by Nancy Radke
The phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hello. This is Crystal," the caller said.
It sounded like the same man who had called Walt in Arizona and Perri smiled in relief. "At last. I've been waiting to hear from you."
"Where's Walt Putman? I expected him to come with you."
"I don't know," she answered. "I don't know how or when he was planning to come. I think he's in Mazatlan."
"But you don't know where he is?" The caller sounded skeptical.
"No. I was hoping you knew."
"We've checked, and he's not registered in any of the hotels; at least not under his own name. You'll have to find him. We can't move until you locate Senor Putman."
His statement eased Perri's mind. Her decision to stay had been a good one. She was needed here. "I'm trying. How is Owen?"
"He's all right. Someone tried to shoot him last night. He got away, but a man helping him was killed. You have to find Senor Putman."
"But what can Papa do?" she moaned, wishing they could call the police.
"He'll know. When you find him, take off your pendant; that'll signal us. Don't mention Owen to anyone. They might kill you."
"I won't," she promised.
"The man you ate with? Who is he?"
"Hugo?" The unexpectedness of the question threw Perri. "Just a tourist I met."
"You've never met him before?"
"No."
"Did you tell him about Owen?"
"No!"
"Good. Don't. He's not one of our men."
He hung up, leaving Perri to stare sightlessly out to sea. Should she ditch Hugo completely? The man hadn't said to avoid him, just not tell him. She would wait and see what happened, then make up her mind.
Perri reached for a map of Mazatlan. She wasn't going to find Papa sitting here. She'd go from hotel to hotel, asking, until he turned up. She took the elevator down, not noticing Joe as he entered the stairwell to go up.
There was still some day left. Perri started at the Cerritos Point and worked her way south on the Sabalo road, hopping the busses between any hotels that were blocks apart. A taxi driver followed her, offering her a ride each time she came out of one hotel and entered another. Tourists were less plentiful this time of year, and it made both cab drivers and venders more persistent.
When she got near the Golden Zone, she walked from place to place, sometimes using the beach entrances, as the hotels were practically built on top of one another, but the cabbie always caught up.
It took her three hours to check all the places north of the Hotel San Juan. One trailer park took her an hour to walk through and ask everyone.
Stopping at her hotel, she was handed another letter. This time one of the desk personnel remembered the boy who had brought it, saying he was one of the venders' children. He described the boy and the vender in detail.
This letter had little more information than the first.
"Perri, Received your message. I'm taking care of things. Imperative you go home; I've got help here. Love you, Papa"
At least she knew for sure he was in Mazatlan. Now if she could just find out where.
"Thank you," she said to the smiling desk clerk.
"Hugo asked for you."
"He did?"
"He said for you to please meet him here. He said it was very important."
"That's nice. I might, later. But I have to find this vender."
Her spirits rejuvenated, she went out looking for the person. She found him, not far from the hotel, with his display case of jewelry set up. His son had gone home, but he gave Perri the address and she took a taxi there.
The boy was only about six years old. All he could tell her was that a Gringo had given him money and a letter and asked him to hand it to the hotel clerk. The man had stayed inside his taxi, leaving right away.
"Was he an old man? With a white mustache?"
"Yes."
That was as much a description as Perri could get. It must have been Papa. And the taxi probably meant he was staying some distance from her hotel. Thanking the boy, she stopped at the Shrimp Factory for supper, then returned to her hotel. She saw Hugo in the lobby, talking to the desk clerk and purposely slipped on by. She didn't want him around, asking for a date, while she searched for Papa.
Coming out of the shower, Perri felt better, but not good enough to go to Donegal's show. Yet she snatched up the white envelope with its single ticket inside with a feeling of joy. Someone must have slipped it under her door, along with some ear plugs, while she was in the shower.
Looking at the thickness of the plugs, she knelt down and examined the space under the door. There was no crack showing. Even the envelope couldn't be pushed through.
Her breath caught with instant fear. Someone had entered her room while she was in the shower. Who was doing this? Who wanted her to sit at that table?
Owen's friend hadn't mentioned any tickets; yet it might have been the way he'd spotted her. Did he want to talk some more? If so, why didn't he call?
She picked up her phone to ask for a change of room, hesitated, and replaced the receiver. Her contact knew where she was, right now. Why he— or she— didn't want to talk to her in this room, she didn't know. Were they afraid of "bugs," like she had seen in the movies?
Apprehensive, she went to the show. This time she had barely found her table when Anna appeared, asking if she could join Perri. "I'll gladly pay. All the tables are sold and it's standing room only."
Perri didn't know how to reply. It would seem rude to refuse to let Anna join her, then sit with the empty chair beside her all evening. Was Anna her contact? Or not? She didn't act like it. Perri sighed. What a mess.
Anna was looking at her expectantly. At Perri's slight nod, she sat down, chatting away while the room swiftly filled. Anna spoke of everything except Crystal, Walt or Owen, and Perri decided the redhead knew nothing about what was going on.
No one else joined them.
Barely hidden under her hair, the ear plugs helped a lot. The music could be heard easily, but the vibrations were stilled so that her ears didn't hurt.
Donegal sang to her again...the same song; and she did a little better acting like she wasn't embarrassed when he blew her a kiss at the end. The ending was simple: "We are on a voyage of discovery, tho' mislead; a golden promise of ecstasy lies ahead. Dashing, daring, dauntless as we start the quest — we can but try. You and I...You and I...On a voyage of discovery. You and I."
The tune imbedded itself firmly into her mind, as well as some of the words. A Voyage of Discovery. The only discovery she wanted to make was Papa's whereabouts. And then Owen's.
Anna was delighted with the attention Perri had received. "Do you know him, personally?" she asked, fascinated. "Do you think I could get his picture?"
"No. I don't know him. I expect it's all part of his act." Then she remembered the young mechanic's words, and didn't know what to think.
When the show was over, Anna suggested walking down to the beach. "No. Not tonight," Perri replied, watching the crowd slowly disperse. "I need to rest."
The older woman left and Perri walked into the lobby.
Junior was there, examining a city map and he waved her over. "Perhaps you could help me. Do you know how to get to the Immigration office?" he begged. "I tried today and the cabbie took me to the US Consulate."
Grinning, she pulled up a nearby chair and pointed out the approximate location of the consulate, then told him the Spanish words he needed to help his driver understand. He wrote them down, thanking her profusely. She excused herself after wishing him well, retiring to her room to fall exhausted into bed. The mental strain was amplifying the physical toll.
She would continue tomorrow to search the hotels. If Papa had been in a taxi, he might have come from downtown Mazatlan. Perhaps he was in one of the more secluded hotels there.
Perri had never felt so alone and miserable. She wanted to help Owen, yet she seemed to be doing so little. Wh
at was happening to him while she tried to make connections with Papa?
Rising at six the next morning, she nevertheless almost ran into Hugo in the lobby. He seemed to be watching for her, and she frowned at his persistence as she punched the elevator button to go back up one floor. There was a back stairwell, and she used it to go outside and hail a taxi. She went to the southern edge of the city and started working north from the ferry boat terminal. The hotels were few and far between.
Up one street, across and down the next one she strolled, the hot pavement searing the bottoms of her feet through the thin leather of her sandals as the sun moved higher. She had to constantly wave away the cabbies offering her a ride in their taxis or in their golf-cart like "pulmonías." The little open-air cars were especially appealing and Perri used them whenever the distance was very far.
She saw Junior several times during the day and again his presence bothered her. Was he still attracted to her, in spite of Hugo's comments? He was getting around the city pretty well for a tourist who spoke no Spanish. Once, seeing her looking at him, he called her over to translate so he could buy some aspirin. Again he suggested they shop together, and again she refused.
By two-thirty she was exhausted. It was the hottest part of the day and most of the stores closed between two and four p.m. She had gone into all but seven of the hotels, apartments and "Rooms for Rent" places in Old Mazatlan.
Picking the coolest, shadiest restaurant she could find, she sank gratefully onto a chair. The slight breeze blowing through the foliage was heavenly and the cold lime drink she ordered a nectar of ambrosia. She took a deep swallow and closed her aching eyes. Her back hurt, her feet were swollen and a huge monster drummed noisily in her head.
"The señorita is alone, no?" Perri's eyes flew wide open at the sudden intrusion. A young Mexican stood in front of her, his hand on the chair opposite. She had seen him before, somewhere, here in Mazatlan.
"The señorita is alone, yes!" Perri stated, glaring balefully at him. But like the persistent Hugo, he didn't take the hint and instead smiled broadly at her, revealing a mouth full of shining silver fillings.
"You come here often? You want jewelry? Purses?" A short man with a black beard that was just starting to grow, he waved his hands expansively, talking rapidly in fairly good English.
"No. I want to be left alone. No thank you!"
"I know some hotels you missed. I can guide you there." He named several. They were on her list, she just hadn't gotten to them yet.
So her actions had been noticed. She told him again to leave, she didn't need him, whereupon he became more insistent, pulling back the chair and sitting down facing her while rattling off a long list of his accomplishments. "Taxi driver." As soon as he said that, she realized he was the cabbie who had tried to get her as a fare yesterday.
In her tired state of mind, she could not think what to tell him to get rid of him. He was the eighth cabbie who had offered his services. She no longer kept count of the vendors who had tried to get her attention. Everything she said, he ignored. Tired almost to tears, she scowled at him.
"Look, I don't want a guide. I don't need a guide." She said it in English, then repeated it in Spanish so as to make sure he understood her. It didn't penetrate.
"I have a car; a good car, I'll take you—”
"I don't need a car; not for—”
A deep, assured voice spoke from behind her, its bell-like quality unlike any other. "Ah, darling, here you are. You made good time." At the firm, decisive clasp of a hand on her shoulder, Perri looked up, and could have wept aloud with relief.
It was Hugo, all six-foot-three of him, complete with dark glasses and crooked grin, black boots and white shirt; his imposing, commanding, totally male presence effectively asserting itself between her and the unwanted persistence of the cab driver.
There was no question of who was in control.
Knocking back his chair, the would-be guide sprung hastily to his feet, apologetically assuring them that he would be available if ever the señorita needed him.
Waving him off, Hugo bent over and kissed Perri with an air of complete assurance, his lips firm and warm, lingering as if they did this each time they met...his large hand cupping the back of her head with tender possession as their lips touched—and she let him, her eyes wide, her heart pounding rapidly from astonishment, shock and pure pleasure.
She was so very glad to see him.
"Sorry I'm late," he announced, with such artful innocence she could almost believe she had an appointment with him. "I saw something that might interest you. Stopped to look at it." He raised his glasses and glared balefully under them at the guide, who was still standing nearby. Hugo was the perfect picture of an aroused, aggressive male, jealous and possessive, warning another off his personal turf.
Outmaneuvered, the other man backed off and Hugo picked up the vacated chair, spun it into position and dropped his lanky form upon it, as if to reside there permanently, a gleeful suggestion of school-boyish mischief crossing his face as he quoted in an undertone, "‘None but the brave deserves the fair.'" Then he added, plainly self-satisfied, "You looked like you wanted rescuing. Right?"
Her senses still reeled from his unexpected greeting. She didn't need to fuel his arrogance, but she had never had such a delightful connection with a man before and wasn't at all sure what to say to put a lid on his cockiness and thank him at the same time. In the end she chose to keep it simple. "Yes. Very much. Thank you."
He grinned lazily, taking in her confusion, his tongue licking along his lips as if seriously contemplating what had just taken place. "You taste good, you know. Honey... and nectar."
The silence stretched, grew. Her mind had taken flight over the palm trees, leaving her as unsettled as sandy ground in an earthquake. Hugo wasn't shy about pressing his case.
Was it the unexpectedness of the kiss, the total surprise? Its firm possessiveness? Or was it special because Hugo knew how to kiss a girl so she felt like he had reserved his lips just for her—an offering of romance?
It had been short, but potent. Her lips were still throbbing, aglow with new life, ignited with a flame that had left them burning...and aching for more. He certainly wasn't a fumbling amateur.
A waiter approached and Hugo asked, "You eaten yet?"
With an effort she returned to reality. "No. I was just about to order."
"Mind if I join you?"
"No, not at all."
He hadn't asked permission to kiss her. Why had he bothered to ask if he could join her? As far as she could tell, he was already settled in, comfortably at home, enjoying himself.
Hugo had a unique quality of appearing completely relaxed...he carried it about with him. Even his voice, deeply toned and taking its own sweet time with its slow drawl, was easy on the mind.
At least it was that way now, ever since he'd stopped baiting her. Perri realized this with a sense of wonder as she felt herself smile. If anyone had told her, just after she had first met Hugo, that she would find "the pest" so relaxing, she wouldn't have believed him.
She'd enjoy having a meal with Hugo. Doubly so as his presence kept others away.
They ordered and Perri came to her senses enough to thank him for the money. "My credit card arrived yesterday. I've got all of your cash here; I replaced what I used."
"Really?"
He didn't sound particularly concerned about the money and Perri was baffled. "It's very trusting of you to loan a complete stranger that much. I could have taken it and skipped, you know," she commented.
He laughed softly, a sound as gentle as the ocean breezes that were rustling the palm-thatched shade over them. "No. Not you." He grinned lazily. "With your hair, you're too easy to spot. You wouldn't have gotten far."
"Anyway, thanks again."
His lips twitched in a private joke that he then shared with her. "You're very welcome. How much did I give you?"
"Five hun.... Don't you know?" she demanded.
&
nbsp; "No...since I didn't loan you anything."
CHAPTER SIX
Perri stared at him, confused. Once again uncertainty trembled through her. "You didn't? Are you sure?"
Hugo chuckled. "Of course. I'll take the money, if you want to give it to me. But I never gave you any in the first place."
"Then who—” Her mind was a vacuum, whirling wildly, vacant of ideas.
"You must have a secret admirer. Who do you know, down here?"
Instantly Perri grasped the answer. Walt...or Owen. Presumably Walt, since he wanted her to return home.
"That didn't take you long. Whoever it is, he must think a lot of you."
"It's not quite what you think. He's not my...my lover or anything."
"Whatever." Hugo shrugged. "It's your business."
"I'm....I'm trying to find this man."
"The one you think sent you the money?"
"Yes."
"What if this man doesn't want to be found?" He threw the question out and it hung there between them.
Perri bit at her lower lip. She had been trying to come to terms with that fact all afternoon. "I don't think he does."
"Then why don't you—”
"Leave it alone? I would, except I've got to get a message to him. It's extremely important. Then he can be alone if he wants to be."
"In that case, why don't you describe him to me? I'll help you look. I'm free for a few hours."
Perri hesitated, the telephoned warning sounding in her mind. Should she enlist Hugo's aid? Since she had been describing Walt to every hotel clerk she had met without mentioning Owen, she could do the same with Hugo. It would be wonderful to have help. "Would you? I'd appreciate it. He's deaf, but it's hard to tell because he reads lips so well. He has gray hair and a short gray mustache, green eyes." She went on to detail her step-father's age, height and manner of walking. "Have you seen him, by any chance?"
"I haven't been looking. What's the message, if I find him?"
"I can't tell you. But I must find him. It sounds corny, but it is a case of life or death."
Hugo used his fingers to beat a short drum roll on the table. "All right. I'll help you tomorrow, too, if you need me. I'm free most of the day. Does this man have a name?"
