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Baja Blues: The Boy Who Played With Marbles (Liza McNairy Mysteries Book 2)

Page 18

by Dan Glover


  "Of course, Ms. Stamper... please come in and sit."

  "Listen... I just wanted you to know I won't say anything to anyone about... well... you know. Danners was so worried about you. And Tortuga... he's under some sort of spell. He'll do anything that priest tells him. I asked around. I've heard of others overdosing off that shit he sells... they say he laces it with fentanyl... his own special recipe."

  "You saved my life, Elena... thank you."

  "No... Danners saved your life, Ms. McNairy. I just thought you should know that."

  "Did you see where he went?"

  "Looked to me like he was heading to that goddamned church... but maybe not. That's the direction he was walking, though. I have to go. I'm driving back to San Diego this afternoon. I've been here way too long. Now I remember why I left in the first place. Please call me if you find out anything about my brother."

  Ask her for a ride, Lizzi. She'll be happy to take you as far as San Diego. This is no place for you, sissy. I can't leave Danners all by himself, Lissi. He'll die without me. Yes you can, Lizzi... let him die. You don't need him... remember? You don't need anyone.

  Jesus... he was going to that church all himself. By tomorrow morning he'd be tucked into one of those freshly dug graves. If she hurried she could catch him... stop him. No... you know what? Let him play hero. Hell, maybe they'd pin another medal on his scrawny chest. If he came back, fine. If not, well okay then.

  Chapter 45—Sweet Dreams

  (And Machetes)

  He had to get to that church before they butchered another child. The hell with Liza. Let her go home and rot what few brain cells she had left. He'd do this by himself. Yeah... he'd go in with guns blazing... take out that faux priest and his bow-legged partner, the something man. Let them arrest him. What did it matter now?

  "Que todas tus pesadillas sean dulces."

  The voice of the old woman came floating to him on the breeze, or was he simply hearing things? Maybe this was the nightmare. If so, it was anything but sweet. But then, the thing you feared most was bound to come true. And what was it he feared? To be alone.

  The building looked deserted. He'd forgotten to bring kīla with him. Maybe he ought to go back and get it. No... if he did, Liza might be there. Or worse, gone. It was better this way. He'd go inside and wait. Sooner or later, Fletch would return. And when he did...

  But could he do it? Could he kill the man in cold blood? Sure, he'd slaughtered dozens of men in his life but always for a cause. But he had a good reason to kill the priest... the man was a murderer, or worse. But was he really? What if his instincts were wrong?

  Maybe he should think this thing through. Yeah... there's that indecisive Danners we all know and love. Sure. Go on back to the cabin. No, better yet, drive home to Los Angeles. You got plenty of money. You don't need this shit. What did Liza say? She doesn’t need anyone? Well neither do you. Fuck her and the rest of the goddamned world.

  "May I help you with something, my son?"

  The voice startled him. He hadn’t seen the Father's approach. A moment later, at least two dozen other men stepped out from the beargrass growing in profusion around the scarred adobe walls. They were all armed with pitchforks and machetes, peasants... poor men wrapped up in the mischief of the church and willing to die for it. So be it.

  "Hold it right there, muchachos... I'll blow the heuvos off the first hombre who moves."

  "Hank! What are you doing here?"

  "Saving your faggot ass, Danners. Back up slow... I don’t want to shoot any of these fine compañeros but if I have to, I will."

  "We need to get inside that church... they're kidnapping kids... they're murdering them and burying them out back in that old cemetery."

  "Right now we ought to move away, Danners. If you really think there are kids inside that building, we'll call the authorities and let them deal with it. Now is not the time for us to be making waves. In case you haven’t noticed we're outnumbered several dozen to two here."

  Hank was right. More men had emerged from the undergrowth, all of them with serious looks on their faces and tools of destruction in their hands.

  "If we have to shoot our way out of this, Danners, shoot to kill."

  "Marcha atrás, mis amigos... we will fight another day."

  "Them are wise words, Padre... me and Danners'll be leaving now... don't nobody follow us... capiche?"

  "Did Liza send you here, Hank?"

  "No... I expected to find her with you, Danners. Reilly called. Said you might be in trouble."

  "Jesus, Hank... they planned it all... we have to get back to the cabin right away... Liza's in danger. Dammit. I should've known."

  "Who planned what? You're not making any sense, partner."

  "They set us up... worked things to their advantage... to separate us. While we're here, there's another gang of thugs..."

  "Attacking Liza? Wait... let me call Reilly. His cabin is right behind hers."

  Chapter 46—Vultures

  (In Disguise)

  1

  Had she been sleepwalking again? Ever since returning to Santo Tomas Elena'd been having the oddest of dreams... like today. She didn’t normally take naps but her eyes were so heavy... maybe just a short siesta...

  One moment she'd be sitting in the bathroom. The next standing under the shower with her clothes on. Suddenly she'd jerk herself awake and she'd be lying in bed with another strange man... one in a long line of them stretching out to infinity. Had she always been such a whore? Had she actually visited with Lisa McNairy or was that all part of the dream too?

  Maybe what the doctors had warned her about was finally happening... the stress of losing her brother at such a young age and the failure of her marriage and subsequent estrangement to her children were taking their toll on her not only physically but mentally as well. In other words, she was cracking up.

  "I have to go home."

  She spoke the words aloud to the empty room, mainly to reassure herself that indeed she was awake this time and not dreaming. But how could she be sure? That trip to Ensenada... it had really happened. Hadn't it? Reilly had gone with her, and Danners Forthright too. They were on a mission... for what? Somehow it seemed important at the time but now?

  When she blinked her eyes she found herself on the beach with no recollection of how she got there or what she was doing. The usual crowds of Americans milled around her none of them with eyes to see, or perhaps they were simply ignoring her. She noticed McNairy's cabin in the distance and then she was standing in front of it knocking at the door. Only now she realized she wasn’t at the McNairy cabin at all. Somehow she'd been transported to that old adobe church.

  The door squeaked open like the lid to a rusty tomb but nothing was there but the chill of death. She heard strange noises issuing forth from somewhere inside the cavernous vault a cacophony of muffled screams and children weeping and incantenated prayers said so quickly she couldn’t make out their meanings.

  "Come in, Ms. McNairy... we've been waiting for you."

  The voice startled her. Until that point she thought she was alone. Now, in the dim light, she could make out a number of men in cloaks of black with hoods obscuring their faces all doing the slow step toward the place that those awful screams were coming from.

  "But I'm not..."

  McNairy... but when she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the vestibule windows hers was no longer the reflection of Elena Stamper, a short dark Mexican women, but rather Liza McNairy, a tall buxom German/Irish blonde with that crazy streak of red running through hair that cascaded down past her shoulders to the middle of her back.

  "Come... we have a special place prepared just for you."

  Tortuga was there. He didn’t seem to recognize her. Of course how could he? Why would he? She hadn’t noticed him until he threw back the hood covering his head, raised his arms to the ceiling in supplication, and proceeded to intone a strangely engaging sort of hymn much like the Gregorian chant she heard as a child
.

  She turned to flee the way she'd come but the door had vanished. In its place stood dozens of men and women too, all of them wearing the same dark cloaks with enormous droopy hoods pulled over their heads, all of them bowed in some semblance of meditation or perhaps prayer. Though she felt threatened by their presence none of the peasants seemed to notice she was among them, much like on the beach earlier.

  "Allow us to unburden your soul, my poor bewildered girl. Remember, God loves you even as you seek to destroy your own self. Lie back, please, and be comfortable. This will be over in but a few moments."

  2

  A black blade cruel and hideous hovered over her like a winged vulture ready to land upon its next meal. She couldn’t recall lying down but here she was spread out on a makeshift altar her clothing stripped away with the crowd of cloaks pressing in on all sides. To jump up and run did not occur to her and to scream seemed useless. Who would hear?

  Father Fabulinus Fletch reaching up with both hands pushed back the hood revealing his face to her for the first time, its countenance graven with the pain of a thousand deaths, or was it an expression of joy he wore so magnificently? Looking down at her exposed body or rather that of Liza McNairy, Elena realized she'd shrunk into the image of a child, a little girl of no more than eight.

  A sudden boom sounded across the room... the door opening with a crash belied by the figure of a small boy standing at the entrance. She recognized him at once: Eduardo had come. But what was he doing here?

  "Leave her alone!"

  All faces turned to the boy as if to witness greatness manifested in the body of a child... like the Christ before him. It occurred to Elena that like the Christ this child too must die, not for his sins but for that of the others.

  She blinked and now she was among them... the hordes, the masses pressing in upon the altar. And in her place where she lay a moment ago Eduardo was now stretched out hands and feet bound his arms pulled high over his head his chest exposed to that dreaded vulture that hovered ever closer above him its talons sharp and ready to penetrate precious flesh and bone.

  She found herself chanting with the rest of them... hazlo, hazlo, hazlo... do it, do it, do it. But what was she saying? This was her brother being sacrificed. He'd given himself that she might live. The scent of sex permeated the air as all around her the peasants were pairing off man and woman peeling away cloaks and groveling on the floor copulating with one another.

  She woke to the sound of the surf. For a long moment she lay in bed wondering if she was actually awake or simply dreaming another dream in an endless series. But what was life but a dream?

  Chapter 47—Suspicious

  (Scrutiny)

  1

  That he was under suspicion meant little to Father Fletch. He'd been the object of the Church's scrutiny for decades. Oh, they all pretended it wasn’t so but he knew. When they first sent him here to the armpit of Mexico he was sure it was a punishment... a sort of divine retribution. Instead—and in spite of his superiors and their desires—he'd found salvation.

  What was it about the area around Santo Tomas? Why did the tiny village on the coast of the mighty Pacific seem to languish under the dominion of Satan? The fables handed down through the centuries told how this was the place where Lucifer fell after being cast out of heaven, breaking the mountains and causing the earth to shudder and groan endlessly even until this day that God made. Superstitious rot... stories conjured by old women and men who would be wizards... or was it?

  "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

  How many times had he spoken those words? Listened to them? Prayed over them? What did it mean to sin if all could be forgiven just for the asking? These peasants... they spent their lives killing one another... stealing whatever they could lay hands to... coveting the neighbors. Yet to an outsider, Santo Tomas was like paradise.

  El dia de los muertos. The day of the dead. To these simpletons of Santo Tomas it was just a day to dress up in fancy masks... to pretend to honor those who'd gone before them into that infinity which prowled the edges of their nightmares... may they all be sweet ones, forever and ever amen.

  El dia de los muertos. On that day—and it would be here with the new moon—all his problems would evaporate into the nothingness of sweet and blessed death, of sleep and peace. If only he too could partake... but that wasn’t something of his own choosing. Only God could deem him worthy of being accepted into His grace.

  "Make sure she doesn’t suffer, Tortuga... allow her to have a pleasant death... do you understand me, mi amigo?"

  "Si, Padre... Senorita McNairy will be safe in my hands until our will is done."

  Let them come here looking for her, which of course they would. In two days time, the crack between the worlds would open up albeit briefly and for but an instant. When that happened, the girl's heart would be delivered into his hands and her trials and tribulations on this good earth would come to a halt.

  Was she the one? Perhaps. Perhaps not. It didn’t much matter in the scheme of things. This life... it was but a dream dreamed by God and death simply a renewal of the vows tying His flock to His grace. The odd thing was, Danners Forthright knew that too. Father Fletch could see it written upon the man's brow... hidden behind the light glaring off his eyes. Yet the man chose to ignore that which was so plain to him in order to chase after the ghosts of the living.

  Maybe being rid of McNairy would set Forthright free... enable him to become that which God had deigned him to be. She was a marked woman... someone who'd lead her men into temptation yet in the end refuse to deliver them from evil. Instead, she'd simply take up with someone else.

  He'd known many women like her... all of them scourges not only upon all who knew them but upon their own being. She was better off dead. But then again, so was everyone. Better to have never been born at all... and barring that, to die quickly. He would see to that.

  Del Encuentro—the Gathering—would take place on Noviembre, la primera... November the first... the day all of Mexico set aside to celebrate the death of the children, his children. The flock would come together as they did every year at that time. Preparations had to be made... graves to be readied. Could he count on Arturo? It was a calculated risk. One day the man would have to be replaced. But not today.

  2

  Luring McNairy into the trap had been easier than he anticipated. The habit had her within its grip muddling her mind and deranging her thought processes until she was little more than a shell of a human being. No one would miss her overly much... well, perhaps her partner. But he'd be dealt with accordingly.

  What did they think? That they could come down here, lie about on the beach all day and half the night, and still manage to find the answers they were seeking? Fools. And that woman who hired them... she was just the same. Sure, she'd moved north now but she was still the same ragged little girl who used to search for seashells on the beach and sell them to any American with money in their pockets... sell herself too, from the word he got.

  But then again, this place had a way of doing things to people. Maybe the peasants were right... the hills were haunted with demons and ghosts waiting for the unwary, ready to wreck havoc upon the innocent. He'd seen it himself. Being a priest had brought him into contact with all walks of life yet he still clung to the notion people were basically good.

  Living so long in Santo Tomas had changed his mind. Most all the inhabitants here were little more than automatons... existing in the nether world between waking and sleeping, possessed by desires not their own. His work here had been nonstop. Even with the help of del Encuentro there was always too much to do. And now, with the arrival of these Americans and their incessant inquiries into the business of others, things were getting out of hand.

  Kidnapping McNairy carried a risk but allowing her free reign had become out of the question. Even with their bungling—or maybe because if it—the two of them were getting too close to the truth. A sacrifice was in order.

 
Chapter 48 —Leaving

  (You Behind)

  He'd always known something like this would happen. How many times had he warned Liza? Don't get too deeply involved in those cases of yours, girl. You're dealing with some dangerously unsavory characters. Hell, he knew enough to write an encyclopedia on the subject.

  "You must've heard something, Reilly."

  "Nothing, Danners. As soon as you called me I went right to your cabin. It was empty, the door standing open. No sign of Liza anywhere."

  "There doesn’t appear to've been a struggle, either, Danners. Didn’t you say you two argued?"

  "Well, yes we did, Hank. But Liza wouldn’t simply up and leave without saying anything to me."

  "I guess that depends... was it simply a disagreement you had with her, or a real fight?"

  "We fought. Is that what you want to hear, Hank?"

  "Maybe she had enough. Liza's like that. The girl can only take so much before she shuts down. You should know that by now too, Danners. Have you tried calling her?"

  "Her cell just goes to voice mail."

  "So she doesn’t want to talk to you. Can you blame her? Look... all her clothes are gone. Seems to me she packed up and left after your little tiff. Odds are she's home in Los Angeles as we speak."

  "That's not possible, Reilly... I'm the one who drove us here. Liza doesn’t have any way to get home without me."

  "Look, Danners... buses run every few hours from Santo Tomas to Ensenada. From there she can either catch a plane or hop on another bus and be home in three hours."

  "So what're you saying, Reilly? To forget about it?"

  "No... I'm saying we need to take a long deep breath and consider our options. From what you two say, the folks here in Santo Tomas aren’t taking too kindly to you snooping around that church. Sounds like you've pissed off a lot of people. You're lucky they just had pitchforks and knives."

 

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