by A. T. Grant
Suddenly the reality of Alfredo’s situation hit Luis. He was scared and he didn’t want to be alone. He thought of the shared bedroom, of long nights as a child after his mother had died, when only the sound of Alfredo’s breathing had kept him sane.
“Alfredo!” He shouted in panic, then fought for control as he realised the housekeeper may have overheard.
He must call, but would his call be intercepted? It didn’t matter: Alfredo must be warned and he must find a way to get to him quickly. Eusabio would have taken their plane to the South, so Chihuahua airport was now Luis’ only option. He swung on his gown, wiped his cell-phone and his face with a towel, and scrolled through to Alfredo’s number.
There was no reply.
Act V: A Road Between Worlds
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Riviera Maya
Alfredo knew he must make a decision. He had arrived in Cancun the previous afternoon. He was initially exhilarated to be back in Mexico, but as soon as he climbed aboard a taxi and was asked for his destination, he was sure he didn’t want to go to his father’s home. He needed to think. Thinking was not something he could do quickly, so he sought out a smart but discrete hotel on the edge of the city. He got to his room and immediately wanted to leave it again: it looked just like the one he had left behind in London. His life was still in stasis and he needed to figure out why.
He sat at a small circular table on a wooden balcony overlooking the sea, toying with a plate of meat. Luis he must help, but how was he to deal with his father? The villa, which had increasingly become old Paulo’s main residence, was a symbol of the distance between them. There his father had installed a succession of women, to whom the boys were expected to defer during their infrequent visits south, even though each trip seemed to bring a new female face. These women had invariably loathed the presence of the boys: unwelcome reminders both that Paulo had a family and of their own uncertain status. Alfredo now felt closer to his mother than ever before. A visit to the villa would be an act of betrayal.
He turned off his phone. His father would ring, or Luis would ring, and he had no idea what he would say to either. He decided to hire a car - he thought more clearly whilst driving. Forcing down a few rapid mouthfuls of food, Alfredo gestured to the waiter for the bill. He would get his hair cut and buy some clothes more suited to the climate. After that he would drive until he knew where he was going.
Three hours later, Alfredo was on his way south. The road from the sandy island, which was home to the tight cluster of high-rise buildings which formed downtown Cancun, merged seamlessly with the main coastal highway. A massive cruise ship dominated the seascape to his left. The villa was two hours ahead, but if he just kept driving he and his four-by-four could be on the Belize border before nightfall. It was a tempting prospect, but he wouldn’t be much use to Luis down there. He turned on the stereo and joined in clumsily as Orishas sang Represente, relaxing into the music and the rhythm of the road.
All too quickly he recognised the first features of the area which his father called home. He was not ready. The journey had brought a sore throat, but no resolution to his inner turmoil. There was still time to turn off the highway and take a country road, but he didn’t. He drew up at the entrance to a golf course. Beyond a low white wall covered in picture tiles, the vibrant green of the fairways rolled away between manicured borders and stands of tropical forest. Alfredo stopped at the barrier and handed his membership card to the guard. He weaved his way across the car park, stopping briefly for a line of buggies, before climbing onto a bridge that crossed an expanse of lagoon and swamp. From the top of the bridge he got the first sight of his father’s villa. It was set back from a number of similar, but smaller properties, and surrounded by a garden and high wall. The land between the bridge and the first homes was pock-marked by greens, ponds and deep bunkers. The whole scene had a hyper-real quality, as though created on a computer screen for an animated feature.
Alfredo stopped in the middle of the bridge. Something was not right and he was no longer sure that it was just his mental state. He climbed out of the jeep into the heat of late afternoon and peered ahead of him. Two trolleys raced along a fairway and a small group in the middle distance huddled over their putts. The sound of squabbling waterfowl echoed from beneath the bridge. Alfredo glanced briefly over the edge, at a couple of large and lazy fish. He thought of time spent angling as a child. Luis would organise the bait. He would cast the line into a pool within a fast-flowing mountain stream then pass the rod to his baby brother. Alfredo remembered the thrill of his first rainbow trout. He was so excited he had dropped everything into the water. Luis had leapt with a whoop from a rock into the iron brown flow, emerging triumphantly with tackle and fish. Alfredo had stared in awe as his brother brought out his prize possession - a Swiss-army penknife - and expertly gutted the animal. They had pulled the fire-cooked steaming flesh from the bone with dirty fingers, and lain in the grass chewing and swapping childish insults.
Alfredo sensed that an important issue had just found resolution. Luis was his hero. Alfredo had spent most of his life trying to emulate his brother, but had not known how. He had shown off, rather than providing for the family, as Luis had done. That is what he, Alfredo, must begin to do now.
He walked back to the car and rummaged in a jacket pocket for his phone. He turned it on to discover a string of missed calls, all from Luis.
“Alfredo, thank God. Where the fuck are you, brother?”
“I’m on the golf course.”
“What do you mean you’re on the golf course? You don’t play fucking golf.”
“I mean, I’ve got a car and I’ve stopped on the bridge in the middle of the course by the villa because, to be honest, I’m not looking forward to spending time at Papa’s place.”
“Alfredo, don’t say anything, just listen. There’s no time to explain, but you must do exactly what I tell you.” There was a long pause, during which Alfredo dutifully said nothing. “Eusabio has betrayed the family. He is almost certainly at the villa, possibly with Marcelo. You cannot trust anybody. There’s no way of knowing who they’ve turned against us. Can you see anyone?”
Alfredo peered through the shimmering haze. He could just make out a number of dark figures assembling in the grounds. “Yes, maybe five or six men.”
“They’re after you and will almost certainly have been tipped off by the guards on the gate. Have you been seen?”
“No.”
“Then back slowly off the bridge. Try and slip into the car park unnoticed and stop somewhere discrete. I’m assuming you’re not armed, so you’ll need to judge whether you can make it through security. Call me back, as soon as you can.”
Alfredo climbed back into the jeep, keeping a wary eye on the distant compound. Halfway back down the slope he wheeled around and drove cautiously along the empty access road. Everything ahead of him appeared still. He slipped his vehicle between two large vans and inspected the entrance. The barrier was raised and the guard was chatting unhurriedly to the driver of a black sedan. Taking one deliberate, deep breath Alfredo made his decision and edged forward. A quick smile and a wave to the guard and he would be through. Now he had a better view of the small security building between the clubhouse and the barrier. Two more guards stood to one side, in deep conversation. One looked up and, for a moment, stared straight at the jeep. Then he called out to his colleagues and pointed. The dark saloon beneath the barrier revved and headed straight for Alfredo.
Into reverse, foot flat to the floor, wheel hard over. Go, go, go! Then shit! He’d left the handbrake on. Don’t look behind. Just drive. Just drive. Past the last car, past the buggy shed, past the maintenance depot and - where to go, where to go now? The first gunshot barely registered as he bounced over the curb onto the grass. The jeep slewed from side to side as it tried to contour the increasingly steep slope. Don’t roll it, don’t go
into the water. The vehicle clung on to the fairway, brushing at a long line of russet brown sedge and scattering ducks like bullets across the lake. Deep grooves in the turf marked its progress. Where are they? Three armed men were following on foot, another had claimed a buggy. Keep going - make some distance. Up the slope again: around the bunker; over the green. The fairway was almost done now. Into the rough: through the long grass; into the trees. There was a track - overgrown - ideal for the jeep. I must be nearly at the next hole. There is no hole; there’s just more trees, more track, thicker undergrowth, then - thud - there’s a frigging log buried in the brambles.
The driver’s door flew open and Alfredo leapt into the brier. There was no sign of the chasing pack. The wood had turned to jungle, except for a clearing, just ahead. Keeping low, he forced his way through the vegetation. His feet sank into damp soil, then sticky mud. His new brogues filled with liquid. The clearing was a mixture of water-cress beds, mud-flats and oily streams. There, across the glade, were three young foxes, slender-limbed creatures no bigger than domestic cats, jumping at flies and pawing at each other in the dirt. Sensing Alfredo’s presence, they disappeared - one pausing for a backward glance - down a well-warn animal trail. He plunged up to his knees in slime, emerging at the point where the creatures had played, to find that he was now without his keys and shoes. Following, he was drawn between broad-based trees into a mess of marsh and fallen limbs. The path disappeared completely, so he hopped from one mossy island or tree stump to the next. Losing his balance, one foot went crashing straight through unexpectedly rotten timber. In an instant he was lying, face-down in a dark, stinking pool. A moss-soaked branch shattered and fell in on top of him, forcing the air from his body. In a panic he attempted to lever himself upright, at the same time trying not to cause more commotion. Only his head broke free of the water. Mired in pain and bog, his eyesight failing from the shock, he managed to turn just enough to keep breathing. There he lay shivering as a snake, disturbed by the frenzy, progressed its lazy, looping path through the swamp towards him. Alfredo was terrified - convinced he would die - but the reptile barely noticed him as it changed course and slid on by.
Alfredo lay still, concentrating hard to keep his nose and mouth clear of the surface. An ever growing range of insects bit or stung him at will. Any moment, he thought, it will be over. Any moment he would hear the clamour of the chase and then the call of discovery, but he wouldn’t hear the bullet that dispatched him. There was movement close by, he was sure of it. Then there was a single call: I think he’s gone this way. After that there was quiet and anticipation, but the coup de grace did not come.
As he waited, back and neck muscles straining, it grew rapidly darker. Finally, Alfredo could bear the tension no longer. Heaving upwards against the weight of the branch, he managed to half burrow, half drag his way into the clear. He pulled himself onto a stump, chest heaving, and felt for the comfort of his mobile. He gave it a hopeful wipe. Almost certainly it would not work, but it did. The signal was unexpectedly clear.
“I’m still here, Luis,” Alfredo almost chuckled. “Although, for a while - I thought - God had other plans.”
“Where are you, Bro?”
Alberto tried to control his trembling frame. “In a swamp - on the edge of the golf course - they were waiting for me, just like you said. Killing Eusabio - is going to be - a real pleasure.”
“It’s not that simple. I need to get to you as soon as possible then I will explain. Can you make it to the highway?”
“I’ll try. It can’t be far, but I’d better wait until it’s properly dark.”
“Fine, I’m only about half an hour away. I took a business flight from Chihuahua to Playa del Carmen. Do you remember the restaurant on the beach: the one Papa would take us to? I’ll park up somewhere quiet along the track that leads there. It can’t be more than a mile or so from where you are.”
“O.K. Luis, one way or another I’ll be with you soon. I’ll call again, if I don’t see you first.”
It was too dangerous to backtrack to the jeep. If his trail had been seen, it might also be risky to continue ahead. Alfredo peered through the gloom to his left. For as far as he could see the trees grew straight out of the water. He dreaded the prospect of further cold, but at least the swamp would provide cover if he encountered his pursuers. He tucked his trousers into his socks and his polo top into his belt then slipped his cell-phone into a top pocket. Lowering himself carefully into the mire, his feet feeling for the bottom, he realised it was deeper than anticipated. Up to his waist in floating plants, Alfredo pushed slowly forward, a cacophony of birds and insects marking the passing of day into night. Bats skimmed the surface, circling lazily past, almost within touching distance. Moths danced through the branches above him and the first star shone weakly through a gap in the canopy. Somewhere up ahead there was the faint glow of artificial light. Alfredo stopped and listened intently. The ephemeral sound of distant music meandered through the trees. He redoubled his efforts. His feet seemed to be finding firmer ground, but the vegetation was getting thicker. Suddenly the water began to recede around him and he was scrambling up a low, fern-covered bank. Alfredo crouched low, one hand clutching at the stems, the other checking for his phone. Beyond the slope was a wire fence, marking the edge of golf course property. Beyond that was an open field. He could just make out two horses standing under a grove of trees in a far corner, and the whitewashed walls of a farmstead beyond.
Reluctant to break cover, even in the dark, Alfredo decided to circle the field, keeping as far away from the house and horses as possible. The wire formed a useful handrail and he made good progress, but suddenly lost his footing and tumbled into the undergrowth. As he examined a twisted ankle he realised he had also cut his arm on the metal barbs of the fence. He limped on, pressing a thumb to the gash. Soon he was between the house and the main road. A line of shrubs marked the course of a drive connecting the two. As he forced his way through the strands of rusty wire, a dog barked and Alfredo flung himself down. In the distance another hound answered, but all else remained still. The music was coming from the house and was probably too loud for anyone to hear the noise outside. He crawled over new mown grass, sending shooting pains through his arm and ankle, and buried himself in the middle of the nearest shrub. Rolling over and letting out a sigh of relief, he contemplated the moon through a jumble of tiny leaves.
Half an hour later, Alfredo was crouched on the verge of a watery ditch marking the edge of the main highway. He had stayed within it as far as he could. Now he must either walk under a large concrete bridge and across four lanes of fast moving traffic, or climb the exposed slip road. He decided on the former, but would wait until there was a large enough gap in the stream of passing cars to ensure he would not be caught in the headlights. Growing giddy with exhaustion, he could feel the puffy, throbbing flesh swelling under his threadbare left sock. He was almost too cold to shiver. At last, there was a break, so he limped awkwardly across. Following the hard shoulder now, his shadow stretched ahead as each vehicle sped past as though desperate to abandon him. An incongruous figure, shuffling through the night, Alfredo cared for nothing but getting to Luis.
He was almost upon the sign for the Blue Marlin restaurant before he saw it. The turning was unlit, the road a simple gravel track bisecting neighbouring tropical plantations. Alfredo almost cried with relief as he rounded the corner. Luis could not be far away and he had never appreciated his brother more. The profile of a vehicle lay ahead, tucked into a gateway. Behind it a burst of spikes marked a field of agave. Casting all caution aside and oblivious to pain, Alfredo began to run. The car door opened, Luis stepped out and Alfredo stumbled into his arms. He broke down in tears. Luis’ shoulders were heaving too.
“Come on, brother.” Luis spoke at last. “I thought I’d lost you.” He put a supportive arm around Alfredo and helped him into the car. They drove slowly down the dark track. Luis
cautiously turned on the headlights. He wondered how he could share his dreadful news, but decided not to try. “We’re going to the restaurant. The owner’s an ex-con who worked as a gardener for Father. I’ve already warned him we’re on our way. You might remember him, his name is Hugo. Papa gave the money to buy his place. He’s the only person we can trust and he certainly owes us a favour. You need clothes and medical attention. We both need weapons.”
“And a good meal,” Alfredo grinned through a fog of tiredness and pain.
The Blue Marlin was closed, the owner and his wife alone. Luis returned to the car to fetch Alfredo, finding him asleep. He tousled his brother’s hair. It reeked of sweat and swamp. Even by moonlight Luis could tell that Alfredo was deathly pale - more than could be accounted for by his sojourn in the UK. As he stirred, Luis grabbed his arm. Alfredo cried out like a child and swung instinctively in his brother’s direction.
“Good to see you haven’t lost your fighting spirit,” Luis laughed, helping him up. “There’ll be plenty of time for violence soon, but first you need to recover.”
The restaurant was lit only by moonlight, straying through patio doors which led out onto an expansive seaside terrace. Sky coloured tables, wicker chairs covered in cream cushions, and a bar and windows inlaid with blue glass fishes gave the room a cool and tasteful air. Large pot-plants cast ghostly shadows. Amongst the plants stood the stout, robust, moon-faced form of Hugo, the owner. “You two always were trouble,” he joked dryly, baring his yellow teeth. “Come on through.”
