He went slow, bumping over the ground until he reached the dirt road. He sped up a little but not by much until they turned onto a paved road, then he took off. He was relieved when they got to the highway. He’d had a private dread that the one who got the phone call had texted an invitation to come watch the fun. It was unlikely but he’d learned that in the field a little paranoia was a helpful thing. Imagine the worst turn of events: maybe you still won’t be ready but at least you won’t be surprised.
Traffic was heavy and the highway crowded with tractor-trailers, fuel trucks, cattle trucks, old model cars driven by Mexican families and SUVs driven by American tourists. He wove in and out of the vehicles expertly, careful not to go so fast he scared his passenger. She’d had enough frights for one day, for a lifetime.
He wondered where the dead men had gotten the money for their SUV. Had to be the drug trade. But what were drug dealers doing playing snatch artists? Grabbing a middle-class American girl was bound to bring the law out in force. It made no sense.
Rock had grown up in the States but his father’s family lived in Mexico and he spent summers here. Dad’s father had been a long-haul trucker who let Miguelito come along sometimes. By the time he was fifteen, Rock had been all over the country. When he was a kid, Tuláz was just another sleepy village. Then a highway was build to accommodate tourist traffic to Mazatlan. The town, just a mile away, took off.
Her hotel, the Viceroy, was big and modern, put up for the tourist trade. The exterior was designed to reflect Spanish colonial architecture, with multiple columns and a grand balcony on the second floor. If it was like the other hotels of its type he’d visited, The interior would have similar flourishes to make guests feel they were in a foreign country but the service and meals and rooms would be reassuringly American.
He parked the bike and helped Rory out of the jacket. Inside the hotel, the desk clerk cocked an eye at them. He’d been on the road for days and with his stubble and jacket looked every bit a biker. She didn’t look like a biker chick but her hair was disheveled and her dress dirty from lying on the ground.
The clerk’s look changed when she explained that she’d been robbed and he saw the rope marks on her wrists. He called the manager, who, once he’d determined the crime hadn’t occurred on hotel property, was all solicitous concern. A bellhop was summoned and given a keycard with instructions to let them inside. The manager also told a burly security guard to accompany them. Rock supposed the man wanted to make sure he wasn’t the perp, forcing her to take him up to her room.
They took the elevator to the third floor. When they reached her room the bellhop swiped the card and opened the door. She stepped inside and a second later let out a shocked gasp.
Vanished
My room was empty! No clothes, no suitcase. Even my make-up and toiletries were gone. “Where are my things?” I cried. I turned to the bellhop. “Who’s been in this room? What have you done with my belongings?”
His face registered dismay. “I don’t know, señora. I’ll ask the maids.”
“We’ll sort this out downstairs,” said Rock gruffly. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me through the door, striding quickly down the hall as I stumbled to keep up. We reached the elevator but he kept on. “Where are you going?” I cried.
“Elevator’s too slow,” he barked, opening the door to the stairs. I glanced back. The bellhop and security guard were staring at us, baffled as I was.
Inside the stairwell, he put an arm around my back, bent to slide another behind my legs, then lifted me the way he had on the rise. I squealed in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Just keep quiet until we’re out of here, all right?” he growled. It was an order and not a request. I wasn’t in a position to object.
He went down the stairs quick and sure as a goat. In a minute we were at the door to the lobby but he ignored it, following the stairs to the underground parking garage. When we’d reached the floor where he’d left his motorcycle, he set me down and, still gripping my wrist, strode toward the bike. His stride was long and I had to run to keep up. If I’d stumbled, I didn’t doubt he’d just drag me across the concrete.
At the motorcycle, he took off his jacket and handed to me. “Better put this on again.”
I thrust it back at him. “Not till you explain what’s going on.”
He grimaced. Women! Always wanting explanations. “Maybe nothing. Probably nothing. On the other hand, someone just might be waiting to see if you turn up here.”
That sounded far-fetched to me. “You mean like a man in dark glasses, sitting in the lobby pretending to read a newspaper?”
“No, I mean a desk clerk or bellhop, someone who works in the hotel. It’s a long shot but if that’s the case, we need to get out fast.”
If he was trying to scare me into compliance, he succeeded. He held the jacket for me and I slipped into it. “But why would anyone be watching for me?”
He mounted the bike and I got behind him. “I’ll explain when we’re out of Tuláz.”
“Out of Tuláz! At least let me get some jeans!” My words were lost in engine roar and a moment later we were shooting through the garage and out into the street. I looked left and right for signs of being watched, though I had no idea how I would know.
Rock took us through narrow side streets, several times making sudden right or left turns. After about ten minutes of this, he abruptly pulled into an alley and turned the motorcycle around. He watched the road for several minutes, then apparently satisfied we hadn’t been followed, found a road that led to the highway.
Half an hour later, he pulled off the highway and stopped at a small eatery. There was no air conditioning, just ceiling fans revolving over mismatched chairs and tables, but the smell of meat and garlic and onions made up for the décor. We sat next to a window with a clear view of the road. After ordering, I turned to Rock. “Now will you tell me what’s going on?”
He took out his phone and began to tap on it. “Yes but first it would be a good idea to disable your phone. You had an iPhone?”
“Of course.” Apple made the best products and there was no point in getting anything else, whatever the cost.
“Figured you did.”
“Why is that?”
“Rich girl and all.” I shot him an irritated look as he slid his phone—not an Apple product—across the table. “That’s a website where you can enter your password and so on, disable it remotely. Maybe whoever’s got it is just a street thief. Maybe not. Whatever, you don’t want them getting someone to hack into your personal information.”
“God no,” I said, picking up his phone. “I should call Daddy and Richard,” I said when I was done.
He casually took the phone from my hands and put it in his pocket. “I’d rather you wait.”
“Why?”
The waitress came with our meals. “Let’s eat first,” he said. “Don’t know about you but I’m starved.” The meal was a pork stew called chilorio, seasoned with peppers and cumin. After the first bite, I realized I was starved myself and dug in.
Ten minutes later he put down his spoon, took a swig of Carta Blanca. “Nobody in the hotel took your things. Someone found the keycard in your purse and went to your room. Maybe that was just a guy who heard opportunity knock. Maybe…” His voice grew grim. “It was someone who was there when you were snatched. If that’s the case, he’s likely involved with the guys who grabbed you.”
I nearly choked on my stew. “Oh my God!”
“And if that’s the case, a third person may mean a gang is involved.”
“You mean like a cartel?”
“More likely a smaller operation. Kidnapping an American is asking for trouble but could be they thought it was worth the risk. Might have been filling an order from a high dollar customer.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Well, you hear stories,” he said reluctantly. “Brothels with only blonde American women, that sort of thing.”
“Good God!”
“I suppose they hoped they’d find jewelry or money.”
“Did they?”
“Some jewelry, not worth more than a few hundred dollars.”
“That’s a fortune in Mexico. Is that all?”
“All that had any value. What I don’t understand is why they took my make-up and shampoo. My suitcase too.”
“Your suitcase is probably top of the line. Worth money. As to the rest, maybe the thief has a girlfriend. Maybe the thief is a girl. But they could have done it for another reason.”
“What’s that?”
“To delay discovery of your disappearance. If we hadn’t shown up, tomorrow morning the maids would report your room as unoccupied. The hotel will assume you skipped. Not their worry, they’ve got your credit card. No one may know you’re missing until your family raises a cry. Plenty of time to get you far away, maybe out of the country.”
The idea sent a chill up my spine. “Do you think so?”
“It’s a possibility but that’s all. If I’m right though, what worries me is the third guy may have been trying to reach those two. By now he suspects something’s gone wrong. Or maybe someone’s already there, found them. They may decide to cut their losses and forget about you. But if they don’t and if their organization is big enough, they’ll have watchers in the places you might show up, like a police station or the hotel. That’s why I got us out right away. Nothing to be gained hanging around. Likewise nothing to be gained talking to the Tuláz police.”
“So now what?”
He stood. “I’ll tell you outside.” Anyone else would have asked if I was done but Rock was a man of abrupt action who assumed you’d go along with his decisions, big or little, which I did, mopping my bowl with a tortilla as he paid the cashier.
We walked out. “There’s an American consulate in Hermosillo,” he said. “That’s three hundred miles away but once you’re there you’ll be safe. They’ll loan you money for a hotel room, arrange for security if you need it and start the ball rolling for a new passport. You can wire your friend Richard for money.”
“Three hundred miles! How do I get there?”
He looked at me with surprise. “I’ll take you of course.”
“You will?” I said gleefully.
He shook his head as if bewildered I’d think he’d do anything else. “I’m not going to put you on a bus and wish you good luck.”
I hugged him, which must have surprised him because I felt his body tense. “Rock, you really are like a cowboy hero. My own Lone Ranger!”
“Don’t make me out to be more than I am,” he said grumpily. “I’m no white knight.”
“Close enough for me. But why can’t I call home?”
“What will you tell your father and this fellow Richard? That you were kidnapped and almost branded? That your belongings mysteriously disappeared from your hotel room? That the guy who saved you killed two men and now you’re on his motorcycle for a three hundred mile trip to the American consulate? But don’t worry cause your in good hands? If your daughter called you up with a story like that, what would you do?”
“I’d be out of my mind with worry.”
“What’s more you wouldn’t want to trust her safety to some killer. For all you know, he has plans of his own for her. You’d insist she stay put while you fly down. Maybe you’d call your security guy and get him to arrange for a Mexican security firm to protect you. That not only complicates things but it takes time. I can have you in Hermosillo by noon tomorrow. Call them when you’re safe at the consulate.”
“But what if they try to reach me and can’t?”
“They’ll be annoyed and maybe they’ll worry some, but they’ll also be expecting a phone call from you to explain what’s going on. Let’s say one or the other calls sometime today. He won’t seriously start fretting until tomorrow. Then again, maybe nobody will call today.”
“What about my credit cards? Whoever has my purse is probably using them right now.”
“Probably. Do Richard or your father have that kind of information?”
“Richard does or rather one of his accountants does. Daddy’s sort of hopeless when it comes to money. Richard has handled our finances for years.”
“Well, when you phone home, he can cancel your cards. You’ll lose a few thousand dollars but it sounds to me like that’s not really a worry for your family.”
“Not really.” Rock was right. If I called now, I’d only alarm them. Better to wait until I was at the consulate. “All right,” I said. “But I can’t ride three hundred miles in these clothes. I need jeans and a shirt.”
He climbed on the motorcycle and I took my place behind him. “We’ll stop at the next town,” he said over his shoulder. “Nobody’s following us so either we gave them the slip or I was just paranoid. We’ll do two hundred miles today, stop for the night at Ciudad Flores. It’s got a pretty little hotel, old but kept up. You can have your own room.”
I’d had my arms around Rock’s broad back for the last two hours, hugging his hard, powerful muscles. I wasn’t sure I wanted a room of my own, but the prospect of a tub of hot water thrilled me. “A bath!” I exclaimed. “That would be heavenly.”
Thirty miles further on, we stopped in a small town and found an apparel shop where I got jeans, t-shirts and a denim jacket that would stop the wind without swallowing me. I also got a strap purse, underwear, a cotton nightgown and a lightweight long-sleeved shirt a size too large that handily covered my rope marks when I buttoned the sleeves. I put these on in the fitting room and left my sheath dress behind. It was a lovely green garment that I got at a little shop in Boston’s trendy Newbury Street but it had nothing but bad memories now.
At a drugstore next door I bought make-up and a few female necessities, including a comb and brush to do what I could with my tangled hair. Then we went back to the clothing store where I bought a scarf to keep it from flying in the wind. I went to a mirror and worked on my hair for a few minutes, then tied the scarf in place. We were just going out the door when a salesgirl emerged from the fitting room with my old dress. “Señora! No quieres que tu vestido?”
Rock translated. “Don’t you want your dress?”
“Oh. No, I don’t.”
“No, gracias,” he told the astonished girl. “Ella no lo quiere.”
We went out. “She looked at you like you’d lost your mind,” observed Rock. “Was that expensive?”
“Well, I suppose you’d say that. I don’t remember exactly what it cost. Six hundred maybe.”
“Six hundred dollars! That’s a year’s income to those people.”
“Well, it just needs to be cleaned. She’s welcome to sell it or wear it. Speaking of money, keep track of what I’m costing you and I’ll pay you back once I have money.”
“For jeans and lunch? Forget it.”
“Well, there’ll be the hotel and maybe other expenses before we get to Hermosillo.”
“We’ll see,” he mumbled. Typical male, I thought, proud and stubborn. Then I realized that payment reduced him to the level of hired hand. Money meant nothing to me and I’d come across like I assumed his services could be bought like everything else. That was a gaffe on my part. A damsel in distress doesn’t pay a knight for his sword and steed. Then again, maybe my brawny rescuer would demand payment in another form. A tantalizing thought.
We sped down the highway. The traffic thinned. Shadows began to fall and headlights appeared. I clung to Rock, plastered against his leather jacket, the roar of the motorcycle and rush of the wind loud in my ears. My mind drafted and I went into a kind of daze. I woke to a grumble in my stomach. It had been hours since our hasty lunch. There were lights on the horizon, another town. The lights grew until thousands were visible. Rock pointed at a sign as we flashed past: Ciudad Flores.
It wasn’t a big city but it was a city, not a mere town. I dreamed of lying in
a tub of hot, soapy water. Rock cruised the streets until we came to a two-story brick building painted lime green. A restaurant was housed in the bottom floor. “Cocina China de García” announced a red neon sign. He parked the bike and we got off. “Hungry?” he asked.
“Famished!”
He smiled. “You’ll like this place.” It was the first time I’d seen him smile, a big lopsided grin that made me curious. He seemed to be anticipating something besides a good meal. But when we reached the entrance, I could see it was dark. A sign hung on the door: Cerrado. “They’re closed,” I groaned.
Rock however rapped loudly on the glass. We waited a moment and he rapped again. A short, frowning woman somewhere in early middle age appeared on the other side. She shook her head emphatically and I could hear her voice through the glass. I didn’t understand the words but her import was obvious. Go away.
Rock dug a cigarette lighter from his pocket and lit it near his face. The woman’s expression changed from irritation to sudden delight. A moment later, the door swung open and she beckoned us inside. “Miguel!” she cried, hugging him. “De dónde vienes?” She called to the back in what I took for Spanish and was quickly joined by a short man who echoed her pleasure. He and Rock embraced, pounding each other on the back. I could hear more voices in the restaurant as others came to the door. In a moment Rock was practically smothered by children of various ages and sizes. A boy in his late teens pumped his right hand while a younger one pumped his left. Two girls of grade school age each hugged a leg while one in early adolescence leaped on him like a monkey, arms on his neck and legs wrapped around his torso.
I was stunned. I’d never doubted that Rock had friends but if I’d been asked to describe them I suppose I would have pictured two or three dour ex-soldiers like himself. Seeing him enveloped in the warmth of a solidly middle-class family was a revelation.
Rock’s voice rose above the childish hubbub. “Todo el mundo, este es mi amiga Rory.” The woman turned to me with a friendly smile and took my hand in both of hers. “Bienvenido, Rory! Habla usted español?”
DARK BLISS (Dangerous Games,) Page 3