Trail of the Chupacabra: An Avery Bartholomew Pendleton Misadventure (The Chupacabra Trilogy - Book 2)

by Randel Stephen

  “Back of the plane,” the flight attendant ordered as she pointed her finger down the aisle.

  “I refuse. Furthermore, once we land, I fully plan to file a written complaint to the FAA and your union detailing your belligerent attitude.”

  “Return to your seat, sir. Or I’ll have you arrested once we land.”

  “Arrested for what? Attempting to use a vacant restroom? I dare you to cite the case law and legal statute for that.”

  “For disobeying my instructions!”

  “Outrageous! Do you know who I am?” Avery replied. The flight attendant immediately reached for the forward intercom phone.

  “May I have your attention, please?” the flight attendant announced to the entire airplane. “Does anyone recognize this man? He apparently doesn’t know who he is.” The entire plane erupted in laughter as Avery’s face turned beet red. Avery slowly shuffled to the back of the plane. The line in back had disappeared, but the door was locked. A few moments later, the door opened and Ziggy popped out.

  “Like, excuse me, dude.” Ziggy walked back to his seat. Avery squeezed himself into the lavatory.

  • • •

  An awkward silence filled the dark and smoky boardroom, creating an uncomfortable setting for the thirteen men sitting around the long mahogany table. The assembled were a mix of senior bankers, politicians, military leaders, and police officials. No one around the table knew more than a handful of the others, but they all had one compatriot in common: the man who had called them together today. All were concerned with this abruptly called gathering, but only a few of their faces revealed it. Meetings like this were uncommon. When they did happen, it was likely that fewer men would leave the room than had originally entered. The Padre had made all of them wealthy and powerful. He protected them, but he could also make them disappear. No one would ever find their bodies, and no one would ask questions. Once a person owed the Padre a favor, he owned their soul, their family, everything. And now he was pissed. Nervous eyes glanced to the door as heavy footsteps approached. The door swung open, and the Padre strode into the boardroom. Without saying a word, he sat down in a large leather chair at the head of the table. He immediately propped his immaculately polished black cowboy boots up on the table. The balding man wore a black suit and a Roman priest’s collar, and stroked his dark, bushy mustache as he surveyed his audience.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” the Padre said as he fished a thin cigar from a silver case.

  “Good morning, Padre,” the room replied.

  “I’m truly sorry to have to disturb you this morning,” the Padre said as he lit the cigar and took a long drag. “I know you all have important business to attend to, but I have important business as well. This means we all have important business together. Together,” the Padre repeated for effect as he slowly gazed around the room, making sure to look each man in his eyes. “Some of you know each other, some of you don’t. What you all have in common is that you collectively make my business work. Whether it’s through finance, influence, or protection, I can’t do business without you, and you can’t do business without me. And the business is good, no?”

  “But Padre,” a man in a banker’s blue pinstriped suit interjected. “It’s getting more difficult. Cleaning the money is not as safe as it once was. Anti-money laundering statutes and levels of oversight are becoming more restrictive, while the amount of money you’re bringing in is increasing all the time. You have to understand the risk we’re taking. Even gathering like this, in the middle of the city, in the middle of the day?” the man questioned. “It’s dangerous.”

  “Is it a problem? If you want out, that’s fine,” the Padre replied as he took another drag from his cigar. “There are plenty of banks that would love to make as much money as yours does. Is that what you want? Out?”

  “No, Padre,” the banker replied meekly. “But it is becoming a problem.”

  “It’s a problem?” the Padre laughed. “That’s not a problem. Hire some more Spanish-speaking Ivy League geniuses and tell them to come up with something new. Fake companies, different locations offshore, South America, whatever, I don’t care. Just don’t tell me it’s a problem!” The Padre slapped the table with the palm of his hand. “You’ve got the easiest job in the room. I give you my money, and you give me back less. You’re not a banker. You’re a thief! An overpaid thief.”

  “Padre, I didn’t mean any disrespect,” the nervous banker said humbly.

  “Shut up and listen. All of you listen!” The Padre ground out his cigar on the boardroom table even though there was an ashtray right in front of him. “The problem, our problem, is right in front of you,” the Padre said motioning toward the file folders sitting in front of each man in the room. “Open them.” Each of the thirteen men quickly opened the file in front of him. Inside was a single grainy, black and white photograph of a large, heavily muscled man. “I need your help in finding this man.”

  “Who is he?” asked one of the men, a police chief.

  “His name is El Barquero,” the Padre replied. “The Ferryman. He used to provide a valuable service to me, smuggling weapons into Mexico, but not anymore. Now he’s a nuisance that must be dealt with. That is why we need to find him. He is dangerous for all of us.”

  A military commander from the far end of the table spoke up. “I know of this man. He was a senior officer in the Mexican Army. A commander for the elite Special Forces Airmobile Group, he and his teams were trained by some of the best counter-terrorism and Special Forces groups in the world. I worked with him. He was a very deadly man then and, no doubt, still is. Then one day, soon after his wife was killed, he disappeared. There was no trace of him. The military assumed he was murdered by the cartels. I didn’t realize he was working for you.”

  “No one did,” the Padre said as he lit another cigar. “Unfortunately, we had a falling out. Now is the time to officially terminate our relationship before he can do any more damage to my business.”

  “What do we do if we find him?” another man asked.

  “Not if, when we find him, just let me know where he is. I’ll take care of the rest.” The Padre took a long look around the table. “There can be no mistakes. Do you hear me? No mistakes.” The men in the room all nodded in agreement. “Very well. You may all leave.” The assembled men gathered their belongings and rose from the table. “Senior Gonzalez, stay for a moment.” A middle-aged Mexican politician nodded in reply and sat back down in his chair. After the boardroom had emptied, the Padre took a seat next to the man. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Certainly, Padre. What is it?”

  “El Carnicero.”

  “The Butcher? What about him?”

  “I need you to get him for me. Even if those fools in suits could find Barquero, he’d kill them all before they even had time to pick up the phone.”

  “But Padre, Carnicero? It’s impossible. We’ve tried to get him out for years.”

  “Why is everyone telling me about the impossible today? It’s difficult, not impossible. Work your channels of influence more aggressively,” the Padre said as he put his arm around the man. “Remember how important he is to me. Money is not an issue.”

  “The political pressure will be immense. It’s the bus incident, Padre — no one can forget the bus. I’m not sure if I can get him out, and even if I could, it will take a great deal of time.”

  “Senior Gonzalez, you don’t have time,” the Padre said as he looked into the politician’s eyes. “Remember, you work for me. This must be done at once. If you have to, think of something more direct. I can provide anything you might need. Just do it fast. I want to see him soon.”

  “Yes, Padre.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Sonesta Royale

  Avery and Ziggy collected their belongings from the airport baggage carousel: a small roller bag for Avery and a black plastic lawn sack tied at the top with twine for Ziggy. The skinny hippy was still visibly shaken from the roug
h landing.

  “Like, did we crash, or were we, like, shot down?” Ziggy asked.

  “I’m guessing the landing gear failed to deploy properly,” Avery replied. “I plan on suing. I suggest you retain legal counsel for your own benefit.”

  “Yeah. Like, good idea, man.”

  “Take my bag and follow me. I’m off in search of ground transportation.” Avery strode off toward the nearest taxi stand.

  “Like, wait up, dude,” Ziggy replied as he struggled with the roller bag and unwieldy lawn sack.

  “Taxi, sir?” the driver at the front of the line of cabs outside baggage claim called out to Avery as he approached the stand.

  “Obviously,” Avery replied as he climbed into the back seat of the cab. The cabbie assisted Ziggy with their luggage before they both joined Avery in the car.

  “Where you headed?” the cab driver asked as he checked out the two odd-looking characters in the back seat through his rearview mirror.

  “The Royal Sonesta. Double time,” Avery replied as he pulled an oversized pair of aviator-style sunglasses from his fanny pack.

  “Excellent choice, sir.” The cabbie pulled away from the curb. “First time to New Orleans?”

  “Like, yeah, man,” Ziggy replied.

  “You’re going to love it,” the cab driver said to Ziggy. “Best food in the world. Got to get you some beignets, some debris, some gumbo. It’s all good.”

  “Eyes on the road,” Avery barked to the cabbie as he buckled his seatbelt.

  “Don’t you worry,” the cabbie replied. “I’ve been driving cabs in this town for thirty years. I can get you anywhere you want to go with my eyes closed.”

  “I’d prefer you kept them open,” said Avery.

  “No problem, sir. No problem. My name’s Pappy,” the balding man with a sunburned head said to the two men. “Where you fellows from?”

  “Like, Texas,” Ziggy replied.

  “Oh, we love y’all folks from Texas. Though you do tend to act the fool down in the Quarter sometimes. Anyways, we love you spending money just the same. Business hasn’t been so good since the hurricane and the oil spill. Anyone coming down now is extra welcome. Here’s my card in case you need anything while you’re here.” The cabbie handed a rumpled handwritten business card to Ziggy. “I know ’bout everyone in town. Pappy can get you whatever you need or to wherever you need to go. The number is on the back.”

  “Groovy, man,” Ziggy replied. “You know, like, any good voodoo shops? I, like, got this business back home that…oh, like, no way, man,” Ziggy interrupted himself. “I, like, forgot to put the CLOSED sign up,” Ziggy said dejectedly as he thought of unhappy customers banging on the front door of his curio shop.

  “Don’t worry,” Avery said. “There’s more than one head shop in Austin. I’m sure the community will survive your temporary absence.”

  “It’s, like, not just a head shop, man,” Ziggy protested. “I’ve got, like, rare artifacts and totally museum-quality type stuff, too.”

  “Right. I’m sure the Smithsonian absolutely covets your collection of monkey paws, shrunken heads, and vintage Ouija boards.”

  “Oh, I got just the place for you,” Pappy said, looking back at Ziggy. “Stay away from the places in the French Quarter. They’re just for the tourists. But Pappy’s got the real thing for you. Oh, yes, sir. The real thing.”

  “Like, right on, man,” Ziggy replied.

  “How much farther to our destination?” Avery asked, perturbed.

  “Oh, not too far. Hardly any traffic,” Pappy replied. “Just sit back and relax, and let Pappy tell you all about this fine city. See, right over there we got what we in the bayou call a…”

  Avery spent the remainder of the ride trying to ignore the impromptu geographic and historical tour from their chatty cab driver. On the other hand, Ziggy hung on the cabbie’s every word. Pappy was still lecturing on the history of the riverboats when they pulled up to the grand hotel in the heart of the French Quarter. Afternoon revelers were already starting to gather on the upstairs balconies that lined the front of the building. Ziggy paid the driver and went to grab the bags. After a moment’s hesitation, he reluctantly allowed the bellman to take their belongings and roll them inside on a cart. By the time Ziggy made it through the lobby and to the reception desk, Avery was already in a heated argument with a hotel staff member.

  “I’m very sorry, sir, but we don’t have any record of your reservation,” the front desk receptionist repeated to Avery.

  “Impossible!” Avery bellowed. “My reptilian-like associate made them personally. Zigmund, produce the confirmation number immediately! I’m desperately in need of a room and a nap.” Ziggy fished a small slip of paper out of his pocket and recited the sequence to the young receptionist.

  “I apologize again, but it doesn’t match any of our records,” the young man replied. “It’s not even the right number of digits.”

  “Is there a problem here I may assist with?” the assistant hotel manager, who had just arrived on the scene, asked politely.

  “Of course there’s a problem,” Avery huffed. “This imbecile in your employment has massacred our reservation. This will no doubt cost your establishment at least half a star in my travel rating blog.”

  “Michael, take a quick break,” the assistant manager said as he perused the handwritten confirmation number. “I see. Give me just a moment. I think I may know what the problem is. Your last name, sir?” He picked up a phone and dialed a number.

  “Pendleton. Avery B.”

  “Thank you,” the assistant manager replied. “Ah, yes,” he said into the phone after a few moments. “Do you have a reservation for a guest under the name of Pendleton? I see. Yes. Thank you very much.” He hung up the phone. “You see, Mr. Pendleton, this is actually quite common. This is the Royal Sonesta. However, you made your reservation with the Sonesta Royale. It’s not all that far from here, and while I like to take the high road when discussing our competitors, I highly recommend you avoid that particular inn. It’s quite, uh, how would you say? Rather rustic.”

  “How rustic?” Avery glared down at Ziggy, who had hidden himself behind his lawn sack.

  “Well, suffice to say, the rats are terribly unrefined, the mold on the walls is less than fresh, and running water can only be guaranteed if you have a room on the top floor during a rainstorm. Other than that, it’s a bit unpolished.” Ziggy slunk even lower behind his sack as Avery’s face began to turn purple. “However,” the assistant manager continued, “I may be able to acquire suitable accommodations for you here. Just give me a second.” The man began typing into his reservation computer. “Yes, wonderful,” he announced after a few moments. “We’ve had a late cancellation. How long were you planning on staying?”

  “Through the end of the conference,” Avery replied.

  “Excellent. Are both of you thoracic surgeons?”

  “Like, we’re not with that conference, man,” Ziggy replied from behind his sack. “We’re, like, with the other one.”

  “I wasn’t aware there was another conference in town this week?” the assistant manager replied.

  “Never mind,” Avery interrupted. “This room you have available. You’ll of course honor our price guarantee of twenty-nine dollars per night?” Avery asked.

  “Twenty-nine dollars?” the flabbergasted man replied. “Sir, this is one of the finest hotels in New Orleans. The rate is two hundred and twenty-nine dollars per night, and that’s with me giving you a discounted rate, given the confusion in your reservations.”

  “Highway robbery!” Avery spat.

  “Sir, it’s a very fair rate.”

  “I know your type. You’re no doubt working in conjunction with the other establishment to artificially manipulate and raise prices through a sophisticated bait-and-switch scam. I shall immediately report you to the appropriate federal authorities, you chiseling swine!”

  “Sir, I’m only trying to help.”

  �
�Right. Help line your pockets with the money of your defrauded customers, you charlatan swindler! Ziggy. Grab the bags. We’re departing this den of double-dealing con artists!” Avery shouted loud enough for the entire lobby to hear. “Take care to watch your wallets and purses!” Avery ranted as he headed for the main doors. “They’ll give you the shaft and rob you blind in this palace of shysters!”

  Ziggy looked up at the assistant manager and shrugged his shoulders, as if to apologize. “Like, can you help us out with like some directions to our hotel, man?” Ziggy asked. The assistant manager scratched a quick map on the back of Ziggy’s piece of paper containing their confirmation number and handed it back to him.

  “Best of luck,” the man said as he watched Ziggy run through the hotel lobby after Avery with the roller bag in one hand and dragging the lawn sack across the slick marble floor with his other.

  “Beware of the misleading flimflam artists who operate this hovel!” Avery continued as he marched out of the front of the hotel and onto Bourbon Street. “Rogues of the most degenerate nature are on staff here! Crooks of the most despicable character…” Avery suddenly stopped his bellowing as he realized no one was paying any attention to him. In fact, the throngs of people meandering up and down the sidewalks were, for all intents and purposes, intentionally ignoring the obnoxious, portly man in the yellow tracksuit sporting an unruly tangle of brown hair and unkempt beard.

  “Like, chill out, man,” Ziggy said as he caught up with Avery. “I, like, got the lowdown on how to, like, get us to the hotel.”

  “Lead the way. And remember, I hold you personally responsible for this fiasco.”

  “Like, don’t worry, man. It can’t be as bad as, like, that guy said and stuff.”

  Twenty minutes and one stop to load up on Mountain Dew later, Avery and Ziggy found themselves walking through a decidedly un-touristy part of New Orleans. Boarded-up doors, broken windows, and the occasional burned-out storefront had replaced the open, welcoming doors and windows of the heart of the French Quarter. The few people who were out on the street or sitting in the shade of the dilapidated buildings cast curious glances at Avery and Ziggy. Even the occasional stray dog that crossed their path didn’t know what to make of the two obviously out-of-place travelers.