by Steve Curry
I might have wanted some answers to a lot of questions. What I got was a much-needed snooze.
I woke up feeling better than I had in days. The freedom from an all but inevitable beating probably helped. Or maybe it was the open door of the little hut. All that mattered was that I had managed to relax enough to truly get a decent charge on my batteries. As I sat up I heard the sound of the SUV moving away from the hut. I might have been alarmed about my possible abandonment by my erratic and potentially insane tour guide.
That would have required that I actually would have felt abandonment at his absence. That also would have required his absence. I couldn't be that lucky. As I was running a hand over the roughened contours of my face the familiar smirk came through the door with its customary cigarette smoke frame. “Buenos Dias senor Moose! It is good you are up. Our ride will be here shortly. There’s a cazuela with Chilaquiles and tortillas in a warm towel on the crate.”
He was gone before the words had fully penetrated my early morning bemusement. Still, there didn’t seem to be a huge hurry so I pulled the jersey back on over my obnoxious swim trunks and shoved my bare feet into canvas shoes to saunter over and survey breakfast options.
It took approximately two bites to add Chilaquiles and scrambled eggs to my eclectic list of comfort foods. Based on tastes and textures, some genius had simmered tortillas in green chiles and tomatoes until soft, to this they’d added pulled chicken and some kind of farmers cheese. If you topped the mix with fresh scrambled eggs it came close to one of those rarely discovered perfect breakfast foods. I was sopping the remnants with a fresh tortilla when Pedro came back.
“Come on, we don’t wanna make em wait too long. Some of the kinda people we’re gotta see get skittish and disappear when plans change.” I immediately noticed a contrast in our appearance. He had found an opportunity to at least don a fresh shirt though the pants were probably unchanged as was his leather jacket. I imagine I looked rather like an unmade bed covered in bristly hair. A brightly floral unmade bed at that, with hibiscus sheets.
Fortunately, breakfast had restored my spirits and the crude first aid was keeping various fluids from leaking in too many places. As soon as we got someplace with a little more in the way of time and resources I could probably all but erase the damage but for now, I had plenty of minor aches and pains. At least they were minor. Considering the abundance of bullets and explosions in my recent history I figure minor aches were something of a miracle.
I trotted outside to find an older but serviceable pickup in place of our nicer SUV. This one was a faded bronze with only a few small dents. Chances were it would pass inspection in almost any rural area or small town in the whole country. I quickly found out how much of that countryside we were likely to see.
“Ok Gringo, we got a couple of hours on this road. We’ll stop in Mexico City tonight. The assholes you gotta deal with would call it Tenochtitlan but we’ll stick with Mexico City eh Moose?” For a change, Pedro Perro was downright garrulous. It was enough to spark my natural sense of self-preservation and suspicion. When someone has avoided telling you anything for so long, you gotta start looking for their motivations when they do start doling out info.
I wasn’t going to stop the flow though, not when I’d been starving for any kind of Intel at all. Of course, there were some more personal questions I wanted to ask. The stuff he was giving me now though might be the difference between life, and a fast trip back to the unpleasantness I expected from Valhalla. I just nodded to get the flow of information started again.
“Anyway, tonight we meet some people in the city. Some of em have things to tell you about your little quest. A couple of them will be bringing some better gear. You didn’t gush approval of the stuff I got you so I used some of your rich old sugar daddy’s coin to upgrade”
I was pretty sure he had no idea what a “sugar daddy” actually meant in normal conversation. Either that or he was trying to get a rise out of me.
Either way, I needed my own information more than I needed to correct his errors. “Damn he must have really come through on the finances. Remind me to write Eachan a very nice thank you note. At least if I die before I can repay him he’ll know I appreciated the investment.”
From the renewed smirk I decided maybe Perro knew what he was implying after all. But I let him continue uncorrected, as well as unharmed. “Anyway, you look over the gear and give me a list of anything else you need. We’ll make some plans and get some rest. You should be able to get a look at the place the next day or so. After that we finalize your plans and bang, go in, defeat the blackhats and save the day eh?”
“Well, it’s kind of hard to list any necessities if I don’t have any idea what the plan is. I need to know the locations, targets, obstacles, alarms. Are there any targets I need to avoid? Are there any targets I need to make a priority. Right now I don’t know if I need one of your buddy’s machetes or an armored company with close air support.” I was exasperated, but we still had some time to use during our ride and I hadn’t gotten any answers from this little turd that helped.
“Fyi, Pedro Perro, I’ve been a pretty patient guy but you give me more details or I’m going to have to consider a little divination. Maybe I can read the future in your entrails after I haul em out through any handy orifice.” For once I was not going to be diverted.
“Okay Okay, let me think a minute.” It took maybe four or five minutes before he finally got his thoughts in order but a couple of glances my way seemed to convince him that I was serious this time.
“Here’s the deal then. I told you the main boss here has some big plans rolling. Well, he’s got a crazy idea these ruins he camped out in hold some ancient mystical technology. He’s got some old anthopro-ology kinda guy reading the walls and telling him stuff. He thinks he can open the secrets with a blood sacrifice. But not just any chicken or goat. He’s gotta use the blood of an ancient line of kings. So happens that his great grandfather s’posed to have been Mayan or Aztec or Olmec or somethin. He thinks he’s descended from these old prehistory kings. Which means so is his sister. Got it?” He reached into his bag and pulled out a lukewarm cola.
Almost as an afterthought he offered it to me and reached back for another. I’m not normally a big fan of soda and even less infatuated with a warm one. But fluid is sometimes just fluid. That brown baking sheet of a landscape made me accept whatever hydration was offered.
After a quick drink, Pedro continued. “So that’s what your Mr. Gary found out. He was going to run with the girl but the boss man found out. Put out a hit on Gary and locked the girl up. Well, Gary ain’t never been too afraid. He came into the compound that night. There was some fighting. A few bad guys got a bad case of dead and some of the others were close enough to count. But...those whack job Aztec guys joined in and turned things around. Gary was bleeding last anyone saw him but he was still on his feet. Next morning he was gone, the girl was gone, and the boss was mad as hell.”
“So you’re telling me I have to find a missing or possibly dismembered guy inside a quasi-military compound secured by both trained mercs and rabid psychos? That’s not a job that's an abstract fantasy or a soap opera adventure.” It was almost enough to make me turn around and find the quickest route back to Austin and my mundane job at the bar.
“Hey, you ain’t gotta do it alone. I got you a weapons guy, some whaddya call it? Moral support? I even got a guy who knows the inside of the compound better than I do and I been there a few times.” If I didn’t know better I’d say he was getting a tad indignant as well as still keeping some secrets. But what do I know?
I shook my head and dug for more info.“Okay, and I get you’re not telling me who any of these people are for security reasons or something. But I get a full briefing and a chance to work on more gear when we get into town later today?”
I was by no means satisfied but maybe if I gave in a little now I could push for more later. The last thing I wanted to do was get the little miscreant�
�s nose out of joint so he would become even more close-mouthed.
He gave me one of his oily self-satisfied grins and nodded an affirmative on more intel and equipment. As briefings go, it left a lot to be desired.
I grudgingly gave up on that chain of questions and got to something a little closer to the heart. “Ok fine, we’ll do our planning tonight. In the meantime, what do you know about my girlfriend’s abrupt disappearance? And how the Hel do you know anything at all? Are you friends with that damned old witch doctor?” I was disappointed when his response was just a quizzical glance.
“Mande?” His expression translated that for me into a profound Huh?
When he offered nothing more I expanded on my original question. “Back before I went to prison. You told that guy that my girl left me for an older man. How did you know she left me and what do you know about some older man? Was it that damned Tio Guillermo? Is he one of your weird friends or something?”
I expected surprise, or maybe guilt. He would probably follow those with a half-assed denial and explanation. What I got was totally different. The smug little bastard laughed at me. “OH! Haha, Gringo!”
There was little doubt that he was genuinely entertained by the news. My own response was icy disdain and silence. Or maybe he saw it as pouting incoherence. “Oh damn, that’s the funniest…”
He lost himself in shoulder-shaking high pitched sounds that weren’t dignified enough to be called laughter. I’d probably go with giggling, or maybe an unseemly titter. That’s probably closer. He was tiggling like an evil git. “Oh Moose, you make my day eh? Ole Uncle Guillermo snuck away with your girl? You probably shoulda stayed a prisoner and maybe I would never know.”
I was strongly tempted to fish around in the back for any of the weapons Perro had managed to keep track of. If I hadn’t been mad enough at the old shaman, my new embarrassment would have pushed the smolder to new heights.
“So the old fraud is your buddy eh? I should have known. You got my gear confiscated, my ass beat and abandoned. I was half killed and dying in the desert when your buddy Tio mysteriously shows up and steals my girl. Remind me to shoot the hell out of Freke if I ever see him again. It might not kill the bastard mongrel but it ought to hurt like hell and make me feel better.”
This time he slowed down the hilarity to answer my accusations. “Whoa there Mouse, I didn’t send Guillermo to find you. I was still looking for your dumb ass on the other side of the border. But I’m surprised the “old fraud” found you. That’s not the kind of thing he used to be able to do.”
He seemed to consider for a minute and then chuckled in a completely different sound from his earlier giggles and titters. “Yea I know Guillermo though. He don’t like me much. Thinks I owe him somethin’ I guess. He blames me for all those broken teeth.”
“What the hell Perro? That old man has the most perfect teeth I’ve seen outside of a movie star’s gaping maw.” The vision of that old pervert’s gleaming smile was still pretty fresh in my mind. It hadn’t dimmed much at all prior to Pedro’s comments to the Cartel gunnies. Once he planted that particular seed of suspicion though I’d found myself frequently revisiting the memory of Tio leering at my Maureen. Those pearly whites didn’t seem very broken. I’d have been happy to fix that for him.
“Oh yea! I heard he got a new mouth.” Pedro Perro still seemed particularly happy with both his story and my romantic shortcomings.
“Last time I saw him was right after a little jeep wreck. One minute he was arguing with me, the next minute he was biting hell out of the dashboard while the dust settled. Man, there was yellow bits of teeth and red splashes all over that jeep. He was still breathing good enough to cuss the hell out of me though, so I just left. Haven’t seen him since. And now you let that wrinkled leathery old man take your woman? Damn…” Once more he erupted into the sounds of an overly entertained idiot.
“Just chill out Peter.” I let enough irritation into my voice to cool his enthusiasm. “I don’t know that he stole Maureen. I woke up and she was gone. The old man said she got mad at me and left. So when you spouted off to embarrass me in front of your drug-running playmates I may have jumped to some conclusions.”
I imagine the tapping of my fingers on the armrest was another indicator of my mood. Whatever the reason, he at least stopped laughing while I stewed in my thoughts. The smug little creep was right. I should have checked up on the story.
He interrupted me with an actual question that sounded more curious than amused. “So what did you do to make her run off…?” He considerately left the “with him” out of the statement.
“Aw hel, you know what it’s like when you keep secrets for most of your life. We’d been getting pretty close, and I hadn’t told her a lot of things about myself. I haven’t spoken about some of that stuff in decades and for all I know it could dangerous for her to know.” I suppose my own voice had gone from irritated to contemplative.
The smug little smuggler mulled it over for a minute. “ You sure she didn’t get tired of waiting for the big proposal thing? I mean some girls get mad and then stew about how they do so much for you and you ain’t even put a ring on it.”
I didn’t even think it through before answering, or maybe I’d have anticipated the fresh peals of laughter as soon as I finished saying, “Naw we hadn’t even hit our third month together yet when I left.”
His laughter was enough to make the car weave a little and I assumed his vision was blurry from the tears as he struggled to regain control of his breathing and the car both.
“Not even a year? You seen this chica a few weeks and you’re all tied up about it!? BWAHAHA!!” The car slowed and I thought he was going to pull over and get it out of his system. He managed to control his response enough to get the car going straight again and slowly gained speed as he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes.
“Man you ain’t nothing like I expected. A big tough problem solver come to settle scores for old Lobo himself? Naw, you’re the kinda softy that gets all mushed up over some chica he barely knows. Hell even if she left with the old man, left over something else, or got kidnapped by the cartel, what the hell does it matter to you? She ain’t family. You need to get your head back in the game hombre.” He slapped the steering wheel and then subsided to just the occasional chuckle accompanied by a shake of his head.
“Seriously brah, get your head on straight. A couple of these mercs or Aztecas will toss you out with the garbage and not even break a sweat.” I could tell he was honestly concerned about my focus. The problem was, he irritated the hel out of me by being so dismissive.
I just chuckled back at him for the first time in this particular conversation and then replied. “Yea, there were a dozen bikers that felt the same way. How’d that work out for them?”
The worst of it was...he was pretty much right about putting Maureen on the back burner until we were all safely out of the current mess. If we didn’t die in the attempt.
. That didn’t make me care any less. And for that matter, he was also correct in that she might have run into harm's way. That shook me to the core. I’d been jumping to tons of conclusions and not looking at the thing from other angles.
I had no idea if she was safe or not. It was just so disappointing at the time, and frankly? It was at least partially expected. I was all ready to believe that she left me for some shortcomings. All the old shaman did was give me a handle for my insecurities.
So, where did that leave me? On top of feeling lost and lonely, now I was worried and
dealing with the kind of guilt I usually managed to avoid. Maybe I’d just spent too much time in this newer and softer era. The memories I still had of my early life didn’t have this kind of guilt or even a ton of self-reflection.
That must have changed somehow. Guilt, however, was not something I could indulge in for the moment. Maybe after...after whatever this was, I could investigate those feelings.
“You should call her.” My sketchy companion sp
oke up just ahead of my own racing thoughts. I looked over to see him still watching the road while he spoke casually at me. “You don’t know what’s up so instead of worrying, you should call her. There will be a phone when we stop. No cellphone signal out here even if you had one. But when we stop, call her.”
He was right. I’m pretty sure I was about to come to the same conclusion even without his input. The answer was obvious though regardless of the source. Just like that, a number of knots in my gut disappeared. Now I had a plan so the rest of the worries could wait. That left me room to concentrate on more important stuff at the moment. Like stuff that might keep me or someone else alive.
“Yea, I’ll call her. In the meantime, do you have any of my old stuff or the guns and such you’d scrounged last time?” I looked over the seat but there were no suspicious-looking bags. Nor were there even an auspicious package or two, just a small travel bag which probably held the smuggler’s clothes or toothbrush.
He tossed me a look as if I had gone nuts. “Yea that would be a good idea eh? Blow up a prison and run around the country with an escaped prisoner and a car full of weapons and explosives and stuff just in case they missed the weird Yankee dog in prison clothes. We’re innocent as babes jeffe. Not a care in the world and nothing to declare to any authorities. Would be better if we had you some fake papers but I can talk us out of any real hassle I expect.”
12
The little weasel was true to his word. We only had one minor brush with a checkpoint. We were almost to the city when we were pulled over. I leaned back and feigned sleep. After the recent abuses, it was barely feigning. It would take at least one more good night of rest to get my reserves back, for now, though I was barely pretending fatigue. Maybe that made his spiel work better, or maybe he coughed up another envelope filled with monetary motivation. Whatever he did got us to our meeting well ahead of anyone else.
