The Jaguar (26 page)

Armenta smiled and folded his hands behind his back and took a formal step toward her, as if he were going to ask her to dance. “Do you like all of this?”

“So much.”

He nodded as if her answer didn’t matter. His face was lugubrious and his black eyes threw the sparkle of the jewels at her.

“You are looking to be sick,” he said.

“Can I sit down?”

“Here.” With one stout arm Armenta swept a bin of rubies off one of the tables. They clattered brightly across the floor and Erin backed herself to the table and hoisted herself up. There she sat and hung her head and through the curtain of red hair stared down past her boots at the twinkling city of gemstones above which they dangled.

“The most scared I’ve ever been before coming here was when all these tarantulas came crawling across the ground toward me. It was like they had sprouted out of the desert. They weren’t there and then they were everywhere. The males come out of holes looking for a mate. I don’t know why they all get to feeling that way at once. Like a bunch of guys heading for the honky-tonk after work on a Friday maybe. And every one of those spiders you had to multiply by eight on account of how each leg articulates slowly and separately when they walk, which divides your attention eight ways, which makes you eight times as scared. This was in Arizona. It reminds me of here. Every time I look at something I get scared more.”

Armenta said nothing for a long while. He was moving from table to table, looking down at the booty. She could hear him toeing the fallen rubies or whatever other treasures had ended up on the floor. He was humming a Lila Downs song. She knew that this was the time to draw the gun and when he came closer she would shoot him. She edged the shawl away to free the gun and she willed her hand to take it, but her hand did not move.

“Did a tarantula bite you?”

“No.”

“When I was young in Veracruz another boy kept a tarantula in a cigar box for an amusement. The boy was older and somewhat cruel. This was a black and red spider, and large. His father worked the docks and he brought Fernando a monkey and several birds and snakes and many exotic insects. Fernando carried it around in the box and he would hold it in his hand if you paid him. He dared me to
hold the tarantula so I held my hand out and he carefully picked it up from the box and set it on my hand. It simply stood there. And then Fernando commanded the spider to bite. He said,
morder!
and the tarantula bit me. On the palm. Two marks. It did not hurt but I was very surprised. Fernando looked surprised too. My father said tarantulas cannot hear but I had proven him wrong.”

“What did you do?”

“I flung the spider into the air and beat Fernando with much force. I took my money back and all that was his also. After that, we were friends.”

“I made friends with a girl who talked trash about me, but I never trusted her.”

“In my business loyalty is often tested. And if a man or woman fails the test it is always obvious. In that way it is an honest business.”

“I don’t like backstabbers. Maybe I can get into your line of work.”

“I have one more thing to show you. But first I want you to choose one thing from this room and bring it with you.”

“Why?”

“Please just choose one thing you call beautiful. You will find this to be interesting.”

Erin looked around and spotted a plate of what looked like solid silver, inlaid with black hummingbirds that might have been obsidian or onyx. It was propped up against the wall near a corner stacked with assault rifles. She wondered fleetingly if the assault rifles were loaded.

“The silver plate.”

“Taxco. You may pick it up.”

She walked to the corner and knelt down and picked up the plate. When she straightened she again unwrapped the shawl and she felt the cool fresh air on her skin. My skin. The skin he will take. The plate was perfect cover, but she could not make her free hand move to the gun.

“I’ll take this,” he said, picking up a silver candlestick that had rubies and the patina of history upon it. “Come now.”

He led her from the room and down a hallway she didn’t recognize, and she saw the lepers’ quarters neat and organized. The lepers mostly ignored them but some looked up and acknowledged their benefactor, and Erin saw that some of their faces were untouched and others incomplete and there were missing fingers and missing hands and feet and a stillness about them that suggested preoccupation of the highest order.

She followed him down the outside stairway and into the courtyard and he pushed open the sun-gate. He had been right, Erin saw—even in the moonlight the stainless steel shone hopefully. With the candlestick in one hand he led her across the sandy road and onto a jungle trail that wound through the trees.

The trail to the cenote, she thought. Where Bradley would be waiting the day after tomorrow to steal her away from here. Then they could get word to Charlie. And he could do whatever he needed to leave this place alive. Money or not, she thought. The money wouldn’t matter. It was like God himself was showing her the way so she couldn’t miss it. A rehearsal. The day after tomorrow!

The trail was easy to follow because it was white and the jungle was close and dark. She felt the smooth touch of the sea grape leaves and the tickle of ficus and she heard the shallow crunch of her shoes on the sand and the steps of the man up ahead. The trail branched once to the left then once to the right, as on Bradley’s map. They climbed a slight hill and the path went left again and then it ended in a wide flat clearing. In the middle of the clearing was an almost perfectly round body of black water. It shimmered in the heavy air, a ribbon of moonlight across its center.

Just like on the map, she thought. I am here. I will be here in two days and we will escape.

“It is very deep,” he said. “Thirty meters. The water comes up from
the ground century after century. The Maya used it for drinking and irrigation and for sacrifice. The sacrificed person would be weighted with stone and jewels and gold and silver so the offering was more valuable to the gods. The gringo who built the Castle used breathing devices to remove some of the treasure. He did not want to sell it or give it to the government, so he buried it near the guard house. My workers discovered it when they dug a new trench for the sanitation system of the Castle.”

“The statues and calendars and plates.”

“And the chains of gold.”

“The lepers watch over it.”

“But I try to add to the treasure, not to take away from it. I like to make it grow. I like to multiply the sacrifice. I have thrown kilos and kilos of the treasure back into this cenote. And not only the original treasure, but gold watches and diamond rings and gold-plated pistols. The WBA welterweight belt belonging to Manny Mendez is down there. And the super-lightweight belt of Julio Serro. There is a gold-top Les Paul guitar once belonging to Carlos Santana that I purchased for a great price. There is a microphone used by Bonnie Raitt that I bought also. There are many Cartier and Rolex and Patek watches that have been paid to me. And one yellow Corvette that belonged to a beautiful American outlaw I admired. All in the water now.”

“Why?”

“For balance.”

Armenta stepped closer to the ring of black water and he flung the silver candlestick high into the air. Erin saw the faint turn of it in the moonlight then heard the splash. She tried to draw the Defender, but her will was not enough. She watched the rings expand across the water. And she realized that in spite of the fact that he was evil and she was not, he was the stronger here and now. In spite
of all the life she had to give, and all the life he had taken, he was the stronger for it.

“Throw in the plate,” he said.

She held the plate in both hands, testing its weight and balance, then reached back and unleashed it like a flying disc. It sailed briefly then sliced into the water and was gone.

“Good,” he said.

“Yes.”

“There is bad news about Charlie Bravo.”

She felt her anger spike and her exhaustion return, but she said nothing.

“He was difficult to understand on the telephone. Evidently he became lost in Mexico. He mistook Monterey for Merida and now the hurricane has closed the highways. So he cannot be here on the agreed day. Of course, he cannot get on an airplane with such money. He begged for your life.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Mrs. McKenna, I have never in my life been untruthful to a promise.”

“So, on that day you kill me.”

He looked at her for a long moment but his back was to the lowering moon and she couldn’t see his face. “However I am now willing to negotiate with you.”

“So, negotiate.”

“I will give Charlie Bravo one additional day to get here if you will write and record the song. It is to be about me and this time and place in which we live.”

“I’ve never written a song in three days.”

“The studio would be yours.”

“The greatest
narcocorrido
ever written. In three days.”

“Yes.”

“What if I fail? What if you don’t like it?”

“I ask for a work of your heart. Not for the heart itself.”

“Or you take my skin.”

He nodded as if annoyed. “Maybe you would like to walk from your room to the studio when you desire. Then go back to your room when you desire to go. You would have Owens to be your escort for these small journeys. And perhaps this freedom would help you write.”

Erin felt emotions trying to form—hope, joy, gratitude, exultation. But they were only partial, still paralyzed by her fear. One more day to live was one more day to escape. One more day for Bradley to get here, if he was having any trouble at all. Take the day, girl. “You leave me no choice. Yes.”

“I am very pleased. We shall now celebrate with a very good dinner. You will tell me about being a girl in Texas. And I will tell you about being a boy in Veracruz. Did you know that Veracruz means true cross? Because Cortez landed there on Good Friday in fifteen-nineteen. Four hundred and ninety-three years ago—the first European city in Mexico. Cortez brought flamenco and
folklorico
and violins and cellos and guitarons! Or, perhaps these came later. We will talk and talk and talk. Then you will begin the writing.”

T
HE NEXT MORNING
H
OOD WALKED
through the lobby of the Merida Hyatt Regency, then into the growing heat of the city. Twenty-four hours in Merida and nothing, he thought. Didn’t Armenta want his cool million? The thought crossed his mind that Armenta may be playing him like a starting pitcher, letting him go as long as he needed before bringing in the closer—the
sicarios
would just swarm in, take the money and kill him once and for all. He was in the heart of the Gulf Cartel’s turf, at Armenta’s mercy.

He lost himself in the sidewalk crowd and called up to Luna again. Then he went to the street corner and bought another cup of iced coffee from a vendor and walked back the way he had come, past the lobby, to the next intersection. He stood and watched the cars and trucks go by. He bought a pack of gum off a cart. Merida was a colonial city but the hotel was in the newer financial district. Ivana had trampled the northeast and now the weather was hot and humid. There were still downed trees and power lines and a shortage of fresh water in parts of the city but Merida was back to business so far as Hood could see.

He took his time walking back to the lobby, where he got another newspaper and tried to remain obvious and approachable. He got his
boots shined and ate breakfast in the hotel cafe while he tried to read the paper. The satellite phone buzzed on his hip.

“Has he called? Where are you?” asked Bradley.

“Hold.” Hood pocketed the phone and went into the men’s room, bolting himself in a private stall at the far end of the row. “Merida. Nothing from Armenta. Silence.”

“Wednesday’s the payday, Charlie. Day after tomorrow. You can’t stall out in Merida.”

“I can’t just show up at the Castle, either. I’m not supposed to know where she is, remember? He’d kill me on principle, and probably her too. Where are you?”

“Close to her. Two-point-four miles of jungle away. I got in yesterday. I’m a gringo fisherman staying at the Hotel Laguna in Bacalar. Cleary is my fishing bud and Caroline Vega is his girlfriend. We’ve got a rental car and a rental motorboat and tackle for tomorrow. For tarpon fishing off Cayo Lobos, you know? But if Erin can hit her mark, the four of us will be across the Bacalar Lagoon and headed for the airport in Chetumal. We’ve got Fidel and his men for protection. We’ll be in the air about the time Armenta knows she’s missing. Now, if something happens to me or she can’t get away to find me, that leaves you one day to get the money to him. You’re the clean-up hitter, Charlie. If you can’t deliver, we’ll have to use force.”

“Where are Fidel and the men?”

“Camped in the jungle between here and her. We were ambushed in Campeche. Five dead. Nineteen of us left. They’ve got food, water, guns, and ammo. They’re ready if all else fails, Charlie.”

“Don’t storm the Castle.”

“I will if I have to. What else can I do? Tell me.”

Hood considered. If something went wrong on Tuesday, and Armenta didn’t bring Hood to the Castle with payment on Wednesday,
as agreed, what other choice was there? “If it comes to that, you’ve got two more guns.”

Bradley was silent for a beat. “You really do love me, don’t you?”

“Call me when you have her and I’ll try to get back to the United States with your money. If I don’t hear from you or Armenta tomorrow, I’ll be at the Hotel Laguna before sunrise, day after. And we’ll break her out.”

“We’ve got three chances, Charlie. Only one needs to work.”

“I’m hoping for door number one.”

“So am I. Erin and I could be on a jet for LAX by tomorrow morning.”

“If you are, give her my regards.”

“Casita four.” Bradley hung up.

Hood put the phone in his pocket and walked back to his table. He glanced at the newspaper on the table before him, asked for another cup of coffee. The waiter brought the coffee and the check without Hood having to ask for it, which was unusual in Mexico. A muscular man in running sweats walked casually into the room, carrying a leather messenger’s pouch. He came toward him and Hood wondered if his luck had just changed.