by Alan Baxter
Carlos smiled at the familiar, gravelly voice. ‘Hello Rat, it’s Carlos.’
The tone of voice at the other end was immediately lighter. ‘Hey, Carlos, you motherless dog! Where the fuck have you been?’
‘Indisposed. I take it you’re at home for the evening?’
‘Of course, my friend, where are you?’
‘Only a couple of hours away. I need some of my stuff, and probably some of yours. All right if I come there now?’
‘Certainly, man, you’re always welcome. It’ll be dark soon though.’
‘Doesn’t matter, I’ve got a pretty solid jeep. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.’
Moments later he was bouncing along dirt roads through the jungle. His jungle. He laughed as he swigged from the bottle of cold beer, revelling once more in the sights and sounds of the verdant life around him.
He thought of his younger days, not long after he had killed his way out of the holy foster home and run into this jungle for the first time. He had ended up in serious trouble, caught by a group of guerilla fighters. They had tied him and beaten him, having fun at his expense. It was just more abuse to add to the litany he had already suffered. But that night he had escaped his bonds and slipped away, taking weapons and rations with him. He had subsequently stalked the five fighters, using their own weapons and tactics against them as he paid them back for their cruelty with cruelty of his own. He had discovered an almost natural talent for hunting people, silently and painfully killing them. That first jungle encounter had nearly cost him his life, but he had prevailed. Prevailed against hardened warriors. From that moment on he had known his destiny. He had known that he was greater than normal men and it was his job to prove it. He proved it for money, he proved it for the pure joy of it and he always proved it when anybody crossed him. That mission hospital was simply too much, and that priest would pay his penance.
6
Katherine Bailey pulled into the parking lot outside Jesus’ apartment block. Cramped with garbage, burnt out wrecks, derelicts, no functioning vehicles. As the headlights flashed engaging the alarm and the doors all clunked, their locks briefly securing them, she looked around. Under the stairs at the side of the apartment block she saw a kid, young, dirty.
‘How much would someone pay you to tell them this car was here, waiting to be stolen?’ she asked him, pointing.
The young boy, no more than twelve at most, smiled, his dirty, hard face glowing slightly through the grime. His dark skin shined under the pale luminescence of the few unbroken lights. ‘Twenty bucks usually.’
Katherine grimaced. ‘Twenty bucks? Phew! Business good?’
The boy’s smile broadened. ‘Not really.’
Katherine crouched down in front of him, reached in her bag for some money. ‘Tell you what. How about I give you thirty bucks, and you stop anyone from taking my car?’ The boy nodded vigorously, stretching out one grubby hand. Katherine held the money out, then pulled it back just before he could grab it. ‘You’re not going to stiff me are you? I can trust you?’
The boy nodded again, his smile so innocent despite the fact that he was up this late making unsavoury deals to prevent grand theft auto. ‘I’m honest, lady. My word is my band,’ he said, his eyes serious.
‘You mean, your word is your bond?’
The boy giggled. ‘Whatever.’
Katherine handed him the money. ‘I’m relying on you, my friend, okay?’
The boy saluted her like a cheeky private, tucked the money into his jeans pocket. Katherine smiled and headed for the stairs to the apartment block’s front doors. Thirty bucks! Pretty damned expensive parking fee. Still, it was a hell of a lot cheaper than an insurance hike for a stolen car claim, not to mention the thought of being stuck out here without a vehicle. She knew the car was guaranteed to be gone if she just left it there. Paradoxically enough, kids like that little guy outside actually were pretty honest in their own way. She had kept her car safe in a similar way a few times now. Rates were rising though.
There was a crackle from the speaker on the doorbell. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Jesus, it’s Katherine.’
‘Hi, come on up.’ There was a buzz and a click as the door released. Katherine tried to ignore the noxious smell that was encrusted into the very walls of the place from years of abuse, piss, vomit, a dozen other foul ingredients. She stepped carefully over the inert forms on the stairs, careful not to wake them from their stupor. Or discover they wouldn’t wake up again. A syringe crunched under her heel as she turned onto the landing leading to Jesus’ apartment.
She saw Jesus’ apologetic little face peeking through the door as she approached, a grin splitting his tanned features as she caught his eye.
‘How’s it going, Jesus?’
He stepped back from the door, holding it open for her. ‘Very good, very good. Please, come in.’
Jesus’ apartment was a pleasant relief after the stairs and hallway leading to it. It was warm, bright, tidy, clean. Everything the rest of the area was not. A little oasis in a hideous desert. Jesus engaged several deadbolts on the door, their heavy thunk reassuring, before he turned to face Katherine again. ‘You want drink, Miss Katherine?’ he asked, rubbing his hands nervously together, moving from one foot to the other.
Katherine sat down in an overstuffed, orange fabric armchair. Straight from the sixties, comfortable beyond its years. ‘Sure, what do you got?’
Jesus grinned impishly, his smile not unlike that of the boy downstairs. ‘Tequila? Or I have little whisky or beer.’
‘I’ll take a beer, thanks.’
‘Okay.’ Jesus disappeared through a plastic bead curtain, clinking sounds of bottles and glasses. He returned a second later, held out a Budweiser and a glass. The cap was already popped. Katherine smiled her thanks, gently tilted the glass to pour the beer. Jesus did the same, sitting down opposite her in an identical chair. The only difference between the two chairs was the slightly more threadbare arms on the one in which Jesus sat. The TV was on, the sound down, black and white cars chasing each other through rainy streets.
‘Not interrupting your show am I?’ Katherine asked, nodding toward the set. The beer tasted good.
Jesus shook his head. ‘I see enough already. Same as all the others. The black man with the shiny head,’ he pointed at the driver of one of the cars as it skidded down a litter strewn alley, ‘he going to catch the bad guy. The bad guy is not the Italian he chases now though. He will work it out.’
‘You got it all worked out, huh?’
Jesus shrugged. ‘Most these shows, they all the same underneath.’ His lined face was sad for a moment. When he looked up from the TV he was smiling again. ‘You want to see fax papers?’
Katherine wondered how much it had cost him, in money and soul, to get across the border, away from the dangers of his previous life. Into an infested shithole like this. ‘Sure, let’s see.’
Jesus grabbed a large manilla envelope from a rickety wooden side table. ‘Is all in there, Miss Katherine. Is interesting stuff.’
Katherine took a swig of her beer, put it on the floor at her feet. She opened the envelope and shook the contents out. There was a map, with handwritten notes here and there, rough arrows, circled town names. A brief note from the foreman of the site, informing Pedro Sanchez of their find. Apparently the site was being financed by Pedro himself, not through the museum. Interesting. If all this was correct, Pedro could just have hooked himself quite a lucrative little find. There were various progress reports, salvage of some bones, remains of some buildings. Then there was a full report detailing the tomb they had uncovered, with supporting photographs. The photos were not too clear, the photocopier struggling to pick out the detail that the fax machine had already blurred. There was one picture, taken underground, of a middle-aged man with a scrubby beard and a heavily patterned poncho, grinning at the camera while pointing to a small alcove which housed a glassy, stylised skull, reflecting the light from the camera flash. A
fter that was a close-up of the skull, with a dirty, wrinkled hand resting beside it, presumably for the sake of scale.
Jesus stretched his neck to see which picture Katherine was so fascinated by, but said nothing. He was quiet the whole time as she looked through all he had for her. After a few minutes she looked up, her expression showing her pleasure. Jesus grinned when he saw that. ‘Good?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes, Jesus, this is very good. What more has happened since these pictures were taken?’
‘As far as I know, nothing more. Pedro, he say to man on telephone not to move anything or dig any more until he arrive. He say that he want everything properly logged and he will oversee.’ The expression of concentration on Jesus’ face showed that he was doing his best to quote directly from the telephone conversation he had overheard.
Katherine nodded slowly, looking at the pictures again, her face thoughtful. ‘I have to get there as soon as possible. I’d better wake David.’
Jesus raised an eyebrow. ‘Who David?’ he asked, trying to sound casual.
Katherine smiled slightly in spite of herself. ‘My editor.’
‘Oh, editor.’
‘My editor. Well, my friend, you have done a great job here, absolutely excellent. You’ve earned this.’ She handed him a small envelope.
Jesus dipped his head in thanks as he took it. ‘You make my life much easier, Miss Katherine. Thank you very much. I just hope that Senor Sanchez will not hate me should he ever find out.’
‘You know, I think he’d understand,’ she said, and she meant it. ‘Thank you, Jesus, you’re a good man.’ She picked up her Budweiser, drained the last of it in one refreshing gulp. ‘I’d better get a move on. David will be upset enough when I wake him up. If I get there quickly enough, I might just catch him before he goes to bed.’
Jesus stood up from his chair to see her out. ‘Okay, Miss Katherine. You be careful now.’
‘Sure, Jesus. And thanks again.’
He opened the front door, stood back to let her through. ‘I always here you know, Miss Katherine. You can visit anytime.’ His face was slightly downturned, not quite looking in her eyes.
‘I know, Jesus. Thanks. See you later, all right?’
Jesus smiled, his apologetic face soft, resigned. ‘Sure. Bye bye.’
Katherine leaned forward and quickly kissed Jesus’ rough brown cheek. ‘I mean it,’ she said, ‘thanks a lot.’
He grinned impishly, his cheeks seeming to go a slightly deeper shade of tan. ‘Is no problem, Miss Katherine.’
She picked her way back downstairs as carefully as she had come up, using her long legs to take more than one step at a time. She was sad thinking about Jesus. He was such a good man, so kind and gentle. If anyone in the world deserved a contented life and the love of a good woman it was Jesus, yet his lot was different. It pained her to consider his loneliness, his isolation, from his roots and culture as much as from people in general. Maybe one day a beautiful woman would visit the museum and see the mild-mannered janitor there, mopping or dusting, and maybe she would talk to him and become a part of his life. Katherine laughed without much humour. That’s probably his fantasy too.
She stepped out into the dim car park then sighed at the sight of her little white car, seemingly unharmed. The little boy sat at the foot of the stairs, grinning up at her.
‘Told you it would be okay, lady. Told you I was honest.’
Katherine sat down on the step beside him. ‘You certainly did. I didn’t doubt you for a moment.’
The boy laughed. ‘Yeah, right! That’s why you looked so worried when you came out the door!’
‘I guess I was a little concerned. But hey, look, nothing to fear, huh?’
‘Nothing to fear. Not with me on your side.’
Katherine looked at his serious young eyes for a second. ‘What are you going to spend the money on?’
‘Why?’ Defensive.
‘Oh, I’m just curious.’
‘I’ll give some of it to my mom, she works too hard. I’ll keep the rest for myself.’
‘You’re a good boy, then. I’m glad you help your mom get by.’
The boy’s face was suddenly hard, eyes flinty. ‘Somebody has to since we ain’t got no dad no more. And Marsha’s pregnant now.’
‘That makes you the man of the house then?’
The boy looked straight into Katherine’s eyes, pinning her with his anger. ‘Nah, that makes Michael the man of the house, but he’s so fucked on crack all the time that he don’t know what time it is.’
Katherine shook her head slowly. ‘That’s not good. At least you know not to get into that, right? Your mom can rely on you can’t she?’
‘Yeah, she can rely on me. Shame I can’t rely on nobody but me either.’
Katherine nodded, not knowing what to say. Eventually, ‘Get yourself something nice with that money okay. Something special just for you.’
The anger drained from the boys face, his cheeky smile slowly returning. ‘Gonna try and get me a GI Joe. Terry got one on his birthday, said he’d sell it for ten bucks.’
Katherine smiled at him, trying not to let the tears come. ‘Cool. That’d be fun.’
The boy nodded. ‘Sure would.’
Katherine stood up, looking down at the boy. ‘Hey, thanks.’
‘No problemo,’ he said, saluting her like he had before. Katherine returned his salute, making him giggle.
She saw him watching her in the beam of her headlights as she swung out of the car park and headed back for the highway. How could a world exist where a kid had to help support his family when all he wanted for himself was a cheap plastic toy? No matter what he did, it was unlikely that he would ever be more than a statistic.
She reached into her bag for her cellphone, used her thumb to dial David’s home number. She was biting her lower lip in worry as it rang, Please don’t lose it, Dave. There was a click as the phone was answered sooner than she had expected. Maybe he was still up. She recognised his voice straight away. And she recognised his mood. ‘What?’ Curt, gruff.
Katherine took a deep breath, then, ‘David, it’s Katherine. I’m really sorry about this, but I got something really hot and time is of the essence.’
‘Oh, really. So much so that it can’t wait till morning?’ He was on the verge of yelling at her.
‘Yeah, Dave, really. You got to look at this stuff. I’m on my way to your house. Just ten minutes and one phone call, that’s all I ask. Please?’
There was a moment of near silence, just slow, measured breath. ‘All right Katherine, but this had better be good.’ The phone went down before she could answer.
She winced slightly, but smiled too. Got him!
Fifteen minutes later she pulled onto the gravel driveway in front of David Beech’s detached house. The door opened as she got out of her car, manilla envelope in hand. David stood there in pyjamas and dressing gown, scowling slightly. She waved at him as she walked up the driveway.
‘This had better be good, Katherine,’ he warned her again as she reached the step.
‘It is, Dave, it really is.’
He stepped back from the door. ‘Come in, go into the kitchen.’
David’s house was big and well furnished, his editor’s wage obviously seeing him comfortably toward retirement. He still had a few years left before that, but not too many. His kids were grown and flown and he and his wife had the big house to themselves. There was no sign of Jean, presumably already in bed.
Katherine pulled out a chair at the round pine breakfast table, sat down. As David sat down opposite her, she shook out the contents of the envelope. ‘I’ll get straight to the point, David. I want to go to Rio via Guatemala. I’ll fly out tomorrow if possible.’
David looked up at her, running one hand through his peppery hair. ‘Why?’
She pushed all the photocopies over to him. ‘Check this out. You know about the crystal skull phenomena?’
‘Vaguely. Go on.’
‘Well, this site is current. That skull right there was discovered just in the last couple of days. The financier of the site has halted all proceedings till he gets there to oversee everything in person, and he can only just have arrived. This is hot, David. If I can get out there tomorrow, I can muscle my way in, cover the recovery of the skull, anything else that comes up. I can even get an article to you by deadline if I’m lucky. Or I can get all the first hand details now, get a prelim out to you and do a full spread when I get back for next issue.’
David looked through all the documents, saying nothing for a few minutes. Katherine knew her editor well enough by now to keep quiet while he thought. She chewed her bottom lip, waiting. After a while he looked up. ‘Where do you get this stuff, Katherine?’ he asked, waving the papers at her. He held up a hand before she could answer. ‘Tell you what. You promise me that something on this will be in my e-mail by Friday pm and I’ll see what I can do.’
Katherine beamed. ‘If I can leave tomorrow, then I can spend Wednesday night and Thursday gathering information. I can put something together by Friday lunchtime and get it to you no problem.’
‘You promise? This is only really hot if we can beat the dailies. If you don’t get there and this guy decides to get extra funding by organising a press conference and raising interest then it’s useless to us.’
Katherine nodded. ‘I know. I promise, Friday pm, not a second later, maybe even sooner. I’ll make sure we get an exclusive; he can go to whoever he likes after our issue’s out.’
David smiled. ‘You’re a piece of work, you know that? Let’s see if we can get you a flight.’ He got up and went to the telephone on the wall by the kitchen counter. Katherine leaned back in her chair, silently congratulating herself. A few minutes later David came back, sat down again. He slid a piece of paper over to her. ‘You leave at 5 am, be there by 4 am for check-in.’ He looked at his watch, grinned at her mischievously. ‘Think you can make that?’
Katherine nodded. ‘Sure thing, I can sleep on the plane. I’d better go home and pack.’
David stood up with her, headed for the door. ‘You’ll have to rearrange your flight to Rio. That’s your problem, all right?’
