by Paul Moomaw
There was a popping noise, and my mind blanked out as the world burst into flames with a brilliant white flash and a searing breath that knocked me to the ground.
I rolled over two, three times on the ground, putting out little fires in my clothing, then lay there, dazed, blinking through sore eyes. The ground was covered with people, rolling around, slapping out little fires on their clothes. Manolo was still tied to the tree, and his shirt was burning. I jumped up and ran to him, wrapped myself around him to smother the flames. I released the belt which held him, grabbed him up, and ran as far away from the flames as possible. Then I lay him down and wrapped myself around him again, pressing and slapping, trying to put out every last spark, trying not to notice the smell of his charred skin.
Noriega, incredibly, was standing, a human torch. He extended his flaming arms and took two staggering steps toward Manolo and me. Then he sighed, coughed, and collapsed.
Carlos, even more incredibly, was on his feet as well, his clothes smoking and part of his check covered with black bubbles and dark blood. He swayed from side to side, staring at the rest of us. Then he shook his head. “How could I know he would do that?” he said. “How could I know? It wasn't my fault!” He turned and ran into the woods.
Other people were beginning to get to their feet again. They all looked a little dazed. Pilar came wordlessly and knelt by Manolo. Crooning softly to him, she began to remove his clothes, gently, not disturbing places where the fabric had stuck to the skin.
Whatever could be done, she was doing. I stood up and went to the door of the main house.
“Beto?” I called. “It's time to go."
There was no answer. I stuck my head through the door. Everything was dark.
“Beto?” I called again. “Time to go.”
There was still no answer. It worried me. I edged into the darkness, felt my way to the light switch, and turned on the light.
Beto lay in the corner, propped against the wall. He stared at me glassily as I ran to him, and something sparkled on his chest. When I reached him I saw it was the hilt of small knife. I dropped to his side and reached for the knife. He grabbed my wrist, weakly, and shook his head.
“What happened?"
“I got careless.” His voice was weak, and fading rapidly. “I didn't see the knife until it was too late?” He looked down at his chest and shook his head in wonder. “Such a little knife. Who would think that such a little thing could hurt so bad?"
I jumped up. “We'll get help."
Beto grabbed my arm again, shook his head painfully, carefully. “No, amigo."
I reached up, took his hand and held it between mine. “I'm sorry,” I said.
“Don't be. Now I'll get to see my family again, que no?” He managed a weak smile, and there was a brief spark in his eye, but his breathing was shallow, and I could hear a bubbling. “I'll tell them hello for you."
I squeezed his hand. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. “Yeah. Tell them that. And tell your father to have a drink for me."
“I will."
“Two drinks, now I think of it. Mescal. Only the best."
Beto nodded almost imperceptibly.
“And Graciela. She's so cute. Give her a big hug for me. And tell her to put some weight on, no?"
Beto nodded again. His grip tightened in mine, and then a light went out somewhere behind his eyes. The tears that had pooled behind my lids splashed down my cheeks, and I had trouble seeing anything for a while. I let his hand fall, and reached out and closed his lids, as gently as I could.
I got up slowly and went outside.
Cruz was walking toward me.
“I was getting worried,” he said. He took a closer look at me. “What's wrong?"
“I should have been worried before I sent Beto in there with Beg. He's dead. And Beg's gone."
“Shit.” Cruz slumped. “So much death."
“I feel like it's my fault.” I told Cruz about the knockout gas. “I should have paid more attention. Christ! First I get his whole damned family killed, then him."
“Don't blame yourself."
I shook my head and sighed. “It's funny, you know? Tonight, when we hit the island, I scolded him a little for taking crazy risks, the kind he could get himself killed with. And you know what he said? ‘I'm already dead.’ That's what he said, real calm, but like he really meant it. And I just shrugged it off."
Cruz grabbed my shoulders and shook me roughly. “Don't give yourself airs. We weren't doing all of this just for you, remember? We knew what we wanted, and we got it, and we knew some of us might die getting it. That would have been true no matter what. You made it possible for us to try now, instead of years from now, nothing more.” He let go. “Come on. Let's take Torreon's little boat back across the lake.” He turned to the others. “Chavez, escort Senor Imry to a boat and take him to the Mendozas’ house. Pilar, maybe you can take Manolo home with you. I'll be by in the morning."
Pilar was kneeling next to Manolo. She had managed to remove the worst of his burnt clothing, and had wrapped him in some of her own. The boy's eyes were closed, but his breathing was regular. Pilar got up. “Please help,” she said. I went to her and between us we managed to lift him free of the ground and carried him to the water.
When we got to the pier, Torreon's boat was gone. Cruz glanced at me.
“Beg, do you think?"
“He seems to manage to survive.” I stared out over the water. Some boats had gone, but scores of lanterns still bobbed in the darkness. If Beg had taken the boat, he could be anywhere out there.
“So, he'll make it to town,” Cruz said. “But he'll be easy enough to find. He stands out, and he has no place to go.” He started walking back up the path. “In the meantime, we need to find a boat."
We walked to the pier and found a rowboat and a small motor launch tied up there.
“Put Manolo into the launch,” Cruz said. “I will take the other.” He offered us a brief smile. “I'm used to rowing, after all."
“What about Carlos?” I asked.
“He can swim, I suppose,” Cruz said. “Better for him to stay on Janitzio anyway. If I saw him right now, I am sure I would kill him."
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Chapter 17
The first order of business on our return was Manolo. We went first to the delegacion, where Cruz began making calls to Mexico City, trying to locate his friend Salazar while the rest of us stayed in the street outside, hovering over Manolo. He had regained consciousness crossing the lake, which was good; but he clearly hurt badly, although, as Cruz had said, he was a real little man, not crying or whimpering, only his dark eyes showing the agony he was in. After a quarter of an hour, Cruz came outside and nodded. “Everything is arranged. Manolito will be flown to Mexico City, where there is a good hospital with a burn unit. He will get the best of treatment. An aircar will arrive early tomorrow morning to transport him. Honorio is arranging everything."
“Your friend seems to have a lot of influence,” I said. Cruz smiled.
“His father is president of the Federal District. Not very important in the eyes of the world, but enough to arrange an aircar flight."
Pilar stooped down and brushed Manolo's hair lightly, and the hurt in his eyes softened a little. “He can wait at my home,” she said. “I will put him to bed and give him something to ease the pain.”
Cruz motioned to Chavez. “Take them in my car,” he said. He turned to me. “Stay with me, please, Senor Blue. We should talk.” He went back into the building, motioning me to follow, then waved me to a chair as he stepped into a back room. He emerged moments later with two bottles of beer, tops open, sides sweating from the chill.
“Czech beer,” he said. “One of the small privileges of rank that the General allowed me. I think we have earned them, que no?"
I took one of the bottles and pleasured myself for a moment by holding it to my nose and smelling the hops. Then I took a swallow. It was good enough to t
ake another.
Cruz settled into his worn chair. “What will you do now with the scientist?"
“Assuming things work out, he returns with me, courtesy of the United States government."
“To California?"
I shook my head. “Don't know. To wherever they fly us. I'm supposed to go to a pickup point a few kilometers down river from here.” I took another swallow of beer. It had not gotten any worse. “What about you?” I asked. “What happens next?"
“With luck, Noriega's people will fall into line, the federales will manage to finish pacifying the bit of no-man's land in the State of Mexico that lies between us and Mexico City, and federal control will be extended into Michoacan, or at least some of it.” He drank some beer, stretched back, and sighed. “Then the hard part begins. The people here have gotten used to being sheep, but they are angry sheep. After a while they will realize they are no longer sheep, but the anger will still be there. At that point....” he shrugged. “We will see.”
“You have my best wishes,” I said.
“I wonder if there can be more than wishes. You work for the government?"
I shook my head. “I'm strictly unofficial, someone they could deny knowing anything about if I got caught. And, frankly, the American government is not very interested in seeing a strong, united Mexico."
“Divide and conquer?"
“Pretty much.” I finished the beer. “On the other hand, I think my government is also not interested in seeing Mexico fall under any other country's influence, so there is a balance there. At any rate, the man I work for is a person who knows people. There may be some informal ways of helping things go more smoothly. I'll talk to him."
“You will have my gratitude for that,” Cruz said. He stood up. “I would give you a ride, but Chavez has my car.” He looked at his watch. “I would have expected him back by now.” He smiled and shrugged. “See? The next rebellion is already beginning. No more sheep."
“The walk will be good for me.” I said.
“When will you leave Morelia?” Cruz asked, as we walked to the front door of the delegacion.
“I can't say yet. First I have to let the right people know that I have Imry, and set up the flight out."
“Janitzio Island has first-rate communications equipment,” Cruz said. “The General may not have wanted technology to spoil his people, but he took care of himself quite well. I'll take you over tomorrow, if you like."
“Thanks,” I said. “Something else will keep me here,” I added. Cruz cocked an eyebrow. “Chandra Beg,” I said. “The fat buzzard. I don't want to leave until he is caught. And if you are a truly kind man, once we have him, you will turn your back for just a few minutes, and leave me alone with him."
“He will be easy to find,” Cruz said. “He has no transportation, no friends, and no place to hide. He will stand out like a lizard turd in a bowl of cream."
We shook hands and I headed for the Mendoza house.
Finding Beg was even easier than Cruz had predicted. I smelled him as soon as I walked through the front door of the Mendoza house. Before I could move in any direction, Beg appeared in the door of the kitchen, carrying a rifle.
“Ah, it is Mister Blue,” Beg said. He gave me the dead-meat look I had first seen during his encounter with the rollerbabies on the Greenhouse Wall. “How pleasant that you have come, and saved me from worrying that I might run into you at a more awkward time.” He glanced down at his corpulent body with a rueful smile. “I am better built for waiting than for chasing, as you can see.” He motioned toward the kitchen with the rifle, and stepped back to let me pass.
Chavez lay on the floor, staining it with a slowly spreading pool of blood. Imry stood in a corner of the room, pressed up against the wall, looking as if he wished he could disappear through it. Pilar sat at the kitchen table, her body stiff and unyielding, her eyes impenetrable.
“Where is Manolo?” I asked. Pilar did not turn to look at me.
“He is asleep,” she said.
Beg was terrifically pleased with himself, his bird's mouth pursed in a little grin, the rifle cradled in his arms. The smell of burned gunpowder still hung in the air.
“How the shit did you get here?” I asked.
He waved toward Pilar. “It took no great cleverness on my part, I fear. I simply waited in this house, which the owners had kindly left unlocked. I hoped that someone I knew would appear sooner or later, and fortune smiled on me.” He showed his gratitude by smiling broadly back at fortune.
“Now life will be so much simpler,” he said. “A submarine is scheduled to arrive at Playa Azul in two days—a special arrangement for our scientist friend.”
I glanced at Imry. “I guess you'll be going back to Belgrade after all."
Beg cocked his head at me. “Oh, no, Mister Blue. Not Belgrade at all. That's the whole point of my being here.” He shook his head, disappointed at my lack of perceptiveness. “Mister Imry is going to China. We had hoped at one time, of course, not to have to make so direct an intervention, which is why I approached you in Los Angeles; but you were not cooperative.” He shrugged, sighed in mock sadness. “There it is. The submarine will arrive, and Mister Imry and I will be aboard. Until then, we can all stay here."
“Cruz and his men are looking hard for you,” I said. “I wouldn't lay odds on your making it to the coast."
“Oh, I know. And I am sure that in the morning he will indeed find me right here, sitting happily with my friends. Then I will arrange a ride to Playa Azul—a trade, so to speak. I get transportation; you get to live.”
Beg looked around and smiled at all of us. He reached into a pocket, pulled out a small, green capsule. “This will keep me awake tonight. The rest of you might as well sleep. You will have nothing better to do for the next couple of days."
“Don't you worry one of us will kill you?” Pilar asked suddenly.
“Ah, but I have this.” Beg waved the rifle cheerily.
Pilar stood up, pointed at me. “The American is armed,” she said.
I stared at her, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. She gazed back, her face cold, her eyes unreadable.
“He has a gun,” Pilar went on. “I have seen it. A tiny thing, but deadly. He keeps it in his belt."
Beg turned to me, the muzzle of his rifle following. “If what the girl says is true, you could simplify my life by handing me the weapon."
I shook my head. “Fuck you, Beg."
He sighed again. “I prefer to keep all of you alive. It gives me more collateral, so to speak, when I am dealing with the chief of police. But if I am forced to....” He paused, looked at me expectantly.
“So shoot me.” I was bluffing, of course, desperately trying to think of something, anything, to stall for time and avoid turning my only weapon over to him.
“I will get it,” Pilar said. “He has brought us only trouble and death. I don't owe him anything.” She came around the table and stood in front of me. I stared at her as she fumbled with my belt. If looks could kill, mine would have left her on the floor next to Chavez. She got the belt open and pulled the stinger out.
“This I owe you, gringo,” she said.
Then she spun around and pointed the gun at Beg. But she was no trained killer, and Beg saw it coming. Before she could fire, his rifle cracked loudly. Pilar jerked and yelped like a swatted puppy, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.
I flung myself to the floor, across Pilar, grabbing frantically at the stinger, which lay just beyond her outstretched hand. I got it and rolled to one side, then came up firing, not bothering with accuracy, just holding the trigger down and spraying.
Mostly I missed, but one little puff of smoke and dust popped up in the middle of Beg's shoulder. He screamed and the rifle fell from his grasp. He settled back into his chair, closed his eyes, and continued to whimper. Manolo had been tougher than that. I got to my feet, stepped across his fat body, and reached for the rifle.
“Leave it where it is, gringo
cabron.”
I turned toward the direction of the voice. Carlos stood in the doorway, a laser rifle in his hand.
“Don't make me kill you yet,” he said.
Beg opened his eyes and smiled weakly through the pain. “I forgot to mention that I also enlisted an ally to help me with my little plan.” He nodded toward Carlos, and winced from the motion. “Not everyone in this little town is so rigid about things like good and bad,” he said. “Of course, Carlos demanded a certain price. I am just a poor Indian, and could not offer him money, but we were able to come to a satisfactory agreement.” Beg turned and nodded toward me, more carefully this time. “I get Imry, and Carlos gets you, Mr. Blue.” He smiled again. “As the wise men say, money cannot always buy happiness."
Carlos strutted across the room and placed himself in front of the window leading into the garden. He looked down at Pilar. “How do you feel, hermana?” he asked.
“I will survive,” she said. Beg's bullet had creased her thigh. She had been squeezing it, and the bleeding had almost stopped. It looked painful, but not serious.
“Can you walk?” Carlos asked.
“If it gets me away from you,” Pilar said.
“Good,” he said. “You must be my messenger. Go to Cruz and tell him to come here at once. Tell him to come unarmed, and to bring his car."
Pilar made an obscene gesture. “Tell him yourself."
Carlos stepped across to her, doubled up his fist, and hit her in the face. She rocked back and her hands went to her jaw, but she stayed seated.
“Do as I say, sister,” he said.
Pilar shook her head. “I am no longer your sister. You are a disgrace to our parents’ memory."
“Do as I say, or I will kill the Noriega brat."
Pilar stiffened, then her shoulders sagged in defeat. She started to rise from the chair.
A loud crack filled the room, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass. Carlos’ eyes widened in shock and he lurched forward and then fell on his face. He was dead before he hit the floor.