Getaway

by Lisa Brackmann

  She crouched down in front of the outlet by her bed, examined the screws, ran her finger over the heads to see if they stuck out, before it occurred to her that this was pointless.

  If there was a bug in here, how would she even recognize it?

  She fell back onto the bed, pulled the sheet over her head. She felt like shit. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in days. Don’t think about anything, she told herself. Try to sleep.

  She tried. But there were the donkeys. The rooster. The kids, laughing, on their way to school.

  When the gas truck rumbled up the street, with its recorded racing fanfare and distorted shout of “Global Gas!” broadcast through a bullhorn (and she heard it three times while the truck apparently waited in traffic), Michelle gave up.

  She decided to do some yoga. Nothing complicated; the tile floor wasn’t ideal. I could buy a mat, she thought, if I’m going to be here awhile. Use some of Gary’s money. There was a Walmart here, and a Costco; they’d have things like yoga mats.

  It was another one of those thoughts that, even as she had it, seemed like further evidence that Gary’s insanity was contagious and she’d been infected. How can I even be thinking this way? she wondered. I need to come up with a plan. What I’m going to do. How I’m going to get out of this. Not think about what to buy with Gary’s money.

  But she had no idea what to do, none at all.

  Yoga first. Quiet the monkey mind, the constant chatter of normal human concerns. Wasn’t that what the instructors always said? She did fine with that as long as she was moving, doing poses. But at the end, Savasana, the Corpse Pose, when you’re supposed to just let go, do nothing—that’s when her monkey mind would come roaring back, the second the instructor started telling the class to relax, to think of nothing.

  Stop it, she told herself. She went through the poses, lost herself for a while in the familiar movements, working up a sweat before she’d even started. It was already hot, so humid she couldn’t tell if she was sweating or just taking on the water in the air.

  After that she showered, dressed, and went down to the courtyard for coffee.

  It was early yet, the sunlight still diffuse behind the hills east of town. Only two other guests were out, a heavy woman some years older than Michelle who sat in one of the loungers reading a novel, and an even older man puttering around the yard, his bony pelvis jutting against the waist of his shorts.

  Michelle took her cup of coffee to a chair by the fountain and sipped, watching the cat chase leaves around the courtyard.

  Gary wanted to meet for lunch at the Outback Steakhouse. “In the Zona Hotelera—that’s the Hotel Zone.”

  “Okay,” Michelle said. “I got the ‘hotel’ part, but where is it?”

  “North of downtown, just before the marina. In front of the Krystal hotel. Ask any cab driver, he’ll get you there.”

  An Outback Steakhouse, Michelle thought. Great. She wouldn’t think of going to a chain like that at home—hardly ever anyway. Now here she was in Mexico, where she should be eating … well, Mexican food, heading to the home of Bloomin’ Onions and giant hot-fudge pecan brownies.

  To meet with a crazy man.

  I really should just leave, she thought, sitting in the back of the cab. Get out now. Go to Tijuana, seriously, and figure out a way home from there. All she had to do was get across the border; then she could take the trolley to downtown San Diego.

  A story she’d read in the Internet café flashed into her mind unbidden. Something about headless bodies, in oil barrels, in Tijuana. Kids on their way to school finding them. Was that right? Or was she confusing two stories?

  Corpses in vats of lye. A hit man called “The Soup Maker.” Because that’s how his victims ended up. Stewed in barrels of chemical soup.

  If Gary was connected with people like that …

  Staring out the window at the condominiums and Sheratons and Starbucks that populated the Hotel Zone, she thought, It seems so normal. So safe.

  Things like that don’t happen here.

  She felt better physically at least. The yoga had helped, and that had been a pretty good workout last night, she thought, feeling the pleasant soreness between her thighs. She hadn’t felt that in a while.

  She caught herself smiling.

  Don’t make this into something it isn’t, she told herself. Just because he’s good in bed, that doesn’t make him a good guy.

  She thought of how he’d treated her at dinner. With real understanding, or a very good impression of it. How he’d been patient with her when they’d gone back to her room. Had let her decide what she wanted to do.

  He seemed like a good guy.

  If he found out the truth …

  Maybe I should tell him, she thought.

  She already knew that she couldn’t trust Gary. He’d set her up, hadn’t he? Had blackmailed her into this. Whoever he was, whomever he worked for, she had only his word that Daniel was some kind of criminal.

  I’ll see what Gary wants, she thought. Have the lunch. Decide after that.

  Gary waited for her at a booth in the back of the restaurant. “Hey there, Michelle,” he called out, patting the banquette next to him. “I ordered us a Bloomin’ Onion.”

  She sat. “Do you know how many calories are in one of those?”

  “Well, that’s why you look the way you do and I look how I do,” he said, grinning. “I don’t think enough about things like that. What can I get you to drink?”

  “Just an iced tea.”

  For lunch she ordered the steak salad, with olive oil and vinegar instead of the Danish blue cheese dressing and without the Aussie Crunch, whatever that was. After some hesitation she kept the cinnamon pecans. Fattening, but she liked pecans.

  Gary ordered the prime rib.

  “So tell me about your date,” he said after their drinks arrived.

  “There’s not much to tell. We went out to dinner.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Small talk mostly.”

  “The whole night?”

  “Well, no.”

  She told him about the lie she’d made up to explain why she was still in Vallarta.

  “And he went for it?”

  “I wasn’t sure at first. But he seemed to, after I … explained a little bit about my personal situation.”

  “Danny to the rescue, huh? He felt sorry for you, right? You give him a few tears?”

  It must have shown on her face, her surprise that he’d read the situation so accurately.

  Gary chuckled. “Trust me, Danny’s a predictable guy in a lot of ways. A damsel in distress—I knew he couldn’t resist.”

  “You might have given me a hint about that. What if I hadn’t come up with the right thing to say?”

  “I had a feeling you would. And I guess I was kind of curious to see what you’d come up with on your own.” He lifted his drink. Scotch, it looked like. “Good job, Michelle.”

  “Thanks.” She didn’t raise hers.

  “So after dinner … what happened?”

  The way he sat there, that little smile lifting the corners of his cherub lips, he knew what had happened.

  He had someone watching her—he had to. The woman at the front desk. The policeman. Someone she didn’t even know.

  “We went back to Hacienda Carmen.” She kept her voice flat. Don’t respond to him, she told herself. That was what he wanted, a reaction. To rattle her.

  “How was it?”

  Michelle felt her cheeks redden. “What do you want me to tell you, Gary? You want a blow-by-blow?”

  “Hey, don’t be mad! I think you really have a talent for this sort of thing.”

  “You mean sleeping with men I don’t care about?”

  “Now, come on, I didn’t say that.” He patted her hand. “You’re good. You really are. Adaptable. That’s important.”

  She supposed there was some truth to that. She’d been adaptable enough in Los Angeles, hadn’t she? Good at pretendin
g she was interested in things and people she didn’t care about.

  Good at playing a role.

  “So do I get a prize?” She knew she sounded angry. She supposed that she was. She didn’t like thinking of her life this way.

  Gary appeared to consider.

  “Well, I told you we might be able to help with some of your financial problems.”

  “Okay,” she said. “So I fucked Danny. What’s that worth to you? You’ll pay off one of my credit cards?”

  I’m done, she thought. Fuck this. I’m going to get up and walk out the door. Just leave. Let him stop me.

  “Why, sure,” Gary said, sipping his scotch. “Why don’t we start with the Working Assets Visa? You use that one a lot.”

  She froze. “How …?”

  “Is that the card where every time you charge something at Fred Segal or Barneys or what have you, they throw a couple pennies at saving the whales? Or I don’t know, maybe it’s stopping global warming.”

  Maybe he’d had access to her wallet when she was in the jail. That might be how he knew.

  Have some ice tea, she told herself. Don’t show him anything.

  “We vote where the money goes, once a year,” she said.

  She actually had no idea where the contributions went. She’d never paid much attention.

  “Consider it done.”

  Except … she hadn’t brought that card with her. It was close to maxed, and she’d left it in Los Angeles.

  I should say something, she thought. Tell him that she didn’t want his money.

  Maybe he didn’t mean it.

  Their food arrived.

  “So here’s what I’m thinking,” Gary said after a few mouthfuls of prime rib and potato. “You know, I really am impressed with that photography you’re doing. So my thought is, we should put that in play.”

  Michelle took a bite of her steak. She didn’t have much appetite, but eating slowed things down, gave her a chance to think before she responded.

  What was he going to do, set her up as some sort of photographer? Have her take wedding photos on the beach?

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “See, it would be real useful to us to get some pictures of Danny’s associates.”

  “You want me to take pictures of Danny’s friends?” Like I’m some kind of paparazzi, she almost said but didn’t. “You don’t think that would look a little odd?”

  “We’ve got that covered.”

  Gary reached for something next to him on the banquette. A small brown paper bag. He put it on the table, next to Michelle’s iced tea.

  “Take a look.”

  She set down her fork and opened the paper bag.

  Inside was what looked like a jewelry box—black flocking, hinged on one side. In that was …

  A watch?

  It was oversize, clunky, stainless steel, with a linked stainless-steel band, a sort of sporty look to it. Not the sort of thing she’d wear at all.

  Oh, please, she thought. Tell me this isn’t a hidden camera.

  But it must be. Underneath the insert on which the watch sat was a small USB cable.

  This was too much. The whole thing was too much, but this really was too much.

  “Pretty neat, huh?” Gary said. “You can do videos, too. Sound and everything. And when you’re done, you can upload ’em to your phone and send them to me.”

  Like a little kid. Playing spy.

  “You can’t be serious.” She took in a deep breath. “This is out of control. I’m not … I can’t do this.”

  “Sure you can! Lemme tell you how it works. It’s easy.”

  She listened in disbelief as Gary babbled on about the pinhole lens, the Bluetooth connection, the USB port, and battery life.

  “Gary,” she finally said, “it’s just not my style.”

  “Well, yeah, I know you’d usually wear something classier. Cartier or whatnot. If I’d had a little more time, maybe I could’ve managed something more designer. But this one’s not bad. We spent some money on it, you know?”

  “I mean, taking pictures of somebody with a watch!” Cleansing breathes, she told herself. “I wouldn’t be comfortable.”

  “Now, come on, Michelle, don’t go all soft on me.” Gary’s voice suddenly was far from soft. “You can do this. When are you seeing him? Got any plans set?”

  “Maybe … I mean …” Get a grip. “I’m not sure. He said he’d call.”

  “He’ll call. Trust me on that. I know Danny. I know what he likes to do when he’s stressed.” He smiled at her. “You play your cards right, maybe we’ll pay another one of them off.”

  Don’t take the bait, she told herself. She drew in a deep breath. “Is this about drugs?”

  “Drugs? Now, what makes you say that?”

  “Because I’ve heard about those people,” she went on, “and they’re not just violent, they’re crazy. They cut peoples’ heads off. And you want me to … to do … I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

  “I told you not to worry about any of that.” He stared at her, his eyes hard, and for a moment he frightened her. “All you have to do is exactly what I tell you to, and you won’t have any problems.”

  You can’t let him intimidate you, she told herself. You have to stand up to him. “You keep telling me Danny’s dangerous, but you won’t tell me what he does. How do I know? How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” She stared back. “Maybe you’re the one who’s into the sketchy stuff, Gary.”

  He chuckled at that. “I like your spirit, you know?” He took a long sip of his drink. “Well, let’s say you’re right, then. Maybe you should be worried about what I’ll do. I know an awful lot about you, Michelle. I know about your family, too.” He reached out and patted her hand again. “And there are just so many ways I could cause you trouble, if I were that kind of guy.”

  For a moment she couldn’t say anything.

  “But why?” she finally managed. “I mean, what if Danny and I just go out to dinner a few more times? What can I tell you that’s even useful?”

  Gary leaned back against the red leatherette booth, taking a moment to intertwine his fingers and then stretch them.

  “Here’s the thing,” he said. “Sometimes we just wanna keep tabs on somebody. Maybe you’ll see something useful, maybe you won’t. But you’re there, just in case.” He smiled again. “Keeps everyone on their toes.”

  [CHAPTER TWELVE]

  The credit cards had been her first clue.

  “Tom, what’s going on with the AmEx?” she’d asked. “And the United card?”

  Balances had appeared on both of them, high balances, seemingly out of nowhere.

  “Oh,” he’d said. “Yeah, I know. It’s this new accountant. He’s been moving money around. I keep telling him to leave the cards alone, but—I don’t know—he keeps looking for the best deal.”

  “On credit cards? Don’t we have the money to pay them off?”

  “Sure,” he’d said. “Sure. It’s just a fuckup. I’ll get on it.”

  She should have pressed him then. But the balances went down to zero, just like he’d promised they would.

  He’d never given her a reason not to trust him before that. Though now she wondered if she just hadn’t been paying attention.

  “How’d you feel about going to a cocktail party with me?”

  After the lunch with Gary, she’d gone to Costco and picked up a yoga mat. Stopped at a Starbucks and had a cup of coffee. Then she’d hailed a taxi and asked the driver to drop her off at the north end of the Malecón, so she could walk by the ocean and think.

  It hadn’t been the restful experience she’d hoped for. Several cruise ships had come into town, and tourists mobbed the boardwalk, moving together in tight packs like single, ponderous organisms.

  She wanted to cut through them all. Get them out of her way. Enjoy the fucking scenery without hordes of Americans wearing loud shirts and graceless shorts.

  As she crossed
the bridge that led over the river into Old Town, Daniel called.

  Just like Gary’d said he would.

  “It’s this charity thing,” he told her. “We don’t have to stay long. We can go someplace after.”

  “Sounds great,” Michelle said, looking up the river, watching a pair of ducks paddle among the rushes. “Is it the Tiburón crowd?”

  “Not really. More some local people I know. Pick you up at seven?”

  I’d better go shop for a dress, she thought.

  Crazy.

  She found a nice black dress at one of the shops on Basilio Badillo. Nothing fancy, but the cut worked for her. She’d found sandals there and a cute little leather purse at the purse store down the block, too.

  After she changed for the party, she tried on Gary’s watch. Wasn’t this just the sort of occasion for it—a chance to capture Daniel’s associates? She stood in front of the mirror in the wardrobe of her room at Hacienda Carmen, in her new dress and sandals, holding the purse, the watch dangling on her wrist.

  It looked ridiculous. Like she was a kid who’d tried on her daddy’s watch.

  She took it off. Put it in her new purse, thinking maybe she’d wear it later. Maybe people would be drinking and wouldn’t notice how out of place the watch looked.

  Maybe she’d take a chance and talk to Daniel.

  • • •

  “You look fantastic.”

  Michelle smiled and climbed into the passenger side of the Jeep. “You clean up pretty well yourself,” she told him.

  He grinned and closed the car door behind her.

  They drove across the river, into downtown Vallarta, then up the hill above the cathedral. “We’d better park here,” Daniel said. “You don’t mind walking a block or two, do you?”

  “No, it’s fine. I like to walk.” Which was true, but she hated the idea of arriving in a sweat, and it was still hot. The sun hung over the ocean, full and ripe to the point of bursting.

  “Where we’re going’s a great place to catch the sunset,” Daniel mentioned.

  They walked down a narrow street that paralleled the ocean, the cobblestones so rounded in places that it was like walking on embedded baseballs. She could see why they’d had to park and walk, though—there was hardly any room for cars here, just occasional gaps in the raised concrete sidewalks where one or two small ones could maybe shoehorn in.