by Dan Glover
(With Benefits)
1
"Hello. Who are you?"
"I'm Reilly Cooper. And you are?"
"My name is Elena Stamper. Did I just see Liza McNairy and Danners Forthright leaving?"
"Yes you did."
"Dammit. I drove down from San Diego just to see them."
"Not to worry, Ms. Stamper... they'll be back soon. Care to saunter over to the cantina and have a drink with me while we wait?"
"I don't have much time..."
"Oh, come on. One drink. Liza and Danners will probably be back by then. If not, we'll mount a search party."
"I suppose, Mr. Cooper... still, it seems they’re avoiding me on purpose."
"Not at all, Ms. Stamper. And please, call me Reilly. No... Liza and Danners had a previous engagement. They're working on a cold case involving the disappearance of a young boy."
"I know that, Reilly. I'm the one who hired them."
"Elena Ramirez?"
"That's my maiden name... it's Stamper now. I'm divorced but I kept my ex husband's name."
"I'll be damned... I read all about you... I mean, about that case. I'm with the FBI. Sometimes I help Liza and Danners with their work... you know, furnish data, look up things... anything I can do."
"You read all about me? What does the FBI have on me, Reilly?"
"Well, not you, per se. You see, in cases like that one, they investigate all avenues. Since your father was a Columbian National, the Bureau got involved. Things have changed a bit since then, but back in those days, the drug war centered on Columbia. That was the cocaine capital. The thinking went that your father may have used Eduardo as some sort of collateral on a deal gone bad."
"You're kidding me, right?"
"No, not at all. That sort of thing was quite common among all the big time dealers. There were so many informants that the only way to ensure the safety of the operations was to use family members as security."
"My father was never even around here, Reilly. I must've been ten years old when he left and I never saw him again."
"That doesn’t matter, Ms. Stamper. If the FBI could find out about your father being in Columbia, believe me, the people he worked with would know all about his family in Mexico."
"Why not me? Why take Eduardo?"
"Because he was a boy. I don’t mean this in a derogatory way, Ms. Stamper, but boys are worth more than girls. A boy is the heir-apparent to the family business. Girls are pretty much kept in the dark."
"And here I thought you were taking me for a drink, Reilly. Was that just a ploy to keep the wool pulled over my eyes?"
"No, Ms. Stamper... come along. But do me a favor?"
"Absolutely... but what on earth can a little old girl like me do for a big time FBI agent like you?"
"Show me the way to the cantina?"
Santo Tomas hadn’t changed all that much
2
Since she left... there were still pigs wandering in the malas hierbas growing alongside the dirt alleyways, rooting about in the trash that collected on every corner. Tomalin's was just down the road. Odds were they'd remember her there but that was okay. Today she had an escort and if things got too rough, Rugged Reilly would come riding to the rescue.
He looked gay. But then again, perhaps not... maybe he was simply color blind. Could be that he didn’t realize the shirt he wore clashed with his trousers. Yeah, Elena... keep dreaming. These days the only men you attract are either married or dead. Jesus, whatever happened to being seventeen?
She'd married Johnny way too young. She knew it at the time but she did it anyway. He was one of those suave types, older, worldly, and American. The man came down to Mexico—a suit on fire—and swept into her life like one of those hurricanes that periodically blasted the coast leaving nothing but destruction and heartache in its wake. Yep. That was Johnny. She went to sleep one night seventeen years old and woke up twenty five, married, and with two little rugrats.
The kids destroyed her body. Oh, she tried to get back to where she was before, but after a while she realized that not only was she fighting the ravages of childbirth but age. Now, here she was, thirty years old going on eighty, and the men on the streets who used to send wolf howls and whistles her way as she sashayed on past them had all gone silent.
Reilly Cooper was an interesting diversion, though. Yeah, chances were the man was queer as a two headed turtle but hey, it might be fun trying him. And speaking of turtles, she needed to catch up with Tortuga... hear the latest gossip... maybe nab a little something to help her sleep. The man was a walking pharmacy.
"Come on, sweetie... I'll give you the guided tour... and since we're going to be such good friends, Reilly, why don't you start calling me Elena?"
"Wait just a minute, Elena... I need to leave a note for my mother. Let her know where we're going."
"Your mother? Seriously? I suppose she picks out your clothes too."
"It isn’t like that, Elena. She hasn’t been on vacation in like forever. So when I got called down here, I thought, why not bring mom along? She's off with someone right now but I don’t want her wondering what happened to me when she comes back and finds me gone."
"Christ, Elena... when are you ever going to learn?"
"Look... my mother helped to send me through college. I grew up in East Los Angeles. From what I've seen of it, Santo Tomas might be poor but it's a paradise compared to that shithole. When I managed to get on with the Bureau, the first thing I did was buy mother a house in a better neighborhood. I don’t live with her if that's what you're thinking. But she's a good woman. She deserves a little happiness after putting in thirty years of hard labor."
"I'm sorry, Reilly. I didn’t mean to get you upset. I envy you. I lost my mother years ago. I guess I don’t know how to react to someone who truly loves their parents. I never had that luxury."
"Oh, I'm not upset, Elena. I just thought since we're going to be friends that you should know a little about me."
"Is that what we're going to be, Reilly? Friends?"
"Good friends, maybe?"
"I don’t know... I was sort of thinking something along the lines of friends with benefits. Oops. Now I've gone and embarrassed you."
Chapter 27—Disturbing
(The Dead)
Someone had disturbed the graves. He never would've noticed but for the fact Senor Montenegro was due to be buried the day after tomorrow and he hadn’t updated the manual lately so he took a walk through the tombstones just to see if the old man's plot was still available. The peasants of the village had a habit of sometimes appropriating plots not their own in time of need.
He counted at least three places where someone'd been digging. Grave robbers? Unlikely. Everyone in Santo Tomas lived well under the poverty line. Nothing to bury with the dead. Most times they couldn’t even pay for the funeral... instead, the family got together and dug the graves on their own... with pick and shovel... carefully measuring the depth of the holes as they worked their way down, down, down into the good earth.
"It's those two detectives. Damn them."
He muttered the words as he genuflected, blessing the desecrated dirt, wondering if they'd found what they were after, and if so, how much longer did he have before they came for him.
Yeah, he was doing the Lord's work, but how far would that go in a court of law? If indeed he ever saw one. And if the peasants found out first, he was liable to be crucified like the Christ... the God, the Son, and the Savior... the walking miracle worker who cast out demons, healed the sick, and even raised the dead from their incessant slumber before being condemned to the cruelest of deaths.
They wouldn’t have to go too deeply in that good earth... that's what troubled him the most. And how did they know just where to dig? He'd been careful to hire only the most competent of help... but even so, only the dead could truly be trusted, and even then, they sometimes talked, especially to those adept at listening.
What was the man's name? Forthright. Da
nners Forthright. There was something unholy about that look in his eyes. Like the devil himself had infiltrated the man to wreck what havoc he could against the good and the proper people of the world. The saints and the paupers... the knowers and the known.
But then again, judge not, lest thee be judged. It was a credo he lived by. And yet... how did one know the work of the devil unless their eyes were open to the wages of sin? That was the conundrum every man in his shoes faced on a daily basis. Still, it was clear that he was dealing with adversaries unperturbed by the vagaries of morality and righteousness.
The question lingered. How did they know? It couldn’t have been easy digging up one grave, much less three. And then taking the time to cover them again. He'd never have noticed if not for the slightly mounded earth. People forgot that it took time for a grave to settle... usually on the order of several months, depending upon the weather, of course. Rain helped. Lots of rain. But this was the dry season.
"I am sober and vigilant against my enemies. I bind and rebuke all hindering spirits of Satan in the name of Jesus the Christ. Devil, I resist you. Get thee hence, Satan, for it is written."
The prayers used to bring him a sort of warm and confident comfort but today in the cold light of knowing how his secrets had been discovered, Father Fabulinus only felt old and tired. Used up. The years of toiling in the obscurity of nowhere were beginning to build. Ten years ago he might well have shaken off any thought of retribution, divine or otherwise, but now, the thought of spending his last few years stripped of his ministry and sequestered to the inside of a Mexican prison cell brought only a sense of desolation, much like Jesus must have felt as his tormentors beat him bloody and finally nailed his living flesh to the cross.
No matter what they said against him, he'd only done but the Lord's work. Heaven knew that even if the dregs of the earth didn’t. His faith alone kept him on that path of virtue, casting out the wickedness that had seeped into the souls of those brought before him.
Could he have done better? Of course. Perfection was the way of God, not of mortals like himself. He had failings like any other man. He made mistakes. Did he sometimes choose wrongly? Absolutely. Yet still he kept to the trail laid out two thousand years ago by the Living Son of God, Jesus the Christ.
Others of his ilk sought the pleasures of the flesh. They thought by sending him here that he'd come to repent the ways of the Lord and instead follow in the footsteps of his brethren... the Bishops and the Priests of the Church who only worked at self-aggrandizement. He'd proven them wrong. Despite the infirmities of the flesh—St. Longinus himself poking that holy spear into his side... the fifth of Christ's wounds—Father Fabulinus kept to a strict schedule, even lending what time he could to his enemies, to those who'd bring him down in the end.
They must have studied those doings, his rituals. They knew he'd be away on Friday night. Like burglars, they came in the dark to steal what they might even though had they but asked he'd have given it freely.
What they failed to reckon on was how he had friends... those who would rise up and do his bidding... the Lord's work. He'd been in Santo Tomas long enough that there were men who owed him great favors. Though he was a proud man, aghast at the recognition of humanly fallibilities now creeping into the recesses of his brain, he reminded himself once again how only great weaknesses revealed the true strength of the Lord.
Chapter 28—Boris Karloff
(In Drag)
1
Even though the words inscribed on the tombstone proclaimed the woman had died over five years ago, the dirt was too soft, like someone had freshly dug the grave. It was macabre work. Clouds had moved in partially covering the half moon riding high in the sky though every so often she'd break free to illuminate the scene.
"Christ, Liza... I feel like Boris Karloff."
"You sort of look like him too, DanMan. You got that lisp of his down cold."
"Thanks, sweetie... I knew I could count on you to set me right."
"Shhh... what was that, Danners?"
"Nothing... just dogs howling... or maybe coyotes. Probably smell the fresh meat."
"Oh, stop... this is creepy enough. Who's idea was this anyway?"
"Fraid I'll have to take the blame for that, sweet'ums. But look... we've barely dug a foot down and hit something already."
"Probably a trap door that leads to Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory. You know... laBooratory... Muhahaha... you go first, DanMan."
"Don't worry... it's a coffin, muffincakes, not a trap door. Jesus... it's too small to be an adult."
"I am not seeing this... what are you doing, Danners?"
"We have to open it."
"No we don't."
"But..."
"No, Danners. We are not opening that coffin. Period. Come on. We've found what we were looking for. Let's cover it up and get out of here."
"You go ahead, Liza... I want to take a look around."
"Sure, leave it to me to do all the heavy labor while Boris Karloff goes gallivanting through the cemetery trees."
"I'll be right back, Liza. I need to check something out... to see if my dreams were true or not."
Liza was right. There'd been no need to open that coffin. All they'd find would be a rotting corpse of a little boy or girl. Maybe the parents buried them like that... on top of another grave... or maybe they didn’t. Either way, there wasn’t much to be done about it tonight. He had to see if there were more, though.
Sure enough, he hadn’t walked ten feet before coming across another gravesite like the first... an older tombstone sat on top but the earth was soft under his feet. Hell, he could've dug it up with his hands.
"Liza... come here... I need you."
"Shhh... DanMan, quit shouting. Someone'll hear us out here."
"Bring the shovels. I found another one."
"I haven't even finished covering this one up."
"That's okay... we'll do it later. Come on. We need to check this out."
It was the same as before... they hadn’t dug down but a few inches before hitting wood. Stepping back, he inadvertently walked onto the next grave. The soil felt too soft once again.
"Here's another one, Liza. We could be at this all night."
"No way, Jose. We'll check this one out, but then we're covering up and getting the hell out of here. Mad Father Fletch could be returning any time now. And you know who will get the blame if he catches us... we'll be waking up in some Mexican prison tomorrow morning."
Home now
2
And showered, Liza sat across from him nursing a cigarette and a nod while he poured them both another glass of wine. He couldn’t seem to get the smell of the grave out of his nostrils. This was bad business... anytime kids were involved, it pissed him off. Someone was hiding bodies at that old Catholic cemetery and it wasn’t Mother Teresa.
"So what do we do now, Danners?"
"We wait. I have a feeling the good Father will be aware that someone has been digging in his cemetery. He'll be wanting to talk to us again."
"Will he call the authorities? He has to know it was us."
"Impossible... that's the last thing he needs. No... he'll try and find us here. Santo Tomas is a tiny town. Word gets around. If he doesn’t know we're staying here now, he will soon enough."
"Are we in danger, Danners?"
"Yes. No... I'm not sure. Not from the good Father... but possibly from his supporters. The man didn’t dig all those graves by himself, Liza. He had help. From the looks of it, lots of people are involved."
"A cult, maybe?"
"Could be... that's what religion is, mostly. I'm guessing Father Fletch has been here long enough that he's managed to attract quite a following. These people are dirt poor... easily led around. All he has to do is to tell them it's God's work and they'll do whatever he says... including murder."
"I don’t know about you, DanMan, but I'm thinking our vacation is just about over. I'm ready to pack up and go home right away."
<
br /> "We can't leave now, Liza. We're too close."
"Do you want to end up out there in that graveyard?"
"That isn’t going to happen, sweetie. I guarantee it. I didn’t come down to Mexico light. Anyone comes around here trying something, they're going home with a few extra holes in them."
"My hero... but we can't just start shooting people."
"Sure we can. This is Mexico. That's what they do down here."
"Danners..."
"You know I'm teasing... but seriously... we have nothing to worry about. Hank Lupo and Reilly Cooper are here. If anyone is thinking of paying us a visit, they'll wait until our company has cleared out. They're not gonna fuck with the FBI."
"Or Hank Lupo?"
"Well... I wouldn’t go that far, Liza."
"Maybe we should sleep in shifts... you know, stand guard."
"Nah... no need. Besides... Fair Father Fuck isn’t going to notice anything at least until daylight so we're safe for tonight."
"So you still haven’t told me what we're going to do, Danners."
"I want to talk with the good Father again... so come tomorrow, we'll head on out to his church and pay the man another visit. Only this time we'll bring some company with us... some reinforcements, if you will."
"So we're involving Hank and Reilly?"
"They're already involved, Liza. They're here. No one forced them to come to Santo Tomas. Honestly, I was pretty bummed when they showed up. Now, though, I'm glad they're here. Otherwise..."
"We might be in the shit."
"Exactly... now, how about another glass of wine?"
Chapter 29—Witnessing
(The Exorcist)
"Fabulinus Fletch didn’t exist prior to 1980, Liza."
"But he's an old man... how could he not exist, Reilly?"
'Oh, the man existed, just not the name. Meet Fredrick Moody, also known as Finnegan Gore, also known as Fabulinus Fletch. There may be more aliases but that's all I've uncovered so far."
