Wraiths of the Broken Land (15 page)

“The capital for your hotels came from this candy store?” Gris sipped carmine fluid from the tiny inverted bell.

“My fiancé’s uncle loaned us the capital for the first hotel, and its success begat the subsequent structures,” replied Nathaniel, aware that good lies did not require this much exposition.

“A sizable loan for a risky venture, a burgeoning business and a lovely Mexican wife.” Gris raised his tiny glass and saluted. “You are a very fortunate man.”

“I am fulfilled.” The lying gringo drank from his glass of scotch. “I would like for you to know that Catacumbas contains several very secure and well-guarded vaults if ever you seek a place to deposit some of your rapidly growing wealth outside of America.”

“I shall keep that in mind.” (Nathaniel would be certain to tell the Plugfords that there existed additional guards within the catacombs.)

A shadow slid across the rose rug, directly in-between the two gentlemen.

“Perdón.”

Nathaniel looked up and saw Ubaldo.

“The gringa womens are watered and pleased to meet you.”

“Gracias.”

The proprietor motioned toward the dark catacomb portals. “Please do repair.”

“I shall.” The gringo rose from the divan.

Gris stood and shook Nathaniel’s right hand. “Have a fulfilling evening, Señor Weston.” The Spaniard lifted the lid that covered his bad eye, revealing a jagged gray rock, which was gripped by thin red strands that were either muscles or nerves. “Buenas noches.”

“Buenas noches.”

Gris withdrew his hand and covered over the stone in his face.

Nathaniel turned, followed Ubaldo toward the passageway and for the first time since his journey had begun, felt that Kathleen, his half-erected hotel, Leesville and all of the New Mexico Territory were far too close to Mexico.

Chapter X
I Was

“You talk with Gris,” Ubaldo said as he strode toward the southernmost portal on the west wall. “He a good man. His words very valuable.”

“Very valuable,” Nathaniel Stromler mindlessly echoed.

“He has five sons. No girl childrens—only boys. This is impressive, no?”

“Certainly.”

“He do a ceremony in the temple to have only the boy childrens.”

“Oh?” Nathaniel did not know what this meant, but was too preoccupied to ask for any further explanation.

The duo entered a descending torch-illumined hallway, where petrified wood and ochre stones withheld the crushing weight of the surrounding soil. A troglodyte with ugly wooden sandals and a dark head that was shaped like a coconut walked from the opposite side of the passage and passed by Nathaniel and Ubaldo. He smelled like fish guts.

The man with the wooden nose glanced at the gringo. “You would like to see first the one with blonde hairs or the one with red hairs and no left foot?”

“It does not matter. I intend to see them both before I make any decision.”

“I will take you first to the blonde hairs gringa.”

Nathaniel, following Ubaldo, neared an ensconced torch, and cool air blew upon his nape and excited the flames. Puzzled by the chill current, he looked up at the ceiling,

“There are holes of air in some walls,” explained the man with the wooden nose.

“I was told that the rooms were completely private,” remarked Nathaniel, perturbedly. “I do not want people listening to my assignations.”

Ubaldo stopped and turned around. “Of course, Señor Weston. You have the complete privacy. Do not you worry.”

The gringo motioned for his escort to proceed.

Presently, the duo arrived at a low entranceway upon the south wall. Nathaniel removed his stovepipe hat and followed Ubaldo onto a descending stairwell, wherein candles, nestled inside of cubbyholes, radiated amber light and the scents of flowers. An ambitious lock of the gringo’s lank blonde hair was snagged by a ceiling stone and jerked his head back. He pulled most of the twine free and continued down the steps, silently cursing.

Ubaldo landed upon the torch-illumined lower level and veered to the right. A moment later, Nathaniel exited the stairwell and strode into the middle of a finite passage, where wooden doors, braced by thick iron, sat upon the north and south walls.

“This part was the prison when the natives builted it.”

“That is apparent.”

Ubaldo walked to the farthest door on the north wall, inserted a key into its lock and twisted his fist. Metal groaned and torches quivered. The bolt clacked, reverberant.

“I show the blonde hairs.” The man with the wooden nose opened the door and motioned for the gringo to walk inside.

It seemed as if the moment of identification had finally arrived, and Nathaniel, hopeful that his ordeal might soon end, strode into the darkness. The cloying smells of flowers, cinnamon and vanilla filled his nostrils. Behind him, the door closed, but remained unlocked.

“I will return in ten minutes,” Ubaldo said from outside the cell, “and take you to see the other.”

“Gracias.”

Nathaniel’s eyes adjusted to the dim radiance of the candles that were nestled within the far wall. In the bed beside the tiny flames laid a blonde woman. Her lean body was draped by a diaphanous rose negligee, and upon her angular face, within symmetrical gray craters, were two wet black slits that were her eyes.

Deeply unsettled, the gentleman cleared his throat and located his voice. “Hello.”

The woman stared.

Nathaniel walked across the stones, toward the piteous being whom he did not yet recognize as either Plugford sister. The woman’s face and arms were covered over by powder, and her neck looked as if it were made of cables. Jutting sharply against the fabric of her negligee were two sharp triangles that were her hipbones.

“I am sorry,” whispered the gentleman, as if he must apologize for the odious gender to which he belonged. “I am so very sorry.” His eyes began to sting.

The woman clasped Nathaniel’s hand, tilted her head back and smiled hideously. “If you get me medicine,” she said with an enervated voice, “you can do anything you want to me. Beat me. Sodomize me. Strangle me. Anything.”

Nathaniel had never believed in a higher power, and now he felt as if he looked at irrefutable proof of His absence. He was horrified, unable to respond.

“Please,” the woman pleaded, “I need it.” The segmented bones that were her fingers tightened. “It’s been two days and I’m dying.”

The tall gentleman from Michigan found his voice and knelt beside the bed. “I have something to ask you,” he whispered, “but you must answer me quietly so that Ubaldo does not hear.”

The emaciated being was silent.

“Are you Yvette Plugford?”

The woman released the gentleman’s hand and stared forward, frightened.

“Are you Yvette Plugford?” Nathaniel quietly repeated.

“I…I was.”

The gentleman assumed that the woman’s ‘medicine’ had confused her, and so he restated his question. “Is your name Yvette Plugford?”

“It’s Yvette Upfield now—I got married back when I was twenty-three.”

Nathaniel did not recall Brent ever mentioning that either sister had a husband.

Yvette sat upright. “How do you know who I am?”

“Please speak quietly—I do not want anybody to hear our conversation.”

“Okay.” The skeletal woman was trembling.

“Your father and brothers hired me,” said Nathaniel. “They are going to rescue you.”

Yvette’s bleary eyes brightened and sparkled. “Thank you Jesus.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Thank you Lord.”

Nathaniel desperately hoped that the Plugford crew could save this poor woman.

“I wonder if…” Yvette looked down at herself and rearranged her negligee. “I wonder if they’ll even recognize me now.” She covered her emaciated legs with a blanket. “Maybe they won’t want me back.”

Nathaniel took her cold hands in-between his palms. “They want you.”

“How come my husband didn’t come with them?”

“I am uncertain why he is absent.”

“Samuel C. Upfield IV doesn’t want a ruined woman is why.” Yvette withdrew her hands.

“Brent, Stevie and your father are coming, and all of them love you dearly.”

“They need to get Dolores too,” Yvette remarked, “I think she’s in here.”

“They shall rescue her as well.”

“Should you get on top of me so Ubaldo doesn’t get suspicious?”

Nathaniel was horrified by the idea.

“I see that you don’t want to be with some used up whore.” Yvette lowered her gaze.

“You are a very beautiful woman,” Nathaniel explained, “but I need to visit your sister and let her know about the rescue.”

“I should probably take my clothes off so that Ubaldo can see you had a look.”

Although Nathaniel was uneasy with this idea, he recognized that it had some merit. “Go ahead.” He rose from beside the bed, turned his back to the woman and heard the soft rustling of fabric. The moment the noises stopped, he became extraordinarily uncomfortable.

“You can peek if you want,” said Yvette, employing a girlish voice. “I won’t tell Pa or my brothers.”

Nathaniel neither responded to the invitation nor turned around. For three long minutes, he stared at the door while his beating heart marked the chill progress of sweat droplets down his scalp, skull, nape and spine.

“You need to get me some medicine,” Yvette said, “and we need to get Henry, the circus dog.”

A knock sounded upon the door.

“¿Señor Weston?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to see the other gringa or are you wanting to stay here for some time?”

“I would like to see the other one.”

The door withdrew from the wall and revealed Ubaldo, who stood in the hallway, holding a small purple box in his hands. Nathaniel exited the room.

“You like this gringa?”

“I am pondering some possibilities.”

The man with the wooden nose locked the door and scratched the stitches that held his false proboscis in place. “We have—what is English word for equipaje?”

“Equipment.”

“We have equipment.”

Nathaniel did not ask the man to elucidate his statement.

“Come follow.” Ubaldo led the gentleman toward the westernmost door on the south wall. “The red hairs is more stronger, but the foot.”

It was not easy for Nathaniel to feign licentious enthusiasm.

The man with the wooden nose inserted a bronze key and twisted his fist. Lock tumblers groaned, and a bolt clacked. “I hope you like.” He pulled the door wide and inclined his head toward the dark interior.

Nathaniel walked inside a candlelit room. Behind him, the door closed, but remained unlocked.

“Are you American?” asked the figure who laid upon the bed. The candles in the adjacent cubbyholes threw light upon the woman’s rose corset, folded hands and round hips, but her face was in shadow and her legs were secreted beneath a blanket.

“I am an American,” Nathaniel said as he strode across the stones.

The woman leaned forward. Candlelight divined her high forehead, sleepy eyes, upturned nose and Teutonic jaw from the darkness, and it was immediately clear to Nathaniel that she was Brent’s twin sister. The air around her smelled like wine.

“Take it easy on me,” the redheaded woman requested, “I’ve had five others tonight.” She shifted her legs beneath the blanket and drew long red curls behind her ears.

Nathaniel put his index finger to his lips. “We need to speak quietly,” he whispered, “I am—”

“Why? You gonna rescue me?” The woman’s voice was loud and hostile.

“Please speak quietly—”

“No. I played this game before. There was a Englishman who told me he was gonna rescue me, get me outta here, in exchange for certain acts I’m not s’possed to do with clients. And I did them—all of them—but here I am, five months later, lookin’ at you.” The woman pulled a bottle of wine from the wall and paused. “You ever had your mouth and nostrils filled up with excrement?”

Nathaniel had no reply.

“Keep your stupid games.” The embittered woman uncorked the bottle and drank wine that looked like blood. “You can fuck me regular—just don’t talk any of that goddamn Mr. Rescuer stuff.” She jammed the cork into the neck, tamped the cylinder down and replaced the bottle inside of a cubbyhole.

Nathaniel clapped his hand to the woman’s mouth and whispered, “Your name is Dolores Plugford. Brent, Stevie and your father John Lawrence sent me to find you.”

Hot air shot from the woman’s nostrils, and her bloodshot eyes filled with fear and confusion.

“I am going to release you,” the gentleman said, “but please mind your volume.”

Into Nathaniel’s palm, Dolores mumbled, “Okay. I will.”

The gentleman uncovered the woman’s mouth and sat beside her upon the bed.

“Maybe you learned them names somehow,” Dolores hypothesized, “to trick me like that other.”

“For what purpose? I have not asked you to do anything.”

The woman ruminated for a moment. “No. You haven’t.” She drew her knees against her corset and hugged her covered shins.

“I came only to identify you for your family. I can proffer descriptions of them if you would like some assurances that—”

“No.” The woman’s suspicious face softened. “I believe you.” Dolores looked up from her knees and into Nathaniel’s eyes. “It ain’t easy to trust a strange man at this juncture—but you seem true honest.”

“I promise that—”

The lock groaned, and the bolt clacked.

Nathaniel’s stomach sank. He looked at the door and inquired, “Does Ubaldo typically employ the bolt when you have a client?”

“Not usually.”

Needles climbed up the gentleman’s spine like a caterpillar.

“Yvette’s here too—they need to get her.”

“I already spoke with her,” replied Nathaniel, preoccupied by the locked door.

“What’d you tell her?” Dolores’s voice was sharp.

“I told her precisely what I told you. That your family is coming to rescue—”

Dolores swatted Nathaniel’s shoulder. “You’re a fool! Couldn’t you see how she was?”

The gentleman did not at all understand the woman’s sudden anger. “I saw.”

“She’s addled—a dependent,” explained Dolores. “They get your mind that way and you’d cut your own mama’s throat for another shot.” Tears filled her eyes. “I bet she already told him everything!”

Nathaniel was nauseated. “Jesus Christ.” His terrible blunder might cost him and all of the Plugfords their lives.

“You dumb fool!” Dolores slapped the gentleman’s neck and face as if she were attempting to kill a fly. “You goddamn fool!” Tears dripped from her lower eyelashes. “You have any idea what you done? What they’re goin’ to do my family and you also?”

“I have some ideas.”

Nathaniel’s stomach began to revolt. He stood, stumbled toward the door and shuddered. A violent paroxysm seized his body, and he expelled a bitter greenish-brown variation of Patch Up’s rabbit, grouse, potato, carrot and turnip stew onto the stones. Sweat streamed down his face, burned his eyes, soaked his tarnished mustache and dripped from the dangling twines of his blonde hair into the puddle of excreta. The stooped gentleman’s neck and face stung from Dolores’s assault, and his right inner ear sang a high pitch.

A bolt clacked, and the lock groaned.

The door opened.

Nathaniel looked up.

Standing in the doorway and twirling a syringe in his right hand was the man with the wooden nose. He pointed the needle at the puddle of vomit upon the floor, looked at the bent gentleman and remarked, “It looks like your belly has room for scorpions.”