by Susanne Beck
"Did they share a tent last night?" I asked my partner, handing her our sleeping bags and blankets.
Looking back over her shoulder, Ice smirked. "And a good deal more than that, if this morning’s any indication."
"But...how . . ?"
Ice shrugged. "Rio got tired of Pony’s whining, so she switched."
"But what about Nia?" Looking back at the campsite, I saw Rio and Nia working together to scatter the ashes of the cookfire, chatting amiably.
"Rio said that Nia was a perfect gentle...person."
"Amazing." Reaching up, I scratched the back of my neck. "Guess the crush is gone then." Just to be sure, I looked over my shoulder once again, only to see something I didn’t expect.
Nia was staring past me and to my right, the expression on her face giving a whole new meaning to the word "dreamy". When our eyes met, she looked quickly away, guilt stamped clear on her youthful features. "Uh oh."
"What?" Ice asked, turning around, then looking back at me, her eyebrows drawing twin question marks across her forehead.
"Another one’s fallen for you," I replied in my best "long suffering" tone.
She snorted. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to her work. "You’re dreaming, Angel."
"Oh, I don’t think so, my beautiful love. I’m wide awake, thank you very much."
"You’re seeing things, then."
"I have perfect vision, as you well know."
She looked over at Nia, then back at me.
"You’ll see." I warned, adding a smirk that told her more than any words could say.
PART 8
"WOW! THIS PLACE reminds me of the flea markets my mother used to drag me to when I was a kid!"
I found myself agreeing with Nia’s assessment as Ice circled around the perimeter of the market and headed for the area designated for parking.
Multi-hued banners flapped cheerily in the brisk November wind, providing an almost musical counterpoint to the sounds of booths being set up, children’s laughter, and the frenzied barking of the dogs who ran pell mell around the grounds chasing whatever caught their fancy.
The tantalizing scents of grilling meat and vegetables immediately brought to mind the days of my less than wanton youth, when Sundays (after church, of course) were reserved for the almost holy rite of flea market and garage sale hopping. One of the all-time great bargain hunters, my grandmother. She never met a hand-lettered sign nailed to a telephone pole that she didn’t like, much to my chagrin. Weekly trips to the plethora of open-air flea markets which dotted the flat Indiana landscape like boils were treated with much the same reverence the Crusaders must have felt when they quested after the Holy Grail. And many’s the day I would spend trying on someone else’s cast off dresses--always three sizes too big so I could grow into them—and wishing, with a sense of desperation common to children and trapped animals, that I was anywhere else. Like a dentist’s office getting all of my teeth drilled without benefit of novocaine, for example.
Ice startled me out of my musings when she touched my leg briefly before opening her door and slipping silently out of the car. Reaching for the doorhandle, I joined my partner, shivering slightly in the surprisingly chilled air and pulling my corduroy overshirt tighter across my body, thankful for its warmth.
Ice looked down at me, her eyes once again hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. "Ready?"
"As soon as you tell me what it is I’m supposed to be ready for, then yeah," I replied, grinning.
Smirking at me, she pulled out a large wad of Mexican currency and handed it over to me. "Don’t spend it all in one place."
I looked down at the cash in my hand, then up at my lover. "Say again?"
"Shop," she replied, folding my fingers over the money before it had a chance to scatter over the marketplace. "You know...look at things, haggle, spend money."
"And this is helping you...how, again?"
She smiled. "Angel, I trust your instincts. You might not know this place or these people, but you do know when something doesn’t feel right to you. And for this thing to have at least a minute chance of working, I need to be able to rely on those instincts to help me out. So..." her grin broadened, "...have fun. Go shopping. Have some lunch. Just keep your eyes and ears open, and if you spot anything even the least bit ‘off’ to you, lemme know. And take Nia with you, if you would. She can help translate anything you might have a hard time understanding, and you’re the only one I trust to make sure she stays out of trouble."
Though my intent expression didn’t change, the smile inside me grew. Her words of trust weren’t often voiced, but when they were, I felt like a kid on Christmas morning, filled with joy and happiness at the receiving of them.
"I think I can do that," I replied, casually as I could.
She gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Good. Let’s go then."
Stealing a quick kiss from her cheek for luck, I grabbed Nia’s hand and walked into the fray.
The scents, sights and sounds of the open-air market drew me in like a moth to the flame. Everywhere my gaze landed, there was something else to snare my attention. I could tell right away that rather than the flea markets of my long ago youth—Venus Old Lady Traps, my father used to call them in one of his rare moments of good humor—this market seemed to run along the lines of craft fairs my mother was sometimes known to drive miles out of her way to attend.
Wood crafters and painters vied for space with rug weavers and furniture makers. Booths with every inch of available space crowded with fresh produce were bookended by leatherworkers and garment weavers displaying their wares on tables and crates.
As several hours had passed since I had eaten breakfast, my nose, as it often did, took charge of the situation. It led me to a booth, behind which stood a man who made Methuselah look like a toddler fresh out of diapers. His smile was wide and bereft of teeth, but his dark eyes sparkled with intelligence and kindliness. In each hand, he held a thin wooden skewer pushed through thick chunks of sizzling pork, hot peppers, onions and cherry tomatoes. The food looked wonderful and smelled even better. With a grin and a flourish, he presented us each with a skewer.
"Gracias," I replied in my rudimentary Spanish as I took hold of the treat, my mouth watering.
His grin broadened as he waved his hands at us in the universal sign to sample his wares.
Switching the skewer to my other hand, I fumbled for the pocket where I’d stored the money Ice had given me while at the same time wracking my brain for the phrase "how much?" in Spanish.
Seeing the money appear in my hand, the man put his hand up and shook his head in the negative, saying something too rapidly for me to understand and frowning slightly. I looked to Nia for help.
Walking over to me, she brought her lips close to my ear. "You’ll offend him if you give him money. He gave us this food as a gift."
"Are you sure?" I whispered back.
"Positive."
After a moment, I nodded reluctantly, and Nia stepped away, thanking the man for both of us. His sunny grin returned and he waved at us before two more customers drew his attention away.
Stuffing the money back in my pocket, I savored my prize, and bit into the succulent meat, feeling my eyes rolling back in my head as I did so. The combination of flavors was heaven to my tongue and I groaned in delight. "God, this is wonderful!"
"Yeah, it is pretty good, isn’t it," Nia replied, taking her own healthy bite. "Maybe I’ll ask if he’ll share his recipe later."
"Great idea!"
Turning, we both strolled down the wide path between booths, adroitly sidestepping various passersby as we walked along, filling our bellies. I kept my eyes and ears open, as Ice had taught me to do, hoping that if there was any trouble, I would find it before it found me.
And find it I did, not more than fifteen minutes later, as Nia stopped to examine an incredibly beautiful woven rug. Looking around, I spied three very large men heading in my direction, though two aisles to the left of where I was curren
tly standing. The expressions on the men’s faces left no doubt that Christmas cheer had passed them by. In fact, it had probably run off screaming into the night once it had set proverbial eyes on them.
I watched through narrowed eyes as they pushed a succession of people out of their way, including a young boy who fell and hit his head hard on one of the tables. His mother quickly scooped him up and darted into the dubious safety of the crowd, the tears streaming down her face matching her son’s.
Laughing cruelly, the trio continued on its way, wreaking havoc on the stalls and patrons they passed, grabbing up merchandise and either tucking it away or smashing it beyond repair on the rocky ground beneath their boots.
Taking my eyes off them for a moment, confident that I could pick up their trail by following the evidence of their destruction alone, I grabbed Nia’s arm and spun her around to face me. "Get Ice."
"What?" she asked, trying ineffectually to pluck my hand from her arm. "Why?"
"I don’t have time to explain. Just do it. Please."
"But... ."
"Please."
She looked at me doubtfully for a long moment, but something in my eyes must have convinced her, because she then relaxed. "Ok. I’ll find her." She hesitated, smirking. "I assume you’re talking about tall, dark and gorgeous, and not the cold stuff that comes in cubes, right?"
I tightened my grip. "Nia... ."
"Alright! Alright! I will! Just leggo my arm, will ya?"
Releasing her, I gave her a gentle shove back the way we’d come before turning away.
The thugs’ trail was, as I’d predicted, rather easy to find and follow again. Like a modern day Sherlock Holmes, I followed the simple clues of the men’s passing and caught up to them at a booth that seemed to specialize in produce and dried meats, fish and the like.
Ducking quickly across the way so as not to be caught looking, I found myself amidst a large display of wind-chimes of every size, shape and description. The very air of my passing set them to jingling, but the men I’d followed didn’t spare a glance my way, for which I was thankful.
As I pretended to carefully examine the merchandise before me, I watched as the biggest of the men grabbed the poor merchant by the front of his shirt, shaking him much as a dog would a dirty sock, while his cohorts grabbed wooden packing crates and began stuffing them with all the food they could get their meaty hands on.
A very large part of me wanted to rush out from my hiding place and put a stop to the blatant theft. Deep down inside, though, I knew that if I did that, and these were the men we were looking for, my chivalry—for wont of a better term—would only cause more problems than it was likely to solve and we’d likely lose the only shot we had of tracking Cavallo to his hideout.
So I stayed where I was, albeit with some reluctance, and watched with gritted teeth and fisted hands, as the thugs cleared the poor man out of nearly everything he had.
Throwing the merchant back into his now denuded stall, the trio laughed and picked up their crates, shouting insults easily understood in any language in which they were uttered.
Damnit, Nia. Where the hell are you?
The men were quickly gone from my sight, though the sounds of their malicious laughter was easily heard over the subdued noise of the crowd.
After a final look around convinced me the cavalry wasn’t coming over the hill anytime soon, I took in a deep breath and ducked out from my cover, intent on following those men to the highway, if necessary. I caught up to them quickly, though staying a good distance back. Not that it mattered. They weren’t looking anywhere but straight ahead anyway, their mission, apparently, accomplished.
I followed them until they got to the gate, then paused a moment, considering. In the end, though, there really wasn’t any other choice in the matter. Though I didn’t have keys to the car, and couldn’t very well follow the men to wherever it was they were going next, I could at least get a description of the car they were driving, and give Ice the general direction in which they were headed.
Nodding once at my decision, I stepped past the last row of booths, only to have my wrist grasped firmly by a warm hand, stopping me dead in my tracks. Whirling, I saw Ice, a smile in her eyes, if not on her lips. She pulled me close, then turned and gave a short nod. Rio and Nia appeared out of the shadows of the booth behind us, and set off at a determined pace after the men I’d been following.
"Good job," Ice said softly when they’d cleared the gate and were gone from my view.
"Thanks," I replied, smiling at her praise and leaning into her strong, muscled body for just a moment. "So...are we going after them?"
"Nope."
Pulling away, I looked up at her. "No?"
"Rio and Nia will handle it."
"But... . I don’t understand. Aren’t they the right guys?"
"Most likely."
"Then why aren’t we going after them?"
Sometimes Ice’s peculiar brand of circular logic made my head spin.
Now was definitely one of those times.
"Well?"
"They’re bait."
"Excuse me?"
She looked down at me, a subtle smile playing over her lips. "Bait. Cavallo might have an ego larger than this entire country, but he’s not entirely stupid. He knows he’s being followed. He just doesn’t know by whom."
A light dawned somewhere within the recesses of my whirling brain. "I get it. He thinks he’s being followed, so he sends out a couple of overbearing goons who make a deliberate racket to snare in anyone who might be interested in his whereabouts. The trackers follow the bait, and he sends the real guys in later, when the coast is clear."
Her smile bloomed fully, reaching the pale glitter of her eyes. "Exactly right."
I could feel my brow furrow. "But that means that Rio and Nia could be heading into a trap. Why did you let them go after those guys?"
"Just in case Cavallo has gotten stupid in his old age."
"And if he hasn’t?"
She gave my hand a squeeze before releasing it. "Rio knows this desert better than any of us. If they’re leading her into a trap, she’ll know."
"I hope you’re right." Though Rio and I weren’t the best of friends by any yardstick one wished to use, I’d come to respect the large, quiet woman a great deal. I didn’t want to see her hurt. Nia either, despite my oft-voiced thoughts to the contrary.
"I am."
And because it was Ice saying these things, I gave up my reservations and simply believed.
"So...I guess it’s back to more shopping, huh?" I tried out my best nonchalant voice, but I’m afraid my grin gave me away.
Rolling her eyes, my lover quirked a grin right back at me. "Guess so."
I affected a sigh. "Well, alright. It’ll be a hardship, but I’ll manage to muddle through. Somehow."
Smirking, she gave me a gentle shove back in the direction I’d come. "Stay around this general area. If you see anything that doesn’t sit right with you, come find me. I won’t be too far away."
"Will do."
As I walked away, something bright and shiny caught the periphery of my vision. Like some sort of overgrown crow drawn to a bit of aluminum foil with which to feather its nest, I headed unerringly in the direction that had caught my interest.
The booth was small, and set a bit back from the rest. As I moved closer, it became quickly obvious that a master silversmith had chosen this place to display his exquisite handiwork. I looked around in utter awe as I came to a stop in front of the long display table. Most of the pieces were jewelry of some kind; bracelets, pendants, arm cuffs and rings being the most predominant. They were similar, though much better in quality, to pieces I’d seen in some of the more expensive jewelry stores at one time or another in my life, especially in the southwest. The price tags for such works of art started in the mid hundreds and only went up from there. I hesitated to see how much these were going for.
Rather then look for price-tags, I decided to examine the
artist himself, who was sitting on what looked to be a wooden beer keg while working on his latest creation. He was young, that much I could tell at first glance. With a trimmed shock of thick black hair that shone blue in the intense light of the sun, he was short of stature, but wiry and well muscled in his tight white t-shirt, faded jeans, and dusty boots.
As if sensing my gaze, he looked up, and favored me with a boyish grin that touched the inky black depths of his deep set eyes. Charmed, I couldn’t help but smile back, noticing as I did the strong resemblance he bore to Rio. It was obvious that they shared the same ancestry, though I doubted they were in any way related.
Saying nothing, he looked back down and began his sculpting work anew, apparently content with my intrusion. I watched his hands as he worked, his fingers thick and square and blunt. Sure, strong and swift, yet so unlike Ice’s long fingers which moved with almost liquid grace while undertaking much the same task, though her medium of choice was wood and not silver.
As I watched, I made sure that I was also aware of my surroundings at all times. My eyes were in constant motion, scanning the market and the people therein, looking for something, anything, which would set my internal "danger" meter off.
So far, everything seemed quiet.
The market seemed to have recovered quickly from the upset the thugs had caused, as public gatherings sometimes will once the shouting is all over and there’s nothing more to see.
By the time I looked back at the object of my attention, he had finished the piece he was working on and was rubbing it briskly with a buffing cloth. Silver peeked from behind the soft cloth, winking cheerily in the sun. I could tell it was a bracelet by the vague outline which shone through as he worked. More like a wrist cuff, actually, almost two inches wide with a carved design along the face.
Giving me a boyish, almost shy, grin, he held out the object for my inspection, a quick motion of his head inviting me to take it into my own hands for an closer examination. Smiling back, I reached out, then stopped, my fingers scant inches from their goal. I could feel my jaw hang open as my gaze zeroed in on the design on the bracelet.
