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Cactus Garden

Page 17

by Ward, Robert


  Now the drum beat quickened, and at the bottom of the hill they weaved their way through the fantastically shaped cacti that hovered over them, like shapes in an elegant nightmare.

  Jack felt his heart beat faster as they walked on behind the throng, then suddenly, there in front of them was a stone wall, the Altar of the Dead. The installation was a twelve-foot-high sculpture of the Virgin Mary with many little brightly colored boxes contained in a great square case at the Virgin’s feet. Each of the compartments held some new bit of playfulness or remembrance, a lock of human hair, a candied sugar skull, a comb, a set of keys, a book of Garcia Lorca’s poetry, a knife on which was painted a dancing skeleton…. Jack knelt down next to Charlotte Rae and watched as she put her pan de muerte in one of the empty boxes at the Altar of the Dead.

  Then it was Jack’s turn. He suddenly felt paralyzed. There was something wrong, very wrong …

  Softly, he lay the bread on the Altar of the Dead and half expected to hear a screaming in his soul, like in some old vampire movie. But there was nothing, only the sound of the wind as it whipped across the night plains.

  “How’d you like it, son?”

  Jack turned and saw Buddy Wingate standing there in a comical Zorro costume, complete with mask. He looked so foolish that he broke the spell, and Jack was able to give a real laugh of relief.

  “Very interesting, Don Delorro.”

  “Yeah, ole Father’s one intense dude,” Buddy said. “Seen him look at people and have them faint dead away. Not that I expected you to. Hell of a security man if that happened, huh?”

  “Don’t worry,” Jack said. “If I felt lightheaded at all, I’d just shoot him and worry about my soul later.” Buddy howled at that.

  “You’re a pisser, Jack. That’s no shit. Well, honey, you and me got to get some sleep. Tomorrow, we are going to show Jackie here some of the real magic.”

  “That’d be nice,” Jack said.

  Buddy put one arm around Charlotte Rae, who couldn’t help but wince. Jack watched them as they wandered off toward the main house. Then he turned and saw the townspeople headed for their village. He scanned the horizon for Father Herrera, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Jack still felt the creeps, but told himself to have a drink and cool out. Tomorrow Buddy was going to lay the news on him, and then he’d take them all down. And get the hell out of this spook world.

  Chapter 19

  Valle stopped at the light at La Brea and Santa Monica and stared at the black-haired, teenage boy who primped and winked at him from the bus stop. Wonderful. The kid was no more than sixteen and probably had every communicable disease known to man.

  Valle gunned the motor when the light changed and thought of Colombia; thought of the Casa del Sol, the fabulous place he’d lived five years ago when he was stationed there; thought of the rose trellis that wound up a beautiful garden path to his house; thought of his servant, Sylvia, and of the cut flowers she left on his oak breakfast table every morning; thought of the parties he attended and the beauty of the mountains.

  He could be there. He should be there. Instead, he was here, here in this pit, this human sewer, watching children peddle their ass and die, watching kids gunning down each other at graduation parties in San Marino. Just today he had heard about a drug-related murder in Los Feliz—a choirmaster had been shot down while buying a bottle of milk at a convenience store.

  Oh, man, he wanted out. He wanted out, he wanted the kind of lifestyle he deserved. Now, up ahead, Valle saw the shabby red paint of the old Formosa Cafe and turned right into the parking lot.

  As Valle looked toward the bar’s side entrance, he saw an old man staggering from it, probably a grip from the movie business. The guy was tanked, could barely walk. Valle looked at his ruined face, his half-closed eyes, and shuddered.

  Think about that, getting old in the land of eternal youth. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to avoid that. No fucking way, baby. He waited in the parking lot for a couple of seconds, then got out and went inside.

  The side hallway was dark, and Valle blinked. When his eyes adjusted, he saw on the wall in front of him a picture of Clark Gable, looking young and fit. Next to Gable was a smiling picture of Marilyn Monroe, looking as if she had just had a sexy assignation with Kennedy. And a little farther away was a picture of Elvis, in his cowboy costume, from Love Me Tender. Great, Valle thought, all the dead gods and goddesses. No one seemed to mind that they were all dead about fifty years too soon. They’d made it! They’d become legends in Tinseltown. The thought chilled him again.

  He had to get back to Colombia, that was all there was to it.

  He walked past the dark booths where kids with shaved heads, ripped jeans, and Dr. Martens sat with predictable scowls on their faces.

  At the end of the bar, he saw Julio, but he didn’t sit down next to him. Instead, he signaled to him to come to the back part of the Formosa, the dining car where there were small red leatherette booths that accommodated only two people.

  “Hey, ese, what’s going on?” Julio Blanco said, as they slid into their seats.

  He was a wiry Colombian agent and had proved invaluable to Valle in the past. But he was a pain in the ass.

  “Same old, same old,” Valle said. “Did you talk to the people in Bogota?”

  “Hey, man, you look tense. Ain’t we gonna have a little drink first?”

  The waitress, Margie, came toward them. She was heavyset and wore more makeup than Joan Crawford did in her last horror movie, Trog.

  “Gimme a Jack Daniel’s,” Valle said.

  “Perrier for me,” Julio said.

  She made a face at him and left.

  “You getting too old to drink, Bobby,” Julio said.

  “Let me worry about that,” Valle said. “I want to know what you got, but first I want to ask you very up front: You aren’t wearing a wire, are you?”

  “Please,” Julio said. “That’s a huge insult.”

  “So I apologize. I’m not going to pat you down, because you know what will happen if you play those games with me. So tell me. What’s going down?”

  “Ahhh, the lack of trust in this world of ours. It is sad,” Julio said. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his mustache.

  “Come on, Julio. I don’t got all night.”

  “Hmmmm, well, how’s this? I found out all about a certain young man. Ooooh, he is a very nasty boy. It was as you expected; he was Wilson’s and he’s not clean.”

  Valle made a fist and then slowly opened his hand.

  “As I thought,” he said. “Where is he?”

  “They took him from Colombia to a private place. All done hush-hush, used military transport.”

  “You got pictures?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Get them,” Valle said. “I want the pictures. I want the bank statements.”

  “That’s hard,” Julio said. “That’s gonna cost. It’s going down in Switzerland.”

  Valle shook his head and stared hard at Blanco. “Listen, man, I don’t give a fuck what it costs, and I don’t care if he’s protected by heat-seeking Dobermans, asshole. I want the goods. Get em. ‘Cause time is running out. You hear me?”

  “You’re over the line, Valle,” Julio said, as Valle shoved him back in his seat and stood up. “You’re going to piss some people off, very big people who could squash you like a bug, man.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Valle said.

  Behind him Margie came with the drink tray.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” she said.

  “Why should you be on time?” Valle said. “Nobody else is.”

  He pointed menacingly at Julio, then turned and walked toward the door.

  “You’re very unsociable, Bob. That’s too bad,” Julio called after him.

  Julio smiled and tossed back the Jack Daniel’s. Then, he reached into his pocket, found a quarter, and walked toward the back of the restaurant to make a call. He’d been following Valle for two weeks now, and he
knew somebody who was going to be very interested in what had just passed between them.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning, after breakfast around the pool, Wingate was in an expansive mood.

  “This afternoon I want to show you my operation, Jack. You about ready?”

  “You know it,” Jack said. He was thankful it was finally happening. Waiting spooked him, not to mention Herrera, who gave him dreams of masked dancers with sharp knives. And then there was still the matter of Dr. Gunther Baumgartner. There was something familiar about that man … and not being able to nail it down was driving Jack crazy. Where had he seen him before? And why was he here? He obviously knew of Wingate’s plans, but what part did he play in it all? Jack pondered these questions as he drank his orange juice and watched Marbella toss one of his whores into the swimming pool.

  “I got a few things I got to take care of first,” Wingate said, rubbing his big belly and sipping a Bloody Mary. “You take a swim, Jackie, and I’ll see you round two.”

  “Sounds good,” Jack said, though the prospect of swimming with Marbella and the others didn’t thrill him.

  But Charlotte Rae came to his rescue.

  “Tell you the truth,” she said, “I’d like to go into town.”

  Dr. Baumgartner practically leapt from his pool chair.

  “I’ll be happy to take you,” he said. “I want to go into town myself.”

  “Well, aren’t you thoughtful, Doctor,” Charlotte Rae said, though her tone said the exact opposite.

  “No, no,” Wingate said. “Jack’s the professional. I want him with her. I don’t anticipate any of Salazar’s boys making a move here in town, but you never know.”

  “You don’t think I could take care of her?” The doctor said, and there was a trace of anger in his voice.

  “Of course you could, Doc,” Charlotte Rae said. “You’re a regular superman.”

  The doctor winced at her words.

  “Jackie will take her in,” Wingate said. “After all, what am I paying him for?”

  “Of course, that is best,” Gunther said, but the words came out of his mouth with a squawk.

  “Ready if you are, Jack,” Charlotte Rae said.

  She turned and did her best slinky walk for Gunther, who stared openmouthed at her back. Jack turned and followed her, feeling the German’s eyes boring in on his neck, and he couldn’t repress a small smile.

  As they drove through the desert heat in the black Jeep Cherokee, Jack became intensely aware of her physical presence. She wore tight-fitting jeans and a blue chamois-cloth work shirt, and her blonde hair was tied up on top of her head with a bright red bandana with monkeys on it.

  “Guess what,” she said.

  “What?” He stared dead ahead at the road and watched as a five-inch lizard darted in front of them and disappeared down a hole.

  She put her long fingers on his thigh.

  “I don’t really need to do any shopping.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s right,” she said.

  She leaned across the seat and kissed him on the neck. “I like that,” he said.

  “So do I,” she said, suddenly pulling away.

  “What is it?”

  She gave no answer.

  Jack turned and looked at her, and she smiled at him, but there was sadness in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was going to be fun. I was going to charm you and make you care about me. Instead, I seem to have fallen into a funk.”

  “That’s all right,” Jack said. “I like funky ladies.”

  She laughed a little and reached over to him again, but this time there was something tentative and sweet about her touch. She held three fingers of his right hand, like a child hanging on to her father.

  Jack was stunned by the shifts in her moods.

  “I’ve been thinking about you, Jack.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes. I have. I confess.”

  She looked at him and smiled.

  “I’m starting to have a problem thinking about anything else,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “I know what you mean.”

  “Do you?”

  Her words thrilled him. The inflection was both sexy and childlike.

  He pulled the Jeep to the side of the road. In front of them there was a six-foot cactus, which looked to Jack like the singing, dancing, sombrero-wearing cacti in Walt Disney movies. They were supposed to look funny, charming, but they had scared Jack badly as a child.

  He turned to her, and she fell into his arms. He kissed her long and hard and felt the richness and fullness of her.

  “You’re such a surprise,” he said.

  “I am? Tell me. How?”

  “Kiss me first.”

  “No, tell me first.”

  She looked up at him, and there was a naked need in her face, which made him breathless and his heart race triple time. “Tell me, Jack. I want to hear the words.”

  “They matter more than the kisses?”

  “Yes. Everyone wants to kiss me. So what?” Jack sighed, shook his head.

  “That’s it,” he said. “You just said it. Of course I want to make love to you … for godsake … but I just didn’t expect you to be who you are.”

  “You’re stumbling, Jack.”

  “You make me stumble.”

  “Maybe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Because I know how quick you are.”

  “It’s more than that,” Jack said. “You fill me up.”

  He hadn’t expected to say anything like that. Now he felt blinded and confused by the seriousness of his own words.

  She put her hand tenderly on his cheek.

  “Jack, I love you,” she said.

  “I love you,” he said, but there was misery in his voice, as though he had just confessed to a crime.

  Why was he saying this? Was it possible that between the shadow and the act, he might actually mean it?

  He patted her hair and felt a wave of sweetness overtake him.

  “Jack, I’m afraid. I didn’t want this…. You have to believe me.”

  “Me, either,” Jack said. And that admission was another nail in his coffin.

  “You don’t know him…. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to him. If he finds out …”

  She began to shake, and Jack held her close to him.

  “He’s not going to find out,” he said.

  “He will, Jack. He could have someone watching us right now.”

  Jack looked out the Jeep window.

  “Unless he’s disguised as a saguaro cactus, we don’t have to worry.” She laughed a little.

  “Isn’t this the part where you tell me you’re going to take me away from all this?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not sure you want to leave,” he said. “You got a life with Buddy. Isn’t that what you told me once?”

  “I know. I know what I said. Because I was scared. I’m still scared. But I don’t want it anymore. It used to be enough to laugh at him, but that’s no good anymore. That only works when there’s nothing else, no one else to compare him to. Now there’s you.”

  Jack looked down at the steering wheel.

  He had to stop this, now. He couldn’t let her put all her hope in him. But then again, why not? He had found his own hope in her, the girl he had to bust.

  “We don’t have to do anything yet,” he said. “We have time.”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t know, Jack.”

  She unbuttoned her blouse and pulled down the left sleeve. There was a black-and-blue mark. “He beat me last night,” she said. “Son of a bitch.”

  “He’s not always that way. It comes over him, like some kind of madness. It’s like he’s possessed.” The last words were delivered in a monotone, as though she were the weather girl on television reporting on some light storm warnings.

  “I’m going to get him,” Jack said.

  She looked at him, blink
ed.

  “You’re going to do him? No, Jack, I don’t want you to go against him.”

  “What, then?” Jack said, and he no longer knew if he was acting at all. It occurred to him that he did want to kill Buddy.

  “Jack, I think we should go right now.”

  “Now? You mean just drive out of here? Catch a plane?”

  “Yes, why not? I’ve put away some money.”

  “We’re about to make a huge score. I can’t walk out on that, Charlotte.”

  “But …”

  “Come on. Let’s get real. I’ve got nothing earning six percent in a bank account. You’re used to the high life. What would we do? Have a kid and go to the PTA? Eat Hamburger Helper?”

  “Why not, Jack? It would be better than this. You … you’re too much.”

  “What? Me? I’m not the one whacking you around.”

  She turned on him then and looked him straight in the eye.

  “No, but you’re the one who made me think about things. You made me feel like I could maybe be somebody, but now you just want your piece of ass like all the rest. You’re a little more low-key about it, that’s all. How about that? I fell for a modulated voice.”

  Jack turned from her and looked out the window. No, he thought, it isn’t that. It’s worse than that. It’s not just a piece of ass. I want to set you up and arrest you and your husband. And the best I can do is maybe make you a deal that’ll get you a short jail stay. As for love, whatever love I feel I’ve got to crush and toss away like old parking tickets.

  “Jack, I mean it,” she said. “If you really care about me, we should leave now. I’ve got some money. We could go to another country, take our chances. Buddy wouldn’t waste time coming after us. Eventually he’d forget.”

  Jack turned back to her and shook his head.

  “You don’t really believe that. Buddy’s too small to forget.”

  She threw her arms around him and pressed her head against his chest.

  “You said you loved me. Do you mean it, even a little, Jack?”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “I mean it. But it’s a hard world, and we’re not ever gonna make it like the Brady Bunch.”

  “Then you won’t go with me now.”

 

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