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

by Dan Glover

  "No... we have to wait."

  "For what? Danners... let's get out of here before that crowd of ghouls shows up."

  "We should hide... come on... we'll stand behind this grave marker. It'll shield us from sight."

  "But the door, DanDan..."

  Danners Forthright had officially gone over the edge. Children? Hiding behind tombstones? What the hell was going through the man's mind? She wanted to slap him, to grab him and shake some sense into him... but before she could, he'd took her hand and pulled her to safety. Someone was approaching.

  "Shhh... it's Fletch. He must've seen us out here."

  Great. Just what they needed. A visit from the Grand Poobah himself. His minions couldn’t be far behind... and they'd left the door to the crypt standing wide open. The man was bound to notice. But then again perhaps that was Danners plan all along. How else would the man be lured inside? Hunkering down at the base of the tombstone she wiped the torrent of water from her eyes and watched.

  2

  Fletch moved toward the tomb like a man possessed... as if some unseen power propelled him forward. The wind... it must've been at his back... that had to be the answer. Gaining the entry, she held her breath while urging the man to step inside. Didn’t he see the knife they'd left as bait? Probably not in the dark. Dammit.

  Time stopped. How long had they been hiding here? An hour? Two? Hell... they'd been crouched here so long daylight must be fast approaching. Yet still the storm raged, and the man didn’t move.

  A figure materialized out of the gloom... walking, turning side to side as if searching for something or someone. A flash of lightning revealed his face... the something man... the same fellow who'd sold her the dope on the beach... the man who'd helped kidnap her and lock her inside that crypt. What the hell was he doing here? This wasn’t part of the plan... or was it? Had Danners foreseen all this too?

  He moved toward Fletch like a phantom gliding through the cemetery. The priest seemed startled when the something man reached out and touched him, as if his nerves were on edge... like he might have expected someone else.

  Hell, though... who wouldn’t be nervous as fuck... alone in the middle of a cemetery on a raging night, standing in front of an open crypt, and to have something touch you? Jesus... she'd crap all over herself. Sorry, Danners, but I have to go back to the cabin for a few minutes and change out my shitty ass panties.

  A moment later, the something man vanished inside the tomb. No sooner had he entered than the door swung shut behind him. She expected Fletch to try and push it open but the man seemed to wither right before her eyes... to fold in on himself and collapse face first onto the rain soaked ground.

  "Come on, sweetie... we have to get to him before he drowns."

  "Danners... wait..."

  But the man had taken off at a trot splashing through ankle deep rivulets while making a beeline straight for Fletch.

  Chapter 65—Hurricanes

  (And Children in the Mist)

  1

  Reilly'd never actually witnessed a hurricane close up but damn if the storm bearing down didn’t seem just like one. Christ... the rain wasn’t falling down so much as blowing sideways, and that wail... was it the wind or something else?

  He kept seeing children out of the corners of his eyes but when he looked directly at them all he saw was mist blowing in from the ocean. Had to be his imagination. But what was that sound?

  Lightning was letting loose all around them temporarily turning night to day before plunging them back into darkness. As they moved closer to the center of the cemetery he thought he caught a glimpse of a man standing in front of the crypt where they'd left Elena Stamper. Was the goddamned door open? And if so, had they discovered the girl's body?

  That's all he needed. To be arrested for concealing a homicide and thrown into a Mexican prison. Wouldn’t mother be so proud. And just think... maybe good old Hank Lupo would be his cell mate... his Bunkie... his butt buddy.

  Why was the man just standing there? Especially in the middle of a deluge? Was it that fucking priest McNairy and Forthright were talking about? Father Fletch? Could well be. If so, the old bastard probably wasn’t alone. Someone was inside that tomb rooting around looking for evidence. The Federales... badges? What badges? We don't have no badges. We don't need no stinking badges!

  Mother, will you spring my ass? The hell with Hank. Let the man rot. But get me the fuck out... please. Sell your goddamned house, mortgage your car... just come up with the cash to go my motherfucking bail. These cocksuckers are fixing to haul my gay ass off, I'm telling you.

  "Who is that over there, Reilly?"

  So Hank saw the man too. Good. At least he wasn’t hallucinating.

  "I think it's Fabulinus Fletch... the priest who presides over the church."

  "Why is he just standing there?"

  "He must be looking for something."

  "Or someone..."

  "Well while you two argue with each other I think I'll stroll on over and see what's up."

  "Hold on, Bernie... this could be dangerous..."

  "Honey, you ain't seen dangerous until you've lived a while in East Los Angeles. Now come on, Mr. Lupo. Take my hand and I promise to protect you from that big bad priest."

  "Wait up a second, mother... I think I saw Danners and Liza during that last flash of lightning. Let's check it out. Follow me."

  There wasn’t one good thing that'd come from going up to Fletch. And if he was right and they'd discovered Elena's body, the priest had called the law. Right now there were a dozen police officers inside that crypt just waiting to arrest the perpetrators of the crime. Yeah... they might use DNA technology to track him and Hank down but he damned sure wasn’t going to walk right up to them and introduce himself.

  What were McNairy and Forthright doing out here? And why were they hiding behind a tombstone? Was someone after them? Or were they simply staking the place out? That made more sense.

  2

  Water was up to his ankles now with no letup in sight. Its tug was getting more difficult to resist. Another flash of lightning revealed Fletch still standing in front of the crypt, door open. Why didn’t he go inside to get out of the storm?

  "I swear I keep seeing kids out here, Hank. Do you see 'em too?"

  "I see something, Bernie, but I can't say it's children. More like shadows and fog."

  "What about you, Reilly? You got them good FBI eyes of yours. What do you see out there?"

  "I do see something, mother... but I think it's just this storm doing funny things to my vision."

  "That creek wasn’t there an hour ago, Reilly. And it looks to be getting deeper by the second. We better see if we can find another way around."

  Hank was right. In the brief illumination afforded by multiple lightning strikes he could see flotsam roaring past carried by flash floods that threatened to wipe out half the cemetery. Crosses that once marked graves were washing away alongside rotting logs and fallen tree branches... anything not fastened down. Christ... was that a body?

  "We best be getting to McNairy and Forthright in a hurry, boys... otherwise we all is going to be washed away into the sea."

  "She's right, Hank... this way... the ground is higher. Maybe we can work our way around."

  "Hold on a second... look... someone else is out here. They're going up to the crypt... who is that?"

  "Too dark to tell, Hank... one of the priest's flock I imagine. Maybe looking out for him."

  "I tell you both who it is... it's that guy from the beach that sells drugs... you've seen him, Hank. He walks up and down the shoreline and keeps calling out: 'something for the head, something for the nose.' Remember?"

  "I think you’re right, Bernie. I do recognize his walk. What the hell is he doing here?"

  "He's the guy who tried to kill Liza."

  "What? When did that happen, Reilly? I didn’t hear anything about that."

  "A couple days ago, Hank..."

  Christ, him and his b
ig mouth. No wonder people didn’t trust him with secrets. Oh sure, Danners... I'll help you score some smack for Liza. Can you count on me to keep things quiet? Are you kidding? Of course. Not.

  "Looks to me like that other fellow done went inside the tomb and shut the door behind him. See what I mean?"

  "She's right, Hank. That priest just fell down in knee deep water. Looks to me like he's gonna drown."

  "Nah... McNairy and Forthright are there... see? They're helping him up. Come on... let's chance it and wade across so we can see what's going on."

  "Look over that way, Reilly... there are more people heading this way and they look pissed."

  An entire battalion of peasants armed with any garden utensil they could lay hands on were making their way toward the crypt where Danners and Liza were standing. There had to be four or five dozen people, both men and women, and something told him that they hadn’t come here to talk.

  "Have you got your pistola with you, Mr. Hank?"

  "Sure do, Bernie."

  "Fire a shot over their heads... just to warn them. Let 'em know someone else is out here and not happy with what they're seeing. Besides, I don’t think McNairy and Forthright are aware of them yet. They're liable to be waylaid by that mob. Better yet, why not make it two or three shots. One'll just be like the sound of thunder. And shoot low... let 'em feel the wind from those slugs."

  3

  Jesus... things were spiraling out of control. Just when it seemed as if the storm couldn’t get any worse, it did. And this horde... luckily none of them had firearms—at least not that he could see—but he sure wouldn’t want to meet up with any of them in a dark alley back in Los Angeles.

  "Hold on a second, Hank... don’t shoot yet. Something's going on out there..."

  Mother was right. The mist seemed to coagulate into the figures of children. It had to be some sort of illusion, what with the play of the lightning and the rain obscuring his vision... but damned if something exceedingly weird wasn't happening in that cemetery.

  "What're all those young'ens doing out in this storm? Heaven have mercy... they're liable to be swept away if'n they're not careful... reckon?"

  "Could be, Bernie... but look at them... they don’t seem to be wet at all."

  "How in hell could anyone be out in this storm and not be soaked to the skin, Hank? That don’t make no sense."

  "Hank's right, mother... at least from what I can see... Liza! Danners!"

  His two friends seemed to materialize out of the mist just like the children but he'd doubtlessly been distracted by the talk. Why was the priest with them? And what was with all those people in the cemetery? He had so many questions to ask but Liza must've anticipated that. She put a finger to her lips, pointed back toward the village, and started walking.

  Chapter 66—Some 'Splainin'

  (To Do)

  1

  "Okay, Lucy... you got some 'splainin' to do..."

  "Hey... that's a pretty good Ricky Ricardo, Hank... I think you missed your calling. You should've been an impressionist. Late night shows eat that shit up. Just ask Liza... she knows, don't you, sweetie."

  "He's right, Hank old bean. Talk to our agent... he'll set you up."

  "I'm serious, Danners. Seems to me a lot of people risked their lives tonight for you, including me and Bernie here. What gives with all the theatrics at the cemetery?"

  "Where should I start?"

  "The beginning is usually a pretty good place."

  "Okay... here we go... Father Fletch, our newfound friend, was duped all those years. Arturo... otherwise known as Tortuga... also known as the something man... was the son of a local witch doctor... a brujo, as they're called here in Mehico. Before the old man died he cast a spell over Fletch. Oh, I know... none of us believe in that sort of shit, which is exactly why it worked so well and for so long.

  "That knife that I showed all of you was passed down father to son through tens of generations. The old brujo's power was solidified in that object. Perhaps he was possessed too, I don’t know. But once Fletch had that knife, he changed. He fell under the thralldom of that old brujo, and later, after he died, his son."

  "How do you know all this, Danners?"

  "You told me, Bernice."

  "Oh go on with you... I did not."

  "Well, yes you did... remember that day at the cantina and you asked me to take your hand?"

  "Do I? How can I forget that shit?"

  "I had a vision that day. It took me a while to work out all the nuances of what I saw, but then I realized me and you were part of an elaborate ritual centered around that same knife that Fletch had inside his church. It'd been used as a sacrificial instrument for centuries... to cut out the hearts of willing victims.

  "Eventually the priests charged with keeping that knife became imbued with the same evil that created it. Though in the beginning, the ritual of sacrifice was meant as a renewal process, something good, as time went on the priests were led astray... just like Fletch. Instead of seeking to help the tribe, the brujos turned to the black arts in order to consolidate their own power."

  "So that Tortuga fellow... wasn’t he the same one selling dope on the beach, Danners?"

  "Yes he was, Bernice. At first the man had me fooled into thinking he was Fletch's stooge... that he'd do all the dirty work that the priest wanted done. It took me a while to figure out he was actually the one in charge of everything, though were you to ask Fletch he'd deny it.

  "Tortuga's power came to him from his father and his grandfather before him and even way before that... handed down through hundreds of years. That's what troubled me most about this case... if Fletch was the one doing the killings, why did they go back way before he ever arrived here?

  "If we somehow managed to rid the parish of the priest, nothing would've changed. He was simply a figurehead, a pawn in the scheme of much greater doings. Unbeknownst to Fletch—to everyone, in fact—he was simply playing the puppet, dancing to strings being pulled by Tortuga, who no one would ever suspect, what with him being just a ragged man selling dope on the beach."

  2

  "But Father Fletch was doing exorcisms way before he ever arrived in Mexico..."

  "Yes he was, Reilly... which is precisely why the church sent him to Santo Tomas. But I bet if you check back to the other parishes that Fletch was assigned to before he came here, you won't find a single case of a child dying."

  "You're right... I did some digging."

  "See... the exorcisms were simply a cover for the sacrifices that the old rituals demanded. Tortuga had convinced Fletch that those children were possessed of an evil so great that only by killing them could it be released."

  "Speaking of children... who were all of them in the cemetery tonight and what were they doing there?"

  "Oh... you saw them too, eh Hank? Those weren’t really children at all."

  "Oh come on, Danners... sure they were. I mean I didn’t get up close to them but they sure looked like kids to me."

  "When we first took this case I asked Elena Stamper if she had any personal items from Eduardo. That's how I work. I get impressions from objects that the people I'm searching for once held dear. She gave me a bag of old marbles. Supposedly Eduardo played with them all the time.

  "What Elena didn’t realize, and me either at first, was that each of those marbles had once belonged to a kid who'd been killed. Eduardo collected them obsessively. After we set the booby traps in that old crypt, I scattered those marbles in the cemetery according to a diagram I saw in my dreams.

  "Once the circuit was completed, the souls of all those children were summoned. That's what you saw tonight... the ghosts of kids who'd been murdered. If they hadn’t appeared, we'd all be six feet under right now. That army of peasants was there for us... they'd come fully prepared to die, to sacrifice themselves in order that we were stopped."

  "I don’t get it, Danners. What did those kids have to do with saving us?"

  "When the parents saw their own childr
en—kids that they knew had died years ago—materialize in that cemetery, they had to realize they'd been duped too... that Tortuga and his father before him had been playing all of them for patsies. Rather than attempting to rescue Tortuga from that crypt, they took their weapons and went home."

  "So it was Tortuga who was trapped inside the crypt?"

  "Yep... sure was, Hank."

  "What'll happen to him? Should we call the authorities?"

  "The man is dead by now and the knife destroyed."

  "But how can you be certain of that, Danners?"

  "I had some excellent teachers, Reilly. Years ago I learned everything there is to know about booby traps and how to construct them to maximum advantage. I contacted an old friend and had him send me an incendiary device—a modified version of thermite... one that would knock a hole right through steel and stone.

  "That crypt was built over an old volcanic vent. Hell, this whole area is rife with them. There was already a crack in the foundation where gases were leaking up from down under. By suspending that knife over the crack and setting a booby trap under it, when Tortuga went inside to retrieve the thing he prized over everything, he inadvertently triggered the thermite charge."

  "But I still don’t understand how you know he's really dead? What if he's not and those peasants go back and let him out?"

  3

  "The door closed, Hank. That was the signal that Tortuga triggered the first booby trap. The fact that there are no sound coming from inside that crypt—no shouts, no yells, no screams—tells me he was overcome by poisonous gas, which means he also stepped on the second booby trap."

  "Jesus, Danners... remind me never to piss you off."

  "Bernice... there's nothing you could say or do that'd make me angry with you."

  "So what about Fletch? How come you let him go? Isn't he as guilty as Tortuga?"