Songs for Perri (21 page)

As she got the camera, the woman gave her a note from Owen. "Read and destroy," it began. "Did anyone follow you down from Arizona? Someone you've seen a lot of since? He could be the Scorpion. If so, tell Walt immediately."

Perri tore up the note and flushed it. A chill replaced the euphoria of love she had been feeling. There had been a car near hers on the way to the airport.

Hugo? It couldn't be. He fit the description. He was in a perfect position to watch what she was doing. Her mind coldly assessed the facts while her heart was stoutly screaming, "No!"

Hugo hadn't flown in on the airplane with her. At least he said he hadn't. But he wouldn't let Anna take pictures of him. He wore those dark glasses all the time. And he still held himself back when they kissed. There was some sort of restraint upon him. What was it? There had to be some other explanation. He couldn't be the Scorpion.

But it was not a time to let her heart rule her head. She must tell Walt. His life—and Owen's—might depend on it.

The camera once again in her purse, Perri moved out into the dark night. The bounce had left her step and she walked slowly, as if in a trance...yet her thoughts were spinning wildly.

The Scorpion? It couldn't possibly be Hugo.

It had to be a coincidence. Besides, Hugo was the rock singer, Donegal. That ruled him out.

Or did it?

She didn't really know that Hugo and Donegal were one and the same person. Had Hugo just made that up? He could sing, but did that make him a rock star? How could she check him out without telling anyone who he was?

He hadn't had any luggage when they came from the airport, so he was probably telling the truth about going out to see off a friend. Yet what if he'd followed her from Arizona and had his suitcase forwarded? And how had he so conveniently gotten a room next to hers?

Perri turned towards the main street. The sidewalks in Mazatlan had a way of ending abruptly, or of disintegrating into a jumble of concrete slabs, or of having rough piles of concrete left on what looked like a smooth and expertly finished walk. They were especially treacherous at night for ladies in open-toed sandals. So she strolled slowly along, intent on her footing, not noticing the figure that left the door of an adjoining building and fell in behind her, until she was abruptly and savagely attacked.

It was so sudden, she did not resist the youth who accosted her until his hands were tearing the strap off her shoulder—the strap attached to her purse.

Wrenched into reality, she screamed, fighting him frantically for possession. The tug-of-war ended abruptly when her assailant knocked her flat with a sweeping blow across the face. She tumbled off the two-foot high curb into the street. Jumping down beside her, the man ruthlessly tore what he wanted from her shaken grasp.

Stunned, Perri lay sprawled upon the dusty road, her tan skirt lying bunched across her thigh, ears ringing from the force of the blow, shock keeping her immobilized for a half-second.

The camera!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Scrambling to her feet, Perri took off in pursuit. The thief darted down a dark side street, and she followed without a thought for her own safety. Several times she stumbled on the rough pavement, the blackness so intense as to be blinding.

He was too fast. She couldn't catch him. Perri stopped, tears running down her face. It was hopeless. She would have to get another camera. Worse, Owen would have to switch hiding places.

Then from behind, she heard other footsteps. A man, running hard. Sudden fear arose, tightening her stomach muscles. She dodged sideways—toward a wall—so that he passed within a few feet of her.

As he hurtled by without stopping, she remembered Joe. He had been somewhere nearby, watching. Was this him, or someone else?

With renewed determination, she followed them. They passed a street lamp. It was Joe.

A small group of four men was coming up the street towards them. Perri yelled for help, in Spanish, "Stop him! Thief!"

With loud shouts they immediately increased their pace. The thief stopped, whirled and charged back toward her, trying to dodge Joe as they closed.

Evidently Joe had played football. A simple shifting of the shoulders didn't fool him. He stopped the youth with a hard tackle that stretched him out on the pavement.

They wrestled a moment, then the thief broke free and ran, dodging past Perri, intent on escape.

She reached Joe's side an instant before the men did. He was standing, holding her purse and camera in his hand, and hissed a low warning to her as she ran up. "You don't know me!"

Nodding her understanding—the men were crowding around—she thanked him as she would a stranger, offering him a reward for getting her things back.

"No, it's all right," he told her, handing her her possessions and knocking the loose dust off his clothes. "Glad to be of help. Check to see if everything's there."

The Mexicans were talking excitedly and asking Joe questions. As he answered them, Perri checked the camera. It looked unharmed. Her wallet and passport were in her purse. The thief hadn't had time to remove anything, probably knowing he could outdistance her and then examine his take.

If it hadn't been for Joe...

He was speaking to her now. "Did he hurt you?"

"No. Actually, he made me mad. If I could have caught him—”

They were speaking in English, and one of the Mexicans translated her words for his companions. Perri's statement brought laughter from them, for she hadn't waited for help, but plunged after the thief like an angry hen. Much good she'd have done if she had caught him, and realizing this, she stopped in mid-sentence.

Joe joined in the laughter. "I'm glad you didn't. Sorry, but I've got to go now." He turned to the men. "Could you see the
señorita
safely to a taxi,
por favor
?"

"Of course," they assured him gallantly, and with a brief, “
Adiós,
” he turned and walked away swiftly, back towards the restaurant.

Profusely thanking the helpful group, she walked with them to the Cameron Sabalo where one waved down a taxi. Again thanking them, she climbed inside.

Once back in her room, Perri rinsed the dirt out of her mouth and also discovered that she had picked up a few cuts and bruises when she had tumbled off the high curb into the street. None were worthy of great concern, but she cleaned them up.

Her face hurt the most, where the youth had struck her. There was no noticeable mark although the inside of her mouth was swollen and cut. The bruise might come out later.

It had happened so swiftly, there had been little time for terror, no time to even think. If Joe hadn't been close by, watching, the thief would have gotten away. Of course, they could have bought another camera and taken the pictures again. It would have delayed Owen's rescue by only a day...but every day was precious.

Yawning, Perri sat down and pulled the camera out of her purse.

There was a quiet tapping at her door...it had to be Joe. But the night's events had made her cautious, so Perri slipped the camera under the pillow before she went to answer it.

Cautiously she asked who it was. The reply came unhesitatingly. "Your Uncle Joseph."

Laughing to herself, she opened as quietly as she could, mindful of Hugo in the next room.

Joe slipped inside and quickly closed the door after him. His clothes still carried the marks of the fight. "The camera?" he whispered, his eyes roving over her slim figure as if checking out the truth of her claim to be uninjured.

"I was just taking it out," she replied, and turned her back on him to retrieve the camera. Immediately he spotted the red graze on her left elbow that had been the worst of her "wounds."

"You were hurt," he accused her, grasping her arm rather than the camera she offered, turning her arm towards him.

"That was the worst; it probably happened when I fell. I've already put antiseptic on it...actually mouthwash, as I have no first aid items with me."

"I've got some. I'll bring a bandage. That all?"

"The only one still weeping." She lifted her skirt, exposing the slight abrasion on her knee. "See, this one's okay."

He nodded grimly. "That was a bad moment there. I thought he'd killed you...then you took off after him screaming vengeance."

"Was I screaming?"

"You bet. ‘Thief, thief!’ As loud as you could. Don't you remember?"

"No. You're going to need a bandage yourself." Perri pointed to his left hand where the blood was darkening in a deep graze running across four of his knuckles. It looked as deep as the abrasions on her elbow.

He dismissed it as of no importance. "It'll clean out."

Joe pulled out the memory card and inserted another one. "Keep the camera. You've been seen having one, so use it now and then. Take it home with you." He slipped the drive into his pocket and, handing her the empty camera, turned to leave.

"What next?" Perri asked.

"I'm going to get you a bandage; I won't be long." He opened the door and slipped out before Perri could protest.

He was gone ten minutes. Perri used the time to brush her teeth and wash the dirt out of her tan skirt. When he returned, he had washed and changed, and looked as cool as usual. He had bandaged his knuckles, probably because they wouldn't stop bleeding.

"It's too bad you couldn't have held onto him long enough to hand him over to the police," Perri remarked as Joe dressed her minor wounds. The youth had a violent method of purse-snatching. An elderly tourist, thrown to the ground like that, could well be put into the hospital.

His answer surprised her. "I didn't hang on very hard. I wanted him to escape."

"But...?"

He explained patiently. "I could have held him easily. I'm trained, remember. But I can't get us involved with the police and a cheap thief right now. No time."

"But...but what if he was one of the men after Owen?"

"I don’t think so. He didn't put any moves on me. I'd have been able to tell."

"Oh, sure. Did you put any ‘moves’ on him?" she countered.

"No, of course not. I'm supposed to be just a tourist." He stopped, said, "Ah, I see what you mean," then shrugged. "Can't tell, can I? Oh, well, be ready tomorrow night to take the passports to Owen. Then you should be done. Go home and wait."

"Are you taking the film to Walt...or will someone else take care of it?"

He opened the door. "Walt. He's running things. Remember to lock this door. See you."

"Wait! Where is he?"

"The El Mirador," he whispered, naming a hotel just down the beach. He was gone again and she carefully locked the door after him. He certainly wasn't one to hang around and chat.

It was too bad he wasn't. Perri awoke with a start at four a.m., sweating with heat, her heart pounding with fright. However the dream had begun, it had ended with a scorpion, ready to strike, its venomous tail ready to project its poison into her face. It didn't take much thought to jump from that to the realization that she hadn't told Joe to warn Walt about Hugo Brandt.

Perri's instinct, her heart's wishes, were to trust Hugo, but how could she afford to take the chance? It wasn't just her. All their lives were in danger. If she didn't pass on the information, the Scorpion might strike again. If it was Hugo.

She couldn't afford to be negligent. Somehow she had to tell Walt.

Perri sat upright in bed. He hadn’t answered any of her texts, so she dismissed that. Someone else might have his phone for all she knew. To get the message across, she would have to take it herself. If she found him, she'd know for sure that Joe was helping him. It would remove that last little twinge of doubt.

She'd need to give Hugo the slip...get out and see Walt and be back here, hopefully before breakfast; if not, she'd call Hugo and tell him she was tied up on business.

It shouldn't be too hard, she decided. She'd get dressed now and walk to his hotel. She would even take a room for the night, if need be, so that she could look at the register.

The decision made, Perri dressed in a dark outfit — blue jeans with a long sleeved black shirt — took her empty suitcase and threw in her white dress and make-up.

It was almost five when she left the hotel and walked down the semi-deserted street to the El Mirador. A modest hotel, squat and sitting back from the ocean, it was more like the ones Perri usually stayed in. No one tried to stop her. She looked back, twice, but couldn't tell if anyone was following. Just to be safe, she entered another hotel, passed through the lobby and out the beach exit.

Once in the El Mirador, she registered for one night after asking for Mr. Richmond's room and being told there were two Mr. Richmonds staying there. Neither one was Walt Richmond.

She didn't want to press for further information, but had to. For a fifty dollar bill the clerk finally gave her the two room numbers. With this information in hand, she went to her new room on the third floor.

Walt was usually up before seven so she waited till then before trying her luck.

The first room she tried, she struck gold. Knowing he wouldn't hear her knock, she knocked first, waited for a moment in case it was the wrong room, then slid a sheet of white paper with her first name on it under the door. This crack was big enough, the sheet slid through easily.

The door opened immediately. Walt had a gun in his hand and he checked behind her before letting her in. "What's wrong?" he demanded, after giving her a hug of welcome. "Why did you come?"

The flood of joyful relief at seeing him again was dampened somewhat by the gun. Quickly, she explained about Owen and his question...and how Hugo fit the description. "I was afraid to come and tell you...and afraid not to come."

"How did you find me?"

"Joe told me the name of your hotel."

"I see. Go on back to the San Juan. And don't worry about Hugo. He can't be the Scorpion."

"How can you be so sure, Papa?" Perri wanted to have her doubts removed completely. His people had told him that Hugo was just an Arizona rancher. If they couldn't find out he was Donegal, they might not discover he was the Scorpion.