by Meg Medina
“Please stop, Señor Umberto,” she said, stepping back. His sour breath repelled her. “I don’t want this. I should get back home. Eva is a light sleeper. If she wakes, she’ll be worried.”
But Umberto only moved closer. He pressed her close to the wall, and all at once his hands were around her waist and his tongue slid along her neck. Sonia pushed with all her might, but she was useless against the weight of his body as he tried to lift her nightdress over her thighs.
Suddenly, a gust of wind shot through the yard and caught the patio doors, banging them open hard enough so that glass shattered in an explosion. The shards pierced Sonia’s bare feet and arms. Umberto released her instantly, yelping and trying to pull the glass pieces from his cheeks. Almost immediately there were footsteps and shouts from all directions.
Oscar and the gardeners appeared in the yard, holding sticks.
“Sonia?” Oscar asked, his eyes darting warily from Umberto to Sonia. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?” He stepped forward and took her arm. “Tell me the truth, niña. What’s happened?”
The light snapped on inside the parlor, and the room went bright. Sonia felt as though she were caught in a spotlight on a stage. She squinted to see who had arrived in the doorway.
“Go back to bed, Oscar,” Teresa hissed. “I’ll handle this.”
She was holding an antique pistol in a shaking hand.
PANCHO LOOKED THROUGH the open window and saw Conchita laughing at the bar. Glassy-eyed admirers surrounded her and toasted her beauty.
“Are you sure you want to go in there, Pancho?” Armando, who had followed Pancho all the way to La Jalada, pointed at the bar and squinted to get a better look. “It’s the middle of the night, and even Mongo looks like he’s waiting for someone to kill. ¡Jesucristo! Look at that cannibal!”
A cleaver went hurtling toward the wall.
“Don’t be silly,” Pancho said. “He’s just playing darts.”
Armando’s eyes grew wide as he ducked back down.
“Have you finally gone crazy, Pancho Muñoz? It’s bad enough you’ve been driving like a lunatic for days. Then you run off to the police station in your underwear to take a phone call in the middle of the night. Now this! What’s between your ears?”
“The only thing that’s ever been there: imagination,” Pancho said honestly. “Hopefully, that will do.”
Armando thumped his friend on the side of the head. “Imagine this, then, you fool: Señor Pasqual’s face when he finds out you’re hanging around with these drunks instead of picking up fares to pay him back for your bike repairs.”
Pancho gave Armando an impatient look. “Then, don’t tell him.”
“Won’t you at least tell me what we’re doing here if it’s not to pick up a fare?” Armando pleaded. “None of this makes sense! If nothing else, I want to be able to tell Señor Pasqual why you were killed when we find your body.”
Pancho reached for the door and took a deep breath.
“Of course I won’t tell you. Some things are private. Now, go home, Armando, and get some sleep. I’ll be fine.”
Then he stepped into the bar.
Look calm, Pancho told himself as he crossed the smoky room, but fear was already crawling up his back. It was one thing to venture here in daylight to trade a snack for a story with Mongo, but at night La Jalada drew fearsome men who’d long ago forgotten how to be good. He took note of the arsenal of pistols and knives in plain sight and headed toward the bar without anyone stopping him. For once in his life, Pancho was glad to be the kind of boy no one ever noticed.
Just as he reached his stool, a blade went buzzing past his head and sank into the bull’s-eye across the room.
“Good throw, Mongo,” Pancho said, sliding onto a bar stool. He checked to make sure his ear was still attached. A shiny collection of cutlery sat on the bar.
The barkeep put down the knife he was aiming and turned with a look of surprise.
“What are you doing here at this time of night? This is no place for you. Be smart and get out,” he said.
“But I brought you the end to the pirate tale.” Pancho pulled a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and held it in the air.
“Are you playing or not?” someone called.
Mongo hurled a dagger at the man’s feet in reply.
“Back here, my friend,” he told Pancho.
When Pancho’s snack and tale were finished — and the sea captain was beheaded and fed to the sharks as the outlaws cheered — Mongo looked as satisfied as if he’d eaten a heavy meal.
“Excellent,” he said, picking his teeth. “Your best one yet. Maybe drag out the sword fight just a tad.”
“Good point.” Pancho glanced over his shoulder nervously. “I have another reason I wanted to talk to you alone, Mongo.”
“Well, then. Out with it.” Mongo leaned forward to listen.
Pancho knew he couldn’t ask about Rafael directly. It would violate his taxi boy oath completely. He hated to lie to Mongo, but what choice did he have?
“I want to arrange a trip north,” he whispered. “I’m tired of being a taxi boy. Señor Pasqual works us like oxen, and there’s no future in it. I’d rather take my chances someplace else.”
Mongo sat back and shook his head.
“Be smart and go to Arenas, then,” he said. “It won’t be quick, but it will be better. Trust me.” He stood to go.
“Better than what?” Pancho asked, grabbing him by the arm. It felt like stone beneath his fingers. “Why can’t Conchita Fo help me? I hear she has contacts.”
“Don’t be nosy, and go see Arenas.” Mongo pulled away and looked over his shoulder cautiously. “It’s getting late. You should get out of here.”
“No,” Pancho said firmly. “I’m going north, Mongo. If you won’t help me, I’ll speak to Conchita Fo myself. She’ll know someone who can take me over quickly.” Here he paused. “Perhaps someone who is not too expensive.”
Mongo’s fierce look made Pancho’s knees quiver. The barkeep’s voice was a deep growl.
“I don’t like to repeat myself to brats who think they know everything. Get that idea out of your head before you’re sorry. You’ll never see the north if you arrange with her.”
“Why not?” Pancho asked. “Tell me what happens to the boys she sends.”
“For God’s sake, Mongo, there are thirsty men out there and no one to serve them!” Conchita Fo was standing at the beaded curtain. She took one look at Pancho and frowned. “Get your food someplace else! Out!”
Mongo closed his fist around Pancho’s collar.
“He was just leaving.” He dragged Pancho out the back door like a sack of trash.
“Please listen, Mongo. I have to know.”
For a moment, he was sure he had failed. Mongo pressed him roughly against the wall.
“You have to know? Then listen. They end up crying for their mothers like rats eating onions — if they make it out at all. They think they’re going to her friend’s restaurant in the north. But there’s no friend, you understand? There’s only her man, the one they call Iguana. She collects the fare — and he waits in the valley to rob them of the rest of what they’ve got. Lambs to the slaughter, Pancho. No one should be so cursed. Now, get out, and never let me see you here again at night, or I’ll kill you myself.”
The door slammed, and Pancho was all alone in the dark alley.
“HOW DARE YOU break into my place of business! Get up and find someplace else to sleep,” Carmen scolded as she shook Pancho awake with her foot.
He bolted up from his sleep and banged his head on the desk drawer. Pancho had picked the lock on Señor Arenas’s office and fallen asleep beneath Carmen’s desk as he waited for morning.
“We’re not running a shelter for vagrants!” Carmen continued. “Out!”
“Thank goodness it’s you, Señorita Carmen!” He stood up and peered out the window. His bike taxi was still hidden under branches, where he’d pushed it out of
view the night before.
“Stop trying to flatter me. Of course it’s me. I’m here every day, unfortunately.” Carmen threw open the shutters and frightened off the roosting doves. “You orphans — you can’t help but behave like criminals, I guess! I have a mind to call the police chief though.”
“No! Don’t do that, por favor,” Pancho said quickly. Conchita Fo’s amor? It would be a disaster. He followed on Carmen’s heels.
“A million pardons, but I’ve come to beg a favor.”
Carmen turned and put her hands on her hips.
“The nerve.”
“I need to reach Sonia Ocampo in the capital,” Pancho continued quickly. “It’s an emergency. I was hoping you’d give me the number and allow me to use the telephone.”
Carmen’s mouth dropped open, and she rolled her eyes to the heavens.
“Emergency, eh? What is it? Are you dying of yearning? Unfortunately for you, young man, a broken heart does not qualify as an emergency around here. You think Sonia Ocampo is on vacation in the capital? She’s working as a representative of Señor Arenas. She is not to be distracted by her lovesick boyfriend.”
He tried not to blush at the word lovesick, though he might as well admit it. Love was the only thing that could name the odd feeling pressing on his chest at night, the way he hugged his pillow, the urge that made him whisper Sonia’s name just to hear it spoken.
“I beg you, Señorita Carmen —”
She held up her hand in warning.
“But it’s a life-or-death matter!” Pancho persisted. He looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “It involves Rafael Ocampo.”
Carmen paused. “The miner?” she asked, her cheeks flushing. “Why should I care about him?”
Pancho could see that he wasn’t the only lovesick soul in these mountains.
“You should care because you are a good and kind person, Señorita Carmen, and you would not let anything happen to Rafael just because he did something foolish. Rafael may be in danger.”
“Danger?” She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Please, señorita. You know I’m a taxi boy. We have certain oaths; I would have to break them to tell you. You’ll have to trust me when I say that I must speak to his sister at once. You are smart enough to know that a letter will be too slow to reach Sonia in the capital. I must use the telephone.” He got down on his knees and reached for her hand. “Won’t you help me? It will be our own secret. We will be finished before Señor Arenas even arrives.”
“You think so?” a deep voice said.
Pancho’s stomach lurched as he turned to find Señor Arenas breathing down his neck. The man’s mouth smelled strongly of old whiskey and eggs. Carmen stared at her hands as he fumed.
“Didn’t I tell you not to lurk around here?”
This was no time for fear. Pancho swallowed hard and stood his ground.
“I’m not lurking, señor. I came to have a word with Señorita Carmen.”
Señor Arenas sized him up — but kept his hands to himself.
“Don’t come back again, or I’ll have Ernesto Fermín lock you up with the rats! Be gone in two minutes, or I’ll send for him.”
He stormed past Carmen and disappeared inside his office.
“Look what you’ve done!” she cried to Pancho as she shooed him out the door. “He’ll be in an ill humor all day, thanks to you!”
The door slam echoed down the street.
With a heavy heart, Pancho dug out his taxi and rode off. There had to be a way to reach Sonia and tell her what he had learned about the Iguana and Rafael’s doomed journey through the valley. It was their only hope to save him. For a moment, he thought he might try Señor Ruiz at the telegraph office, but he’d have to pay for the service — completely out of the question with his empty pockets.
The whistle of the morning train broke his thoughts. Pancho checked his watch and pointed his taxi by habit toward the railway stop. The train would be crossing the last bridge and would pull into the station in a few minutes. Already the ground was rumbling with its approach in the distance.
Suddenly, Pancho saw a pinhole of light in his problem. As the train’s headlights drew closer, a bright new idea lit his mind. He pumped his legs madly until his taxi’s wheels squeaked loudly in protest. He raced with all his might toward the stop.
Did he dare?
To the capital?
Without Señor Pasqual’s permission?
All these doubts and more plagued him, but he rushed to the rail stop anyway and moved his taxi carefully into the shade at the far end of the station, where he hoped Señor Pasqual might find it later. He took Sonia’s letter from its hiding spot beneath the worn springs and frowned at his empty pockets. Then, like a monkey, he scampered high inside a tree to wait.
Hours later Marco stood at the top of the aisle.
“!Atención, señores! Have you tickets in your lap . . .” he began.
Pancho didn’t move a single muscle as he huddled in the bathroom. Through the crack of the door, he could see the conductor moving down the aisle, punching holes in passengers’ tickets.
I’m coming, Sonia, he thought, pressing his hand against her letter, safe in his breast pocket.
The whistle screeched as they slowly pulled out of the station.
“LISTEN TO REASON, woman,” Oscar whispered to Teresa. “You know as well as I do that the boy is a lecher.”
It was early morning. Oscar had taken the liberty of scooping up the freshly delivered newspaper from the gate and knocking on Teresa’s door to hand it to her. Of all the servants, she was the only one with quarters in the main house. Her small bedroom was at the back of the first floor beyond what had once been the nursery. She had lived in the old nanny’s room since her youth.
“Don’t you presume to tell me what I can do, Oscar. I won’t have it.” Teresa sat on the edge of her chair, her knotty hands folded on the paper as she regarded the chauffeur stiffly. “The girls in this house are my affair, not yours.”
Oscar sighed. Sonia had refused to utter a word about why she’d come to the library in the first place, but whatever the reason, he was sure Umberto Masón had not been part of the girl’s plan.
“Yes, that’s true, the girls are your business,” he said. “But I know Masón men. You were a girl once, Teresita,” he told her. “Or don’t you remember?”
Teresa gave him an iron look. “I remember quite exactly.”
He stepped away from the door, where he had been standing, cap in hand, and pulled a wooden chair next to hers. Slowly, he covered her bony hands in his.
“All I’m saying is that a Masón ruined a chance for happiness of two people once. Why should another life be ruined?”
Teresa closed her eyes, but her voice was strong.
“I’m not a miracle worker, Oscar. I can fire her or let her get bedded by that louse — one of the two. Which would you rather have?”
Oscar stared at the delicate fingers of her hands, remembering how lovely they had been long ago.
“Neither one, Teresa. But I have an idea.”
“WAIT! PLEASE! I have to get to the capital! It’s urgent!” Pancho shouted.
The baggage clerks holding his arms were unsympathetic. They held him, struggling, as Marco, the brass pins of his uniform gleaming, kicked open the side door.
“Toss the little stowaway,” he ordered.
Pancho pressed his legs as hard as he could against the door frame. Tall pine trees whizzed by in a black blur as the train climbed the mountain.
“Marco, por Dios! What are you saying? It’s me: Pancho, from home! Please permit me to explain!”
Until a few moments earlier, if anyone had asked him about the ride to the capital, Pancho might have said it was most pleasant. But now, discovered asleep in his hiding spot and about to be pushed from a moving train, he was terrified.
Struggle as he might, he was no match for the brutes who dislodged his feet. They swung him to and fr
o like a sack. Marco, impervious to Pancho’s pleas, gave a nod.
“Explain that to the hungry panthers,” he called as Pancho went sailing high in the air.
Pancho was soon rolling uncontrollably down the rocky pitch. A boulder near the river stopped him with a thud.
He lay winded for some moments, counting his teeth with his tongue and wondering about his new life as a cripple. But then, because he remembered the large cats that roamed the countryside, he sat up, wincing, and took inventory of his pathetic state. He was alone in the middle of the Haunted Valley, miles away from his destination. He had no money. And, from the strange angle of his sore shoulder, he was sure his arm had been pulled loose from its socket.
A long whistle sounded. He turned just in time to see the train disappear around a bend in the hillside.
Now what? he asked himself fiercely.
How foolish to have fallen asleep during the very last leg of the trip! He had managed to stay hidden for the first part, excusing himself and pretending to be a traveler each time a surprised passenger opened the door to find him. Despite all this, sleep had claimed him, and in the end a large woman suffering from stomach cramps had been his undoing. She had found him curled near the toilet and screamed for help. He could still feel the sting of her shouts in his ears.
Pancho would have to walk the remaining thirty kilometers to the capital. He squeezed his eyes shut and did the calculations, never his best skill. It would take a laborious ten hours if he hurried, and he would probably have to walk the last three of those after nightfall. He tried not to think about panthers or the howler monkeys watching from the vines above. The monkeys were an unfriendly lot that threw their excrement at intruders, but the black cats were much worse. Their fearsome growls reverberated through the night air like thunder.
When he was done feeling sorry for himself, Pancho dusted off and started up the hill. At least he still had the gift of strong legs.
