After countless rejections, Francisco gave us the thumbs-up as he followed a local villager, who was taking his long bed truck back into Puerto Vallarta. We could ride in the back. Francisco, trying to ensure we didn't flash the huge sum of money in our possession, told the villager we'd give him ten US dollars. The affable elderly man even offered us some tortillas, fresh out of his wife's oven.
“Any idea how long this part of the trip will take us?” asked Arthur.
“Not sure. It just feels good to sit down and let an engine do the work, si?” Francisco munched on his second flour tortilla. All three of us tried our cell phones, but we were still out of range.
While I knew the most dangerous part of the trip was ahead of us, surviving the crash and the march through the snake-infested forest gave me a sense of accomplishment, even a hint of confidence that we could, somehow, some way, figure out an approach to outsmart the kidnappers and bring us all safely back home.
Gaining a bit more energy as the slow-moving truck made its way down the bumpy back road, I glanced to the west, and noticed the purple and orange glow from the sun setting behind the distant lip of the calm sea. Wow, Marisa would love this view. Perhaps we'd return on a future vacation. The scenery was amazing. Rugged, yes, but void of concrete and planned subdivisions. It was naturally beautiful, like my Marisa.
An hour later, with the only light coming from the moon partially hidden behind spotty clouds, I could barely see the dark images of my two comrades.
“Hombres,“ said Francisco, gaining our attention as we jostled in the back of the pickup. ”After we finally reach civilization in Puerto Vallarta, it will be late. Obviously, our first call needs to be to the abductors, to Benicio. We should be honest and tell him what happened.
“But we need to say that we are tired and need to rest. We can then suggest to meet at a public place in the daytime tomorrow.”
“But Francisco, I don't want to wait any longer to see my Trudy,” Arthur said, nearly pleading.
“Yo comprendo; I understand,” Francisco said in two languages. “But if we want this trade to go off without all of us being killed and thrown into a ditch, we need to do this in the daytime.”
It was a harsh reality that we didn't want to hear. I noticed Arthur rest his head on his hand. He'd have to wait through another lonely night before he'd see Trudy.
“Arthur, we don't want anything to happen to Trudy, or us, for that matter. It's the prudent way of tackling this.” I slapped my hand on Arthur's knee as a sign of encouragement.
Despite traveling on a mostly straight road without any traffic, the brakes squealed, and the truck stopped abruptly. The cab door opened, and our driver exited quickly, slamming the door behind him and disappearing into the darkness.
“Adonde vas?” yelled out Francisco.
Where the hell was the driver going?
Seconds later, at least two silhouettes flew through the air, landing with loud thumps in the back of the truck.
“Who are—?” I couldn't finish my question. The two men had clubs, and they started swinging violently. One hit my sore left arm. Shit! I went down to my knees, writhing in pain. They were both kicking at us as well. Arthur was down on the bed of the truck trying to cover his head. I couldn't see where Francisco was. I heard other shoes shuffling on the ground around the truck, with voices yelling out commands.
“Coge la mochila gris!” I heard one person saying repeatedly. I tried to look up but was kicked in the gut, then hit with a club on both of my legs. One of the blows connected with my head. Who are these assholes? What are they doing?
Seconds later, the beating stopped, and the men ran off into the darkness.
“Francisco, Arthur...are you okay?” I said softly, each word making my head hurt even worse.
“They said 'grab the gray backpack, grab the gray backpack,'” Francisco remarked with growing concern as he rolled over to face me.
“Arthur, where is your backpack?”
No answer.
“Arthur. Arthur?”
He slowly moved out of the fetal position, groaning a bit.
Finally, he answered. “Dear God, Michael. They stole my money. Now we'll never get Trudy back.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Despite pedaling up the last steep hill, Luis began to salivate like a dog in heat. In fact, Luis had grown to lust after Trudy. He'd never experienced such a long-lasting sexual relationship, if that's indeed what this was. Typically, he'd take advantage of a local girl who was drunk beyond belief or so doped up she couldn't see Luis' eyes. He didn't care, as long as she put out, even if it wasn't entirely voluntary.
That's how he looked at his interactions with Trudy. She wasn't an enthusiastic participant, but in his mind, she was warming up to him. In some respects, he dreaded the time when the American man, Arthur, would show up to trade money for his wife.
Luis spit on his hand and slicked back his hair prior to entering the dilapidated garage that had been Trudy's home for weeks.
“Hola, Trudy, it's you know who.”
***
Trudy remained on her side, not wanting to confront another degrading episode, another horrific nightmare.
“Trudy, come on now. I know it's dark outside, but that only makes it more romantic.” Luis moved closer.
She squeezed her eyes shut, said a brief prayer, and then spoke quietly, hoping somehow her husband would hear her. “Please forgive me, Arthur. I'm only doing this because I can't take it anymore, and I'm desperate to escape and be in your arms. I love you.”
Trudy unbuttoned her entire blouse as she turned to face the thin, greasy man. He was rubbing himself, but she ignored it. He noticed that she had exposed her breasts, and he rubbed harder.
“Come on over here,” she said sensually, while reaching out with both arms.
“Take off your shirt,” he ordered. Unlike previous encounters, she obliged, which only widened his sick grin.
She slowly undressed, touching her breasts, teasing him, luring him.
He pulled down his pants to his ankles.
“Will you let me do the rest?” she asked with a wink.
She tried to move her right arm toward his genitals, but the chain wouldn't let her.
“The damn chain. I can't do anything, Luis. I finally want you all for myself, and this chain is restraining me,” she said. “Do you know what I want to do to you if I could use my entire body?”
He licked his lips then looked at the chain attached to the bed frame. She could see his internal debate. It lasted no more than ten seconds.
He bent down and reached into his pocket, pulling out the key to the lock on the chain.
“You must promise to be a good girl, Trudy.” He focused on unlocking her wrist from the chain.
She used her left hand to stroke his front side.
“I thought you'd want me to be a bad girl,” she said with a smile. He fumbled with the key, but finally was able to break her right wrist free for the first time in weeks.
She was relieved, wanting to rub her wrist, but she didn't want to alter the mood. Luis shed his old shirt, tossing it aside. He then pulled down his holey, discolored underwear. She wanted to gag, but couldn't.
“Usted me da sexo oral, si?” Luis asked.
Not exactly sure, she believed he wanted a blow job. She began to think how she could escape. She wasn't sure she could bite off another person's appendage, even if he had raped her repeatedly. She decided to appeal to his perverted side.
“If you want the best orgasm you've ever had, you'll want me to put my fingers somewhere special,” she said, repulsed by her own words. Slowly, she stood up, and then guided him to bend over, like he was the girl—or she hoped he would be once he was thrown in prison. Wrapping her left hand around him, she stroked him. He began to grunt and closed his eyes. Her fingers crawled along his buttocks, closer to his orifice. She knew she couldn't bring herself to do this, not voluntarily.
Just before Trudy's fingers
reached their destination, she stepped back and swung her right leg violently upward between Luis' legs, cracking her boney foot against his testicles. He shrieked like a wounded animal, then fell to the soiled mattress, his hands seemingly glued to his genitals. She hesitated just a moment to see the agonizing look in his eyes. Disgusted, she spit on him, then ran to the door. Once outside and alone in the darkness, she realized she'd forgotten to grab her blouse. Unsure who to trust, she didn't care.
Trudy was on the run, but she was free. At last.
Chapter Fifty-Three
The Malecon strip in El Centro was the place to be and be seen, according to Summer and her expert partiers. Destination: the Jungle, the newest and hottest club, which catered to any and all spring break party animals, it claimed.
The thumping dance music, common to all obnoxious clubs, wasn't dissimilar at the Jungle. Yet, once patrons crossed through the front doorway, the vibe seemed different, Andi noticed. The dance floor courtyard had huge video screens and palm trees scattered throughout, but no roof. Outlining the voluminous open space were more intimate side rooms. God knows what goes on in those rooms, she thought. Led by Coach Wilson, the gang had no problem gaining access, although they were told this club might actually card anyone looking under the age of eighteen. Then again, Andi looked around and knew they had no worries of being carded: girls with bodies like Playboy centerfolds, and the adult makeup and slutty attire to go with it.
“I just had to show my left boob to the bouncer up front,” said one of the girls. “There's more where that came from!” She grabbed both breasts and shook them. Chants of “Awesome!” came from the flock of girls and guys gathered in the middle of the incredible spectacle.
Only minutes later, the gang was jumping up and down to the beat of the music, downing their third shots.
“Okay bitches, here's our motto for the night,” said Summer, already slurring her speech, but shouting at the top of her lungs. “Get drunk, get laid, get some. Got it? Get drunk, get laid, get some.”
The chant must have been repeated ten times.
“But who said it has to be in that order?” someone said, and the group responded with laughs and hollers and the party continued. Andi felt old again, understanding the first two components, but could only guess on the third one. Get some?
“It means, you know...” said a nearby girl, who demonstrated by holding her half-closed fist close to her nose and sniffing. Andi nodded her head like she knew that all along.
Intent to not let the night slip away without making progress on the investigation, Andi meandered over to one of the side rooms with Coach Wilson and his soccer harem. Separated from the open area by hanging beads, Wilson and seven or eight girls huddled together as a group, passing a bong around. With little light, Andi slipped in unnoticed, positioning herself behind a couple of the girls sitting on the carpeted floor. When the bong came to her, she pretended to inhale and then passed it along. Everyone was too high to notice.
“This is some good shit. What's in it?” Andi asked.
“One hundred percent pure chiba chiba,” said a dazed girl.
“What's that?”
“How the hell would I know? I just take what Coach gives me,” she said, laughing at herself for no particular reason.
After a couple of additional go-rounds, Andi decided to try to gain more information.
“Does Coach have anything else? This shit is kind of lame.” Andi used as much teenage slang as she could muster.
“You must be hardcore, bitch.” The drug-induced girl wrinkled her nose. “This shit, it's so pure, so perfect. It's all I need, all I could ever want. I think he's pretty much a marijuana man. Well, that and he likes teenage pussy.” She grabbed Andi's crotch, causing her to flinch. But Andi knew the point she was making and withheld the desire to grab the girl's hand and twist until she screamed. Seconds later, Andi disappeared back into the raucous crowd.
The undercover reporter for the Times Herald made a few mental notes to pass along to Michael and Brandon. Just then, Zachary and a number of boys and a couple of girls from the private school strolled by with, of course, drinks in hand. They were on a beeline to one of the side rooms. Andi continued her observations from a distance. Minutes later, other girls joined the small party, including Summer.
Andi moved closer, trying not to be obvious, holding a drink in her hand, sipping it. The drink was pure tonic water with lime. If anyone asked, she would say it was a vodka tonic.
“I'm sorry, miss, but you're not cleared to go in there,” said a beefy bouncer, holding up both hands but not touching Andi...yet. “The gentleman said only a specific list of girls is allowed in, and you're not on the list.”
“What list?” She noticed he wasn't holding a piece of paper.
“The one that says only blond girls are allowed.”
Andi gave him an indignant look.
“I just do what I'm paid to do.” He smirked and rubbed his fingers together.
Andi stepped back and re-thought her game plan, but also grew a bit worried for Summer, whom she had grown fond of in a younger sister sort of way. From a distance, she only saw the outline of images in the side room. They appeared to be clustered around a small table, some of them bent down from the waist. She did a quick drive-by, avoiding the beefy guard, trying to sneak a peek at what was going on.
“Holy shit,” she said to herself, noticing what looked like Summer leaning over, sniffing a substance off a glass plate.
Andi's heart began to race, hoping her new friend wouldn't suffer the same fate as the others who'd died from a drug overdose. She couldn't sit around and let this happen, yet she knew if she caused a fracas, she'd blow her cover and likely be kicked out of the club by the boneheaded bouncer.
Just then, Summer came stumbling out of the room, her eyes half open and her left boob exposed, but accompanied by another, more sober girl.
“Summer, are you okay?” Andi quickly approached the pair.
“She's fine, she's fine. She stuck with her usual, only two lines,” said the girl. “She's got a higher tolerance than I do. I can't do more than one line an hour, or else.”
“Was that cocaine or something more?” Andi asked, as she began to help Summer as the three walked toward the bathroom.
“Yeah, just some nose candy, that's all,” the girl said matter-of-factly. While the girls used the restroom, Andi ran into the boy who'd humped her leg on her first day of school. Compared to some of the predators walking around this place, he appeared innocent, all things considered.
“Hey, here's thirty bucks. Will you take Summer back to the hotel and put her in our room?”
“Sure, Andi. I'm getting tired anyway,” said the lanky boy.
“Can I trust that you won't take advantage of her?”
“Man, of course. I've known Summer for years, since third grade. She'll be safe. I think I know what you're trying to do. I won't let you down,” he said earnestly.
Minutes later, the taxi headed back to the hotel. Summer would be out of harm's way for at least one more night. Feeling convinced that Zachary was more than just another arrogant teenager with cash to throw around, Andi had to figure out how to gain his trust—without putting herself at risk of becoming the fifth person to die from a drug overdose.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The three of us sat stoically across the front seat of the beat-up green truck, Francisco at the wheel, maneuvering the commandeered clunker around the debris and gaping holes along the winding dirt and gravel road. The only noise came from the truck's engine and us jostling around on the bench seat.
Physically beaten and emotionally exhausted from the volatile events since we'd crossed the border, none of us had said a word the last hour. I had questions, but I was afraid I'd provoke a cataclysmic reaction from the usually calm Arthur, who'd seen his one poker chip to save his wife disappear into the dark of the night.
He apparently could read my mind.
“Michael, my
son, I know you have the same questions as I, but I appreciate you letting me calm down a bit before we address them.” Sitting next to the passenger door, Arthur looked straight ahead, his voice composed but serious.
“You've been to hell and back, but we're not going to give up. We've had a setback, but I'm sure we can figure out a way around this.” I glanced at Francisco, who silently kept his eyes peeled to the barely visible road ahead of us.
“I'm trying to think through what happened. It's like they were tipped off on the exact identification of the backpack, the contents, and our whereabouts,” I said. “How did they know?”
Without staring directly at Francisco, he could feel our eyes looking toward him, awaiting his thoughts—or even a possible admission of guilt.
“I know what you gentlemen are thinking,“ he said, not taking his eyes off the road. ”I'd be wondering the same thing. This is why I've stayed completely clear of this world for years now. You can't trust anyone, even if you think they're your friends.
“But, to clear your minds, I did not...I repeat, I did not and would not ever divulge information about the backpack, the money, or our mission to anyone.”
Arthur and I both let the words resonate, trying to draw an opinion without necessarily declaring Francisco guilty.
“I hear you, Francisco, but I just can't figure out how they knew who we were. I just can't grasp how it was possible,” I said honestly, my pulse picking up speed.
“I have a theory.” Francisco raised a finger.
“Given my original thought that this is all related to the drug world, it's very common for these leaders to have thugs and gangs working for them all over the country, carrying out all sorts of deeds. I know we've felt like Benicio didn't have it together, completely. This mugging could be from the same drug cartel, or the thugs could be from a rival cartel, who somehow stole the information.”
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