by Mark Parragh
“What can I say? We’re naturals,” Ramon answered.
They spent most of the afternoon passing the ball back and forth amid missed shots and swearing. But by the end of the session, Crane thought they’d made some progress.
His afternoon paid off unexpectedly that evening when Crane and Alexa stepped out onto the patio for dinner. The blonde and the gigolo were already seated.
Crane was trying to think of a way to dangle his assumed name when a voice suddenly cried out, “Birchard! Birchard, come join us!” Ramon and his wife sat waving at them from a table for four. The gigolo’s eyes followed them all the way across the patio.
Crane took Ramon’s wife’s hand. “Birchard Hayes,” he said, loud enough to carry. “A pleasure to meet you.”
As they went through the rituals of greeting, Crane gave the gigolo a subtle nod.
The hook was set. All he needed to do now was wait for the fish to bite.
CHAPTER 12
After dinner, Crane and Alexa bade Ramon and his wife a good night and returned to their room. Crane could feel the energy pouring off Alexa. All through dinner she’d watched Tamarind and the blonde flirt and make over each other. She’d grown increasingly agitated until Ramon’s wife had asked if she was feeling well. She held Crane’s arm as they walked down the hallway, and Crane could feel her shaking.
As soon as he closed the door behind them she burst out, “Did you see that?”
“I saw it. It’s what he does.”
“God, I want to beat him with a shovel!”
Crane crossed to the closet and took his jacket off. “You’ve been watching him for months,” he said as he hung it up. “Is this the first time you’ve seen him with a woman?”
“He’s been around women. Of course he has. But not like this. He’s doing it again. He’s going to charm her and then ruin her life. We can’t let him do that, John.”
Crane closed the closet. He saw Alexa start toward the door.
“I’m going to warn her,” she said.
“No. No, you can’t—”
“I’m going to tell her who she’s sleeping with.”
Crane caught her as she was opening the door.
“Alexa, wait!” He pulled her back inside.
She shook him off. “Let me go!”
“You can’t just charge in there!”
She took a deep breath. “What are we waiting for?”
“I’m not done with him yet. When I’ve got what I need, we’ll take him down. I’ll help you, but you can’t do it right now.”
She pushed past him and went to the minibar. “What do you still need from him? You said you wanted to know who he talks to. I got you his phone. What else do you need?”
She took out a tiny bottle of Jameson and tore off the seal.
“There’s more to it than the phone,” said Crane.
Alexa was rooting through the cups and coffee stirrers. “Where the hell is a glass?” she muttered. Then she whirled on him. “I knew it,” she said, her voice rising with anger. “It’s the money. That’s what you’re after. You think he’ll lead you to the money. You’re just like him.”
“You know better than that,” Crane snapped.
“Oh? How do I know? You buy me these expensive clothes, and you bring me here in your fancy car. You use me just like he uses her!”
Crane went to and held her as she trembled.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean that.”
“I know,” he murmured.
“Seeing him do this…it brings up things for me.”
“I figured as much.” It had occurred to him there must be more to her crusade than just a job. Some deeper reason why she’d dropped everything to follow Tamarind around the world and harass him at every step. Someone had hurt her, badly.
“I need to know all there is to know about that man,” said Crane. “The money might be out there, it might not exist. But I need him doing what he does, not reacting to us.”
“He’ll ruin that woman,” she said, pushing back from him.
“We won’t let him do that. We’ll warn her off before she gets in too deep, but we can’t do it yet.”
“It happens faster than you think,” she said. She opened the tiny bottle of whiskey and knocked it back. Then she went to her handbag and took out a manila envelope. She opened it and fanned out a sheaf of photos, court records, more than enough to blow apart Tamarind’s budding romance.
“I promise you’ll get to use those,” he said.
She slid them back into the envelope and carefully wrapped the threads around the cardboard button to close it again.
“You just need to trust me,” said Crane, painfully aware that it was exactly what Tamarind would say in these circumstances.
“I will,” she said quietly, “but she has a right to know, John. If you want something from him, make your move soon.”
“Don’t worry. It’s already in play.”
The next morning dawned clear and warm with a light breeze that smelled of grass and horses. The pampas seemed to roll on forever beneath a deep blue sky. It was a great day for polo. At least Crane assumed it was.
They made their way outside for breakfast. Crane dressed simply, since he would change before the match anyway, but Alexa was beautiful in a flowing, pale orange dress and large brimmed hat with a matching attached scarf.
Outside they found a scene halfway between a football tailgate party and the Royal Ascot. A pavilion served a pre-game brunch. Guests strolled the grounds in their finery while liveried Estancia staff hurried everywhere, setting out picnic baskets for later and preparing gear for the match.
They got mimosas and eggs and found a table. Crane looked for the gigolo. He had to turn up somewhere. According to the register, he was playing in the matches.
“There,” said Alexa.
Crane followed her gaze and spotted the blonde sitting alone at a table. She wore an insanely expensive designer outfit and dangled her new bracelet from her wrist. She looked displeased to be left alone.
They finished breakfast and made small talk with other guests. A page brought word that Crane had been assigned the Number One position on his team. Crane had expected that. The Number One and Four slots were the easier positions, better suited to beginning players. Number One was pure offense. All Crane had to worry about was getting in front of downfield passes and turning them into shots on the goal.
Even so, yesterday’s practice session hadn’t built a lot of confidence. Crane reminded himself the game was just window dressing. If all went well, he’d already have what he wanted by then. Still, he didn’t want to look like a fool out there.
“Another mimosa?” he asked.
Alexa nodded, and Crane went back to the bar. While he watched the bartender mix the drinks, the gigolo suddenly appeared at his shoulder.
“I need to speak with you,” he said quietly. “Someplace more private.”
Crane turned and looked him in the eye. He could see nervous energy fighting to break through the calm façade. The blonde was still seated at her table, talking with another woman. Either the gigolo’s usual easy charm was unnecessary here, or he was losing it entirely. This was good. Crane wanted him off-balance.
“Of course,” he said with a smile. “I’m going to finish my breakfast now, but then I’ll change for the match.”
Crane took his drinks from the bartender, gave the gigolo a nod, and walked back to his table without looking back.
“Everything okay?” Alexa whispered.
Crane glanced over and saw the gigolo nearly collide with a waiter as he hurried out of the pavilion.
“Perfect,” he said. “Whatever happens, it’ll be soon.”
CHAPTER 13
Crane let the locker room door swing shut and listened. It was cool and silent, a sudden contrast from the bustle outside. His footsteps echoed on the cement floor as he walked back to the last row of lockers. He set his new polo gear down on the bench and quickl
y undressed.
He’d gotten the breeches and boots on when he heard the door open, then a few tentative footsteps. Crane creaked his locker door to signal his presence. The footsteps came closer, and then Tamarind appeared around the row of lockers, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
They assessed each other for a moment, then Tamarind strode forward and put his bag down beside Crane’s things. He leaned in close.
“I know your name isn’t Birchard Hayes,” he said quietly.
Crane shrugged. “That’s only fair. I know yours isn’t Rafael Bruno Campos.”
Crane studied his face and body language. What did this man want from him? What would gain his confidence and make him open up?
“Who am I then?” Tamarind asked at last.
Crane shrugged. “You seem to have names for all occasions. The one that matters is Tamarind.”
The gamble paid off. He nodded. “I apologize for my persistence. This is very important to me. There are circumstances—”
“Our own circumstances require us to be cautious with our communications,” said Crane. “No one holds you responsible. You couldn’t have known. But these calls. Sooner or later, they’ll draw attention, and so I’m here. This protects us both. Do you understand?”
Tamarind nodded hurriedly. “Of course. How should we proceed?”
He was pushing his luck, but Crane saw nowhere else to go.
“You’ve been very eager to get in touch with Mr. Hayes. Tell me what you wanted to say, and I’ll take the message back to him.”
It was the wrong move. Crane saw it immediately. Tamarind tensed, and for a moment, Crane thought he would attack him. He shifted his posture, preparing to intercept a punch then take Tamarind off-balance and slam his head into the locker.
Then the locker room doors flew open and two loud voices filled the space, one laughing at the other’s joke. The moment broke like a wave. Tamarind shrunk back a step and looked around nervously.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’ve mistaken you for someone else.” Then he snatched his duffel bag and fled.
Crane let him go. There was nothing else to do. He’d gambled and lost. He wouldn’t get anything out of the gigolo now. All that remained was the slow, hard way. The playboy lifestyle he had to perform for his women wasn’t cheap, and Alexa would be on his trail like a hellhound, wrecking every plan, driving him into ruin. When he reached the very end of his rope, Crane would approach him again, this time with a lucrative offer.
He finished dressing and left. He emerged near one end of the field, next to a sloping berm where spectators could enjoy a picnic while they watched the game. He spotted Alexa and made his way to her.
“My God, you look dashing,” she said as he approached. “That’s why they play this game, you know. So they can walk around in those boots and their tight pants.”
Crane put an arm around her shoulder and turned her to face the blonde seated on a blanket halfway up the slope.
“Tell her,” he murmured. “Do it during the match, while he’s on the field.”
She looked at him with sudden concern. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine. You gave me room to make my play, and I’m grateful, but I blew it. There’s no reason to wait anymore.”
The ball flew downfield again, this time along the low, white sideboard at the edge of the field. Crane wheeled his horse and galloped after it. A moment later, Tamarind appeared on his right, moving in fast. Great, Crane thought, here we go again.
Tamarind was playing the Number Two position on the opposing team. Whenever Crane went for a shot, the gigolo would check him hard and ride him off the ball. He seemed to particularly enjoy coming in at a steep angle that let him jab his knee sharply into Crane’s thigh.
Crane would have gone for another round, but he didn’t want to get crowded against the sideboard. He pulled up instead. Tamarind thundered past him and hooked the ball back toward the middle of the field.
Tamarind wheeled his horse around and angled back in to send the ball back upfield, but he fumbled the stroke. The ball cut away at an angle, into open field. Crane went for it. As he was lining up, Tamarind slid in from the side. He maneuvered slightly ahead and then turned sharply into Crane. Crane’s horse protested and reared up to avoid a harder impact. Crane grabbed its neck to avoid falling off and nearly dropped his mallet.
Tamarind shouted and spurred his horse forward. He left Crane behind and sent the ball back upfield with a loud whack. Moments later the whistle blew, ending the chukka.
Crane’s Number Two rode alongside him as they regrouped. He had a four-goal handicap, making him easily the best player on the team, and had been giving the junior players advice throughout the game.
“What’s the matter with that jackass?” he snapped, with a head check toward Tamarind, riding off to rejoin his own teammates.
“I don’t think he likes me,” said Crane.
“He knows you’re green. He’s trying to rattle you, get you to foul him. Don’t let him get his pony’s head behind your back. Makes it look like you’re crossing his line, gets him a penalty shot.”
Crane nodded and rode back out to take his position.
The next chukka shaped up much like the previous one. Whenever Crane got near the ball, Tamarind checked him hard. He always kept just outside Crane’s line, but Crane was convinced he was trying to push him past the limits of his skill and cause an accident. If that happened, Crane decided he wasn’t going down alone.
The game moved back upfield, and Crane let his pony take a breather as he scanned the spectators. Alexa was alone. She caught his eye and gestured toward the Estancia. Crane searched that direction and spotted the blonde storming away, her blanket bundled under one arm. Apparently, Alexa’s warning had gotten through.
Then he heard the deep rumble of horses approaching. The ball was coming toward him. Crane urged his horse forward and scanned the field for Tamarind. There he was, right where Crane expected him to be, bearing down on him at maximum gallop.
Crane’s horse turned almost on its own as the ball slid past them and fell in behind it. He swung his mallet back and prepared to shoot for the goal.
Then he was slammed hard in the side as Tamarind checked him. Tamarind’s leg slid in front of his own and forced him off the line. Crane’s mallet was trapped between the two horses, and Tamarind swept his mallet in a backwards circle and sent the ball flying back the way it had come.
Crane started to turn, but Tamarind was already wheeling to his left, cutting him off.
Tamarind’s horse shot in front of Crane by inches, a storm of fabric-wrapped legs. A chunk of turf flew past Crane’s head. He was going to hit Tamarind’s horse; there was no avoiding it.
Crane’s anger and instincts took over. Don’t go down alone. If you’re going down, take the bastard down with you. He slipped one foot out of its stirrup. He let go of the reins, pushed off on the other stirrup, and dove straight at Tamarind. Then there were just animal screams, the sheer mass of the horses tumbling all around him and the hard ground coming up fast.
CHAPTER 14
Crane was on his back, looking up into the glaring white sky. Somewhere, somebody was screaming. Then a gray-haired man leaned over him, blocking the sun. Things started to come back.
“Are the horses okay?” he mumbled in English, then remembered where he was. “The horses,” he said in Spanish, “are they hurt?”
The man was the team medic, he remembered now. He knelt beside Crane and looked into his eyes.
“Are the horses hurt?” A crowd of Estancia staff and other riders surrounded the scene. He didn’t see any horses down.
“It was lucky,” said the medic. “They’re fine. Here, sit up. You’re lucky too. The helmet took the worst.”
Crane sat up. A few yards away, figures were loading Tamarind onto a stretcher.
“Him?”
The old man snorted. “A horse rolled over him. But just a graze. I think his hip’s di
slocated.”
Tamarind cried out again as they shifted his weight.
“Less than the son of a bitch deserved,” the old man muttered. “Come on. Let’s get you on your feet.”
By the time they returned to the hotel, Alexa’s grapevine was already humming.
“She’s checking out tomorrow morning,” Alexa told Crane after a whispered discussion at the concierge desk. “She left him there. The hotel’s had to send a car to bring him back.”
“So, that’s both our jobs done then,” said Crane.
“For now.”
They returned to Crane’s room. He was finished here, he realized with a tinge of sadness. He could stay a while, enjoy the city and Alexa’s company. That was tempting, and he knew Josh wouldn’t mind, but his cover was blown.
Alexa would finish the job for him. She’d drive the gigolo to the edge of desperation. She’d maneuver him into a position where he’d have little choice but to grasp the lifeline Crane would offer and tell Crane what he wanted to know.
“So you’ll leave now, won’t you?” asked Alexa.
Crane turned, surprised. It was as if she was reading his mind. “Not right away.”
She nodded. “I wondered about you, but you did the right thing. You’re a decent man when it counts.”
She walked over to him. He put his arms around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
“I don’t get many opportunities like this,” she said. “It’s been good.”
“For me too,” he said.
They stood still and quiet for a long moment, soaking in the intimacy of contact.
“Do you think your employer would object,” Crane asked at last, “if you passed along reports about our friend’s movements and activities to another client?”
She took a half step back and pretended to consider it for a moment. “I think we can make that work,” she said. Then she placed a palm on his chest and pushed him back until he fell backwards onto the bed. “If you come to collect those reports in person.”
“I think we can arrange that,” he said. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her, laughing, down on top of him.
