pretty damn quick. It might be a wild ride.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WHY DOESN’T CONFUSION MEAN ‘WITH FUSION’ IN MEXICO? SO I GUESS WE WOULD NOW BE UNFUSIONED
I have never put myself in a barrel—along with sharp objects, a screaming woman and a laughing hyena—and gone over Niagara Falls. Now I wouldn’t have to. I had gone down a hill in the dune buggy. The only respites came when the old man missed a turn and ran off the road, slamming us to a halt. It is impossible to destroy someone by focusing all of your hate onto a single object. The old man still lives, res judicata.
The small village surrounding the cantina where Marta hired the dune buggy was sleeping. Gearheardt surveyed the Mercedes and decided to forego trying to recover the non-essentials. He dispatched the old man to re-obtain the back seat and the steering wheel. The local populace were not thieves. They borrowed items from the cars left in their midst, rather than charge for parking.
While Gearheardt and I watched the Mercedes be reassembled, Marta went in search of a bathroom.
“She’s hardly spoken a word, Gearheardt. You know what I think?”
“She called the Cubans to tell them we were coming?”
“Exactly. You figured that out too?”
“I know she is … different. I liked the old Marta quite frankly. The naked one.”
“Something symbolic there?” I smiled, and Gearheardt smiled back.
“But there’s a more puzzling aspect of our situation, Jack. That has to do with Crenshaw.”
“We’ll figure out a way to save him. I don’t think the Cubans are all that anxious to kill him anyway.”
“That’s not what I meant. Think about it. Crenshaw seemed to know more than we do about what’s going on with the assassination. How could that be?”
“Maybe the Pygmy or one of the guys—”
“I have to run through the possibilities, Jack. Something’s not right.” He smiled over my shoulder. “Here comes our little mole.”
Goodbye Mexico Page 15