Cabo

by Davis MacDonald

  “Don’t bother me Ally, more the merrier says I.” This came with a wave of her hand over her head and a giggle. “Maybe they’d like to play too.”

  The Judge peeked sideways at Katy, bolt upright, arms folded, eyes smoldering, blood giving her face a pink glow. She turned to him, sensing his eyes, and silently mouthed:

  “Stupid drunken ho! Can’t believe you were sleeping with her.”

  The Judge was glad he wasn’t in a place where Katy could speak openly and he’d have to respond. He simply spread his hands, palm up, and gave his best boyish smile, hoping it would carry the day.

  Katy glared back, not amused.

  That’s when Barbara said, “Let’s get this party going.” Then she started to sing.

  “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Judge;

  He is trampling in my vintage where my grapes of life are lodged;

  He hath loosed the fateful lightning from his firm and mighty cod;

  His truth is marching on.”

  The last line was sung with volume and raising octaves. She paused there, waiting for reaction.

  But it had gotten terribly quiet. The driver was now craning his neck around intermittently, to see what would happen next. Alan was appalled, jaw dropped, mouth open, hardly breathing. The Judge’s face was transitioning from pink to purple as he fought to control his anger. He didn’t dare look at Katy.

  “Alright Barbara, stop it right now.” The Judge used his deep judicial voice. The one reserved for troublemakers in his courtroom. “You’re not that drunk and we both know it. You’re just trying to make trouble. Now sit up, act your age, and be quiet.”

  “Ahhh, Judgee, you used to be a lot more fun. Before you met the child bride. You’ve gotten ‘old’ on me.”

  Katy suddenly grabbed a magazine from the side compartment in the door, ‘Cabo Life’, rolled it up, leaned forward, and started boxing Barbara’s ears and head.

  “Ahhh, Ahhh… Eeeee!” Barbara screamed. Throwing her hands over her ears, ducking forward and away from the light blows, then sliding left to collapse her head onto Alan’s lap for protection.

  Katy took a swing at Alan with malice, barely missing as he ducked.

  “Okay, Katy. It’s okay. You can stop,” said the Judge, snatching the magazine away. “I’m sure Barbara’s sorry. She’ll be quiet now.”

  In the middle seat Barbara sobbed into Alan’s lap, her narrow shoulders shaking, large tears running her mascara and puddling, leaving widening spots on Alan’s slacks.

  Alan looked back at the Judge, mouthing: “What do I do now?”

  “Just hold her,” the Judge mouthed back, wincing a second later as Katy’s skinny elbow shot into his ribs with force, constricting his air supply and sending a spasm of pain up his side.

  Alan ringed Barbara’s head with one arm, stroking her head and hair with his other hand, murmuring, “It’s okay, Barbs. It’s okay.”

  They reached the Judge’s hotel first.

  “Sorry, Judge, Katy. I’d normally get out to say goodbye, but it’d be a little embarrassing what with this suspicious spot on the front of my slacks. Besides, Barbara is asleep on my lap.”

  Katy bolted from the SUV and the Judge followed, Katy neither speaking nor looking at the Judge as she marched in through the lobby and over to the elevators, leaving him far behind. It would be a bleak night.

  CHAPTER 23

  The next morning the room phone rang. The Judge shook himself awake and picked it up, expecting to hear Garcia again. Instead he heard the golden tones of Alan Clark, asking if he’d recovered from their night of revelry.

  “That depends on whether Katy is speaking to me today, Alan.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be find. Are you enjoying your Cabo vacation?”

  “What vacation? The good Chief Inspector has been running me around like a wagon.”

  “Yeah,” said Katy from their balcony where she was apparently catching the weaker early morning rays from the sun. “You tell him, Judge.”

  “Don’t you secretly enjoy the attention, and the puzzle of it all, Judge?”

  “Certainly not.” And then in a whisper, “Not while Katy’s eavesdropping from the balcony.”

  “I just got a call from Old Pablo, Judge. He’s desperate to talk to us. Well, really to you.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know, but he sounded quite rattled.”

  The Judge sighed. “Where? When?”

  “Ten-thirty a.m. At The Office. You’ll love the place. Right on the beach.”

  Katy stepped into the room and stood to listen now at the Judge’s shoulder.

  “Okay, Alan. I’ll come,” muttered the Judge.

  “Bring Katy, Judge. Pablo still likes young females. We’ll be better received if Katy comes. And remember, we’re touring the ASAM Plant this afternoon.”

  Katy snorted at the outright sexism, but yelled over the Judge’s shoulder into the phone. “I am coming for sure. There nothing to do in the hotel room without the Judge.” She gave the Judge a licentious wink.

  The Office turned out to be a restaurant partly on the sand, just to the east of the harbor, a favorite watering hole and food joint for visitors and locals.

  Pablo met them at the front door, looking tired and something else… was it fearful? His hands seemed to shake slightly, despite an obvious effort to control them. He wore white linen shorts draped around his skinny butt and hips, beneath a silk long-sleeved sport shirt, blue and white checked, pulled down low past his barrel chest and protruding stomach, and a white golf cap, covering his bald pate.

  They walked across a raised cement platform that made up the upper dining room, down wooden steps onto the sand, and were shown down further, to the last row of tables nearest the water.

  Pablo slipped off expensive Italian loafers to reveal white gnarled feet and set them on the end of the table, tucking his toes into the warm sand. They sat down at a table ten feet above the edge of the tide, the table’s top sloping a little from the grade. The Judge and Alan sat on the down side with their backs to the surf, placing Katy next to Pablo on the high side, looking out to the surf and the bay.

  The tide was slowing edging up the beach, making a soft swishing sound periodically below them. An umbrella was pulled over, shading their table from the sun. It was all very… relaxed.

  “So here we are, Pablo,” said the Judge. “What’s up?”

  Pablo leaned low across the table, whispering, his words coming in quick gasps, his hands shaking now uncontrollably.

  “I saw death…. He came for me.”

  “What?”

  “Death, he came for me last night. I caught a glimpse of him sneaking up on me. Just out of the corner of my eye. I dodged. I ran. Like the wind. Got into my hacienda. Slammed the door. He lingered for a while, watching me through the glass. Then he disappeared. It was a very close thing. I’m sure he’ll be back!”

  “Slow down, slow down, Pablo. Tell us slowly, from the beginning. What happened?”

  “It was just after dark. I was on my patio at the back. I usually have my cigar and my tequila just after sundown. My housekeeper does not allow me to smoke in my hacienda. She’s very strict. So, I have to smoke outside.”

  “She’s the one who picks your shirts?” asked Katy.

  “How’d you know, señora?”

  “How much tequila did you drink?” asked the Judge.

  “Well, you know. Some. It keeps me going, helps me sleep. I drifted off in my patio chair, as I often do. It’s the best time of the day.”

  “What happened next,” asked Alan.

  “I was dozing there, on my patio. But then I sensed something. Like the air had become compressed or something. Like I’d dropped into a sinkhole of air. It was beating against my temples. My eyes flew open, I looked around. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Death, his red eyes staring at me, swinging down to gather me up. I didn’t wait for him. I dived low off the chair, skinned my knees, crawled in
to my dining room, slamming the sliding glass door behind me. Then I collapsed. My heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t breathe. My pulse was racing, making my arms ache. I thought I was having a heart attack. Then Death came up to the glass and glared at me, hovering there for seconds, figuring how to get me. I screamed for my housekeeper. She came running. With my nitroglycerin. Saved me.”

  “Did she see Death?” the Judge asked.

  “No. As soon as she came, poof, he disappeared. She said maybe I was dreaming. A nightmare or something. But it was no dream, señor. My housekeeper helped me through the cocina, out to my garage. We got into my old pickup, and she drove. We roared away. We went to the emergency room, then to the Grand Solmar Land's End and she checked us in. I’m not going back to my hacienda. He waits for me there. I’m so scared.”

  “Tell us more about what Death looked like, Pablo?” asked Katy.

  “Death?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like a cat.”

  “A cat?”

  “Yes. I hate cats. I’ve always been allergic to them. And afraid. When I was younger my brothers used to tease me about it. But I got even. I used to torture and shoot cats for fun in our neighborhood. But now Death has come for me in the form of a cat. For revenge.”

  “Perhaps it was a real cat you saw,” said Alan.

  “No. It was Death. It was no regular cat. Its paws never touched the ground.”

  “It was a floating cat?” asked the Judge.

  “Yes. He was shrouded in black, ready to grab my soul and carry me off. His mouth snarling, his forelegs outstretched for me, sharp claws waiting to sink into my flesh… and his eyes. Oh, my God, his eyes. Fiery red eyes from Hell.”

  Katy, the Judge and Alan looked at each other. Alan subtly rolling his eyes.

  “And you think I can help somehow?” asked the Judge.

  “You’re a very wise man, señor. I’ve read about you. The board all got copies of your resume and newspaper clippings of your exploits. You’re an American judge, educated, with vast experience. I talked to my priest, he didn’t believe me. I talked to Moreno, the company lawyer, he didn’t believe me. I hope you’ll believe me. And that you’ll know what to do.”

  “Have you talked to Chief Inspector Garcia?”

  “No. He reports to his police chief, and his chief is a man with divided loyalties, so that makes the Chief Inspector the same. They will not protect me from Death.”

  Pablo’s lips turned into a grim line as he stared past the Judge’s shoulder into the breakers, reliving the night before.

  “You believe me, don’t you señor? What shall I do?”

  “Either you had a very bad nightmare, or you saw what you saw, Pablo. I think you were wise to leave your hacienda and go to a hotel. For now, I would stay there. What’s more, I wouldn’t tell anyone where you’re staying now. Don’t tell your family, don’t tell the Chief Inspector, don’t tell anyone, and don’t let your housekeeper tell. Stay there for a few days. Meet people elsewhere, but don’t tell them where you stay. Give me a chance to figure this out.”

  “Yes, señor, that’s what I’ll do. I knew you’d have sound advice.”

  “Now I need a favor from you, Pablo.”

  “What can it do?”

  “Tell us more about ASAM.”

  “What?”

  “Tell us more about the company you helped to build. It may help us sort things out.”

  Pablo looked dubious, but replied, “As you say, señor.”

  “Can you tell us about your position on moving into the medical marijuana business?” asked Alan.

  “And tell us about the man who started it all,” chimed in Katy.

  Pablo let go of his black thoughts long enough to produce a shy smile, mostly aimed at Katy, showing yellowed teeth with nicotine stains, crinkle lines breaking out around his small brown eyes, his beaked nose pointing higher, indicating new interest in the conversation. “My brothers and I started the company a very long time ago. It was José’s dream. My brother, Antonio, and I went along. They’re both gone now. I was the youngest. I know I’ll disappear soon. It’s life. But not now, I’m not ready.”

  “What was the initial business?” asked Alan.

  “We drilled for oil in Mexico. We were wildcatters, as you say. And we struck a lot of oil. Fate smiled on us. We moved into refining and then distribution as well.”

  “Did you ever sell drugs?” asked Katy.

  “Hell no. Back then there was no drug problem. Or at least not much of one. There were no cartels. No drug epidemic in your country. No violence in our country. Not like now. This drug business is the worst thing that’s ever happened to Mexico. It’s made us into a place of violent warfare.”

  “But it’s legal to sell marijuana in California now, Pablo,” pressed Alan. “Surely if there was a good business opportunity to make serious money with the crop in cross-border sales, you’d consider it.”

  “These younger people think I’m too old, Señor Clark, as do you. That I don’t understand. But I understand just fine. There are no short cuts. We wade into this marijuana trade, we throw away sixty years of what our company’s about. We become no better than the scum that run drugs. Running marijuana that we know is Federally illegal in the United States. And for what? So, our lazy next generation can get a little more money out, a little earlier, that they haven’t earned.”

  “But surely if everybody’s in the trade, you don’t want to be the last one to the market. They project thirty billion dollars in U.S. sales of marijuana in the near future.”

  “I’ve no interest. One of the few things on which I and my two nieces agreed. God rest their souls.”

  “Who do you think is responsible for their deaths?” asked the Judge.

  Pablo’s hawk-like nose swung around to point at the Judge, his eyes narrowing. “Are we sure they didn’t just jump? Some say it was a double suicide.”

  “Come now, Pablo. Your two nieces, suddenly deciding on the same day to jump off the same building? That’s way too much of a coincidence.”

  “Maybe María fell, an accident. And then Ana was so distraught she just jumped out of grief.”

  “You really think that’s what happened?”

  “No…. You’re right of course. Someone killed them both.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “Or how?” chimed in Katy.

  “No… Maybe Luis. He’s the one trying to drag us into this marijuana business. They were standing in his way. He’s an asshole. He always hated us.”

  “Why?” Katy asked.

  “Because we were the controlling bloc, María, Ana, Miguel and me. We wouldn’t pay the kids the big salaries they thought they were entitled to.”

  “Not like the salaries the controlling bloc got,” said the Judge.

  “Of course not.”

  “Including you?”

  “Yes, including me. But I own a third of the company. These kids, Luis, Roberto and Rosa, each own only eleven percent. Besides, I’ve been around since the beginning. A lot of the relationships that make this company work are mine.”

  “Who else might have a motive?” asked the Judge.

  “No one I can think of.”

  “Perhaps Miguel?”

  “Miguel was part of our voting bloc. He took care of us. We took care of him. He’d have no reason.”

  “Miguel is María and Ana’s half-brother,” said the Judge.

  “Yes. My older brother, José, was a swinging bachelor after his first wife died. But then he married the club dancer. Jesus, she had nice tits. Could dance too. I always liked her. More than just a bar girl. A real artist. We all got hard in that club when she came on and started to dance.”

  Pablo gave Katy a leer.

  “Course my brother let his little head do the thinking for his big head. Always a mistake. He didn’t need to marry. He had the money to provide her with everything she could want. But when she got pregnant with Miguel… Jesus, she threw such a fit, bullied
José to up and secretly marry her.”

  “So, Miguel got shares in the company too.”

  “Yes. When Miguel reached twenty-five, a third of José’s shares in the company, eleven percent of the total outstanding shares, were turned over by José’s trust to Miguel. He immediately put himself on the board. Had the votes to do so. We made a pact to vote our shares together, keep control of the company in our hands. And that has worked quite well right through today.”

  “What about you, Pablo? I understand you and Ana didn’t get on?”

  The old man sat back in his chair, a congenial smile blanketing his face, like a poker player looking at his new hole card.

  “Ana and I didn’t have the best of relationships, it’s true. She was the accountant. Always a bean counter. And a meddler. Always getting in other people’s business.”

  “Was there something specific that made your relationship strained?”

  “Yes. You see, originally José founded the business and owned it all. When our middle brother and I came in, we split the stock three ways. We each got a third. After my brother, Antonio, died, José promised he would bequeath enough of his shares to me, so I’d have control when he passed. There was a will drawn up to that effect. And José signed it. But there was only one document. I never got a copy.

  Ana, the accountant, was appointed Executor of José’s estate, and conveniently couldn’t find that will. It disappeared. I had an angry confrontation with her. She was a tough bitch. Just laughed in my face. Said I could suck wind. Blamed me for introducing my brother to the dancer. Said María and she would control the company. I could either play along, or watch from the outside looking in.”

  “So, you didn’t get any additional shares?”

  “No. She screwed me over.”

  “And María went along?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you angry enough about being cheated out of the shares to arrange for the death of your nieces?”

  Pablo just looked at the Judge, his expression communicating, ‘What a stupid question.’

  It was then the Judge felt cold on his feet. Cold and wet. The tide swept in and around him under his chair, soaking his feet, softening the sand under the back of his chair. He felt the back of the chair sinking into the suddenly wet sand, down, farther, farther…. Suddenly he was doing a painfully gradual backward fall, as the chair slowly tipped itself over onto its back in the wet tide. It was too late to scramble out, too much lead in his butt. His feet along with the front of the chair tipped high into the air, 225 pounds carrying the chair ever backward until he landed in a slow splash, sea water sluicing around him.