Inside the resort was a large aquarium in the lobby full of some of the most beautiful tropical fish Zack had ever seen. There was a row of brochures for everything from fishing expeditions to parasailing to the fabled booze cruise party boat. Zack flipped through them as Dave went to the front to check in. The concierge was a nervous little man with a name tag that read MIGUEL. He had bulging eyes and a receding hairline. He fidgeted nervously as he informed Dave that his room was still being cleaned. He asked Dave to wait in the lobby while the maids finished up.
“Have a seat over there,” Miguel motioned towards Zack on the couch.
“How long is this going to take?” Dave asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance at having to wait.
“Not long,” Miguel simpered with a practiced smile. “I promise you.”
Dave sulked over to the sofas and plopped down next to the exotic tank, staring listlessly at an orange-and-blue striped Clarion Angelfish that had turned to watch him. Zack joined him, bringing along a handful of pamphlets for activities like bungee jumping and zip lining through the jungle canopy.
“This fish right here alone is worth over twenty-five hundred dollars back home,” Dave said. “And that's if you can find one.”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars for one fish?” Zack asked incredulously, his mouth hanging open in shock. “That's insane!”
“Exotic fish are no cheap hobby my friend,” Dave said. “Some of them cost tens of thousands. This little fellow's from Mexico though. Down here they're probably a dime a dozen. It's once you try to get him out of the country that you get shafted.”
Dave laid his head back and closed his eyes while Zack began to examine the swirling colors in the tank in earnest, wondering just how expensive the entire collection was. After a few moments the cop they'd seen out front came in, walking briskly to the front desk, the heels of his cowboy boots clicking steadily against the tile mosaic of the lobby floor. He stood in front of the checkin desk and cleared his throat to get Miguel's attention.
“Lo siento,” the concierge began. “I didn't see you there Officer Reyes. I hope that you got everything you needed? That our little problem has been taken care of?”
“Would I be standing here if I had everything I needed?” the officer snapped.
Miguel nervously glanced around to make sure he wasn't being watched. The cop didn't budge an inch. Finally Miguel reached beneath the desk and brought up a large envelope, sliding it across to the officer. He took it, quickly flipping through the contents before folding the envelope over and stuffing it in his pocket.
“I trust we won't have this happen here again,” Miguel said condescendingly. “It's not good for our reputation.”
“Who can say? Seems like it comes with the job these days. Cost of doing business,” Officer Reyes deadpanned.
“I pay a lot of money to avoid having this exact kind of problem and still...” Miguel's words trailed off as a couple of college kids in bathing suits walked by headed for the pool. “It can't happen again. That's all I'm saying. I'm under a lot of pressure.”
“You don't know what real pressure is,” Reyes snorted. “Try answering to the Commandante for everything that goes wrong in a town full of entitled American kids stoned out of their mind on drugs and alcohol while he's off sucking up to the Governor. Then you'll know what pressure is my friend.”
“Guests can't just go missing,” Miguel hissed. “If word got out about this it would kill our business!”
“Exactamente,” the cop sang. “So let's be clear, you pay me to clean up your messes, and for my discretion. Remember that. I'm not an errand boy that's going to jump every time you snap your fingers. I'm here as a favor to your boss, entiendes?”
“I've got a lot of work to finish if you don't mind,” Miguel said dismissively, returning to his computer. “Go ahead and show yourself out.”
The cop stood there in shocked silence for a moment before replying. “You ever talk like that to me again pendajo and I'll cut your tongue out and feed it to the pinche birds,” he growled. “Comprende?”
Miguel visibly gulped, raising his head to make eye contact once more before nodding. The cop turned and stormed out passing Zack and Dave as he went. The phone rang and Miguel nervously answered it, saying something quickly into the receiver before abruptly hanging up. He took a moment to recompose himself before calling out to them.
“Your room is now ready,” Miguel said. Zack couldn't help but notice that the fake smile that seemed to stretch from one ear to the other on their arrival now looked like a half-deflated party balloon the morning after. Dave, on the other hand, was still totally oblivious.
“Grassy ass seen yor,” Dave obnoxiously brayed, snatching the room keys from him and heading down the hall towards their room.
Chapter Seven
Wakey wakey, the voice deep inside of her taunted. Time to pay the piper, Red.
Alexis awoke to a series of sharp pains screaming through her body. She was naked now, kneeling on jagged concrete in front of a small altar, her knees bleeding, her arms twisted painfully behind her back and bound together with what felt like barbed wire. The more she struggled the deeper it cut into her soft skin. Her legs were bound in it as well, preventing her from trying to stand. She'd been exposed for some time from what she could tell. Her skin itched in places where the insects had bitten her, causing her to squirm. Her head pounded where she'd been bludgeoned, a searing migraine gripping her skull and making her grit her teeth in agony.
It's time to meet her in person, the voice squealed. Saint Death.
Her blurry vision cleared, causing the image of a blood covered statue to come into focus. It was just as Francois had described, a skeleton of a woman dressed in a wedding gown, wearing a gaudy bejeweled crown and adornments. In her right hand she held a scythe, like the grim reaper. In her left she held a globe. At her feet were several bowls, each filled with different illicit substances. There was one with dark, coagulated blood, another with a burning sprig of marijuana, and a third with what appeared to be a pile of snow-white powder she guessed was cocaine. In between these were stacks of money in different currencies and denominations, ranging from dollars to Euros to pesos. The last thing she saw on the altar was an old black leather Bible with gold lettering that read Maria.
Looking up she saw that the people from the night before who'd been dancing around wildly, beating drums and celebrating her impending death were now gone. The place was empty except for her abductors and their guest of honor.
Looks like you threw a monkey-wrench into their original plan with your little escape attempt, the voice cackled. Got the place all to yourself now.
She knew the high priestess was still there because she could hear the woman chanting loudly behind her as flecks of something wet and sticky hit her back. The sensation caused her to flinch, then wince in pain as the restraints bit into her. At last the evil woman appeared in front of her confirming her presence, the bright flowers of her elaborate woven headdress swaying in the ocean breeze, her face painted like a freshly bleached skull.
She is the living embodiment of the statue she worships, the voice explained. The conduit between the supernatural and the mundane. She serves the darkness and feeds the unholy spirit the blood and suffering of her enemies.
The high priestess held up a blood-smeared machete as she cruelly leered at Alexis. The guest of honor, a sweaty man with dark skin wearing cowboy boots and a straw hat, took it from her. His jeans were sun bleached a pale blue that matched the sky overhead. His teeth were capped in gold and he wore a dazzling assortment of gold-plated necklaces and rings to match. He stopped in front of her, his shiny golden belt buckle at eye level, the word SINALOA set in sparkling diamonds that brilliantly reflected the desert sun. She looked up to see that he had a checkered shirt on with B.O. stains under both pits. It was open to the middle of his chest where a tattoo of a big breasted woman with a skull for a face and roses for hair lewdly stared back at her. Amidst hi
s gaudy display of wealth he wore a simple rosary made of dark wood.
The man anxiously approached the altar, taking a handful of cocaine and rubbing it on the rumpled dress of the life-sized statue. He poured the blood onto the ground, mumbling in Spanish, then set the bowl between Alexis's legs. Alexis felt her bladder involuntarily let go in fear as hot rivulets of piss ran down her trembling inner thighs. The man with the gold teeth bowed his head and said what sounded like a short prayer, making the sign of the cross over himself before turning his attention back to Alexis. Nervously he grabbed her by her hair, yanking her head back painfully until the tears freely spilled down her face. Her heart raced as he chanted a series of dark incantations.
“Muerte Santisima,” the man began, his voice quivering with earnestness, “los favores que me tienes que conceder. Haras que venza todas las dificultades y que para mi no halla nada imposible, ni obstaculos, infranqueables, ni tenga enemigos, ni que nadie quiera hacerme dano, que todos sean mis amigos y que yo salga vencedor en todas las empresas o cosas que haga. Mi casa se llenara de bienes con las virtudes de tu proteccion.”
Her mind raced, thinking back to the years of high school Spanish she had taken in an attempt to translate some of the words and make sense of what was happening to her.
Most Holy Death, the voice translated for her. That's who he is praying to, asking for protection from his enemies and to be free of all obstacles to success and power. He is worshipping death itself!
A sadness began to overwhelm her as she realized these were to be her final moments. She had done her best to escape but the voice was right. She had failed.
It will all be over soon now, the voice in her head cooed. All you can hope now is that he is quick about it, that the pain passes so we can both be at peace. Try not to think about it. That's a good girl. It's almost done.
He slit her throat in one clean motion. The blood poured down the front of her. He grabbed her head as she kicked and thrashed and held the gushing wound over the bowl between her legs, collecting the bright scarlet fluid that poured out until it pooled over the sides. He dipped his finger in her blood and drew a cross on her forehead before shakily setting the bowl at the feet of Saint Death. He made the sign of the cross over himself, looking pale as milk, before turning and nodding to the high priestess. She nodded back with a generous smile but he frowned in reply before heading back to his car as fast as his feet would carry him.
“Not everyone is a true believer,” she said to Angel as she watched the man go. She waited until he was in his truck, the engine revving as he pulled off and away from the killing grounds, before she spoke again. “We aren't finished yet.”
“I know,” Angel replied.
“The cartel specifically asked for enough sacrifices for each of their foot soldiers and enforcers,” she angrily scolded. “They flew some of these men in from other parts of the country just for this. Esteban said that all of them must be baptized in blood before they go to war. He's very superstitious. Obviously they have something big planned. You were supposed to round up just enough of them to satisfy their order without drawing extra attention to yourself. What happened?”
“Alajandro got greedy,” Angel shrugged, his eyes still cast down. “It wasn't my fault.”
“We're going to need to replace the one he killed,” she informed him coldly.
“Isn't there someone here we can use instead? Maybe one of the new girls? I'll drag them out quietly so I don't wake the others. We can say they ran away if anyone starts asking, that they got scared. What about that new girl who never speaks? Silvia? She'd be perfect,” Angel offered, hoping to make an easy task of it.
“Absolutely not,” Maria said looking shocked and appalled at the suggestion of sacrificing one of her followers.
“Why not?” Angel demanded. “Most of them would be honored to die for Santa Muerte if you told them it was what she'd commanded and you know it!”
“You remember what happened last time a Santa Muerte sect used locals for blood magic? They were all arrested and carted off, but not before being paraded in front of the national news so all the journalists could interrogate them like savages then humiliate them for their beliefs in print,” Maria said, a dark look falling over her visage like a widow's veil. “I will not have our dear Mother spoken ill of by intellectual snobs with no understanding of her powers. I would rather die first!”
“Calm down. Those were little kids,” Angel argued. “I'm talking about a full grown adult. If not one of ours then perhaps a local puta no one will miss?”
“That's exactly the kind of lazy thinking that gets people arrested and sent to prison,” she replied.
“We don't need to worry,” Angel said. “She will protect us from harm, from our enemies, right? That's what you tell us all the time. That's what you believe, isn't it? That Santa Muerte will punish those who oppose her followers and make us rich?”
“I suppose you're right,” Maria relented, moved by his religious plea. “But that is no reason to get sloppy. Besides, the last sacrifice specifically needs to be a young man, preferably American.”
“¿Por qué?” Angel asked.
“The final ritual we are performing is for the cartel's number one hit man,” Maria explained. “Ramon has a taste for torture and will want to take his time, which is why we saved him for last. The others were all new to the cartel, new to the faith you could say, since they had no inclination of worshipping Santa Muerte before joining. Esteban makes them swear allegiance to the Bony Lady before sending them into battle. They believe they can determine how loyal a new recruit is by how willing they are to kill for their new boss, but on a deeper level they know the power this blood magic holds. Ramon began devoutly worshipping the Skinny One when he was just an enforcer for the Mexican Mafia. He claims he's been killed no less than three times but that our Great Mother Death has brought him back to exact revenge on his enemies. Some say he is now unkillable.”
“So why does it have to be an American?” Angel demanded.
“He hates Gringos,” Maria shrugged.
“Who doesn't?” Angel replied.
Angel began to walk past her but she stopped him.
“We don't have a lot of time,” she admonished. “The cycle of the moon will change and the ritual will be less powerful. Ramon is already asking when we will be ready for him. He knows something is off. I can't hold him off forever.”
“I will work fast,” Angel promised.
“Good. And bring a replacement this time, in case there is another accident,” Maria commanded.
“Not a problem,” Angel reassured her.
“I don't want you to take any chances,” Maria insisted. “This needs to happen quickly and cleanly. This isn't just about money. Even though I've known Esteban for years there's no telling what he will do to us if we fail him. The reputation of his cartel depends on the appearance of strength, especially with the losses they've taken at the hands of Zetas in the last six months. Our lives may depend on this. Am I clear?”
“Si madre,” Angel said, turning away from her. “I won't let you down again.”
“Gracias miho,” she said, gently patting him on the shoulder. Slowly he turned back to face her, tears welling up in his eyes. “That's a good boy.”
Chapter Eight
The room had finally stopped spinning. Zack stood up again, feeling a little less disoriented than when he'd stumbled in. He was on a huge hotel bed with the glossy, lacquered blades of a handcrafted palapa ceiling fan wafting cool air conditioning down onto his slightly burned skinned. The sun had gone down outside but he was still wearing his shorts from earlier at the pool. He slowly padded to the bathroom of the palatial suite Dave had rented them for the week and threw up one last time for good measure.
Almost immediately after checking in they'd changed into trunks and hit the swim up bar, just as Zack had wanted. Zack was surprised his friend didn't offer any resistance or have another scheme hatched for them, but Dave just shru
gged and said it would solve the problem of his flagging buzz.
“Plus it will give us a chance to scope out the lay of the land so to speak,” Dave added with a lecherous wink before grabbing them a pair of towels from the bathroom. “There should be a fair number of hot girls in tiny bikinis already either in the water or basking in the dirty Mexican sun by now. Time for this player to get down to business. I'm hoping to sleep with a new girl each night we're here. If I fail to hook up tonight I'll have to double up tomorrow, maybe grab a pair of hot twins. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate a challenge as much as the next man...”
“If the next man is Barney Stintson,” Zack mumbled.
“But I also don't want to strain myself by overdoing it right out the gate. Let's just see if we can both ease into our respective grooves by flirting with a pair of pretty girls with low self-esteem to start out with. We'll see where things go from there. Even the best athletes have to warm up and stretch before the big game.”
Zack rolled his eyes but secretly he was happy not to have an argument. The pool was packed and, even though there were far more guys than girls, Dave seemed to be happy with the quality of the single ladies they met. He set his sights on a busty brunette from Akron named Serena, putting his best face on and cracking jokes until she laughed like a hyena with an overbite, only to discover she'd come with an overweight boyfriend who shied away from any activities that involved taking his shirt off. By the time her man came waddling over to collect her for their early dinner reservations Zack was so drunk he could barely stand up. He'd been helping himself to some sweet fruit concoction called a Yellow Bird courtesy of the amicable pool bartender Carlos and had lost count of how many he'd consumed. Dave had to help him back to their room. Zack threw up the entire contents of his stomach then passed out on his bed.
The nausea he'd felt earlier had passed after his last regurgitation, along with the intoxication, leaving a deep hunger in its place. Dave was watching the Dodgers play an early season game against the Arizona Diamondbacks but shut it off when Zack came into the room.
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