Green Ice: A Deadly High

by Christian Fletcher

  Jorge squirmed in his chair, glancing down at his lap and muttering to himself. The plan to flee and go it alone had seemed watertight at the time but now he was seriously regretting his own involvement. He turned around to view the road behind him, checking if the blue SUV was still in pursuit. The vehicle containing the rough looking gang had vanished from sight but Jorge continued staring at the road, hoping Trey and Mancini would cease with their humiliating inquisition.

  “You sure took a big risk crossing the border with all that stash and cash, man,” Trey added.

  Jorge glanced up and wiped his face with his hand. “When you have that kind of money, bribery is easy. Luiz knew the right people who looked the other way. Tell me one thing, how did you find us so easily?”

  Mancini shook his head and turned slightly in his seat. “Three amigos partying hard, with a large bundle of loot and flaunting a new narcotic product on the market? It’s not all that difficult to spot, Jorge. You knew Oreilles has eyes and ears all over the damn place. The kid here was right. It was a hell of a risk. But not crossing the border into Mexico. The risk was getting caught with your pants down, which is exactly what’s happened.” He reached into his pocket and took out his pack of smokes, offering them around. Jorge refused, shaking his head but Trey accepted.

  “And Oreilles sent you here to kill me, yes?” Jorge muttered.

  Mancini lit his and Trey’s smokes with his lighter. “First and foremost, our job is to recover the merchandise and the money. Once that job is taken care of, Oreilles might look favorably on the fact you helped us out finding Luiz and let you live. Who knows, Jorge?”

  Jorge sighed and slumped back in the backseat. He knew Oreilles would order his execution once the task was completed. He had to escape, or at least try.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Here’s what’s going to happen, Jorge,” Mancini said, turning in his seat. “We’re going to stop once we’re way out of town and clear of Ensenada. We’re going to buy a prepaid cell phone and you’re going to call Luiz and tell him you’re on the way down to join him. You can tell him any bullshit story you want but mention us or alert him in any way and you’ll catch a bullet with your face.”

  “I don’t have his number,” Jorge groaned. “You threw my cell off the balcony, remember?”

  “Luckily for you, Jorge, I picked it up on the way out of there.” Mancini tapped his pants pocket. “We can retrieve Luiz’s number somehow, I’m sure.”

  “He said he was having some trouble of his own, down in La Paz. Exactly what the problem was, I’m not sure. You cut me off when he was trying to explain what was happening over there. I was also telling him about the girl in my apartment.”

  “You better hope we get there in time, Jorge,” Mancini said, shaking his head. “Looks like that new shit of yours is a total monster.”

  “I knew there was something like, weird about those guys and that chick we saw on the way into Ensenada,” Trey said. “That was some freaky shit.” He turned to glance at Mancini. “It wouldn’t be such a problem if that green ice only made the users fucking gaga but it looks as though the craziness or whatever the hell it is, is passing on to people they bite. I’m mean…what the hell, man? It might even be infectious just to breathe the same air as these crazy bastards. We might even be infected now ourselves.”

  Mancini took a last pull on his smoke and tossed the butt out onto the road. Trey had a point. How could they be sure they weren’t affected by the disease?

  Trey turned back to Jorge. “Is there some kind of come down cure for this shit, man? What the hell did you guys put into that stuff?”

  The Thunderbird drifted across the lane and a white pickup truck headed straight towards them. The oncoming vehicle screeched on its brakes, honked its horn and swerved into the dusty roadside.

  “Jesus Christ, Trey!” Mancini yelled, grabbing the steering wheel and attempting to steer the Thunderbird away from the truck.

  Jorge squawked in the backseat and gripped the front headrests. Trey turned the wheel left and right, trying to gain control of the car. The Thunderbird narrowly missed a collision with the pickup by a few inches. Mancini caught a brief glimpse of the irate driver, his face creased in anger while he hollered at them across his cab.

  “Fuck, man!” Trey yelled when he finally regained control of the steering. He slowed the Thunderbird to a more comfortable speed as they crossed back onto their rightful lane.

  “Watch what you’re doing, Trey,” Mancini groaned. “I know we’re all a little pumped right now but we have to remain focused. We’re no good to anybody if we’re dead in a car wreck.”

  “Sorry, man, sorry,” Trey mumbled, raising his hand in admission.

  Mancini glanced at his watch. The time rapidly approached five p.m. They’d been on the road almost constantly since the early hours of the morning.

  “Maybe it’s time to take a break,” he sighed. “I’m sure we could all do with some downtime. You good with that?”

  Trey nodded. “Yo, I guess. How many miles to La Paz?”

  Mancini looked at the map and calculated the distance. “We’re talking around eight hundred miles.”

  Trey groaned and held his hand to his forehead. “Shit, man. We’re talking, like another whole day of driving tomorrow, if we’re lucky.”

  Mancini nodded. “When we stop, we better check the ride is topped up with fluids and gas. Is the engine good?”

  Trey nodded. “It’s fucking tip-top, man. Like I said, the whole thing is totally reconditioned. This car could drive around the world without wiping out, man.”

  Mancini didn’t share Trey’s confidence. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he muttered. “La Paz will do for now.”

  “Where do you want to stop? I’m hoping you’re going to say someplace with a hot tub, pool, cable TV, room service and palm trees.”

  Mancini smiled. “Sorry, that’s not going to happen. We need someplace which is a little more low key. More like a cheap roadside motel.”

  “I somehow thought that’s what you were going to say, man,” Trey groaned.

  The route further south of Ensenada swerved away from the coastline and the two-lane road followed a path between successions of barren, cascading hills. Trey glanced around the landscape for any sign of potential accommodation.

  “There’s nothing out here in the boonies, man.”

  “We’ll find someplace soon enough.” Mancini tried to sound encouraging. The draining effect of fatigue withered through his body. The day had been emotionally tough and he wanted to relax with his feet up after eating a steak or a bowl of chow.

  The highway sloped downward on the crest of a hill and Mancini saw a few trucks parked on a gravel covered drive-in, beside a couple of one storey, white colored buildings. Trey also saw the place at the base of the hill and pointed it out.

  “What’s that place, right there?”

  Mancini nodded. “Yeah, I see it.” He glanced down at the map on his lap. “Looks like we’re near someplace called Santo Tomas. Pull over in the lot by those trucks and we’ll take a look.”

  “All right, looks kind of ratty though.”

  Trey slowed the Thunderbird, turned into the drive-in and circled around alongside the front of the first building. The second structure stood a few yards to the rear. White paint flaked from the building’s wooden slated main structure and some of the windows were boarded over or held cracked glass panes. A sign above the doorway read ‘El Largo Camino,’ in hand painted, red lettering.

  “Shit, is this place, like the Mexican equivalent of ‘The Bates Motel,’ man?” Trey groaned.

  Jorge leaned forward in his seat, looking over the front of the first building. “The Long Road,” he said.

  Mancini quizzically glanced back at him.

  “El Largo Camino is The Long Road,” Jorge explained.

  “Right on,” Mancini muttered.

  “Is this place even open for business?” Trey sighed. “It looks
kind of like hobo grand central to me.”

  “It’ll do for tonight,” Mancini said. “Let’s see if anybody is home.” He opened the car door, hauled himself out of the seat and walked towards the wooden porch steps.

  “Mind you don’t go through those boards and break your leg, man,” Trey called out. “They look kind of rotten.”

  Mancini dismissively flapped his hand at his younger companion and headed up the porch steps. He tried the front door, expecting it to be locked but it swung open. He glanced back at Trey and motioned to the building interior with a nod of his head. Trey groaned and turned off the Thunderbird engine and watched Mancini duck his head through the doorway. Trey huffed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, while he dreaded what the lodging rooms would be like.

  Mancini turned back to the Thunderbird. “You’re with me, Jorge,” he called. “I may need some help with translation, if we can find anybody.”

  “Like, what’s the Spanish for serial killer, man?” Trey scoffed. “Because that’s what the guy is who lives in this damn place.”

  Jorge clambered from the backseat and trudged across the gravel to join Mancini on the porch. The interior floor boards creaked as Mancini led the way inside the shabby motel. They slowly walked towards a reception desk of sorts, sitting to the left of a small, dark wooden paneled room. A stale, sweaty odor, combined with a stench of spoiled food hung in the air and flies buzzed in circles at head height in the center of the floor space. An open ledger and a small, circular bell sat on top of the desk but nobody occupied the adjacent office chair, which was bound with duck tape on the arms and at the corners of the head rest.

  Jorge tapped the bell and a faint chime rang through the reception area. Mancini started to think Trey was right. Maybe the place was the local hangout for bandits, murderers and serial killers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mancini and Jorge waited in silence for a full minute before they heard the sounds of somebody clunking around beyond the reception area. An old guy with thinning gray hair and an unkempt beard and moustache, dressed in a sweat stained white shirt lurched through an interior door, situated at the rear of the reception desk. His eyes widened when he saw Mancini and Jorge standing in front of the counter.

  “Tell him we want a double and a single room for the night but make sure the double has two separate beds. You’re bunking with me tonight. Not that I enjoy your scintillating company so much that I want to have you around for a sleep-over, Jorge. It’s the fact I don’t trust you not to run out on us.”

  Jorge shrugged and turned to the old guy. They conversed in Spanish for a few moments and Jorge glanced back to face Mancini.

  “He says it will cost us one hundred and fifty dollars per room, per night and extra for meals. It seems kind of pricey for such a dive, don’t you think?”

  “Ah, don’t be such a cheapskate, Jorge. Pay the man for the rooms, dinner and breakfast for three and give him a generous tip. Tell him we want breakfast served at six a.m. and ask him for the evening dinner menu.”

  Jorge huffed and drew his wallet from his pants pocket. He conversed with the old guy in an irritated tone.

  “Don’t pay by credit card. Give him cash,” Mancini instructed.

  Jorge pulled out a wad of bills and tossed them onto the counter. The old guy snickered and scooped up the cash, stuffing the notes into the breast pocket of his sweaty shirt. He spoke to Jorge once again.

  “He says he serves the best quesadillas in all of Mexico.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” Mancini snapped. “Tell him I want a steak and I want him to cook it in front of me.”

  Jorge translated and the conversation became slightly heated.

  “Stop, stop!” Mancini yelled. “What’s with all the noise?”

  “The thieving old bastard wants extra payment for cooking steak.”

  Mancini sighed. “Just pay the man, Jorge. You’re drawing some unwanted attention to us here.”

  Jorge shook his head, muttering in Spanish while he threw a few more dollar bills at the old guy.

  “The old shit says we can park up the car behind this building,” Jorge spat. “The motel rooms are behind here but I fear they are going to resemble a cattle barn.”

  “Ah, stop whining like a bitch, Jorge. You hang here and I’ll go tell Trey to drive around and meet us out back.”

  Jorge watched Mancini disappear through the front door then growled at the old guy while he reached down to retrieve the room keys from below the counter. The thought of a sudden getaway flashed through Jorge’s mind. But he had too little time and the old guy had taken most of his money. Any escape plans would have to wait.

  The grimy rooms lived up to Trey’s low expectation as he dumped his bag onto the sagging bed. He groaned as he glanced around the meager accommodation. The room was dusty, had no TV and spider’s webs coated the ceiling and corners of the wood paneled walls.

  The three met for dinner inside the main building, at the dimly lit bar and lounge area. They sat at a rickety table, situated to the right of the bar counter. Two thick-set men slumped over the counter, necking back bottles of beer while they grunted in sparse conversation. Mancini assumed the two guys owned the trucks parked in the lot. Trey continually griped about his room while they waited for their evening meal.

  “And there is one chair, man. One fucking chair in there. I don’t even want to sit on the damn thing in case it like, breaks into pieces and I get a chair leg jammed up my ass or something…”

  “Go get us all a drink, will you, Trey,” Mancini interrupted.

  “And I’m sure there are spiders in there. Big hairy motherfuckers that are going to crawl into my mouth the moment I fall asleep…I mean, what the hell, man?”

  “Enough, Trey,” Mancini growled. “Go fetch us all a drink. God knows, I could use one after the day we’ve had.”

  Trey sucked his bottom lip, rose to his feet and sauntered to the counter. He glanced sideways at both the truckers on either side of him and nodded in acknowledgment. A young woman, with her black hair piled on top of her head in a bun and wearing a low cut, blue shirt emerged from a room behind the bar and smiled at Trey from behind the counter.

  “Whoa,” Trey gasped. “Yo, how you doing? Can I get three beers, please?” He tried the Spanish translation. “Tres cervezas, por favor.”

  The girl giggled and took the tops off three cold bottles then placed them on the counter. Trey smiled and picked up the beers, maintaining eye contact with the attractive young girl. He made his way back to the table with renewed enthusiasm. Mancini had noticed Trey’s flirtations and shuffled in his seat as he took his beer bottle.

  “Just behave yourself and keep it in your pants,” he muttered to Trey as he sat down.

  “Ah, what the hell, man? Things just took a turn for the better.” Trey continued to stare at the girl behind the counter. “She’s nice, man.”

  “Leave it well alone, Trey. We’re out of here at first light tomorrow and I don’t want any distractions or hang-ups.” He knew the young guy wasn’t listening to him. Trey’s gaze was still firmly fixed on the girl. “Hey, Trey,” he barked. Trey turned to look at him. “You’re like a dirty dog with two dicks. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Ah, come on, man. What’s wrong with a little babe action to while away the small hours?”

  Mancini narrowed his eyes and spoke in a low but firm tone. “I don’t want any screw ups. Not tonight and not anytime on this road trip, understand me?”

  “Okay, man, I hear you,” Trey sighed. “Shit, are you like, gay or something?”

  Mancini ignored the jibe and took a long slug of his beer. Jorge didn’t touch his drink. He fidgeted as he sat, wiping sweat from his face with his hand.

  The old guy from reception tottered into the bar, pulling a portable griddle behind him. He flashed it up and cooked three steaks on the heat. Mancini was pleasantly surprised at how good the meat and side dishes were.

  “Give the guy a tip and
pay up the bar bill, Jorge,” he said, once they’d all finished their meals.

  Jorge huffed and reluctantly slapped more notes on the table.

  “Okay, I suggest we all hit the sack, gentlemen,” Mancini said. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow and I want to get as close to La Paz as we possibly can. You can give Luiz a call in the morning, Jorge.”

  Mancini and Jorge rose from the table but Trey stayed sitting in his seat.

  “I’m…um…going to have one more beer and then I’ll grab some zees,” Trey said, glancing back towards the counter.

  Mancini sighed. “Make sure it’s only one more beer.” He jabbed a finger in Trey’s direction. “I don’t want to see you hung-over in the morning. We’ve got breakfast booked for six a.m. and we’ll be on the road as soon as we’re done. I’ll drag you out of your bed by your balls if you don’t make it on time.”

  “Yeah, man, whatever. I’ll be there, don’t worry.” Trey slumped back in his seat, flapping his hand.

  Mancini shook his head and led the way out of the bar with Jorge trailing behind him. Trey watched them depart and slunk over to the counter once they were out of sight. He sat on a stool, previously occupied by the now absent truckers and waited for the girl to reappear. She returned a few minutes later, smiling at Trey.

  “You are from America?” she asked, in accented English.

  “Oh, yeah, baby. All the way from Los Angeles,” he crowed. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Leticia,” she replied and nervously giggled.

  “I’m Trey.” He inwardly winced after he spoke. Mancini had told him not to disclose his name to anybody. Well, what the hell? What did it matter tonight? “Would you like to have a drink with me?”

  “Well, it seems all quiet in the bar right now and my grandpa has gone to sleep so I can have maybe one drink with you, Trey.”

  “All right. What’s your poison?”

  “Poison?” Her face creased in confusion.

  “Never mind. What do you want to drink?”

  “We could maybe have a little of the special tequila, yes?”