by J C Ryan
“That’s as good a plan as any,” Rex said. “Once we have the six here in the village secured, we can head for the site to help. We shouldn’t be too far behind Junior and the six with him. And just to be sure, I will take care of Junior and the six up there. You all will stay here.”
Luciana harrumphed but didn’t say anything.
Rex was satisfied with the arrangements, and for the rest of the afternoon he would make the rounds of people who might need his help with the feast arrangements, offering it where he could. But first, they had to try to play out the reverse scam. Junior might have brought the million dollars with him to lower their guards until he had the treasure site secured. If so, Rex intended the Markses and the villagers to have it.
He suggested to Barry that they should confront Junior about the money. They’d play good cop, bad cop if necessary, with Barry doing the talking as good cop.
***
REX HAD LEFT Junior cooling his heels in his assigned hut. On reconnaissance, it seemed Junior felt safe in the village. In any case, he hadn’t set a guard outside his door.
He and Barry approached and called out a greeting before entering the door opening through the alpaca-wool hangings. They found Junior just sitting up from where he was lounging on a sleeping bag.
“Barry! Good to see you, man! Ray. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
As planned, Barry, with a bland expression on his countenance, answered. “If you’ll remember, we had a business arrangement. Did you bring the money?”
“Yessir, I surely did.” Junior got up and crossed the few feet to his gear. From the pile of bags he’d dumped there, he pulled a battered-looking briefcase. Rex was astounded it wasn’t inside a more easily carried duffle or backpack.
Junior hefted it and carried it to the rickety table in the room and said, “Sit! Sit! Make yourselves comfortable.” He took a three-legged stool at one side of the table. On the other side was a wide bench, where Rex and Barry crowded to sit.
Junior hunched to read the silver dial of the combination lock and thumbed it back and forth while mouthing the combination to himself. When a subtle click sounded, he pushed the buttons to open the latches on either side of the briefcase. With a flourish, he twirled the case to face Barry and Rex and opened the lid in almost the same motion.
The case was tightly packed with banded one-hundred-dollar bills.
“There you are. One million US dollars,” he announced.
Barry reached for the case and pulled it toward him. Rex was stunned. He hadn’t actually expected Junior to have the cash, he was more prepared to listen to some cock and bull story about why he didn’t have the money or why he wouldn’t hand it over yet. It seemed Barry was also sceptical, as he reached in and selected a bundle and broke the band, flipping through the bills with his thumb.
“Barry, dude,” Junior said with a nervous laugh. “Don’t you trust me? It’s all there.”
Barry smiled. “Sure I do, Junior. But my motto is, ‘trust but verify’. That’s okay with you, isn’t it?”
Junior replaced the stricken expression on his face with a sick smile. “Sure, Barry. No problem, it’s a lot of money. I would’ve done the same.”
Barry didn’t break the bands of the other stacks of bills, but he did take each one out and flip through the ends to make sure what was inside was actually money. Everything appeared to be in order, so he re-stacked the bills.
“May I keep the case? Or would you like me to transfer the money to one of my bags and keep it.”
“No worries, man. Keep it.”
“Okay, you kept your end of the deal, so we’re partners, now,” Barry said. “I look forward to a profitable venture.” He reached out his hand to Junior for a handshake. Junior took it and offered a more confident smile.
For the first time since they’d arrived and asked about the money, Junior seemed to relax. Rex wondered if he thought his uncle might have double-crossed him somehow.
Barry was taking his leave of Junior when Rex stood and, without ever having spoken a word, held back the door coverings for Barry to exit. He followed and accompanied Barry back to his hut.
“Put that where neither Junior nor his goons will be able to find it easily. We aren’t out of the woods yet,” he advised.
Chapter Twenty-One
TO REX’S DELIGHT, the villagers’ mood had returned to their former, happy-go-lucky state. He asked Pidro how this could be, when they were still mourning the two elders who’d died.
“Chica de jora,” Pidro replied. “My advisory council and I decided it is ready, and we will enjoy it at this feast. The people look forward to it, and to the sacred coca leaves as well.”
A feeling of foreboding invaded Rex’s overtaxed brain. It seemed he’d been stamping out fires for days.
What the hell is chica de jora, and what do sacred coca leaves have to do with a fake feast?
He’d learned about the coca ceremony, first from Alexandro, and then from the group of elders who’d given him much of his knowledge about the Quechua culture and history, as well as immersing him in the language until he was now near-fluent. In his minds-eye he could see the coca ceremony getting out of hand. He betrayed none of his misgivings, though, as he questioned Pidro about the chica de jora.
“It is an ancient drink,” Pidro answered. “Fermented corn.” He used the Spanish word maíz, one of the words that had infiltrated the Quechuan from outside since the fall of the Inca empire.
Corn mash... Distilled? The Andes version of white lightning? Moonshine?
A few questions about how the drink was prepared set Rex’s mind partially at ease. It sounded like beer, which he assumed wouldn’t be very high in alcohol content, since it wasn’t distilled after the corn fermented. The coca ceremony though, might still be a problem, depending on how accustomed the thugs were to the drug. However, he knew that the coca ceremony was sacred, and he elected not to cast doubt on Pidro’s plan, for fear of offending him. He’d just warn the others to be alert.
Pidro also let him know that the prisoner would be moved from the square and not allowed to participate in the feast. He delegated Rex to inform Junior and the twelve men he’d brought with him to gather there at dusk.
***
JUST BEFORE DUSK, villagers began gathering in the square. Rex was there to direct Junior and his men to the center, where they were to be guests of honor. As far as he could tell, Junior seemed to have relaxed, accepting the festivities had to happen, and there was no way out of it for him and his men. Rex saw the thugs had left their heavy arms behind and most of them were unarmed. Only four of them were carrying sidearms, old fashioned six-shooters. Rex was relieved. At least if a riot broke out, it wouldn’t involve too much of a gunfight.
The feast began with Pidro making a speech about how happy the villagers were to have honored guests, and how pleased they were to celebrate with food, drink, and a sacred ceremony. Then he poured onto the dirt of the square a libation of the chica de jora as an offering to Pachamama, Mother Earth. Next, he raised the half-empty cup to the sky to salute the mountains. With each gesture, he thanked the gods for the fertility of the fields and the water they were receiving in bounty to nourish the crops. Last, he took a ceremonial sip from the cup, with his eyes closed in ecstasy. Then he opened his eyes, smacked his lips, and raised the cup toward the crowd, who roared their approval.
Rex observed the locals and their joy in the feast and wondered how many of them knew it was a ruse to keep the brutish visitors in town to avoid springing the reverse scam on them too soon. They gave every indication they were attending a real feast, joyfully drinking the chica de jora and serving all the delicacies of the region he’d come to enjoy, including perfectly roasted alpaca. Then he noticed that the locals drank sparingly, while filling the guests’ cups every time they were half-empty.
You cunning little buggers.
Rex had tasted the drink as a courtesy and found it not to his liking. It was thick, almost like a
thin corn chowder. It tasted as if someone had added licorice to it, along with mint, a combination that didn’t strike him as fortunate. He took Pidro aside and asked about the flavors, only to be told that it was fennel and yes, mint. Pidro explained that each person who made it added their own flavorings, which might include chamomile or cinnamon or the two flavors Rex had detected.
“We mixed two batches together to have enough for the feast,” he explained. “But you and I, and some of the men who volunteered, must drink sparingly. You especially. If you are not used to it, it will make you very drunk.”
Rex didn’t have a problem drinking sparingly. The first couple of sips were all he could stomach anyway. To his amusement, Barry offered to finish his cup, and having already finished his own, was well on the way to oblivion. Flo was giving him glances of alternate indulgence and exasperation as he cracked silly jokes in English and then couldn’t understand why no one else was laughing.
“I take it he’s a cheap drunk,” Rex said to her, smirking.
“The cheapest,” she answered, laughing hard enough to squeeze a tear out of her crinkled eyes. “And I’m not much better. Goodness, I’d better slow down!”
Rex could see Digger didn’t quite know what to make of the carousing, either. But he seemed to have accepted that the humans were enjoying themselves and he should relax. He had on his biggest smile, and when anyone thought to give him a pat, he leaned against them affectionately. Except, Rex noted, for the guests of honor. Digger didn’t like any of them, so instead of accepting their pats, he ducked and slunk away whenever any of them came close to him. They didn’t seem to care. Soon Junior and all twelve of his men were shouting, singing, and staggering around the square.
“We could probably wait until they pass out and tie them all up,” Rex mentioned to Luciana. She’d abstained from drinking any of the chica de jora at all, explaining that she didn’t care for it. “Anything that smells that bad can’t taste good,” she concluded. No one seemed to be offended by her excuse.
However, because Junior seemed to be watching him closely, he did take a cup anytime someone offered him one, and he sipped a little each time to avoid offending the bringer of the gift. As he got used to the taste and the texture, it wasn’t such an ordeal. Before long, he’d lost track of how much he’d consumed.
He caught one enterprising teenage boy sneaking a cupful from the clay vat and took it from him, frowning in disapproval. The kid just laughed at him and skipped away out of sight. Rex sighed. He could keep an eye on the beer, or he could keep an eye on as many of the thugs as he could keep track of, but he couldn’t do both. Luciana advised him to leave the kids alone. The parents could take care of their own.
The two of them were circulating, trying to ride herd on Junior’s thugs. He wasn’t certain Pidro or anyone else was drinking sparingly, as Pidro had advised they should. No one seemed as sober as he and Luciana. The villagers had either forgotten this feast was a ruse, and they were supposed to be on their toes, or most of them didn’t know it was a ruse, or they were great actors.
As the night deepened and the moon rose, more and more people, including most of the thugs and Junior, had collapsed all over the place and were now snoring heaps of human flesh.
When the moon had cleared the nearest peak and shone full and majestic in the night sky, Pidro caught Rex’s attention.
“We have been blessed by the gods. The strangers are disarmed, if you will observe. It is time to give thanks.”
He held a bundle of three perfect coca leaves aloft in one hand. The other was also raised but empty. He began to intone an ancient chant, and Rex recognized it as a prayer. When it was done, Pidro reverently balled the coca leaves and tucked the bundle into his cheek.
He then went around to the men of the village who were still on their feet, to the two thugs who remained awake, and finally to Rex. To each, he gave a small bundle of coca leaves. He had to show Rex how to ball them up and tuck them into his cheek. Rex started to object, but the thugs were watching, so he submitted, thinking he’d spit out the leaves when no one was looking.
Luciana approached and asked him in a low voice if he knew what he was doing.
“Not in the least,” he answered. “But I don’t see a way out of it. Keep an eye on me, will you? I’ll try to get out of the worst of it.”
She nodded and took his arm. Pidro hadn’t offered her any of the coca leaves, nor had he offered any of the other women.
Hmm, not a women thing then, Rex thought.
Flo and Barry had staggered to their house an hour or more ago. Whether they’d managed to reach their hut, Rex didn’t know. Wherever they were, they were most likely busy sleeping off their indulgence.
Luciana saw that Rex still had the leaves in his mouth, looked at Digger, and said, “Looks like it’s going to be just you and me, boy.”
Digger woofed softly in response.
The bitter taste of the coca leaves made it hard for Rex to refrain from spitting them out, though the pinch of something Pidro called lejía helped the taste some. He knew from what he’d been told about the ritual that the qualities of the drug wouldn’t begin to affect him unless and until he began chewing them with some kind of alkali, but they first required softening. Nevertheless, the place where he had them tucked into his cheek felt numb, as if he’d been given an injection by a dentist. He assumed the lejía was the alkali, though he didn’t know what was in it. He couldn’t decide whether to spit out the excess saliva caused by having the leaves in his mouth or swallow it.
Assuming that swallowing it would add to the effects, he almost spit, but saw Pidro was watching him with knowing black eyes. And he wasn’t spitting. He nodded to Rex and started chewing slowly.
Shit. Now I’ve got no choice.
Under Pidro’s watchful eyes, Rex had no choice but to imitate him.
***
REX WOKE THE next morning with a fuzzy head and the memory of an angel in his arms. He slowly opened his eyes and located Luciana lying next to him.
“How the hell did I get here, and what happened last night?”
He didn’t realize he’d spoken his thought aloud until he saw Luciana smile and open her eyes.
“You’re heavier than you look, Ray Davis,” she said.
“You carried me here?” Rex was confused. She couldn’t possibly have…
“No, silly. It took two of the villagers to drag you here, though. It was all I could do to keep Digger from shredding them. He was very worried about you.”
“Speaking of which, where is Digger?”
“I sent him to keep an eye on Junior and his gang,” she said.
“Wait, he obeyed you?”
“He did. All I had to do was give him those commands I’ve heard you give him. He followed me after I tucked you in and assured him you were okay, just tired. When we got to the square, I pointed to the thugs and said, “Guard.” And he did. He stayed right there when I told him I was coming back to take care of you.”
“I’ll be damned. That’s surprising.”
“Not really. He’s observed us, seen our interactions. I guess he’s allowed me to be part of his pack, at least temporarily.”
Rex’s head was beginning to clear, but he badly wanted a cup of coffee. As if she’d read his mind, Luciana got up and went to the stove, where the familiar coffeepot from Flo’s kitchen sat over a low flame.
“Flo was kind enough to lend me this, after she and Barry had their fill.”
“They’re up already? That’s surprising. They were both three sheets to the wind when they left the party.”
Luciana began to laugh. “It’s past noon, Ray. They’ve sobered up and have gone to smooth things over with Junior. He’s convinced the villagers poisoned him.”
Rex looked at his wrist, realized his watch wasn’t there, and pushed the sleeping bag back to get up and get it. That’s when he realized he was bare as the day he’d been born.
What the hell?
“Luc
iana?” he asked tentatively.
“Yes, mi corazón.”
My heart. Oh, lord, what have I done?
“Um. Did the villagers undress me, too?”
“No, guapo, that was my doing.”
Rex wondered if he’d missed the night of his life. If so, that was a regret he could probably live with, though it stung a bit right then. But what was he going to do about this woman who’d apparently fallen for him?
He decided his head was in no state to handle complex issues like that now.
A problem for another day.
“I guess I don’t need to ask you to turn your back while I get my clothes on?”
“Correct.” She started laughing. “Unless of course, you think there is something I have missed and am not allowed to see.”
Damn! That’s what I was afraid of.
Chapter Twenty-Two
REX THOUGHT IT was his involuntary participation in the coca ceremony that was causing his hangover. He managed to pull his clothes on, though his head felt like it was splitting in two, and he wished it would go ahead and finish him off.
“Shit. I’ll never do that again,” he muttered.
“Never do what?” Luciana asked.
“Chew coca leaves. My head is killing me.”
“Mi amor, that is not why you have a headache. Coca is an anesthetic, it doesn’t cause a hangover, though it might cure one. Your hangover comes from too much chica de jora.”
Rex tilted his head in an unconscious imitation of the gesture Digger made when he was confused or curious. “But I had very little!”
“Not by my count. You had very little at a time. But there were too many times.”
Rex managed to slowly and with a lot of pain turn his gaze to her, “But…”
She held her hand up to stop him, “I take it you learned some math at school, yes? So, you would know drinking three pints slowly or quickly makes no difference—it’s still three pints. Then on top of that, even though you have been at this altitude for a month or so, you still aren’t acclimated enough to indulge in so much strong drink, irrespective of the speed at which you do it.”
