by Jack Barnao
Kelly pumped me about Amadeo while we waited, and I filled her in, partway. He was a Canadian drug dealer, period. She tried to get more out of me, but I told her that the rest of the story was classified. She would read about it in the papers if I could get him back to Canada. That satisfied her, and she sat and nibbled at her coco-loco, the rum-gin-coconut-milk cocktail they serve up in a green coconut. It looked as if she was the drinker of the twosome. Beth was probably the one who had the romantic adventures.
Beth came back five minutes later, carrying my clothes rolled neatly around my toilet equipment bag. She handed the bundle to me and said, “You can shower in our room if you want."
"Thank you very much, Beth. I owe you one."
I stood up and she nodded at Kelly. “I'll be right back, Kell."
Kelly waved one finger, and we left. Manuel was on the bar and he noticed me but did not change expression. I wondered if he was García's lookout man. “Was there anyone around the room?” I asked, and Beth shook her head.
"Nobody. I think perhaps you're being a little paranoid."
"I hope so. A few days of safety will cure that."
Their room was on the second level, and she led me to it, almost proudly, as another couple came the other way along the balcony, young and wrapped up in one another.
"I'll wait here while you clean up,” she said. “That way your paranoia can take a small breather."
"No need, if you trust me not to use all your hair conditioner,” I tried, but she wasn't easy to entertain.
"You sound like Kelly did after we watched Psycho on the late movie one night. Company outside the bathroom door will keep you from panicking."
Their place was the same as the other rooms. The same pair of double beds, the same built-in furniture. I went into the bathroom and stuck the clothes in the washbasin, taking out my toilet gear. The shower was marvelous. My skin was gritty with salt, and under the hot water I could smell yesterday's dried sweat coming back to life. I stayed there for five minutes, then shaved luxuriously and dried myself, using unscented talcum powder to complete the process, and dressed again in clean dry clothes. When I was ready, I took another few minutes to rinse all the salt water off the pistol and each of the rounds, then dried everything carefully with toilet paper and put the gun back into my sock and went out of the door.
Beth was sitting in the room's single armchair. “That's an improvement,” she said. “What are you going to do now?"
"Find a place to sleep. I have to go after Amadeo, but there's not much chance of finding him tonight, and I'm in no shape to tackle any more trouble for a few hours."
"You can stay here,” she said.
I shook my head. “I can't impose any further. Besides, it might be dangerous for you."
She looked down at her knees, her fingers picking at the material of her dress. “How much less dangerous would it be if you went away and someone came looking for you here?"
I sat down on the bed. It felt like a cloud after the bare ground of the night before. “But what about Kelly? I can't inconvenience the pair of you like that."
"Kelly likes to sleep in the hammock on the veranda,” she said. The invitation hung in the air like the frail first strand of a new spider web.
I sat for a moment, thinking it all through. I was fit for nothing at the moment. And all I could do was search out Jesús and ask for help in finding the boat. Chances were he was gone from downtown now, or would be by the time I could hit all the bars. And if García did come looking for me in this room, it would be better for the women if I was here.
"Thank you,” I said at last. “I owe you."
She smiled quickly. “We'll see,” she said ambiguously. “Now, shall we go down and have a nightcap while Kelly uses the room?"
"Of course.” There was a strength to this woman that reminded me of Janet Frobisher. I wondered what her story was. Single still, at her age? Possible. But it was more likely she was an ex or a widow, looking for a new direction in her life. I wasn't it, and she probably knew that, but in the meantime I was a lame dog to be helped over a stile, the way she had helped Debra Steen the day before.
We went back down to the bar, and I ordered drinks while she spoke to Kelly, who got up when I reached the table and said, “Hi, roomie,” and winked. Then she got up and walked up the steps, nodding at the barman, who beamed at her widely enough that I knew she did a lot of business here.
I'd bought agua mineral for both of us, and we sat and sipped politely and waited. It was a strange experience. She was cool and had made no moves, but I wondered whether she would really use the other bed. The tension became hard to bear, and we chatted about trivialities. Where did we both live in Toronto? She had an apartment not unlike my own, only in Cabbagetown, the former slum now being reclaimed by the white painters and turned into an artistic enclave close to the city center. She asked me about my job, and I told her some of my previous clients. She was interested in Dee Sade and said, surprisingly, that she had a couple of the group's records. I asked her about her own career, and she brushed it aside with “It's a living,” so I asked how the model had settled down and she told me, flicking a keen glance to see whether I was one with the rest of the world who idolized her beauty. I laid that one to rest. “I have a feeling she's like most models, narcissistic and very insecure."
"Beauty can be a penance,” she said, then laughed. “Which leaves me grateful for being the way I am."
There was nothing graceful to say there, so I just looked at her and shook my head silently. Then she set down her glass. “Come on, Kelly will be through by now."
We went into her room the front way so as not to disturb Kelly, and when we were inside, she said, “You go first,” and pushed me toward the bathroom. I cleaned my teeth and came out and undressed, putting the.38 under the pillow and climbing gratefully into bed. Beth came out of the bathroom a minute later, naked. She put out the light and got into bed beside me.
"This is fantastic,” I said. “I wouldn't want anybody telling lies about us,” and she laughed.
Sixteen
I didn't get as much sleep as I needed, but as much as I wanted. Beth was a surprise, an eager lover, an enjoyer who made sweet moan, like La Belle Dame Sans Merci. And then suddenly I was asleep.
I woke at first light and started upright. Beth was sitting on the edge of the other bed, wearing a robe, smoking a cigarette, and looking at me.
I rubbed my face. “Good morning."
"Good morning,” she said and smiled. In the early light she looked older than I had thought, forty-five perhaps, although her body had been lean and handsome and firm. She stubbed her cigarette into the ashtray she was holding.
Foolishly I said, “I didn't know you smoked."
"Not often,” she said and stretched. “Not often enough. I'm sure you've heard it said that the best three things in the world are a whiskey before and a cigarette after."
I laughed. “Yes. I heard that once."
She crossed the space and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Still tired?"
"Not anymore.” I could have used another couple of hours’ sleep but not now, not in daylight.
"You went to sleep on me,” she said. “Am I that boring?"
I reached over and slipped my hand under her robe. “Not very gentlemanly, was it? I'm sorry."
"Prove it,” she said and giggled.
Half an hour later she lay and drowsed while I showered and shaved, trying to make a plan while I frowned at myself in the mirror. All I could do was try to chase Amadeo down. It was no use calling Cahill. That would just make his February morning in Toronto even more dreary. He couldn't help me from that range. I would try to reach Jesús and work with him at this end.
I went back into the bedroom, where Beth stretched luxuriously and hoisted herself onto one elbow, letting the single sheet slip down from her small breasts. “Going?"
"I have to.” I sat on the edge of the bed. “Thank you, for everything."
/> She sat up and cupped my face in her hands, and we kissed. “Ships that pass in the night,” she said softly. “Take care of yourself, sailor."
I winked at her. “Hasta luego, Beth. The good Lord willin', I'll be on the flight on Sunday with Amadeo beside me. And I live a three-dollar cab ride from your door."
"Maybe I should buy a whole carton of cigarettes,” she said, and we kissed again, and I felt under the pillow for my gun.
She jerked herself away from me as I pulled it out. “Was that there all night?"
"'Fraid so. One of the tools of my trade,” I said.
Her mouth was tight and she frowned, showing tiny little vertical lines around her lips. “Use it in good health,” she said.
I winked and left, going out the back door, onto the veranda where Kelly was lying facedown in the hammock, one arm trailing down to the tiles. I glanced around, then walked out to the end of the veranda and dropped down, over the end onto the next veranda and then again, down to ground level at the base of the slope that led back up onto the road. I could hear Spanish voices as the workmen began to gather for the construction that was going on at one side of the hotel, laughter and chatter that would be the same in any language, no anger, no alarm. Good. I hadn't been noticed. To the north of the hotel there is a rocky headland that makes it impossible to walk to town along the beach, so instead I clambered up through the brush to the side of the road, coming out directly under the Parthenon. The same bored guard, or a clone, was standing at the front with the same ancient rifle, waiting to catch the first rays of the sun when it came into view over the mountains behind us. The road was deserted.
There are a couple of restaurants halfway down the hill, not fancy, used mostly by the locals. I stopped in at one of them and sat in a corner and ordered huevos rancheros and tostadas with black coffee. It came quickly, in generous portions, and I was ready to tackle the world. A couple of workmen's buses had passed as I ate, carrying the help to the hotel, and then the taxis started to flow. I didn't know what to do next, except stay out of sight and look for Jesús, so I lingered over my coffee and then went out onto the road again and headed down toward town. I was hoping that if anyone was looking for me, they were concentrating on the hotel, although it still didn't make sense that they hadn't followed Beth the night before and surprised me with her. Perhaps García had given up on me and was looking for Amadeo. News travels fast in a small community like Zihua. Maybe someone had seen us take the boat the night before and García had called off the search in town.
The thought of the boat gave me a focus. I would start at the waterfront. If Juanita was back at her mooring, I would get out there and look her over. With luck Amadeo would be on board, and I could take over where I had left off, without the menace of El Grande to worry about.
As the sun came over the mountain, I walked down the hill toward town, almost cheerful. And then I saw the sleek shape of García's Continental sliding up the hill toward me.
He was a hundred and fifty yards off when I saw him, and I was at the gateway of El Paraiso. I turned and ducked inside the gate and glanced around. The row of cabanas stood silent, deserted probably. But there, on one side, stood the van that had picked me up the day before. My best bet. I ran to it and hid on the far side, waiting to see if the car turned in after me. As I stood there, I heard a dry little cough and glanced up to see the driver from the day before sitting at his breakfast.
"You still gonna tell me you're birdin?” he asked dryly.
"I'm hiding. Can you let me in? I'll explain later."
"Sure.” He opened the side door of the van, just before the car pulled into the gateway, gunning over the dry ground in a spurt of gravel. I sank to the floor.
"Thanks,” I said. “Those guys are looking for me."
"Stay outa sight,” he said. He moved his breakfast aside and put the table down, then lowered the bunk bed from the far wall. It almost filled the van and I crouched at the end of it, in the storage space that would only be exposed if anyone opened the rear door. I was out of sight of him and of whoever was in the car, so I drew the pistol and waited, one hand on the door lock, ready to flip it open and roll out, shooting, if I had to.
There was a knock on the front door, and the driver said, “Howdy, buenos días, señor."
A man's voice asked him if he had seen a man come in, and he lied cheerfully. “Nope. Just this second got outa bed. Haven't seen anybody before you."
The voice got more insistent. “I would like to look in your bus."
"No can do, amigo. My wife, mi esposa, she's asleep."
The man hissed something in Spanish, but after a moment he went and I heard him calling to another man, then a crashing in the bush and a rattling of doors as one of them checked behind the cabins while the other one tried all the doors.
The van driver came back and sat on the edge of the bed. “They're goin’ all over this place,” he said. “What in the Sam Hill is goin’ on?"
"They work for a guy called García. He's the drug boss in town, tied in to the Mafia in Toronto."
He looked at me, his eyes narrow behind his no-nonsense glasses. “That the line of work you're in?"
"No. I'm a bodyguard, working with the Mounties, watching that guy you saw me with yesterday."
"That greaser? Where's he at?"
"He got away on me last night. We were due to meet his wife on board a boat. He had money for her, then I was to take him back to Toronto to testify. Only instead of her, we found some of García's men. I stopped one of them, but they dumped me overboard, and I had to swim ashore."
He didn't say anything when I'd finished. Instead, he turned and looked out the window. When he turned back he said, “They've gone. You can come out now."
"Thanks.” I straightened up, and he swung the bed up into the wall again.
"They didn't take your piece when they had you?” he asked dryly.
"Not this one. I had it in my sock,” I said, and he looked at me again without speaking. I got the impression he knew what he was doing. He acted professionally, not out of simple curiosity.
"How about you cut the bullshit an’ tell me what's really goin’ on,” he said at last.
So I did, starting in Toronto and bringing him right up to date. He had put the table up again, and he ate his breakfast, cereal with fruit sliced into it, and we both drank coffee while I talked.
"You mean that guy had half a million bucks with him yesterday? An’ you killed three guys?"
"Yes. I'm not proud of it. But if I'd kept hold of him, he was going to testify and tear the guts out of the drug organization in Toronto. That's why I did it."
He sniffed and picked up his cup. “Where'd a guy your age learn to use guns good enough to take out three guys?"
"I was in the British army for ten years, the SAS most of the time.” I was wondering where these questions were going. Was he just curious, making coffee-klatch conversation before turning me loose?
He looked at me over the rim of his coffee cup, then said, “What weapon did you carry?"
I blinked in surprise. “You mean in the SAS? A Heckler and Koch HK33E, 5.56 millimeter, why?"
He grinned. “What rate of fire?"
I told him and he grinned again. “And what did you use to clean the badge on your beret?"
"It's cloth. As an officer, I wore metal collar dogs on my dress uniform, but the badge on the beret isn't metal.” I realized he was testing me. My story sounded preposterous, but he was prepared to believe me unless he found I was lying about my background. And that's what he was probing. Good for him.
He finished his coffee and set down the cup. “Either you're legit or you been doing your homework. Not many guys know about the SAS, beyond the name."
"I did my research the hard way."
"Yeah. I believe you did.” He stretched, like a runner warming up. “Okay, then,” he said, “I guess we better go see if we can find him.” He stuck out his hand. “Calvin Thurlbeck. Up until last mont
h when I turned sixty, I was police chief in Flagstaff."
I shook his hand. He had a good grip. “Thanks, Calvin. If I don't get Amadeo back, a lot of people are going to be hurt. Kids mostly."
He stood up and stuck the cups and dish in the little sink. “I know. Crack. It was just starting to come in before I quit. Not in town, of course, we're too square for it. But I was at a chief's conference an’ I heard all about it."
He washed and wiped the dishes and put them away. “I guess our best bet is check out that boat. I'll drive downtown. You stay low, we don't want them bastards knowing you're aboard."
I sat on the floor and he picked up his feed-store cap and got behind the wheel of the van. He drove carefully, keeping to the limit, humming to himself at first, then switching on the radio. There was mariachi music, followed by news. My Spanish wasn't up to it, but he listened carefully, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Sounds like your count's up to four. They found a guy in the bay this morning, washed up. His jaw an’ neck were broken."
My huevos rancheros churned in my stomach. I knew I'd connected hard, but not that hard. I wondered if Amadeo had finished the job. “That's why they were looking for me. He was their top muscle,” I said, then added, “You quite sure you want to be a part of this?"
"I already am,” he said. “You hand in your badge when you retire but not your conscience. I been doin’ this kind o’ work too long.” He paused and added, “Anyway, I'm sick o’ lookin’ at birds. That was Fay's hobby. I'm just a natural-born cop."
He drove to the dock and parked beside the naval monument. “Stay here. I'll check,” he said, and got out. I took the.38 out of my sock and stuck it into my waistband, under cover of my jacket, which was stiff and tacky from yesterday's salt water.
He had parked in the sun, leaving the windows up, and within a couple of minutes the inside was like an oven. I shucked my jacket and sat thinking cool thoughts and waiting. He was back within five, and when he opened the door, he frowned and stood for a minute, letting the heated air pour out before getting into the seat. “No sign of the boat,” he said.