The Payback Assignment

by Camacho, Austin S.

  “About five clicks from the border.”

  “Three miles,” Felicity said. “Not that bad. How about to a real city?”

  “Two hundred and seventy miles from Merida. Long walk,” he said. “Especially with...” his voice trailed off.

  “With what?” she asked. “Excess baggage?”

  “You said it, I didn’t.”

  “I’ll try to keep up,” she said. “Now, do you suppose we can get something to eat in this place?”

  A sharp look told her she might be pushing too hard. Grabbing up the canteen and shoving his submachine gun into a sack from the back seat, Morgan headed toward town. The track they were on slowly swelled to almost twice its width. It appeared to be the village’s main street. In fact, Felicity began to suspect it was the only street. Despite his long, powerful stride, she followed close behind her rescuer. His grim visage would intimidate anyone they encountered, including her. She simply could not understand why some people can’t try to make the best of a bad situation.

  As they passed a couple of small shacks Felicity got the feeling she had seen this very village in an old spaghetti western. Unwashed children played in the unpaved street, which was lined with wooden buildings. They walked into a small cafe, which also looked like something out of the Old West. A bar counter spanned one wall, in front of shelves crowded with unrecognizable bottles. The rest of the space was cluttered with round wooden tables. Only two of the tables were occupied, in both cases by older couples. The looked fairly clean, despite the fact that it smelled of hot oil and perspiration.

  Morgan moved toward a table in the corner, reaching for the chair with the best view of the door. Felicity liked sitting with her back to the corner as well, but settled for the side with her back to the wall. From habit, she stood next to her seat, waiting. Morgan sat down, evidently oblivious to her. With a sigh, she seated herself. She had a good view of both the door, and his face.

  Surely they made an unusual sight in this rural locale, or in fact anywhere, but the aging proprietor hastened over to them. He seemed to make a point of not noticing anything odd about them, as if he dealt with armed black soldiers and ragged barefoot white women all the time.

  “Buenos dias,” he said pleasantly.

  “English?” Morgan asked, not looking up.

  The tavern owner nodded and his smile never changed. “Good morning. Our menu is small, but I can offer you fresh lemonade on this hot day.”

  “We’ll take a pitcher,” Morgan said. “Strong and sweet. And a fat beef enchilada. Re-fried beans. Small bowl of chili. Twice.”

  The old man nodded more deeply and moved away. When he was gone, Felicity leaned toward Morgan and said in conspiratorial tones, “He speaks English!”

  “Of course he does,” Morgan said. “Belize is not Mexico, you know. You’ll hear a lot of Spanish here, and a kind of Cajun dialect, but English is the official language. This little country was a British Crown Colony for a hundred years. Only got its independence in ‘81.”

  “Oh.” Felicity fell silent. She was sure she must look like a total idiot to him, and did not want to give him any further evidence. His mind seemed light years away anyway, which suited her just fine. It gave her time to think. As always, she had a plan. It percolated in her mind while she excused herself to visit the ladies room. It too proved clean, although she didn’t enjoy washing her face and hands in cold water.

  When she returned to the table, she saw that Morgan had also washed while she was gone. She found him easier to look at with clean hands and face but she wished he would smile more. Soon after she sat down their food came, on chipped china plates. Morgan fell on his hungrily. Felicity poured and emptied two glasses of lemonade before she even approached the food. She finally lifted a fork full of the beans as if judging their weight, and dropped them back onto her plate.

  “How can you eat this disgusting, overly spiced slop?” she whispered.

  “Hey, when you’re hungry, food is food,” Morgan said between mouthfuls. He continued in an imitation Massachusetts accent that surprised her. “I suppose you’ve got the cultivated palate of a gourmet. Too bad. I’ve eaten too much mess hall food, in the U.S. and a few other armies. My taste buds retired long ago.”

  Despite her reservations, only seconds passed before the necessity of hunger drove Felicity to taste parts of her meal. Two minutes later she was eating steadily, and soon was devouring her food greedily. She had nearly finished her greasy meal when she suddenly looked up.

  “Do you have any money?”

  “About twenty dollars American,” Morgan said. “More than enough for the meal.”

  “Wait a minute. You travel in a foreign country with just twenty dollars in your pocket?”

  Morgan’s face hardened again. “I didn’t get paid for my last job.”

  “Hm. You know, the men who stranded me also stole something from me,” Felicity said between bites of enchilada. “I’d be willing to pay you a fair amount if you’d help me get it back.”

  “What’s your idea of fair? I’m pretty expensive help. Besides, right now I don’t even know when we’ll get to civilization. Hell, I don’t even know where I’m going next.”

  “Look, I’ve got plenty of money,” Felicity said, pushing the last of her rice onto her fork. “I just don’t have any with me. I lost my purse in the jungle in the dark. As for how we’ll get to civilization, don’t be worrying your little head about it. I spotted an old pickup truck down the road. Nobody will miss it. You said Merida was less than three hundred miles away, right? We can be there tonight. I can wire for cash from there and we can fly to my Los Angeles home.”

  “Hold on!” Morgan said. “You’re moving a little fast here.”

  “I thought you were an adventurer. Besides, do you have anywhere else to go?”

  “Well, I guess not,” Morgan said after a few seconds.

  “Well then, I say let’s be off.”

  They were approaching the end of the road when Morgan finally accepted that this woman was serious. They stopped next to an ancient blue Chevy pickup truck. Dust covered, with just passable tires, it stood like a lonely swayback mare awaiting its rider.

  “You intend to buy this old hulk somehow?” Morgan asked, grinning. “Or maybe talk the owner out of it?”

  “Don’t be silly. We’ll just take it.”

  “Real nice,” Morgan said, trying the door. “Just like that. It’s locked, you know.”

  Felicity shrugged. “So?”

  From her matted hair she drew a small sliver of spring steel, almost like a shiny bobby pin. She slid this into the driver’s side door lock in businesslike manner and opened it. Under the dash, she pulled wires and twisted them carefully. The starter reluctantly turned and the engine leaped to life. Just under seven seconds passed between her sprightly “So?” and her terse “Get in!” They heard loud voices behind them, shouting in Creole and English, but Morgan figured that by the time the locals got another vehicle on their trail, that trail would be cold. The local police force was probably pretty disorganized, so getting into Mexico with this rust machine should prove no problem. All in all, he was impressed.

  “You know, Red, you’re all right,” he said, shaking her head by a handful of hair.

  “Thanks,” Felicity said, “but don’t call me Red, okay? Nobody calls me Red. Hey, this thing’s got a tough clutch. You want to drive?”

  “Sure thing, Red,” he said with a deep laugh. “Pull her over.”

  “No need. Don’t want to give anybody a chance to catch us.” Felicity gripped the wheel tightly and raised herself from the seat. After a couple of seconds she said, “Well, come on. Step on the gas and slide on over here.” Shaking his head, Morgan pushed her foot off the accelerator with his own and pulled himself under her body, so that she was steering from his lap. Once he was in place she nimbly hopped off him to land on the seat to his right. She was giggling a bit, as if they had just performed some schoolyard prank, and Morgan had to
admit her relaxed smile was infectious. As the truck, bucking like a rodeo bronco, rolled over the endless treadmill of a road, he thought it was a good chance to take some time to think.

  After a couple of minutes, Morgan asked, “Are you sure this `business acquaintance’ of yours stole something from you? Not that it matters, but it occurs to me that maybe you stole something from him.”

  “Not from him,” Felicity answered. “For him.” After a much longer hesitation she added, “It was a contract job. I’ve a feeling you know about such things. Only, like yourself, I didn’t get paid.”

  “Oh, so you’re for hire, eh?” he asked, grinning.

  “Not usually. I’m self-employed, normally. But this deal looked so good...”

  Felicity stopped as Morgan pulled the pickup around a curve in the narrow dirt road, and then pulled them over to the side.

  “We’re approaching the border,” he said. “I got no problems in Mexico, but the Belize boys might be watching. This is a pretty obscure crossing point, but I want to go up and take a look before we drive on up there.”

  As Felicity watched from the truck, Morgan walked down the road ahead. He looked like a huge man when she was standing beside him, but now he was dwarfed by the tall jungle trees lining the road. The foliage presented a solid wall of green, because tree bark was obscured by vines and moss. The tall, massive trees appeared to be woven together, as if some giant seamstress had pulled her needle in and out between them, a needle threaded with thick, leafy vines.

  Morgan’s uniform matched the jungle perfectly, but she followed his movement at the edge of the road. About twenty meters ahead, he suddenly stepped to the side and vanished into the brush.

  “What a thief this man would make,” she said aloud.

  Felicity sat alone for what felt like an hour, although she knew it was barely ten minutes. As time passed, weariness overwhelmed tension and she began to relax. Just as her eyes were about to slide closed, Morgan silently stepped through the green barrier onto the road. He didn’t look happy, but he wore an expression more of annoyance than actual concern. He didn’t speak until he was right beside the truck again.

  “These bozos have got a pair of kids in uniform up there watching the border.”

  “Okay,” she said. “So can’t you go up there and bop them on the head or something? I don’t feel like driving along the border all day looking for a clear spot.”

  “Sure, Red. You just tell them to put those little rifles down and I’ll do that.”

  “Don’t want to shoot them, huh?” She hoped not.

  “Shoot them?” Morgan said. “Look, I’m a fighter, but I fight soldiers. These are just kids.”

  Felicity smiled and blew a stray stand of hair out of her face. “Well then, I guess I’ll just have to get them to put their guns down.”

  -10-

  The young Belizean border guard turned over his hidden king, raked in a handful of his partner’s coins and inhaled deeply on his cigarette. Victor pushed his cap back on his head, too weary to even be angry about losing.

  Their little shack stood to the side of a road not quite wide enough to allow two vehicles to cross. Not that it mattered, Victor thought. Most of the people they had seen in the last week were riding behind animals, not engines.

  His thoughts were suddenly shattered by a piercing scream. The two guards leaped to their feet, yanking the charging handles of their AKM’s. They looked at each other, their hearts pounding. Victor, the younger man, jerked his head toward the dirt trail that led up to their post next to the border. His nineteen-year-old partner slowly stepped down the path, a little way into Belize. Twenty meters away he turned to face the border, smiling, and waved his partner ahead.

  A tall, fair-skinned woman lay sprawled in the road face down, just around the first narrow bend. One leg was curled up, her ragged gown almost, but not quite, revealing the tender flesh of her perfectly rounded buttocks.

  The border guards circled their discovery cautiously. The red-haired woman lifted her head, licked her dry lips, and raised one hand in a silent request for help. The two young men broke into broad smiles, but took no action.

  “They, they left me here, all alone,” she said, exhaustion showing on her face. “Please, would you help me up?”

  “Oh, we’ll be glad to help you,” the older guard said, setting his rifle aside. “Keep her covered,” he told his partner. Barely able to keep a straight face, Victor pointed his shaking rifle at her bosom. The other took her arm, drawing her to him. Artlessly, he pressed his mouth to hers. Clearly sensing no resistance, he started trailing sloppy kisses down her throat, headed for her breasts.

  Felicity tolerated the drool on her flesh, keeping her eyes on the other border guard. The little twerp was watching the show with obvious pleasure, until a black man wearing camouflage fatigues took one long step out of the jungle and landed a solid left cross on his jaw. The other guard turned just in time to see his partner collapse like an empty uniform into the sand. Morgan grabbed the second guard’s shoulder, continuing his spin into the stiffened fingers of Morgan’s right hand.

  “And you didn’t think it would work.” She began brushing herself off.

  “I didn’t think anybody could be that dumb.”

  Morgan dragged the unconscious guards into the brush off the side of the road while Felicity brought the truck forward. Morgan got back behind the steering wheel and they continued north.

  Felicity couldn’t say that Mexico looked different from Belize, but she was somehow more comfortable after they crossed the border. Barely out of sight of the little guard shack, Morgan pulled onto a two-lane blacktop. A few minutes later they were on an actual highway. The old truck had more power than she expected, and Morgan kept it moving over sixty miles per hour. The familiar whine of the tires on a real road made her situation seem less foreign. Felicity leaned away from the breeze coming in her open window and her head settled onto Morgan’s shoulder. She was surprised at how natural it seemed. He was whistling a tune she wasn’t sure she recognized.

  “Hey Red, check this out.”

  Felicity’s eyes snapped open and she jerked upright.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “We’re tooling through the Yucatan, headed north on Route 261,” Morgan said. “Now look out my window quick, or you’ll miss it.”

  Felicity stared past Morgan, but saw only the jungle she had been looking at all day. Then her eyes wandered to the top of the tree line, and she saw what at first looked like a gold tower thrusting up into the clear azure blue of the sky. It was, on closer inspection, a chunky stone structure almost twice as tall as the trees. It resembled a giant layer cake, but with dozens of layers, each one smaller than the one beneath it.

  “Oh, my. What are those? Pyramids?”

  “Very good,” Morgan said. “Those are the ruins of Uxmal, one of the best known Mayan cities. It’s quite the tourist attraction and one good reason to visit the Yucatan. That big one is called the Pyramid of the Magician. If you dig that kind of thing, there’s a hotel right up here on the right.”

  Felicity dragged her fingers through her snarled hair. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll put off sightseeing until we get someplace where I can get some cash in my hand, and after I’ve had a chance to settle into a long, hot bath, okay?”

  Morgan shrugged. “Sure, kid. We’re still a good fifty miles south of Merida. But you’re missing some cool columns, temples, and an ancient cemetery, not to mention the good old temple of the phallus.”

  “You’re making it up, now,” she said, giggling as she craned her neck to watch the ruins pass out the back window.

  “Who’d make up a thing like that?”

  Felicity sat back in her corner of the truck’s dusty cab and pulled her left foot up onto the seat so she could watch Morgan more closely. “So, you fancy yourself a tour guide as well. Well, since you’d never make anything up to fool a poor girl like myself, why don’t you tell me a bit mo
re about this job you were on?”

  “Tell you what,” Morgan said. “I’ll tell you how I ended up in Belize if you’ll tell me a bit more about how you did.”

  “You’ll show me yours if I’ll show you mine, eh? Well, fair’s fair.”

  For the next few minutes they exchanged personal stories, but their conversation did not stray beyond the events that directly led up to their meeting in the jungle.

  About a half- hour after passing Uxmal they came within sight of the Hacienda Yaxcopoil, which Morgan explained was a seventeenth century estate and another popular tourist stop. Not long after that they rolled into recognizable suburbs and appeared to have left the third world far behind. Felicity made it one-forty p.m. when they motored into Merida, the major city in the southeast corner of Mexico complete with wide, clean streets and snarled urban traffic.