Hazards

by Mike Resnick

  “If I was you, I’d be more concerned with warning the Major,” I said. “He seems to think he’s got a prior claim on her.”

  “I’ll make short work of him,” said Rupert. “He thinks he’s dazzling her with his credentials, but I happen to know he was cashiered out of His Majesty’s armed forces, and he is wanted for dealing in certain perishable commodities in six African countries. What do you think of that?”

  “So the other three dropped their charges, did they?” I replied.

  “There were nine?” he asked, pulling out a pencil and a small notebook and starting to scribble away in it.

  “Of course, he might have told her a little something about you,” I said.

  “I can explain every one of them!” he snapped. Then he paused and frowned. “Of course, the four underaged girls and the dead chicken might cause a little problem.”

  “So will the fact that you got the entire Greek and Turkish armies after you,” I said. “First time they stopped shooting at each other in thirty years.”

  “I’ll just tell her I made peace between those two warring nations,” said Cornwall with a shrug. “Why bother her with unimportant details?”

  I agreed that there wasn’t no reason for him to recite all them details to the Baroness, since I planned to tell her about ’em first anyway, and we chatted about this and that, and finally he asked me how long I planned to stay in La Paz.

  “Well, I’m really just on my way to this Macho place over in Peru…” I began.

  “Macchu Pichu?” he asked

  “The very spot,” I said. “But I’m a little short of funds, so I guess I’m going to have to stick around La Paz until I can raise a grubstake, or maybe find a kind-hearted sponsor.”

  “Look no farther,” said Cornwall. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty, which he handed to me. “Have a safe trip. Be sure to write. Boy voyage. You might as well start now; there are no jaguars up this high.”

  “Why, that’s right generous of you, Brother Cornwall, and I’d be less than a Christian gentleman of modesty and humility if I waited another second to start my trek to this here not-quite-lost empire.”

  And with that, I stuffed the bill in a pocket and headed out the door.

  Now, it ain’t generally known, but your body eventually adjusts to altitude, and after six days in Cochabomba and a night in La Paz, I was back in my vigorous prime and could walk almost a block without getting winded. I spotted a donkey hitched up in front of a bar, with a guy sitting on the wood sidewalk just in front of it, so I moseyed over and asked how much he wanted for the donkey.

  “It is not mine to sell, Señor,” he said.

  “I didn’t ask whose it was,” I told him. “I asked how much you wanted for it?”

  His whole expression changed, and a kind of happy glow came over his face.

  “Ten dollars American, Señor?” he said hesitantly.

  I shook my head. “It’ll have to be twenty. I ain’t got nothing smaller.” Then I thunk on it for a minute. “For the other ten, you can tell me how to get to Baroness Walters’ house.”

  “You mean her palace, Señor,” he said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant,” I said. “Slip of the tongue.”

  He told me where she was, unhitched the donkey and guv me the reins, and held out his hand for the money, and a minute later I was on my way to the biggest farm I ever did see. The fields didn’t look like much, just a bunch of bushes with ugly leaves and no flowers nor corn nor anything interesting, but it spread out for miles. It took the donkey a good hour to make it up to the house, which might have been smaller than Buckingham Palace or that big art museum in Paris but I wouldn’t bet on it.

  A tall young guy with slicked down coal-black hair and matching eyes, and wearing a uniform that didn’t seem to belong to no army I’d ever heard of, opened the door.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “Good morning to you, Brother,” I said. “Is the Baroness in?”

  “It is the middle of the night,” he answered.

  “It is?” I said. “How time flies. Especially up here, where it ain’t got much air to hold it down.”

  “Who are you?” he said.

  “I’m the Right Reverend Honorable Doctor Lucifer Jones, just back from curing a leper colony in Upper Volta.”

  “There are no lepers in Upper Volta,” he said.

  “Well, maybe I heard wrong and it was next to a leopard colony,” I said. “Whatever it was, they was in a bad way until I comforted ’em with the Word of the Lord.”

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “We have no lepers in La Paz.”

  “That’s because they’re afraid to come a-callin’ when Lucifer Jones is on the job, passing out heavenly amnesty and salvation right and left,” I said. “I’ve come to see the Baroness.”

  “I don’t know if she’ll see you,” he said.

  “She’s been struck blind?” I asked. “Then we ain’t got no time to waste. I’ll recite the Psalm of Fifi over her, and lay my hand on her eyes and she’ll be seeing normal again in no time. Well, in six months, anyway.”

  “The Psalm of Fifi?”

  “My own updating of the Psalm of Sheba,” I told him.

  “I’m afraid you misunderstand, Doctor Jones.”

  “You mean she can see?” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  That was a relief, because if she really had been struck blind she’d never be able to see how much better a figure I cut than the Major or Cornwall. In fact, it was such an open and shut contest that they probably should have made me wear a mask or something, the way the best racehorse has to carry extra weights.

  “What’s your name, son?” I asked him.

  “Julio,” he said.

  “Well, Julio,” I said, “why don’t you take me to the Baroness right now? All I got’s a hundred dollar bill, but if the Baroness can make change I’ll catch you on the way out.”

  He led me to a staircase that could have held the whole London Philharmonic Orchestra, with room left over for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and we started climbing it. I had to stop three or four times to rest, but eventually we made it all the way up to the second floor, and we went down a corridor for maybe the length of a football field, and finally we came to a door that probably wasn’t no more impressive that anything one of them Henrys or Louies ever hung on the royal bedroom, and Julio stopped and knocked on it.

  “Come,” said a voice that sounded kind of like a bullfrog in his death throes.

  “Wait out here,” I said to Julio, walking in and closing the door behind me.

  I found myself in a study what had a huge desk and a bunch of fancy furniture with curving legs, all of it painted bright gold, and there was velvet wallpaper, and the kind of curtains you usually see as blankets in certain select New Orleans locations, and a ceiling about forty feet high, and a bunch of chandeliers, and standing by the desk was the Baroness Abigail Walters. I tried to think who she reminded me of, and finally it came to me: she looked exactly like a gorilla I saw in the Congo, right after he’d lost a disagreement with a family of lions. Which ain’t exactly true neither, because his eyes stared straight ahead and he didn’t have a wart the size of a walnut on his chin. Probably his arms were a little longer and his legs a little straighter, too, but I wouldn’t bet serious money on it.

  “What can I do for you?” said the Baroness.

  “Good evening to you, ma’am,” I said. “I’m the Right Reverend Lucifer Jones—”

  “If you’re here to fix the stove, it’s downstairs,” she said.

  “No, ma’am, I definitely am not,” I said.

  “The leaky faucet, then?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I could play guessing games all night, but I have a business to run,” she said. “What are you here for?”

  I’d come prepared, and I was ready with my fanciest lingo. “I’ve come to blight my troth, and sweep you away on a sea of passion,
” I said.

  She just stared at me without saying a word.

  “I realize you’re awestruck, me being a handsome young buck what ain’t never come courting before, but when you compare me to Major Dobbins or Rupert Cornwall, why, ma’am, I just know you’ll throw yourself in my strong manly arms and beg me to take you away from all this.”

  “From all what?” she asked. I thought she kind of frowned, but with that low forehead of hers I couldn’t be sure.

  “From all this stuff you’re growing. I walked by it on my way here, and you ain’t got no corn nor wheat nor barley, just a bunch of stuff with leaves on it. That ain’t no way to increase our family fortune, ma’am.”

  “Those leaves are the basis of my fortune,” said the Baroness.

  “Ma’am, I can tell you like a joke as much as the next Baroness, but I’m being serious here,” I told her.

  “You’re in La Paz, and you really don’t know what they are?” she said, looking about as surprised as a gorilla that’s also an elegant Baroness can look. “Why, we’ve fought three wars over these leaves in the past five years. The American companies keep trying to drive me off my land.”

  “For a bunch of leaves?” I said.

  “Coca leaves,” she said.

  “Cocoa?” I repeated. “Are you trying to tell me that all this fighting is over some hot chocolate franchise?”

  “No, coca.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  She shook her head. “You get chocolate from cocoa nuts. You get cocaine from coca leaves.”

  “Are you sure of that?” I asked her.

  She just stared at me.

  “And you’re only worth eight hundred million dollars?” I continued. “Ma’am, I think it’s more important than ever that you marry someone what’s qualified to run your business. Being a man of the cloth, I could marry us first thing in the morning, or even tonight if you ain’t all-fired anxious to sit down and sew yourself up a wedding gown.”

  She just kind of stared at me, pretty much the way that gorilla did before he lumbered off into the bush. “I must say that your approach is more novel than my other suitors, Reverend Jones.”

  “You can just call me Lucifer,” I said. “Or Honeybunch, if you’ve a mind to, now that we’re gonna get hitched. I know Rupert and the Major think they’re engaged in a love triangle with you, ma’am, but I’m presenting myself as the fourth side of that there triangle.”

  “Are you always this direct and to the point?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, I am,” I said. “Sloth is against the Eighth and the Fourteenth Commandments.”

  “There are only ten in my bible,” she said.

  “You probably got the condensed version,” I told her. “It goes easy on all the begatting, too, but I’ll give you the benefit of my vast worldly experience.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that I should check up on your worldly experience?” she said.

  “A sweet young thing like you shouldn’t worry your pretty little head over such matters, ma’am,” I said. “If you’re really concerned, I’ll check up on me and give you a report.”

  “Is this the way you sweep them off their feet in America?” she asked.

  “Why, ma’am,” I said in injured tones, “that implies that I ever lost my heart to anyone else, whereas in truth I’ve been saving it just for you.”

  “What about your vast worldly experience?”

  “Apples and oranges, ma’am,” I explained. “I’m talking about hearts and you’re talking about bodies.”

  “I do believe you are quite the most remarkable suitor I have ever had, Lucifer,” she said.

  “Why, thank you, Abigail,” I said, bowing low, which guv me a chance to inspect the Persian rug I was standing on.

  “Baroness,” she corrected me.

  “And now that we’ve reached an understanding, Miss Abby—”

  “Baroness,” she kind of growled.

  “Baroness,” I corrected myself, “I’ll just invite them other two suitors to hit the road and I’ll be back for your hand”—I guv her The Look—“and everything that goes with it.”

  I figgered that ought to at least get a happy little giggle from her, but instead she looked like she’s just eaten some bad chili, and I made up my mind to restrict her diet to a couple of fruits and maybe a tomato or two, especially since she’d never miss a quick eighty or ninety pounds and it might even straighten up them legs a bit.

  “Julio!” she hollered, and her houseboy showed up in about two seconds, still decked out in a jacket what was covered with braids and them little things what goes on the shoulders—paulettes, I think they call ’em, doubtless after some gorgeous dancer who also shook whenever she moved.

  “Yes, Baroness?” said Julio.

  “Show this gentleman out, please,” she said.

  I put my hand over my heart. “Until tomorrow, my love,” I said. Then I figgered I ought to say something tender and romantic for her to remember me by, and I recollected a delicate love story Diego guv me to read while I was stuck in the calaboose, and I said, “My loins ache for your hot, pulsating flesh.”

  “Sounds painful,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Follow me, please,” said Julio, leading me back down all them stairs and out the door. “We fed and watered your donkey,” he added when we were outside.

  “That’s might thoughtful of you,” I said, “but he could have just grazed at roadside on the way back to town.”

  “The last donkey who grazed at this roadside attacked and ate a pack of wolves,” said Julio.

  So, since he was going to be my servant too, and I wanted us to get off on the right foot, at least until I could replace him with some French maids in them cute little outfits I used to see in the mail order catalogs before the government shut them down, I thanked him for all his help and courtesy, let him boost me onto the donkey, and in another hour I was back in town.

  Now that I’d met the future Mrs. Right Reverend Honorable Doctor Jones, I figured there was no sense sleeping in a park or on a bench, so when I hit Paseo El Prado Street, I pulled the donkey up outside the Sucre Palace Hotel, told the doorman I was donating him to the hotel, and went inside to get a room and charge it to the Baroness.

  The lobby has a carpet, which was mighty rare in La Paz, and had been painted since the turn of the century, which was even rarer. A few guests were sitting on chairs and couches, their noses buried in newspapers.

  “I thought you were leaving,” said a voice with an Australian accent, and I turned to see Rupert Cornwall sipping a glass of something that could have been wine and might have been tequila and was mostly wet. He was sitting on a chair in the lobby, and I walked over to him.

  “Howdy, Brother Rupert,” I said. “I just came back from meeting the apple of your eye.”

  “And?” he said suspiciously.

  “You’ve really and truly been smitten by Cupid’s capricious arrow,” I said. “You made her sound even prettier than she is.”

  He looked right relieved at that. “So you’ll be on your way now?”

  “Well, I could be, I suppose,” I said. “But I thought you might need a second.”

  “A second what?” he said.

  “Major Dobbins has challenged you to a duel to the death,” I said.

  “Oh, he has, has he?” said Cornwall. “When and where?”

  “Sunrise, in that big empty field I crossed on my way here from Cochabomba.”

  “The one just south of town?” he asked, which was mighty useful information, since I’d been sleeping in the back of the wagon and didn’t wake up until it dumped me in the center of town.

  “The very one,” I said.

  “I accept!” he said. “Pistols at dawn!”

  “I’ll tell the Major the good news,” I said. “Do you know where I can find him? I ain’t seen him in a few hours now.”

  “He’ll be at the Plaza de Lago, over on Aqua Millagro,” said Cornwall.

 
; “Plaza de Lago?” I repeated. “They ain’t got no lakes nor plazas in La Paz.”

  “The restaurant next door advertises edible food,” he said. “Signs in this town aren’t always held to the highest standard of truth.”

  I thanked him, wished him good luck, and moseyed over to Aqua Millagro, which didn’t have no aqua and no millagros that I could see, and hunted up the Plaza de Lago, where the desk clerk directed me to Major Dobbins, who was sitting on a stool in a bar what had seen better days and probably better centuries.

  “I’d rather hoped I had seen the last of you,” he said glumly.

  “I’m just here on an errand of mercy, Major,” I said.

  “Oh?” he said, kind of suspicious-like.

  “Yes. I think it’s a good idea for you to leave town pronto, and maybe not stop until you’re on a ship bound for Europe or some other big island where you can lose yourself in a crowd.”

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

  “It seems that no-good Rupert Cornwall has challenged you to a duel at sunrise in the field south of town,” I said. “If I was you, I’d be on the first horse, donkey, or wagon out of here.”

  “I absolutely will not run from a fight with that scoundrel!” announced the Major.

  “I ain’t telling you to run,” I said. “I think you should ride. You’ll make better time.”

  “Nonsense,” he said. “What does he want—guns, swords, or fisticuffs?”

  “Pistols at twenty paces, last I heard.”

  “Tell him I accept,” said the Major.

  I told him I’d do so, and wandered out into the street, feeling like I’d done a good night’s work. I’d met the woman I was going to try to fall in love with at some far future date and marry a lot sooner, I’d tooken care of two sides of the love triangle, leaving just my side and the Baroness’s side left, and it wasn’t even midnight. I decided I might as well stop at a bar what wasn’t frequented by no potential rivals for the Baroness’s hand, and I entered the first one I came to, about half a block up from the Major’s hotel—and who should I bump into but Diego?

  “You’re a long way from home,” I said. “You after some notorious thief or killer?”

  “I’m after some good liquor,” he answered. “The stuff we get in Cochabomba is awful, Señor.” He paused. “Have you run into your two old friends yet?”