Kyle, at least, should have known better. He should have realized that Zack might have a good reason for taking their mother’s car and driving to Southern California. If Kyle thought of him like a real brother, he would have been on Zack’s side. But, he wasn’t. Kyle hadn’t been on his side last January, and he wasn’t on his side now.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Zack said.
He stripped and stepped into the shower so exhausted that he could have slept through an earthquake. But, as soon as the hot water streamed over him he felt refreshed, invigorated, and full of energy. He finished his shower, pulled on a clean set of briefs and crawled into bed anyway. He laid there in the dark, staring at his travel clock. He watched the minutes tick away, illuminated in red, as his mind turned over and over.
In the darkness he could be honest with himself. He didn’t want to be here and that was a fact, Jack. He wanted to be home. And, he wanted his mother to be there as well. His eyes began to moisten and he wished that Uncle Clifton, or someone, would level with him as to why his parents were splitting up. He wanted to know if he was to blame.
Kyle was having trouble falling asleep, too. Zack could hear him tossing and turning. After awhile he switched on the lamp.
“What are you doing?” Zack asked, quickly wiping his eyes.
“I can’t sleep.” Kyle reached over and picked up the travel guide. “I’m going to read for awhile.”
“Did you see any soft drink machines on this floor?” Zack asked. “I’m thirsty.”
“Nope,” Kyle opened the drawer of the nightstand and took out a brochure printed with the words, Servicio a Cuartos. “Let’s see what room-service has to offer.”
“Our phone’s broke remember?”
“So why don’t you run your butt down to room-service and get us a couple of Cokes?”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because I don’t friggin’ want to and you need to justify your existence.”
“Yeah, okay.” Zack threw back the covers, got out of bed, and pulled on a pair of jeans, a shirt, and shoes. “Be back in a minute.”
It was close to midnight and the hotel was now dimly lit. Zack peered over the ledge of the parapet and saw the restaurant was as dark as the rest of the hotel. At the front desk he was told that the kitchen had closed over two hours ago, but the desk clerk said there was an all night market located on the next block, just beyond the alley.
The night air was damp. Underneath the scent of flowers lingered the noxious odor of diesel fumes. The light from the full moon lit up the driveway and the black iron gates, which no one had bothered to close, stood unguarded.
###
At eleven-thirty, Raymond parted the curtains and glanced down onto the empty street in time to see Albie exit the small market and go to the alley. The little Canadian wasn’t usually so punctual. Raymond continued to observe from the window and every few minutes Albie would go to the edge of the alley and peer up and down the street. Raymond liked it that he made Albie nervous.
At three minutes to midnight, Raymond attached the sheathed knife to his belt and put on his coat. He left his room, went down the stairs, and out through the front entrance. No one was at the desk, the clerk probably asleep in the back room. He kept in the shadows and took his time crossing the road.
“All right,” Raymond grinned. “Let’s get this done.”
###
A misty halo ringed the red neon sign of the market. When Zack approached the alley he heard the voices of two men arguing and realized that the city wasn’t as deserted as he had thought. They were arguing in English. The moon slipped behind a cloud and Zack paused in the shadows, not wanting to draw their attention.
“We both know Miguel made a drawing, a map. You were supposed to get the map. Did you get the map, Albie?” The words that the tall, dark man spoke were clipped and enunciated.
The shorter man opened his palms in appeasement. His light colored hair hung down in his face. “Hey, I wouldn’t lie to you. What I know, you know. I was wrong, man. There is no drawing, no paper. Listen, you found the stuff in Santa Elena didn’t you?” When the tall man didn’t answer, the other man continued, “Well? Didn’t you? Doesn’t that prove I’m on the level?”
“I want the map.” The way the man said the words sent chills down Zack’s back.
The blond man shook his head. “Can’t get it. Miguel left the country last night. He said the officials were climbing up his ass so he hightailed it back to the states.”
The tall man spat on the ground. “The greatest archeological find in the history of Central America and here you are, fucking me around!”
“Hey man, no one’s keeping anything back,” the blond man answered, his voice still calm. “Raymond, you’re right, this is one of the greatest finds ever in Mesoamerica. It’s also one of the most dangerous. If you want me to find out more about the codex, then you’ll have to pay extra. I am really sticking my neck out.”
Raymond grabbed Albie by the collar and pulled him in close. “I know you’re screwing with me.”
The blond man jerked loose and stepped to the side, smoothing his shirt. “I don’t like threats,” he said, his voice wavering a little. “Maybe I ought to deal with someone else. Someone a bit more agreeable.”
The cloud lifted. Raymond froze as he saw Zack standing at the entrance to the alley. “Hey kid!” he bellowed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Go on, get the hell out of here!”
Zack took off. He sprinted across the alleyway, down the sidewalk and through the door of the small market.
The store smelled like old beans. An older man behind the counter watched him closely as he wandered up and down the aisles. Zack decided to pass on the dusty candy display and went to the large red and white cooler in front of the plate glass window. He pulled out two Cokes and as he stood letting the icy water drip off the bottles the dark haired man ran down the sidewalk in front of the store. Before dashing across the street he glanced over his shoulder, looking directly at Zack through the window. He had small eyes and a long narrow face, but it was the thin, cruel mouth underneath the thick mustache that gave Zack chills.
Zack watched for the other guy to make an appearance, but he was nowhere to be seen. When Zack felt he’d waited long enough and was certain that the blond guy had probably gone the other way, he took the Cokes up to the register. Underneath the glass counter, among the carved soapstone figures were fold-up knives. Zack pointed to a red one, about three inches long.
The man took it out and placed it on the counter.
Zack paid for the purchases with some of the funny money he’d gotten earlier at the front desk. The shopkeeper put the Cokes in a paper sack, while Zack slid the knife into the front pocket of his jeans. It wasn’t a gun, but he felt better for having it.
This time there were no voices coming from the alley, instead there was only the solitary form of the shorter man crumpled on the ground. In the bright moonlight the man’s hair possessed a silvery sheen.
“Hey,” Zack called. “You okay?” For a moment there was no answer.
Then the man raised his head. “Kid? Hey kid, come here.” His voice was weak and raspy.
Zack went to him and knelt by his side. The man lay in a fetal position with both arms wrapped around his stomach. The air was filled with the metallic scent of blood and underneath his arms a dark stain permeated the front of his white shirt.
Zack knelt by his side. “Jeez, man. I gotta call an ambulance. I’ll be right back.”
Groaning, the man removed his right arm from around his middle and wrapped his fingers tightly around Zack’s wrist. The man coughed and then swallowed. “You an American?” he whispered hoarsely.
“Yeah.”
He smiled weakly. “I’m Canadian.”
Great, now we know each other. The dark spot was growing larger. Zack had never seen so much blood. “Hey, man, you’re bleeding a lot. Let go. Let me get you some help.”
�
�No time.” The injured man lapsed into a fit of coughing. It subsided and his body relaxed a little. With great effort, he released Zack’s wrist and reached into the front pocket of his pants. “Got something for you, kid,” he said, pulling his hand back out. “Here boy, take this.”
Zack held his hand under the man’s bloody fist and a small square package dropped into his palm. In the moonlight, Zack couldn’t make out what it was.
“What’s this?” Zack asked.
“Every man’s dream, boy. Every man’s dream.” The Canadian’s body quivered for an instant as he released a soft groan and his eyes went blank. Zack watched in horror as the man’s head rolled to the side. Then he was still.
Zack shoved the bloody wrapper into the pocket with the knife. “Hey, mister,” he urged pushing the Canadian’s shoulder with his palm. “Mister, wake up. Mister?”
He didn’t move. Zack laid two fingers against the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. There was no beat. The Canadian was dead. Slowly he got to his feet. He looked around, but no one was there to help. Only this evening he’d been lectured about staying out of trouble and warned to avoid any involvement with the police.
Now, here he was in an alley with a dead man.
Shaking uncontrollably he staggered to the alley’s edge. Without warning, his stomach rebelled. He threw his hand against the brick building for support, dimly aware of the pits the rough brick made in his palm, as he regurgitated roast beef and black beans. When he’d finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took a deep breath. Clouds masked the face of the moon, and then drifted off. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so cold. He hugged the paper sack tightly, strangely comforted by the hardness of the bottles against his chest, forced himself to stop trembling and made his way back to the hotel on legs that felt like rubber.
Chapter Five
The desk clerk glanced up briefly before turning his attention back to the papers in front of him. If there was anything unusual about Zack’s appearance, he didn’t seem to notice.
The hotel room was dark. Faint snores told Zack that Kyle had given up waiting and had succumbed to sleep. Zack set the paper bag on the dresser and staggered into the bathroom, closing the door quietly before turning on the light. He studied his face in the mirror, surprised at how normal he looked; except, of course, for the smears of blood on his jeans, wrist and hand. There was no sign on his forehead proclaiming he’d just seen a man die. He scrubbed off the blood, splashed cold water on his face, and rinsed out his mouth with Listerine. The mouthwash purged the sour taste from his mouth, but nothing could free the horror from his mind.
He pulled the small box, sticky with blood, from the front pocket of his jeans. It was a condom multi-pack. Somehow, he didn’t think that the last thing on the murdered man’s mind was Zack practicing safe sex. Sure enough, tucked inside he found a small, folded up piece of paper.
He removed the paper and unfolded it. On the paper, which the dying Canadian had described as ‘every man’s dream,’ were words penned in black ink. Some were in Spanish, others written in a language he’d never seen before. Maybe not a language, maybe a code. The word, ‘Flores,’ was circled, and at the bottom of the paper was a crude drawing of a big-eared monkey holding a stick. Was this the drawing that ‘Miguel’ had made? If so, the murderer was right. The Canadian had been holding out on him. This paper wasn’t much to look at, but it had to be important. It cost the Canadian his life.
Zack sighed. So, what now? He knew what he wanted to do. Nothing. The right thing would be to call the police. But, this was Guatemala, not the United States and he didn’t want to get mixed up in any kind of mess. Anyway, how swiftly did the wheels of justice move in this country? Could he be stuck here for weeks or even months? That cinched it. The Canadian would be found in the morning, if not before, so the best thing for everyone concerned would be for him to keep his mouth shut. Soon he’d be on the plane to somewhere else and no one would be any wiser.
He wrapped the bloody box in toilet paper and dropped it in the waste paper basket. Cracking the door so only a sliver of light penetrated the bedroom, he picked up the Frommer’s travel guide and slid the drawing in-between the pages. It seemed like he had some use for the book after all. Then, he buried the book inside his backpack at the bottom of his suitcase.
Finally he stripped off his shirt, jeans, and shoes and climbed in bed.
He slept fitfully that night, waking every hour in a cold sweat. The same nightmare haunted him over and over again. It was night, but bright enough to see as he lurched through the jungle alone and afraid, pursued by the mustached murderer. Vines tangled around his ankles and palm fronds slapped against his body as the Canadian’s ghost drifted in and out of view, whispering, “Every man’s dream, boy. Every man’s dream.”
Then, the ghost changed into the form of a brown-skinned old man and Zack knew he’d be safe if he could only reach him. But each time he got close the old man faded away into the undergrowth. For an instant he stopped to look behind him and the vines crawled up his body and wrapped around his neck. He clutched at the creepers and they changed into the murderer’s long, gnarly fingers. He could feel hot breath on the back of his neck, but his fear kept him frozen as the fingers tightened around his throat.
Zack bolted upright in bed and sucked in air.
Kyle leaped back, his arm outstretched. “Jeez!”
“What are you doing?” Zack screeched.
“Waking you up,” Kyle answered, letting his arm fall to his side. “What’s with you?”
Zack rubbed his face, his heart still thumping. “I was having a nightmare.” He threw back the covers, planted his feet on the floor, and took long, deep breaths. “God, it was horrible. I was being choked.”
“Well, it’s over now,” Kyle said. He was already dressed, complete with hat. “Get up. We need to get going.”
“Give me a minute.”
“So, what happened to you last night?” Kyle asked.
“What?”
“When you went to get the Cokes?”
Suddenly Zack remembered. “Room service was closed, so I went to a market down the street. You’d crashed by the time I got back.” He pointed to the brown paper sack on the desk and for the first time saw the bloody smears on the paper. To his relief, Kyle just nodded and walked into the bathroom.
The door closed and Zack took the Cokes out of the bag, setting them on the dresser. Then he folded the sack and stuffed it in the wastebasket. He’d just wadded up his bloody jeans and put them in his suitcase when Kyle came out of the bathroom. Zack went in, washed his face and brushed his teeth, before dressing in a clean shirt and pair of jeans. He tucked in his shirttails and stuffed the cowboy hat on his head.
“Aren’t you going to shave?” Kyle asked.
Zack rubbed his face. “I don’t think so.” He might look haggard, but he didn’t want anything as sharp as a razor close to his face. “Let’s just get out of here. The sooner the better.”
Their uncle was waiting for them in the lobby. “We’re all checked out,” he said. “And, there’s a taxi waiting outside.” He looked at Zack. “What happened to you?”
Kyle answered for him. “He had a rough night.”
“Yeah,” Zack muttered. And, you don’t know the half of it.
The early morning sun cast magenta streaks across the darkish blue sky. The taxi pulled out of the hotel driveway in the opposite direction from the alley and Zack settled back into the seat. If the police hadn’t found the Canadian by now, well, it was only a matter of time.
This cab driver was as bad as the one they’d had the previous day. He swerved to change lanes and Zack slid across the seat and into Kyle.
A flutter of red from the stick shift caught his attention and he couldn’t believe his eyes. Wedged on the gearshift lever was a doll’s head with tangled and matted brown nylon hair. A hole had been cut in the middle of its crown to accommodate the gearshift knob and long, thin strips of ragged
red ribbon hung from the doll’s jagged neck. Every time the driver changed gears the ribbons twitched and jerked, while the doll’s lifeless blue eyes blinked open and shut.
What kind of country was this?
Zack elbowed Kyle and pointed. “What is that friggin’ thing?”
“Mucho weirdo,” Kyle said.
Zack stared at the doll, and her innocent, dead eyes winked back. Don’t look, he told himself. Don’t look. But, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from this grotesque and yet fascinating spectacle. His vision blurred and reality slipped away as he watched the ribbons dance, their frayed form taking on the likeness of streaming rivulets of blood. First gear, blink, blink. Second gear, blink, blink. Third gear, blink, blink. Blood dripped and flowed from the severed neck. Blink, blink, blink mocked the dead doll’s eyes.
‘Stop it!’ Zack screamed.
Suddenly, they were at the airport and he was jolted back into reality. He slanted a look at Kyle and then his uncle, but they sat calmly. His scream had been only in his mind. He shivered and ran his hand over his face, aware for the first time that his nose was dripping due to the pollution and early morning pollen. He’d been lost in the ozone for almost the whole ride.
Sniffing loudly, he followed his uncle to the ticket counter where they checked their luggage before making their way to the gate of departure. The airport was more congested than it had been yesterday. In addition to the passengers, groups of Guatemalan soldiers with automatic weapons were posted at various locations.
“You boys wait here,” Clifton said as they came to a small drugstore. “I need to make some purchases before we get on the plane. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Get me a pack of tissues, will you?” Zack sniffed. “My nose is driving me crazy.” His uncle nodded, then stepped aside as an expensively dressed woman drenched in perfume exited the shop. The strong perfume was all Zack needed for his sinuses to flood. He pulled out his shirttails and wiped his nose.
Ninth Lord of the Night Page 3
