by PAUL BENNETT
‘Good tradition to go against,’ I said. ‘Makes him the white sheep of the flock, I guess.’
‘I’m to be exiled here,’ he said. ‘Hell, Silver, I’m not a farmer, I’m a lawyer, an advisor, a mentor. I’m a fish out of water.’
‘Look on the bright side. At least you’re not swimming with the fishes.’
‘I know one thing for certain. No matter how long I have to stay here, I’ll never touch a drop of tequila again. That was a dirty trick to play.’
‘Needs must,’ I said. ‘As far as the future goes, someone has to make sure the Mexico Real business keeps running. Big job, especially as it has to be legitimate now. That seems more up your street.’
‘Tortillas! Chili con carne! Guacamole! What do I know about how to make those?’
‘You don’t have to know how to make them, just how to make money out of them. You’ll manage. You might even get to like it. Big chance to show Miguel’s father what a good businessman you are. That you don’t need him.’
‘Ever the optimist, eh?’
‘No other way to be.’
‘I’d like to say it was good to know you, Silver, but I haven’t worked out if that was true or not.’
‘Share a beer with me to show there’s no hard feelings?’
‘Guess so. What else is there to lose?’
I went into the kitchen and to the fridge. Took out two beers. I didn’t take the caps off. I’d do that in front of him. Show him that his hadn’t been spiked this time. I walked back to the main room and handed him the bottle and the opener. Gave him a winning Silver smile.
He popped the cap and handed me the opener. I flipped the cap and touched my bottle against his. ‘Here’s to the future,’ I said.
‘Hell, yes,’ he said. ‘Going to be quiet around here without you.’
‘That’s what they all say.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Stan dropped off the car in Sonora and joined us in Red’s now-cramped vehicle. We crossed the border at El Paso and our stomachs were rumbling. There was a sign for a Mexico Real restaurant in five miles.
‘Shall we eat there?’ Stan said.
There was silence. Someone might have dropped a pin. We all looked at him. ‘It was only a thought,’ he said.
We pulled into an all-night diner that was full of Mexicans migrating to the States. They might have been regretting their decision. The diner made Mexico Real seem like the Ritz. The tables were topped in red plastic that needed scrubbing to get rid of the coating of grease. The air was full of the smell of burnt fat.
‘Let’s just get a burger and eat it in the car,’ I said.
While the burgers were cooking and my arteries were clogging from the fat in the atmosphere I went to use the facilities. There was a notice on the door. It was a grainy blown-up picture from the kid’s video of Bull and I. Underneath it said, in attempt of a rhyme, ‘These guys eat here, too. So you better watch what you do!’ We should have started a franchise. There was money to be made out of this.
There was a splutter of engines being turned off and a group of half a dozen bikers came through the door. They stood tall with puffed out chests. The back of their jackets had a skull motif on them. They looked around as if they owned the joint and their eyes alighted on us.
‘Well, lookee here,’ one of them with long hair in a ponytail said. ‘If it ain’t Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.’
He made a motion for the bikers to fan out. ‘We don’t want any trouble,’ I said.
‘Well it ain’t about what you want,’ Pony Tail said. ‘It’s what we want and right now that means a little respect for us. Don’t you know to stand up when a better guy comes in the room?’
I looked at my friends and nodded. We stood up.
‘Are those burgers ready yet?’ I called through the fat vapour to the big lady in the kitchen.
‘Coming up,’ she shouted back.
She started to place plates of burgers and fries on the counter.
‘Seems like our burgers have arrived,’ Pony Tail said, starting to pass plates around. One of them would be unlucky and miss out. Or maybe they’d all be unlucky and get shot.
I could feel the heat of Bull’s temper rising like a volcano about to erupt and shoot molten lava high into the air.
‘Work from the left,’ I said to my friends.
‘Got it,’ said Red. ‘Call it.’
‘How many of us?’ I asked Pony Tail.
He held his hand in the air and started to count on his fingers. When he got to the full five we took out our guns and fired a round each. Pony Tail screamed in pain and stared down disbelievingly at his fingerless hand.
‘Think yourself lucky there’s only five of us,’ said Bull.
I threw some dollars on the table to cover the food and we filed out. Our stomachs were still rumbling.
‘Look on the bright side,’ Pieter said. ‘At least we weren’t caught on video this time.’ We drove on another fifty miles and stopped at a motel for the night. There were too many miles still to go and too little energy left in us to drive through the night. The motel wasn’t exactly Norman Bates standard, but wasn’t much better. I thought about what a lonely life it must be to be a salesman travelling across the States trying to sell something that few people wanted. I had comrades here, but still found it depressing.
We ordered pizza to be delivered and waited in a lounge area full of old furniture that should have been thrown out years ago. The furniture was at that awkward stage where it wasn’t sufficiently new as to be useable, but wasn’t old enough to be antique and worth something at auction.
The guy working the night shift got us some cold beers and we tore arcs of pizza apart and got our hands messy. Thankfully there was no one who needed shooting by our greasy fingers. Guns would probably have slipped to the floor.
‘Makes a change from Mexican,’ Pieter said enthusiastically. ‘When I get back I shall have fillet of springbok seared on open flames.’
‘I’ll have wild boar slowly roasted until it falls off the bone,’ said Stan.
‘Curried goat for me,’ said Bull.
‘Liars,’ Red said. ‘We all know that we’ll devour a plate of steak and chips with a green salad and mustard dressing like the world’s gonna end tomorrow.’
‘Whatever I’m eating it will be with my wife by my side,’ I said. ‘Although she isn’t technically my wife anymore. But the feeling will be the same. I love you guys — in a manly way, of course — but I can’t wait to get home.’
There was a silence while we all thought about our own homes and what made them special.
‘Amen to that,’ Stan finally said.
Chapter Twenty-five
We got up late and drove a short way to a diner for breakfast. It was fuel rather than food as we were fantasizing about that night. By around three in the afternoon we were at Red’s ranch with all the hustle and bustle of a thriving community. We put our guns away in Red’s racks and took one step closer to normality.
I walked into town to give myself some time to think and it was just before sundown when I reached the hotel and saw Jerome sitting in his familiar rocking chair with the pup at his feet. I got the habitual beers and peanuts and leant back on the porch rail.
‘You made it back then,’ he said.
‘Seems so,’ I said.
‘Did you get yourself an edge?’
‘Many times.’
I flicked a peanut in the air for the dog and he caught it nimbly in his mouth. I flicked the next one higher and he repeated the trick.
‘You’ve been training this dog,’ I said.
‘Nothing else to do,’ he replied. ‘Lot going on in this town, but it’s not the kind of busy you bring.’
‘Many people would think that good,’ I said.
‘Then they’d be wrong. You changed this town for the better. That’s something they should never forget.’ He took a sip of his beer. ‘You going home now?’
‘No of
fence, but I can’t wait. It’s been far too long. It seems to be that far too long is getting shorter and shorter as time goes on.’
‘You’re telling me that?’
‘I forget, old man, that you’ve been through everything before.’
‘You make sure to come back and visit,’ he said. ‘Dog will miss you. Don’t want him pining.’
‘Just you make sure to be here when I get back.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I made a vow to last for ever and it seems to be working so far.’
‘I may come back with two kids,’ I said.
‘How do you feel about that?’
‘Frightened.’
‘Something new for you to handle, eh?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘And you’re thinking you’d rather handle a bunch of bikers armed with shotguns.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘You’ll do fine,’ he said. ‘You got morals, and a man with morals can change the world. Teach your kids those morals and you won’t have gone far wrong.’
‘Thanks, old man,’ I said. ‘Until the next time.’
‘You betcha.’
Chapter Twenty-six
The moment Bull and I stepped off the hotel shuttle boat and onto the jetty we gave out simultaneous sighs of contentment.
‘Good to be home,’ Bull said.
‘Home is where the heart is,’ I replied. ‘So home can be anywhere on earth?’
‘Except Chechnya,’ I said.
‘Except Chechnya,’ he said, nodding.
We took our boots off and walked along the sand barefoot. It was as if all the cares in the world had dropped from our shoulders. Anna saw me from a distance and started to run to meet me.
‘Slow down,’ I said, a note of panic in my voice.
But she didn’t listen. Kept running. So I dropped the heavy rucksack and ran towards her to cut the distance between us. When we met she threw herself into my arms and clutched me tightly.
‘Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,’ she screamed. ‘You are back at last.’
‘And not a moment too soon.’
I swept her off her feet and carried her to the beach bar. Placed her gently in a chair in the shade. Pulled a chair next to her and sat down. I took her hands in mine, guided her forward so that we were very close and gave her a long and lingering kiss.
‘I’ll leave you two love birds in peace,’ Tobias said. He smiled at both of us and left the bar to go sit on the jetty by Bull’s boat and stare out to sea.
‘How are you?’ I asked. ‘Have you been resting like you promised?’
‘Tobias has made sure of that. He’s been wonderful. You owe him a big favour.’
‘I’ll scrape the barnacles off the bottom of his boat. I know that’s a job he hates.’
‘How was your mission? Did it go well? You are safe so I suppose it must have done,’ she gabbled excitedly. ‘How about this Toomey man who was blackmailing you?’
‘He won’t bother us anymore,’ I said. ‘You can rest assured of that. We’ll sort out another wedding just to make things legal and then we really must get you a passport with your new surname.’
‘I hope you didn’t put yourself in danger because of me.’
‘I knew exactly what I was doing,’ I said.
She leaned back in the chair and looked me in the eye. ‘That’s not the answer to my question,’ she said.
‘It all worked out well in the end,’ I said, prevaricating. ‘Better than we could ever have hoped. We not only saved the girl — who incidentally didn’t need saving — but also a whole village, too. We met a lot of good people.’
‘And some bad ones, too, I would think.’
‘We don’t have to worry about them. They won’t ever do any more bad things to anyone.’
‘So I guess they are dead then.’
‘Bingo!’
She sighed. ‘When will you ever grow up, Johnny Silver? You do not all the time have to play at being a knight in shining armour.’
‘Tilting at windmills,’ I said.
‘What? I don’t understand. Are you making fun at me?’
‘God forbid,’ I said. ‘No, it’s something done by a Spaniard called Don Quixote. He was an incurable romantic who wanted to restore chivalry, to undo wrongs and bring justice to the world.’
‘Well now is the time to hang up your sword and lance and stop this tilting at windmills. Fatherhood beckons, nearer each day. You will have new responsibilities soon. No more Don Quixote or whoever.’
‘I didn’t quite see Bull as Sancho Panza in any case.’
‘You talk in riddles,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Come, let’s get Tobias back. You need to rest.’
‘Rest is something I don’t need.’
‘Trust me,’ she said.
‘Reckon so.’
I swept her off her feet again and carried her to our cabin. Set her down on the bed. It was wonderful to be back. Life couldn’t get much better.
Epilogue
St Jude, Caribbean, Six weeks later
‘It is happening,’ said Anna, from the shade of a parasol at one of the tables of the beach bar. ‘It is happening, Johnny.’
‘But it can’t be,’ I said. ‘It’s not supposed to be for another month.’
‘Tell that to them,’ she said, patting her stomach.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I am sure.’
‘What do we do?’
‘Do not panic. Keep calm.’
‘Yes, keep calm, mustn’t panic.’
‘Johnny, get a hold of yourself. Go to the hotel and get their doctor.’
I rushed along the beach, entered the hotel and ran along the corridor to the surgery. The doctor was with a patient. Someone with a beauty problem, probably. They came here to recuperate after cosmetic surgery in Barbados. I banged on the door and waited for what seemed like an age. The door swung slowly open. A middle-age woman was just getting dressed — or as dressed as anyone ever was on this island.
‘What do you want?’ the doctor asked, his annoyance obvious.
‘Wife pregnant,’ I said. ‘Labour pains. Says it’s started. Come back.’
‘Try to relax,’ he said. ‘It can be many hours after the pains start until birth occurs. Sometimes many many hours.’
‘It’s twins,’ I said.
‘Makes no difference. There’s probably hours to go yet.’
He slipped on the jacket of a cream-coloured suit, grabbed his bag and led me through the hotel and out into the fresh air. It had felt hot inside the hotel, even given the air conditioning. Maybe it wasn’t functioning. Then again, maybe I wasn’t functioning.
The doctor made me walk rather than run along the sand. He sauntered beside me as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Maybe he didn’t, but it still got on my nerves.
Anna was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where’s she gone?’ I shouted.
‘She’s probably gone to your cabin. Having a relaxing lie down. You would do well to follow her example.’
I looked at him.
He looked in my eyes. ‘Or not,’ he said.
We walked to the cabin. It wasn’t large — one main living/dining/kitchen area and a bedroom cooled by the breeze from the sea and a central revolving fan — but had everything that two people on a Caribbean island could ever want. We’d need to get an extension built or maybe bolted on. It was one of those things that in post-Mexico recovery, or lethargy, I had not got round to doing. Damn! Your past always catches up with you no matter the good intentions for the future.
Anna, as the doctor had rightly predicted, was lying on the bed doing breathing exercises. She looked hot so I upped the level of the fan to full.
‘Hello, doctor,’ she said. ‘Contractions started and getting more frequent.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’ I asked.
‘You could go boil some water,’ the doctor said.
‘What’s that for?’ I asked.
‘Nothing really, but it would get yo
u out from under my feet for a while.’
I went to the kitchen area and boiled a kettle. Would that be enough? I filled two saucepans and put those on the hob. Prepared for anything? I have never felt so unprepared in my life.
‘How many babies have you delivered before now?’ I asked.
‘What, on my own?’
‘Preferably, yes.’
‘Not actually any before now, but I did get to help a calf be born on my father’s farm.’ Help. Calf. Just brilliant! The situation, unbelievably, had just got worse.
‘Towels, please,’ the doctor said.
I had visions of a new-born calf wrapped in towels. It didn’t help.
I assembled all the towels we had and took them into the bedroom. Anna was panting. I went into the bathroom and soaked a hand towel in cold water and went back to the bedroom to mop her brow. This was more like it. Not much help, but it was a start.
I took hold of her hand and squeezed it.
‘It’s going to be alright,’ I said, as much to convince myself as her.
She started groaning. The doctor looked at his watch. She groaned more. More watch-looking. It didn’t seem to be helping.
The pressure on my hand increased and Anna started shouting. ‘What language is that?’ the doctor said.
‘Russian,’ I said.
‘I don’t think we want a translation.’
The groaning and shouting increased, and so did what I had presumed was the swearing.
‘Active stage,’ the doctor said. ‘Contractions every three minutes and lasting sixty to ninety seconds.’
Some time went by that seemed like hours, but probably was no more than forty-five minutes. The doctor announced, ‘Transitional stage.’
‘How many more of these to go?’
‘That’s all. Any time now. Get the towels and hold one.’
I let go of Anna’s hand with difficulty and put the towels on the bed. ‘Give one to Anna.’
I did as I was told, knowing no better. Anna’s grip increased to vice-like. Her skin felt cold and she had started shaking.
‘I do not know if I can do this,’ she said with tears in her eyes.
‘That’s not the Silver spirit,’ I said. ‘We never quit. Now listen to the doctor and do what he says. It’s going to be a first for him, so we might as well make it memorable. I could go get the Browning that’s taped under the counter of the bar and hold it to his head. That would focus his mind on the job in hand.’
