On Tenterhooks (45 page)

He tapped the table with his index finger.

“
Right now, Preacher is nowhere near us
.
In fact, he may have left the country even
.
But once you get outta range of me and I drop those shields, he’ll be onto you
.
Don’t waste time in Playa Del Carmen or Felipe. I want you to get to that cabin and
get situated
.
Use
that place to your advantage.”

“How long do we have to get there before you drop the shields?” Steve asked.

“I’ll hold them until tomorrow night
.”

“Why do we have to rush?” asked
Veronica
. “Can’t you give us a few more days to prepare or whatever?”

“Because he and hi
s ilk are getting more brazen.
He attacked Abby directly in that alley.
He risked
me finding him
because he saw an opening. Now, that could be a good thing for
ya’ll
, meaning that he’s getting reckless.
”

Biker shrugged.
“
But, it also means that he could do some collateral damage if he got too desperate
.
I don’t want to risk more than
we
have to.
Besides,
he’s
unstable
.
He might not show up for a week.
The fact that h
e’s unpredictable to a degree scares me, but it also means that you might be able to slip in around his chaos and end this thing permanently.”

“Then should we just leave now, tonight?” asked Steve.

“No.
We’re gonna part ways in the morning
.
After that, I’d suggest sleeping in shifts, keeping watch, all that. Sleep will be fleeting
.
Right now,
I want
y’all
to go back to the hotel and get a good night’s rest
.
I want
y’all
to be able to think and act on your feet.”

Martin yawned
and stretched
,
as if
on
cue
.
T
he serenity of the quiet conversation dissipated with the scraping of chairs
,
as the group rose for the walk back to the hotel.

As they
walk
ed,
there were
only a few
whispered words amongst the foursome
.
Steve took the lead
.
Abby and Martin followed a few paces behind him
.
Veronica
was next
.
Even in the dim light of the streetlamps, Steve could see that she had her hand in her pocket
,
and he knew it gripped the gun Biker had given her
.
Biker hung back several paces. He lit a cigarette and kept
in time with them,
scanning t
he quieting streets of the town
,
a wary herder, guarding his flock.

Steve
purposely kept his pace slow as he walked
down the hill in the moonlight
. A light cool sea breeze caught him between each storefront
as
he
walked
.
S
eeing
the stores
dot each side of the sleepy beach road made him comfortable
.
The salty smell and quiet crash of the waves at low tide provided him with a peaceful solitude
.
He knew
that what lay before them was
a monumental task
, and
that
possibly
he
,
or
even
worse, his companions,
might
not come out of it alive.
They all
shared that knowledge, yet
each one of them was unwavering in the face of it
.
For the first time in a long time, each of them ha
d something solid to grasp
.
He already knew that he
could
count on each one of them to play the
ir
part
.
He walked slowly
,
bec
ause it felt like his last mile.

Last chance to do the “normal” thing.

From here on out, it was going to be surrea
l, or too real for real life
.
H
e a
nd the others savored the
peaceful and secure feeling
that accompanied them
.

As they came upon the Hotel Carmelita, Steve passed by the alley and walked to the front of the building
.
Should he take them around the block once more?
Biker’s words had been stern
—
he wanted them to get some rest.
Steve
led them across the parking lot to the front door of the hotel
,
opened the door wide and held it for his companions
.
Abby and Martin came first
.
Once again, Abby looked exhausted
.
They seemed to be holding each other up as they passed
.
Veronica
passed through next.
“And so it begins
,” she said, resolutely.

As the
three of them headed up the stairs
,
Steve waited for Biker to arrive
.
He
watched
as
t
he tiny orange glow of
the man’s
cigarette burned bright in the dimness of the lot’s
overhead
lights. “You go on ahead,” he said to Steve. “I’ll be out here
watching.”

“You’re not coming in?”

“Naw.
I am gonna soak up a little more of this fine sea air. But I’ll be around.”

Steve let the door close
and
joined Biker in the lot.
Biker gestu
red with his head to
ward
the hotel.
“Look after them.
Hold on
to each other
,
and you’ll be finer than frog hair. M
ake it work
,
man
.”

Steve recognized the finality of Biker’s tone. The conversation was over, at least for now. He waved a goodnight and headed in.

Chapter
3
9

The next morning, Steve was the first
to wake
.
It was early, but the sun was up and the vendors across the street
from the hotel
were prepping for another busy day
as the next wave of cruise ships
inched
into sight
across the horizon
.
The sun
glittered
, the waves crashed in the distance and the cries of the gulls told him that today was going to be simply another day. He dressed and brushed his teeth
.
Without
bother
ing to
shave
, h
e
woke the others and began packing
.
As
they
struggled to shake off sleep, Steve
left the room to see if Biker
were
still outside
.
When he failed
to see the
familiar figure
in the hallway or the lobby
,
he returned to
the
room
.  It was only then that
he noticed a folded note taped to
his
door.
It was on the hotel stationery,
with his name written on
the outside
.

Steve called the others
.
When they
had
assembled, he
opened it and read it to the group:

Steve,

I had to leave early this morning
, but
you are all still safe
,
for the time being
.
Stick with the plan.
Don’t waste any time and
do not
miss that bus out of Playa Del Carmen
.
I won’t drop your defenses until you are well on your way
.
Remember what I told you last nigh
t
—
take care of them and make sure you all take care of each other.

We’ll meet again.

-
         
B

Abby was the first to speak, still peering at the letter over Steve’s shoulder.
“That
’s
the same handwriting from your
first note, Martin
.”

Martin
nodded.
“Sure is,” he said, studying the scrawling letters.

“Well that’s it
,
folks,”
Steve
said
.
“Let’s get this party rolling
.
W
e got
us
a bus to catch.”

Fifteen minutes
later,
they were on the ferry that took them across the small stretch of
the
magnificent aqua waters of the
Caribbean Sea that ran between Cozumel and mainland Mexico
.
The
10-mile
trip took
45 minute
s
,
so t
hey arrived
at the dock in Playa Del Carmen with
about an hour
to walk the five blocks to the bus station. Just as Biker had told them, it was an easy walk up Juarez to the bus depot on 5
th
Street. Steve and Martin got in line at the terminal to buy their tickets
, while
Abby and
Veronica
walked across the street to the mercado to find some breakfast for the trip.

At eight o’clock sharp, they boarded the bus bound for Chetumal. Steve was relieved to see that it was a full-sized coach with comfortable seats, overhead storage and even working AC
.
He had pictured their vehicle as one of
those
chicken buses he’d seen on
television
, consisting of more livestock than human passengers
.
Although it intrigued him, he didn’t relish the idea of travel all the way to Felipe Carrillo Puerto with a goat for a seatmate.

They moved to the back of the bus almost by instinct, putting as much distance as possible between them and the door. Although they hadn’t been first in line for boarding, they had their pick of seats in the back; other passengers had filled in the seats from the front
.
T
he fumes from the on-bo
ard bathroom told Steve why the back half of the bus was so empty
.
Coupled with the scent of human sweat and years of diesel fuel soaked into the upholstery of the bus seats, the miasma was
noxious
, even with the windows of the bus open
.
Steve
moved a few rows up
from the bathroom
with no complaints from the group
.
They settled into their seats
,
and Abby used her phone to take a picture of the bi-lingual sign posted on the bathroom door:

“Para evitar malos olores y para comodidad de todos los pasajeros, este bano esta disenado solo para orinar. Gracias./ To avoid uncomfortable odors, please understand that this restroom is designed for urination only. Thank you.”

She laughed as she passed it around for the others to
read
.
Steve was glad to see that
she seemed to be bouncing back from
her
encounter with Preacher
.
The mounting responsibility he felt for each of them made him acutely aware of their demeanors.

As the trip began,
he
picked up s
natches of conversation through the steady lo
ud drone of the diesel engine.
C
opious cameras and clutched guidebooks all around him
told him
that
t
hey were on a bus loaded with tourists.
Their journey southward down the Mexican coast was uneventful
.
There was n
o sign of Preacher or anything out of the ordinary.

Steve dozed by the window as the low, flat
,
green Mexican countryside passed by. After several hours of travel, they pulled into the town of Felipe Carrillo Puerto
.
The
driver announced their arrival.

“Bienvenidos amigos, to Felipe Carillo Puerto, the place of birth of my mother. We stop here, rest your legs and eat, maybe
,
yes?  We leave again 30 minutos, yes? You come back soon
,
and we go to Chetumal. Adios.”

W
ith
that,
he sprang out of the bus and left the doors open for anyone brave enough to follow
.
The lure of life in an exotic and authentic pueblo overcame the crowd’s consternation at his rapid departure
.
T
he
passengers
moved en masse
toward
the front of the bus, with Steve and company swept up in the slow
,
sweaty rush
toward
freedom and fresh air.

The driver had
parked
in what looked to be a town square
,
with a massive stone fountain surrounded by a cobblestone traffic circle
.
Just as Biker had told them, they spotted the car rental lot.
To its left was a small market
.
Once again, they split up
,
promising each other
to keep a sharp watch on their surroundings. Steve and Martin went to the rental lot
,
and
Veronica
and Abby
headed for the market
to stock up on food.

The men
finished fi
rst
,
went back
to
the now-empty bus and grabbed
their entire luggage stash. As
they carried the baggage down the aisle
, Steve marveled at how many expensive digital cameras,
video cameras
and other personal belongings were loose on the seats of the vacant bus
.
The door was wide open
,
and the passengers had scattered in all directions
.
The bus company seemed to have no concern over guarding the belongings, but perhaps more telling was the fact that the passengers seemed to have let down their guard as well.

Perhaps there
were
still some
tiny
rays
of light in the world after all
.

Martin and Steve
loaded the
small
,
dark
red
rental
with the group’s luggage
,
and then went to find
Veronica
and Abby
in the market
.
As they entered the
dimly lit
store,
they saw the women
were checking out
with several bags of groceries.
Each of the foursome took three
bags of groceries
and returned to the square, heading for the car rental lot.

“Wow,” said Martin, hefting the bags he was carrying
,
“
did
yo
u ladies leave anything for the other customers?”

“Stuff it, Martin,” said
Veronica
, smirking. “Biker made this place out to be pretty desolate, so we wanted to make sure
we were
covered.”

“Besides,” added Abby, “I had no
idea
what I was buying
.
Anytime I saw a picture on the label of something I recognized, I grabbed it
.
I hope you can make up something spiffy for us with it.”

“I shall endeavor to delight your taste buds
.”

As they crossed the square, they passed a long row of street vendors crowding the walkways with multi-colored serape blankets used to display their wares.
Steve stopped to admire the finely carved copal-wood
animals
. He picked up a stylized eagle head and admired its heavy weight in his hand. It reminded him of the souvenirs in his
office, a
million miles away.

Veronica
was admiring the colorful linen skirts
,
when she felt a tug on her elbow. She turned to
see
the wizened face of a native woman
, stooped with age. H
er long gray hair woven in thick plaits wound down the back of her bright orange dress. As she smiled up at
Veronica
, her face rippled with a thousand tiny wrinkles
,
but her eyes were bright and alert. She held out a closed hand.

“Se
ñ
or
it
a,” she said.
“Rosario para usted
—
muy bonita.”

Veronica
opened her hand and the woman dropped a beaded necklace into
it
—
a rosary made
from a carved oyster shell.

“Ah, si,”
Veronica
nodded
. “Muy bonita. Cuanto?”

“Five,” said the woman, the word sounding foreign in her heavy accent.

Veronica
smiled. “Bien.” She pulled a ten-dollar bill from her wallet and handed it to the woman.

“Gracias,
Señorita
.”

“De nada,”
Veronica
replied, putting the rosary around her neck
and
caressing
the sides of
the shells
as she watched the others chatting and browsing the marketplace.