Trouble Down Mexico Way

by Nancy Nau Sullivan

  “Blanche. Shut the hell up.”

  Blanche was never so happy. It was Haasi. Behind the panel. Blanche fell back on the floor. “Where are we?”

  “Not far from that lab. I think.”

  “I have to get this panel off. Wait.”

  “Just hold tight. Listen. Remember, Blanche? Listen.”

  It’s what saved them, not even a year ago, when Blanche had been kidnapped and taken off in a van. Haasi had told her on more than one occasion to listen, but listening to Haasi was not just a thing of ears. It meant gathering reserve, digging for survival, thinking as well as listening. Listening saved Blanche then, gave her context and understanding of where she was, and strength. She took a moment to concentrate on all the senses. She could see, and she could hear, and smell. Touch and think. Now, she needed everything. She listened. She wouldn’t have found Haasi if she hadn’t.

  Blanche looked around the room for resources.

  An axe? A gun? Anything to get us out of here?

  She listened, hard. It was quiet outside. They had to be near the plaza, but she heard no traffic. They were in some part of the old building where they’d discovered the lab, she was sure of it, and what good did that do? Well, old buildings were like people. They had quirks. Let’s follow the quirks.

  She called Haasi in a hoarse whisper. “Do you have any ideas about how to get out of here?”

  “I’m thinking, Blanche. Can’t you hear me thinking?”

  “Yes.”

  Blanche searched the room. There was, of course, nothing. No tools, implements of any sort. But there had to be something. She went back to the framing around the panel and picked at it with determination. She didn’t even have the nails for it. Her fingertips were getting splinters. “Haas! I’m working this panel on the wall.”

  “I have one, too.”

  The picking and scratching weren’t working, and so she went about looking for a solution when clearly there was none.

  Blanche stood on the sofa and ran her hand along the windowsill. No handles or levers. She jumped down. Nada. Nothing in the room of any help. Whatsoever.

  Now she was getting angry. It usually didn’t take long for that to happen, but the knot of fear in her stomach was turning. And bitter. What the hell. Those shit birds. She picked up the sofa and tossed it halfway across the room. It was a release she needed. And then she almost smiled. Well, lookee here. The supports under the sofa were held together with a series of springs, and the springs were attached to flat metal braces. It was a cheap piece of furniture, and Blanche gathered confidence in that. She yanked at the web of springs and braces, the anger fueling her strength. She pulled and pulled, using her foot for leverage until the screws popped, and the metal braces gave way and threw her into a heap on the dusty floor.

  She sat there, flipping the metal braces and springs over and over. The flexible coils dangled from the holes punched in the flat metal.

  She heard the tapping again. A muffled sound. “What are you doing over there, Bang?”

  Blanche leaned against the panel. “Haasi, I think I’ve got something here.”

  “Whatever it is, we don’t have much time. That guy said he’d be back. Don’t know when, but we need some kind of plan. Now, Blanche.”

  “I’m going to try to get this panel off.”

  “Better you than me. Pancho Villa tied my hands.”

  Blanche took the flat metal brace and worked it around the frame of the panel. It was a tight fit; the wood was swollen. She once again cursed her choice of footwear. A sandal was worthless as a hammer. What she needed was a good solid boot heel.

  Finally, the metal fit a sliver of an opening under the frame. She forced it and worked it back and forth until a section of the wood molding popped off. “Haas, hold on. It’s working.” The rest of the frame came off easily. Blanche lifted off the wooden panel. Facing her was another wooden panel on the other side of a dark hollow space between the walls.

  And a rope? It hung from somewhere above straight down past their floor and into nowhere. Blanche peered into the narrow darkness between the walls, but she could see nothing.

  “Haas, can you hear me? I got the panel off over here. But this is weird. Hold on.”

  “I’m holding.”

  “Stand clear.”

  Blanche’s karate and gymnastics classes surfaced. She lay on her back. She could barely reach the panel on the opposite wall. It was a stretch, but she kicked at it with all her might. Nothing.

  “It’s coming, Blanche. I think. Hurry.” Her voice wavered from behind the wall opposite.

  Blanche lay on her side and used her left leg. “AAAAARRRRGH”

  “For Chrissakes, Blanche. Will you be quiet?”

  Blanche sat up and leaned into the hollow space. “Did anything give?”

  “Yeah, it’s going. Just do it.”

  Blanche scraped her left leg on the raw wood opening, so she tried the right. One solid kick, and the panel flew off into the room where Haasi was captive. Blanche leaned in. “Haasi! Let me see you. Good God. Let me see you.”

  Haasi stuck her head in the opening. “Howdy, pardner.” She popped up like she was grinning in a TV commercial. “Boy, am I glad to see you!”

  With a rope, or cable, hanging between them. Blanche held it off to the side. “Howdy, yourself. Are you all right?”

  “Well, not really. Here we are,” Haasi said. “What’s with the rope?”

  “Dunno. Let me see your hands.”

  Haasi reached through the opening and Blanche untied her wrists. “Jeez, what an amateur. These aren’t even decent knots.” Blanche knew a thing or two about knots. Living on the island, right on the water, she and her cousin Jack had learned early how to fish, how to sail, and how to tie knots. “If Jack could see us now, he’d freak.”

  “Well, I wish he could see us now. I wish he were here … Blanche, we have to hurry!”

  “What have you got over there? Anything we can use?”

  Haasi drew back into the room. She reappeared, the penlight in one hand. “Bad guy missed this.”

  “That’s hardly much of a weapon.”

  Haasi shined the penlight into the space, up and down. They both leaned into the dark hollow. The beam of light slid down the dusty cable. Haasi sat back on her heels. “Just as I thought. A dumbwaiter.”

  “Uh-huh. Great. A waiter? Get your order in. A slice of ham and some candied yams …”

  “B! Don’t you know what a dumbwaiter is?”

  “I’ve seen some dumbwaiters in my life. I’ve been one.”

  “Blanche! A dumbwaiter is a platform, or a box, that’s used to send food and dishes and stuff up and down between floors, usually from a kitchen. Got to be a kitchen down there. And maybe a way out.”

  “OK. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m going to take a little ride.”

  “You’re gonna go down there? On that thing?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  Haasi grabbed the cable and tested it. She pulled and a faint screeching filled the hole as the “waiter” began to rise. She stopped and peered at Blanche. “When it comes up, I’m gonna ride that puppy down and you hold the cable steady. It’s old and I don’t know …”

  “Haasi, this is crazy.”

  “I’m small and fast. Right? I’ll check around. Got to be a window or door down there. I don’t have a way out from up here. You?”

  “No.” Blanche deflated, all the excitement of finding Haasi whooshing away. They were trapped, for sure.

  They looked down into the shaft, Haasi directing her penlight along the walls. “We hoist the thing up. This cable is the pulley.”

  “What if it’s sealed up down there?”

  Haasi’s leg shot up in the opening. “Beware a mighty hammer.”

  Blanche felt a mix of relief and dread. They had to try. There was a slim chance of getting out of there. Before Bad Nose Mustachio Man came back.
>
  “Haas, do you know where Emilio is?”

  “B, I was blindfolded, too. That bad guy was ordering him around. Didn’t you hear it?”

  “I couldn’t understand. His Spanish was too fast, pendejo this and that. Emilio squeezed my hand and said, ‘Cuidado. It’ll be all right.’ And that was it.” Blanche froze. “Haas, did you hear that?”

  A squeak like an old door opening. Then, quiet.

  “What? I don’t hear anything.”

  “I don’t want to think right now. We just have to get out of here.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  NEXT FLOOR, PLEASE

  Haasi and Blanche pulled on the cable together and the dumbwaiter started to ascend.

  “Blanche, we have one little issue. If I can get out down there, you need to follow me. You pull the thing up and get in. I’ll guide you down.”

  “Most definitely.” Blanche jangled a handful of springs and metal braces ripped from the underside of the sofa. “And look! I’m working it. Trying to make some brass knuckles. Sort of.”

  Haasi grinned. “Well, we need all the help we can get.”

  They resumed grunting and pulling on the cable. The thing was old. It creaked higher until it was level with their floor, accessible from Haasi’s room and Blanche’s. Blanche held the platform steady while Haasi crawled into the space. Blanche started to lower her down into the shaft. The last thing Blanche saw were those dark almond-shaped eyes that glittered like black jewels as Haasi rolled herself into a tiny ball. “Adiós, muchacha. Lower away,” she said. Neither one of them weighed more than a hundred pounds, at barely five feet, but they had the strength of baby oxen.

  “If it’s a no-go, I’ll pull you up.”

  “It better be go.” Haasi whispered hoarsely as the box squeaked into the darkness.

  Blanche watched Haasi disappear. The beam from her penlight shot up and down the shaft. She called up to Blanche: “We’re in luck. The “waiter” stops here. End of the line. That guy must have stuck us on the second floor.”

  Haasi pushed at the panel. Nothing. “It’s not giving, Blanche.”

  “Keep trying. Use both legs?”

  A loud pop, and a dim light flooded up the shaft. “Blanche. I’m in. There’s a kitchen here …”

  Blanche stiffened with fright. Now she was sure she heard something. A door banged shut somewhere in the building. She heard the thud of heavy footsteps. She pulled herself out of the opening. Someone was out there on the other side of the door. The steps pounded on the landing. She remembered making that turn in the stairwell. Now the boots made a dull staccato up the stairwell. Whoever was there was yelling into a cellphone, and he wasn’t happy. He stopped, yapping away in Spanish so fast Blanche couldn’t understand a word. But none of it could be good. She looked around like a wild woman.

  She called down to Haasi. “Holy shit, Haas! Hang on. Be quiet down there. Someone’s out in the hall.”

  Blanche dragged the sofa toward the wall. Tears of happiness for the high padded back. She moved it over the panel opening, just about covering it. Barely. She sat down and prayed.

  The door blasted open.

  “Buenas, señorita.” It wasn’t Bad Nose Mustachio but another man equally ugly, his face sharp angles and menacing. He looked like a walking, ragged-edged rock. “Are the accommodations adequate?”

  “Quite,” said Blanche. “Not.”

  To her horror, he threw his head back and laughed, stood there arms akimbo, head tilted at her.

  “I want to leave now,” she said. No, I don’t. Not without Haasi. And where’s Emilio?

  “¿Qué pasa?” He looked around the room. “Why is the sofa over there?”

  Oh, Blanche, think fast, you idiot. She coughed. A lot. “Sorry. Must be the dust.”

  He shot one boot forward. Blanche’s stomach twisted.

  “The sofa. Why you move it?”

  “It was drafty over by the window, so I shoved it over here.”

  “¿Qué es eso? Drafty? It is twenty-eight grados out there. You gringas are very sensitive, no?”

  “Sensitive. Yes.” She smiled, and it was difficult. He stood so close. She could smell him, a musty mix of citrus and odd pungency, like an old fried cigar. She cringed, her hands clenched on her knees clamped together. Desperate to get him to leave, she was on the verge of passing out. How to get him to leave so they could get on with their escape? He did not look ready to leave.

  He leered, blackened teeth showing in a lopsided grin. “I’ll be back. Maybe I bring you tortillas. I’m a nice man.”

  Sure.

  “How long will that be, señor?” She kept her voice level. Even pleasant. “How long are you keeping me here?”

  “Do not know. We have business,” he said, shaking his head. “Qué pesadita.”

  Pesadita? The word from pesado, meaning weighty. It also meant troublesome, annoying, tedious, boring, all in one. It was a Spanish word that had no direct translation. She and Haasi were not pesado. He should let them go, but how to convince him?

  She decided to keep her mouth shut, for the moment. Hopeful she could think of something, or he would leave. They needed time. She didn’t move.

  “Now I go see chica next door. I pay her a visit.” He had the most evil, leering look on his face Blanche had ever seen. The fear she had for herself was half the fear she felt for Haasi.

  Think, Blanche.

  “Señor, would you mind, could I trouble you for that tortilla? Now? You see, I have a condition, a blood sugar condition, that requires I eat small meals. I’ll start to shake something awful, and I don’t want to cause trouble and I know you said you would …”

  “¡Silencio!” He had his hand on the door handle.

  “There is that little bitty taco stand near the corner of the plaza. That nice cart. If you wouldn’t mind. I would be so grateful.” Blanche couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her lying mouth, but she wanted him gone. Distracted. Away. At least until Haasi searched that room below and found a way out.

  “I’ll think on it. Taco cart is not there now,” he glanced toward the dirty window, now with a dull grey dawn light. “But I’ll get something, a bun or tortilla. I’ll get them so you shut up now.” He sighed. “Maybe.”

  He was gone.

  Blanche waited until the boots pounded away, and for her heart to stop thudding with fear. Just a beat or two. She slid the sofa away from the panel and leaned into the shaft. “Haasi!” Her throat was a constricted whisper. Frantic. She held her breath.

  “I’m here, Blanche. Pull the thing up and get in.”

  Blanche scrunched into the box and rode it down, thanking God she and Haasi were blessed with small bones and short stature. She jumped out of the “waiter” and into a dim old kitchen nearly as big as the lab. Pocked porcelain sinks, high, dirty windows, empty shelves except for a torn box, a stack of old newspapers, and a can.

  “Come on. We don’t have time for a cooking class.” Haasi was standing on a counter, her fingers curled around the bottom of a window frame. “I found a big metal spoon.”

  She wedged the bottom of the window open. “Afraid to break the damn thing. We have to get through it. Without bleeding to death.”

  Blanche looked back at the hole in the wall from which she’d emerged, praying the devil didn’t jump out at them. The day had turned into pure hell, and there seemed to be no end to it. She leapt up on the counter next to Haasi and helped push the window out as far as it would go. The thing hadn’t been opened in a hundred years. Now they were disturbing the homestead of generations of roaches and spiders. Blanche shook the silky web off her fingers as she followed Haasi through the window.

  They stood in a small courtyard, overgrown with tangled vines and scattered with a few pieces of rusty old furniture.

  “Jeez, we’ve gotten this far. Must be a door out of this place,” said Blanche. She turned round and round, staring up at the vacant windows of the building they’d just escaped. “How do yo
u think Emilio got out of here?”

  “He’s a big boy. I have a feeling we were just in the way. Bet they have other designs for the guy.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.” It was unsettling, a thread of doubt and worry that Blanche did not want to deal with now. But it did not stop the worrying. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

  “Bang! Look for a way out of here.”

  Haasi wielded the spoon, whacking at the thick growth on the walls. “Gotta be a door somewhere in the secret garden.”

  Blanche thrust her hands into the growth. “Ever read that book?”

  “No time for a book report, B.” Haasi was all legs and arms, working away at a patch of vines. “Wall over here, lots of plain old brick.” She pulled at clumps.

  Blanche could hear the low thrum of traffic. They were near the Zocalo, a place where they could run. Get lost in the crowd. Blend with the masses and escape their captors. She renewed her efforts.

  “Over here!” Blanche yelled. A black metal gate with no handle. The rust and paint crinkled and flaked. One hinge was missing. They pulled on the gate. It gave way into an alley. They checked up and down the long empty stretch, and they ran. They were covered in sweat and dust and leaves. Blanche had a length of ivy in her hair. Haasi’s braid bounced off her back as Blanche sprinted behind her.

  Throngs were spewing out of the subway stop on the Zocalo.

  “Let’s get lost,” Blanche yelled. She gripped Haasi’s arm.

  “I’ll say.”

  They took off toward the crowd. It was a perfect cover.

  Blanche didn’t see the woman until she came out from behind the taco stand. She almost knocked her down. “Sorry,” she said, and turned to keep pace with Haasi.

  The woman disappeared. She fell back out of sight and kept looking up in the direction of the dark windows of the lab. She was crying.

  Chapter Seventeen