by James Hilton
“He did.”
Chrissie made a sharp intake of breath. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, Chrissie. Don’t worry, he won’t bother you anymore.”
“I can’t believe it. I didn’t even realise he was stalking me until I met you at the gym, but once you pointed him out I saw him at least half a dozen times in the next two days.”
“Aye, and he was getting closer and closer. He had the shark eyes on. I knew what he was up to, knew what he was building up to. I’m just sad that I was right.”
“What did you do to him? Do I need to call the cops?”
“No! No cops. I told you that this was strictly off the books. Guys like him wriggle and squirm their way out of things. They make a deal, inform on someone else, shit like that. Then he would be back out on the streets.”
“Did he have a gun?”
“Chrissie, it’s best if you don’t know the details. Just sleep easy tonight knowing that he’ll never bother you again. He’s gone from Miami for good.”
“But what if he comes back, starts stalking me again?”
“He won’t. He’s taking a boat across the River Styx as we speak.”
“I don’t know where that is,” replied Chrissie.
The corners of Danny’s mouth twitched into the briefest of smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Just know he’s gone.”
“Can I come home now?”
Danny looked down at the vacant gaze of the corpse in front of him, then at the roll of thick plastic sheeting that sat ready behind the couch. “Give me another hour or so. I’ll call you again.”
“Okay. I don’t know how to thank you!”
“Well, I still need more work with those kettle bells.”
Danny smiled again as she gave a nervous laugh. He liked her laugh. Liked it a lot.
“I think I can help you with that.”
He looked down at the increased definition of his forearm muscles. “Gotta love those kettle bells. I’ll give you a call in a wee while, then you can come home.”
5
Clay Gunn’s closest neighbour lived a little short of three miles away and that suited him just fine. While by no means anti-social, he preferred his privacy on a day-to-day basis. The city of Austin was less than an hour away, an easy drive on a long straight road. More than enough people there if he sought conversation. But his house, standing at the centre of his modest patch of land, was his current destination. Home.
Clay guided his bike down the driveway, the light from the twin halogens illuminating his home in a blue-tinged splendour. The Harley-Davidson 1200 Custom was the latest addition to his collection. Another four bikes sat inside, one of his few perceptible indulgences. Clay embraced anything with an engine: bikes, cars, his oversized Winnebago and, more recently, jet-skis and powerboats.
Clay smiled at the sight of home. He had been on the road for over a month. The house was surrounded by an adobe-clad wall, framing the perimeter enough to provide comfortable areas of shade when the Texan sun was proving its most determined. The grounds were pristine and surprisingly green, albeit populated with the hardier plants that favoured the Texan climate. Sebastian Chavez worked tirelessly to keep what he called mini-ZilkerLand in good order. The genuine Zilker Botanical Gardens in the centre of Austin were a thing of true natural beauty, a place he knew Sebastian never tired of visiting.
The Harley announced his approach with the low-pitched rumble from its engine. Shadows from the trees and bushes within the garden danced and lengthened as they were briefly illuminated. Sebastian and Salma Chavez lived in the large house all year round, groundsman and housekeeper. They lived in their own section of the house, into which Clay seldom ventured, though while Clay was away on one of his many extended road trips they had the full run of the place. He hadn’t let them know of his return, but he hoped there’d be something on the stove. His mouth watered at the thought of one of Selma’s spicy pot stickers and herb-rich mashed potatoes.
The garage interior was pristine. Not so much as an oil spot on the floor. His other motorcycles were parked in a diagonal pattern, each road-ready and perfectly maintained. Two cars sat alongside the bikes. A Nissan Armada SUV used for everyday tasks stood next to a fully restored 1974 Dodge Charger. The SUV looked like an army utility vehicle next to the bright orange muscle car. The garage smelled of wax, the vehicles gleaming. Sebastian had been busy. Clay parked the Harley in its slot and, hefting his travel bag onto his back, went inside.
The familiar coolness was a balm to his sun-kissed skin. The house was quiet. He glanced at his watch, raising his eyebrows. Nearly eight in the evening. Strange there was no pot bubbling in the kitchen. Salma was a creature of habit.
He knocked on the door that separated Salma and Sebastian’s quarters from the main house. When the door opened, Sebastian had dark rings below his eyes, which told of more than one sleepless night.
“Hello, Clay. Welcome back.” Sebastian’s wan smile carried none of its usual enthusiasm. His hair looked unkempt, which was out of character, and even more telling was the thick growth of stubble that darkened his jaw.
Clay frowned. “Everything okay, buddy?”
Sebastian’s Adam’s apple bobbed before he answered. “No, my friend.”
“What’s going on? Is Salma okay?”
“It’s not Salma. It’s Celine.”
“Little Celine? What’s happened?”
Sebastian rubbed his palms on the front of his plain cotton shirt, as if not sure what else to do with his hands. “You’d better come through. Salma is on the phone to the police in Cancún.”
Clay walked behind his friend, a sense of dread growing in his stomach. Although Celine had turned eighteen a few months earlier, she was still a child to him. It seemed only yesterday she had been a kid in elementary school. One day it was braces and pigtails, now she was on her first spring break in Mexico.
Salma slammed the phone back into its cradle. Her cheeks were flushed red, her eyes puffy. The frustration in her voice cut across the room like a knife. She slumped onto the couch, a sob caught in her throat. “They tell me nothing. ‘Don’t worry. Don’t worry.’ How can they tell me not to worry? Celine should have been home over a week ago. The police down there are worse than useless.” Her voice took on a patronising tone. “‘Don’t worry. It’s not unusual for a young woman to choose to stay a bit longer than planned. Maybe she found a boyfriend.’”
“Have you heard anything from her at all?”
“The last we heard from her was on Monday. They were all going on a trip to see the pyramids.”
Clay pulled up a wooden stool and sat down. “We all know Celine would have called if she had met a guy, and would definitely have called if she had decided to stay an extra week.” The feeling of dread crept further into Clay’s stomach, a sense of dread he kept from his voice. “What about the people she went with? Have they come home?”
“No. She flew down with three others, two girls and a boy from school. None of them have returned. We should never have let her go. I knew something bad was going to happen to her. She’s still a little girl, my little girl.” Tears rolled unchecked down Salma’s face.
Sebastian lowered his head.
“Have the other parents had any word?” asked Clay.
“We didn’t even know where two of her friends lived. What kind of parents does that make us? She went all the way to Cancún with those kids and we didn’t even know their parents’ phone numbers.” Sebastian’s expression was frozen in misery. “We had to call Marco’s parents to find out.”
Anger flashed again across Salma’s face. “But that’s not the worst thing. We couldn’t even fly down there to look for her.”
“But I can,” Clay said. “I’ll fly down first thing in the morning. Do you know which hotel she was staying in?”
Salma handed him a sheet of paper, the ink near its edges smudged with thumbprints. The details on the page were written in Celine’s handwriting
, smooth and uniform. The page contained the name and telephone number of the hotel: the Mayan Fiesta. Below were the names of her travel buddies. Their telephone numbers had been added in blocked numbers that held none of Celine’s delicate penmanship.
The telephone numbers of the hotel and the police station had been underscored with an angry hand.
6
Chrissie Haims smiled at Danny, a single bead of sweat tracing a slow path down her face. “Feel’s good inside, right?”
“Damn good. But I don’t know how long I can last, I haven’t done this for quite a while.”
Chrissie rolled her hips in slow concentric circles. Danny did his best to match her rhythm. His body shuddered and he let out a sign of resignation. He was done.
“Wimp,” teased Chrissie. She held the pose for another ten seconds then slowly stood up straight. She used the motion of a deep lunge to place the kettle bell on the floor.
“Damn, you’re good. I’ve been doing martial arts since I was a kid and I still can’t match you.”
“Different skill set, that’s all. You know I do cardio kickboxing twice a week, but I couldn’t step into the ring with a real fighter. I’d get my ass handed to me in a minute.”
“That doesn’t help my ego. I’m glad my brother isn’t around to see this. I’d never live it down.”
Chrissie clasped her hands to her chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d lost a brother.”
Danny rolled into a sitting position, laughing. “Oh no, he’s not dead. It’s worse than that. He’s in Texas.” Danny crunched out twenty tight sit-ups and thrust his chin at Chrissie as he completed the set. “There!”
“Ah, the natural balance is restored in the macho universe.”
“I think so too.” Danny winked at his training partner. Chrissie had made good on her promise. She had worked with him relentlessly in the week since he had resolved the problem of her stalker. He had supplied no further details, other than that she had nothing more to worry about. “I feel fitter and stronger than I ever have.”
Chrissie punched him lightly on his shoulder. “Don’t look so bad now either.”
“Does that mean I looked shoddy before?”
“Just take a compliment when it’s offered.” She moved towards Danny, taking his hand in hers. “Seriously, though, thank you for getting that guy off my back.”
Danny brushed an errant strand of hair from her face. The kiss they shared was light, unhurried. The moment was interrupted by the ringtone of Danny’s phone. “I need to get this. It’s my un-dead Texan sibling.”
Chrissie smiled and waved her hand at the phone. She poured them both a glass of organic orange juice. The call lasted less than two minutes.
“You’re leaving?”
Danny nodded. “Aye. A friend of the family has gone missing. We need to go and look for her.”
Chrissie closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “When’re you leaving?”
“As soon as possible. Can I use your laptop to book a flight?”
A tear blossomed at the corner of Chrissie’s eye as she waved him toward her computer. Her shoulders slumped.
“Hey, this isn’t goodbye. I’ll come back and see you when this is done.”
“Yeah?” Her chin dimpled momentarily. “Promise?”
“I promise.” Danny again moved that defiant lock of hair. He pulled her close.
7
Cancún International Airport was bustling. Squawking tourists dragged overstuffed cases towards the motor coaches and shuttles ready to spirit them away to one of the countless hotels that dotted the famous beach resort. Clay shifted from foot to foot impatiently, glancing at the arrivals board again—Danny’s flight had already landed.
Clay had arrived two hours earlier, and had used the down time to study maps of Cancún, then the wider Yucatán peninsula, on his smartphone. Thousands of square miles of green with very few interconnecting roads. There was a lot of wild ground to get lost in.
A familiar voice sounded from behind him. “Time was I would never have been able to sneak up on you. You’re losing your edge, big brother.”
Clay shrugged and gave a mock grimace. “I once got bit on my ass by a horse tick. Didn’t see that coming either.”
“Ah, stop bellyachin’. That’s the first time I’ve ever gotten the drop on you.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better. What’s next? Should I buy a pipe and slippers?”
Danny thumped the side of his fist into the thickness of Clay’s chest. “Be quiet, ya big dope. Besides, I don’t think they make slippers to fit feet that big.”
The Gunn brothers grinned at each other like kids and shared a hug.
“How was Miami?” asked Clay, as he led Danny towards the nearest exit.
“Miami was great. I caught up with my reading and topped up my tan.”
“Told you you’d enjoy it. I’ll come with you next time. The Cuban sandwiches at Guido’s on South Beach are great.” Clay smacked his lips. “You hungry?”
“I guess I could eat something. The food on the plane amounted to a mini-pack of pretzels and a munchkin-sized orange juice.”
Clay grinned in delight. “There’s a Margaritaville over there. I hear they do a decent plate of nachos.”
As Clay devoured his nacho platter, Danny opted for the grilled vegetable sandwich. Clay eyed his brother’s choice with suspicion. “You still on your health kick?”
“Just trying to keep the cobwebs off.”
“Not my idea of fun but I have to admit it seems to be working for you. You look good, little brother.”
Danny nodded in agreement. “Feeling good.”
Clay scooped up cheese and sour cream with a fan-shaped wedge of nacho chips. “Thanks for coming down at short notice.”
“No problemo. Sebastian and Salma must be worried sick.”
“They’ve been turning in circles since she went missing. They couldn’t even come down here themselves. If they found Celine, they wouldn’t be able to bring her home.”
“How’s that work?” asked Danny.
“Sebastian and Salma are illegal. They hopped the border twenty-five years ago.”
“I didn’t realise. So, Celine’s legal?”
“Yeah, a born-and-raised American.”
“Bad news when a father can’t bring his daughter home safe. That must have sat sour with Sebastian.”
Clay cleaned his plate. “You got that right. They’re both grey with worry. They’ve been at each other’s throats all week.”
“Stress’ll do that, even to good people.” Danny wiped his hands clean with a napkin. “So how much do we know about Celine’s movements?”
“She came down here for spring break with three of her friends. They were staying at a place called the Mayan Fiesta. I’ve booked us in there too.”
“Good place to start. What about her friends?”
“Two other young women and one man. They’re missing too. Marco Kenner, Gillian Cole and Laura Troutman. They all go to the same school. The last thing Sebastian and Salma heard, they were going out to visit some Mayan ruins—you know, the pyramids and stuff. As far as we can tell, they never came back.”
“And what have the local authorities got to say? They been much help?”
“I think they must have read the Idiot’s Guide. ‘Nothing to worry about, kids do this sort of thing all the time, I’m sure they’ll show up when their money runs out.’” Clay clenched his teeth. “Lazy-assed police work if you ask me.”
“I hear that. There must be some good cops down here, though, they can’t all be polishing seats with their arses.”
Clay shrugged, scooping up the last of the sour cream as he answered. “No comment.”
* * *
“Looks like the party is still a-happening down here.” The faces that passed their rental car were young, smiling, carefree. “I was here twenty-odd years ago. Damn, that makes me sound old. Great party town. Looks like it’s grown a bit since I
was last here.”
Clay didn’t answer.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find her,” said Danny.
“Yeah, but what kind of state will she be in? Cancún’s like most party towns: great on the main strip, but step two streets off it and you can end up deep in Crapsville.”
“Yeah, I hear that, big bro. What’re the chances of her being shacked up with a college jock? I know she’s a bright kid, but she wouldn’t be the first to lose her way to the love bug.”
“She would have called home. Besides, her three friends haven’t come home either. No way they all took the cupid potion.”
Danny rubbed his thumb under his nose. “What about another kind of potion?”
“Nah, Celine is part of the school anti-drug programme. She wouldn’t touch that shit, no way.”
“You sure?”
“I’m very sure.”
“Okay. That’s the common-sense stuff out of the way. You think they fell foul of one of the gangs down here?”
“I thought that it might be a kidnap job. But there’s been no ransom call, no demands.”
Danny took a deep breath. “That still leaves a few options.”
“Yeah, none of them good.”
“Aye, I hear that. Clay, I know Celine’s like family to you. This might not have a happy ending.”
A low growl rumbled in Clay’s chest. “She’s the closest thing I’ve got to a daughter. I’m gonna find her and bring her home.”
“I’m with you every step of the way. We might just have to go a bit easier than normal. The outfits down here are the real deal.”
“I’ll kill every last one of them if they’ve hurt her.”
“That’s the thing, Clay, we need to find out who they are first.”
A group of tourists, dressed in board shorts and baggy T-shirts, jumped as Clay sounded the horn. They scuttled to the side of the road. The closest of them began to flip the bird. Clay glowered back at him. The bird retreated into its nest.
“I forgot what a sunny disposition you have when you’re travelling,” Danny deadpanned.
