by S. D. BROWN
She arched an eyebrow, but remained silent.
"Your role is to stay in the background, while I gain the trust of the Chapman boy." Okay, I was being a little harsh, but it was necessary. "A little free advice. You're new to the Santana organization. If you want to keep your cushy job, back off with the mother advice. I'm a professional just like you. I don't need your lectures."
I'm not sure what more she would have said, but the pilot came back and gave us a thumbs-up. He pushed and pulled a few buttons and levers. Slowly the helicopter started to rise. Looking down through the glass bubble at my feet, I watched the ground sink lower and lower. This was exhilarating.
A glance back at Mum proved my suspicion about her lack of enthusiasm for helicopter flying. Her green face was a frozen funeral mask. She white-knuckled the seat belt in a death grip. Maybe her mothering attempt had been nothing more than a result of trying to stave off unbidden fears.
I should have read the situation better and had more compassion.
The helicopter hovered about six meters above the roof of the airport and made a three-sixty panoramic turn over the low jungle speckled with clumps of buildings connected by a network of roads.
The pilot smiled and said, "This is Cancun. Welcome to paradise."
"What did he say?" Mum asked. "Are we there yet?"
That's when I realized that he'd been speaking Spanish and I'd understood every word. Uncle Monte's technology was fantastic. Maybe when I got back I could talk him into downloading all of my school subjects so I wouldn't have to waste time studying.
"Sorry," I said to her. "We haven't cleared the airport yet."
"Please tell him to hurry. I'm not feeling well."
I turned to the pilot and told him my Mum was about to be sick.
He pointed to a plastic bag dispenser between our seats. I pulled one out and handed it back to Mum.
"How long?" she asked and then proceeded to make use of the bag.
I found a tissue packet in my handbag and gave it to her. "Fifteen minutes, once we leave."
She groaned.
The pilot flew straight ahead across the rooftop of the main terminal and then hovered over the parking lot.
"See that line?" the pilot said. He handed me a pair of binoculars. "Those are the poor people who have to wait for taxis."
"What did he say?" Mum asked. "Why are we just hovering? Tell him to go."
"Shouldn't we be flying toward the resort?" I asked the pilot. "My Mum's really sick."
"We will." He grinned. "I just want to make sure the tourists see my ad on the side of the copter." He swiveled the machine right and left.
I made use of the binoculars and focused on a boy around my age, his clothes covered in grime. It was weird. He looked totally American and was waiting in line for a taxi but why the disheveled appearance. Who would want to travel looking like that? He looked like he'd spent the night on the streets.
"Ohhh," Mum moaned into my headset. "I'm going to be sick again. Quick. Give me another bag."
I complied, watching the boy at the same time. Maybe with a clean-up, he'd be presentable. Of course, that was his problem. Not mine.
"Tell her that she shouldn't drink the water," the pilot said. "Hang on."
Suddenly we shot up, swung into a wide turn and sped toward the Gulf of Mexico. Once we reached the shoreline we swooped right and followed the waterline. It was incredible. White sand beaches edged a deep turquoise sea. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before.
The flight ended too soon for me, but not soon enough for Mum. We set down on a big blue cross concrete landing pad near the beach of what I assumed was the grounds of the Aztec Palace Resort. From what I'd seen from the air, there were several buildings, an eighteen-hole golf course, a series of at least fifteen swimming pools and a half-mile of beach.
A nice-looking man in a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, sandals and a cowboy hat waited. As soon as we disembarked he rushed forward to greet us. He took one look at Mum and unsuccessfully tried to hide his dismay. I didn't blame him. She looked like a wreck.
"Darling?" he said, his southern American accent full of disappointment.
"Hi, Harry," I said. "Mum's not feeling well. I think it's something she ate. I'm sure she'll be much better after a lie-down." I winked. "And look better, too."
6: J.T.
The eyes of the LORD are in every place, beholding the evil and the good.
Proverbs 15:3
CANCUN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
LOCAL TIME: 12:35 PM
I gulped as I threaded through the airport crowd toward the exit. Forcing myself to walk like I knew where I was going, and not running from pursuers that had me in their crosshairs. Hopefully Hot Chick hadn't realized I was her target in that nanosecond our eyes had connected.
Act natural, I told myself. You're just another gringo tourist, a pale guy ready to soak up some Caribbean rays.
I scanned room's reflection in the plate glass windows and made for the exit door. Outside I found myself in a super wide corridor lined with car rental booths. A barrage of sales agents assaulted me.
"Señor, may I offer you a vacation package?"
"You want to swim with the dolphins?"
"You must see the pyramids."
"Need a car? We have special deals."
A woman grabbed my arm. "Please sir, can I assist you in your vacation?"
I shrugged my arm free. "No thanks," I said and added, "Gracias," to show I had no hard feelings.
I chanced a glance behind me. Blazer Guy and Hot Chick hurried out the exit. He jabbered into his cell clutched to his ear. She grabbed his arm while pointing an accusing finger at me. He shoved his phone into his pocket and they started to power walk toward me.
Time to make like a banana and split.
I spun like a ninja and sprinted toward the parking lot. Outside, a haze of diesel exhaust blasted me from a passing airport bus. I clamped a hand over my nose, tried to breathe through my mouth and scanned the area for an escape route. To the right, a line of taxis inched forward to load an equally long line of weary passengers. Strike that idea.
I ducked around the corner and ran smack into a concrete garbage can overflowing with bottles, papers and fast food debris. Hiding behind it for a shield, I squatted down and pretended to retie my shoe. Of course if anyone looked close, they'd realize I was wearing slip-ons. I peeked around the corner. My pursuers stood in the exact spot I'd been a few seconds earlier.
She headed for the taxi line.
He started in my direction.
This was not good.
I popped up, grabbed an empty beer bottle from the trash, and scrunched down again.
My phone rang. I looked at the caller ID. Mom. Great. I changed the ringer to vibrate.
I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the MAD Magazine and my green hoody. I slipped on the sweatshirt and tugged the hood up over my head. Next I wedged the backpack between the wall and the garbage can. In a blur of stealth moves I dropped to my knees, fell forward and sprawled face down on the filthy hot concrete sidewalk. Clutched in my right hand was the empty beer bottle wrapped in the magazine. For good measure I kicked off one shoe and started to moan.
My sound effects were real. Something jabbed me high up on my right thigh and I could imagine a broken piece of glass digging into my leg. I shifted. The stabbing pain shifted with me. Inching my hand down my side, I felt for what was poking me. Great. Mom's laminated Bible verse cards were gouging my leg through the pocket. The ones she'd given me at the airport before I got on the plane. I squirmed and shoved them flat.
Suddenly someone tripped over my left foot. It felt like being whacked by a baseball bat. I wanted to curl into a fetal position, but I didn't. I hoped there wasn't any permanent damage. I play basketball and I'd just made first string.
"Stupid drunk." I recognized the voice, Blazer Guy, and tensed expecting a kick.
"About as stupid as you," Hot Chick said. "You let him get away."
>
That's when my phone began to vibrate. Don't let them hear it.
"I let him get away?" Blazer Guy's voice rose an octave. "Are you sure he wasn't in the taxi line?"
"I'm sure." Hot Chick's voice sounded tight like a rubber band about to snap. "You must have missed him."
"I missed him? Maybe you missed him." He swore. "It doesn't matter. He's gone and now we'll both have to explain how we were sitting next to him in Phoenix. Flew on the same plane with him and somehow let the kid disappear."
"You've been calling all the moves on this," she sneered at him. "I'll let you do the explaining." Her heels clacked like a snare drum signaling a retreat on some Civil War battlefield.
"Wait up. We've got to stick together on this. It was your idea to fly down here. Not mine."
Their arguing disappeared into a din of honking horns, a loud bus engine and a group of chattering tourists.
I held my breath and counted to twenty-five before I pushed up from the pavement and snuck furtive glances in every direction. No sign of my pursuers.
"Whooooooof!" I exhaled and rolled into a sitting position, my back against the wall. Tingles ran up my legs. I swatted at them and the crud clinging to my now ruined school slacks. Mom's stain removing magic couldn't compete with the streaks of grease or the gum ground into my right knee. The smart thing would be to conveniently forget to pack them when it was time to go back to Phoenix. That would be a lot easier than explaining. She'd kill me if she ferreted out the truth. But that was the least of my worries at the moment.
"Focus," I ordered myself. It was obvious that my dad had been delayed. I'd have to get to the Aztec Palace Resort on my own. It was not like I was totally broke. Still had some money in my wallet for a taxi. That decided, it was time to go on the offensive. A few isometric leg stretches and the pins-and-needle sensations were gone. Next I retrieved my shoe and the beer bottle. Put on the shoe. Tossed the bottle into the trash and grabbed my backpack. Brushed myself off and smoothed my hair.
Going into stealth mode I eased around the corner and grinned. Blazer Guy and Hot Chick were getting into a taxi. "Yes!" I silently hissed and hunched down with my hand half covering my face as their yellow car drove out of the parking lot. They didn't even glance back. It looked like they were too busy arguing, and I felt sorry for the poor driver. Well, almost sorry.
My phone vibrated again. I figured I may as well get it over with and pulled out my cell.
"Hi, Mom."
"You were supposed to call me as soon as you landed."
"I just got through customs. You're not supposed to use phones in there."
"Are you okay?"
"Everything's great."
She sighed. "Good. I was so worried when you didn't call." Pause. "Put your father on."
"He's getting the car."
"He left you alone?"
"I'm fine. He's coming now, but there's a police car behind him and I don't think it'd be a good time for him to stop and talk."
"Then have him call me as soon as you arrive at the resort."
"Sure, I've got to go."
"I love you, honey."
"Bye."
Forget vibrate. I turned the ringer off. With Mom's over imaginative doom-and-gloom tendencies, I'd had to lie to keep her from having a premature heart attack. That, and to make sure she didn't descend on Cancun like a deranged bird of prey protecting its offspring. Someday, she would have to realize I was grown up. Not a kid anymore.
No way would I let her unreasonable paranoia ruin my vacation. At least Dad didn't think I was a helpless little boy. That was totally obvious. When something unexpected held him up, he trusted me to get to the resort on my own. He hadn't sent out a troop of babysitters to hold my hand.
I'd prove him right. Even if there were some weird people on my tail.
The taxi line was just as long as it had been earlier. The row of yellow cabs about the same, too. One loaded new passengers and drove away. At the same time an empty car arrived and waited its turn.
Overhead a loud whoop-whooping sound came out of nowhere. Everyone looked up. A low-flying helicopter cleared the top of the airport building. It swung round and faced us as it hovered over the parking lot like a giant glass bubble dragonfly. The pilot gave a half-salute, half-wave to his audience on the pavement. It looked like he had two passengers. The smaller one seated next to the pilot peered through a pair of binoculars.
I grinned and waved at them, thinking how cool it would be to fly in a helicopter. The big mechanical bird started a slow turn. The words FOR HIRE and a phone number were stenciled on the side. Maybe Dad would take me up in one if I asked. I added the number to my phone and looked back at the magnificent machine.
It now hovered with the passenger by the window staring straight at me. I couldn't tell if it was a guy or girl because at this angle, the copter's window had captured the blinding glare of the sun. Slowly it gained altitude and sped off. I watched until it disappeared from view.
I definitely would have to talk to Dad about a helicopter ride.
"Senor, where do you wish to go?" a heavy accented nasal voice asked.
"Me?" I said, surprised I had already reached the front of the line. "The Aztec Palace Resort."
The man looked at me suspiciously. "Are you sure you have the fare?"
That's when I realized how bad I must look. "I had a little accident," I explained as I reached into my pocket for my wallet. I pulled out a ten, one five and four one-dollar bills. "I don't have any pesos, but I have U.S. dollars."
The man grabbed the money and made a show of counting it. Then he looked at me in disgust. "You do not have enough. Move away." He shoved the money back in my hand and turned to the man behind me dressed in a business suit. He said something in Spanish and reached for the man's suitcase.
"Wait," I said. "I'm next in line."
"No money. No ride." He opened the door for the man and put the suitcase in the trunk.
"My dad has lots of money. He'll pay you when we get there."
The taxi driver slammed the trunk shut. "You can try the next driver. I do not give charity to gringos."
The next driver was even ruder. And the next one. And the next.
"What seems to be the problem?"
I turned and groaned. It was the cop from customs. The one that had searched my stuff. "My dad was delayed and can't pick me up. I was going to take a taxi, but I don't have enough money. And they won't let me pay after I get there."
The cop frowned, his moustache drooping and furrows forming on his forehead. He studied my face. His look said he thought I was lying. He looked at my now grubby clothes.
I held my breath.
Finally he said, "Why didn't he tell you to take the resort shuttle?"
Good question. Think fast. "It was a bad connection." I fake smiled. "He did try to tell me something, but it was garbled."
"HMMMMMM."
"I feel really stupid. I should have thought of the shuttle. I just didn't want to wait for it to arrive."
He narrowed his eyes and then nodded to something behind me. "Then you're in luck."
I turned. A strawberry red minivan pulled into the parking lot. Painted on its side in big flashy gold letters was AZTEC PALACE RESORT.
"Thanks," I said.
"See that you stay out of trouble." He turned and walked back inside the airport building.
I waited for the shuttle van to park before I jogged over to catch my ride.
7: Serena
Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind in the present moment.
Buddha
AZTEC PALACE RESORT
CANCUN RIVIERA
Dribbles of perspiration bloomed in every pore, commencing from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Too bad Uncle Monte couldn't have downloaded an internal air conditioner into my system along with the Spanish, American trivia and the sports stats, the latter of which I doubted I'd make use.
It was a
short walk from the helicopter pad to our rooms in Building Two. Step-dad Harry assisted Mum, taking her arm like she was an invalid. I followed taking in the exotic scents of unfamiliar vegetation. The cloying humidity must help to preserve the brilliant colored blossoms, I thought. Unfortunately, the lovely balm of the Yucatan Peninsula made me feel like a wilted peony.
Harry opened the door to our suite of rooms, releasing a refreshing burst of cool air. He motioned for Mum and me to enter first. We found ourselves in a festive if somewhat-less-than-elegant sitting room. He followed and tossed his American cowboy hat on the counter in the mini kitchen.
The decorator obviously had been influenced by a fiesta theme, but had come up a little short. The walls were painted a bright canary yellow and hung with an ill assortment of Mexican art.
Teakwood native aboriginal carvings.
Feathered Aztec and Mayan heads in 3D, complete with the frightful plumage of dead birds.
Oil paintings of bullfighters, senoritas peeking over fans in long lacy dresses, and still-life renderings of flowers and unpleasant iguana lizards.
Who on earth would think this was resort-elegant? Maybe an American who'd never left the Western Hemisphere.
To add to the overall decor-dissonance, the lime green couches and sitting chairs clashed with the red, yellow, and black throw pillows. Add in the overly large Aztec-patterned purple, green and blood-orange rug on the terra cotta tile floor and I felt the beginning twinges of a visually induced headache.
Of course, it was nothing on the scale of Mum's migraine.
Playing the dutiful daughter, I helped her to her room. While she settled on the bed, I procured a wet washcloth from the bathroom for her brow.
"Rena?" she said, using my code name. "Thanks for not telling Harry I don't fly well."
"No problema."
"And you won't share this information with Mr. Santana, either?"
I shook my head.
She relaxed. "I'll be forever in your debt."
"Marvelous." I grinned and followed it with a wink. "I'll think of a suitable payback when the time is ripe."