The Luck of the Maya. Theodore Brazeau
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there had been any strangling involved, I would have been the stranglee.
Lucy was driving. “Soon,” she said, “It looks like we’re in the clear so far. I didn’t want you to know too much, just in case. Besides, it’s a long story and you probably won’t believe any of it.” I didn’t like the sound of that. Jeb started shifting around the way he does when he’s about to make trouble. I poked him.
Just in case of exactly what, I asked, still gentle. And maybe we would believe it, you never know. “Well, there actually are a couple of minor things I haven’t gone over with you yet. But I will. At the hotel. After dinner.”
Still in gentle mode, I decided to settle for that. Besides I was hungry and dinner sounded good. We pulled in to the parking lot at the Hotel Diligencias just off the Plaza, Veracruz’s best. We checked in separately. Husband and wife for Lucy and me, 15 minutes later a separate tourist persona for a disgruntled Jeb. I wasn’t sure what the husband and wife routine was all about, but it sounded promising.
Dinner was good, huachinango a la veracruzana, the hotel’s favorite and one of mine. We walked to La Parroquia for coffees and beers. La Parroquia is one of my preferred places in that part of the world. It’s open to the street on the square, white tile inside, with several thick white pillars holding up the rest of the building, and has been there for a hundred years, at least. The coffee specialty, café con leche served in thick transparent glasses with constant refills of hot coffee and hot milk, is the best anywhere.
As always in a public place, we chose a table toward the back where we could watch the street for anything unusual. So we were feeling as mellow and relaxed as if we were actual tourists. I supposed Lucy planned it that way, but I didn’t object.
“I’ll start by describing our ‘Item’,” Lucy said, “It is very distinctive looking and is about the size of a baseball, a little bigger”.
“The size of a softball?” Jeb asked.
“Yes, about that size, maybe a little bigger,” she said. “I haven’t seen it, but it has been described to me that way. It looks to be made of solid gold, but can’t be because it is not heavy enough. It is an outer shell of gold and has something else inside it. More on that later.”
“It is carved, or cast, in the shape of a head. A Mayan head complete with the decorations of a king or a god. I don’t know its age or what king or god it would be, but it is ancient. The first firm mention we have is over five thousand years ago and it was ancient even then. Legend has it that it dates from before the start of the former Long Count Calendar. That would put it over ten thousand years ago. Most say it is older than that. Much older, perhaps older than the stars.”
“It is said to be dangerous to touch it. Not directly dangerous—it won’t bite you—but it can change your life in bad ways. Or good ways. But usually bad. It brings luck, and that luck can be bad or it can be good, but the choice isn’t yours. This is the biggest risk in our venture.”
“As to our more immediate concerns, our next move is to get out of here. We will leave early tomorrow morning and we’ll check out about six. I’d like to leave earlier, but it might attract attention. Jeb, you leave about six fifteen. We’ll meet at the docks. There will be a shrimp boat at Muelle 9. ‘Truinfo’ is painted on the front and ‘El Triunfo” on the back.
“Triumph. An optimist, then,” Jeb said.
“He is that, but don’t read too much into it. El Triunfo is the little town the Captain grew up in,” Lucy said. “If I’m not there, tell him my name and your name and when and where you last saw me. Let him take it from there.” The little smile was there, but not enough to panic me.
Then Lucy turned pale. No smile at all now. I’ve seen people turn suddenly pale before, including myself. It is seldom a good sign. “Meet me by the back exit,” she said, “in two minutes.” She headed in the direction of the restrooms, her face turned away from the street entrance.
I had a pretty good idea about what had spooked her. I had been watching the street, too. I always did. Did you see him? I asked Jeb. “Yeah,” he said. “The runty guy in the white sport coat? Looks out of place.” That’s the one, I said. He may be a runt, but he looks mean and dangerous. He’s not from here and he’s not a tourist. He’s walked past twice. I don’t think he spotted Lucy, it’s darker in here, but he might have.
LUCY
We checked into the hotel. Carlos and Jeb were getting antsy about the mission, wanting to know more. I didn’t blame them after what had happened on the highway. I planned to tell them what I could. It wasn’t secret, just difficult to explain, but I’d do the best I could. I had planned to wait until we were safely aboard El Triunfo, but their impatience was getting the better of them.
First, we had supper in the hotel dining room and then went to La Parroquia for drinks. I had started to tell them about the mission when right out on the sidewalk in front of La Parroquia I spotted Macalusa! The Runt himself! Just the sight of him made me choke up with fury! That pendejo had killed Gonzalo!
Much as I wanted to run out there and attack him, I thought I had better use some common sense. For one thing, he was unlikely to be alone. For another, we had more important things to do.
I headed for the lady’s room, did what I could to not look like myself, and went out the back way to the hotel.
CARLOS
We headed for the rest rooms and the back door. Lucy was trembling, not from fear, I thought. From anger. She spoke rapidly. “We meet at Jeb’s room. I’m hoping they don’t know about you two, but they’ll recognize me. Jeb had better leave now, and you stay back five or ten minutes.” She ducked into the ladies room. Jeb popped the back door and disappeared. I pretended to be talking on one of the pay phones in the corridor.
Lucy reappeared from the ‘Damas’. At least I was pretty sure it was Lucy, she looked different. Her hair was up, her lipstick and mascara gone and her clothes somehow looked frumpier. The little reading glasses were a nice touch. With a little finger wave she disappeared through the back door.
I thought I’d wait a minute or two. Then I saw the runt out in the restaurant with another, much larger man. They seemed to be arguing, and then the short man, looking disgusted, headed my way. I didn’t think he would know me, but I turned toward the telephone. To my surprise, he barged into the ladies room.
I heard a shout, then some Spanish language that should not be coming from a nice ladies room. Two young women came running out, giggling and shrieking, followed by my runty friend with a middle-aged señora close on his heels.
She was ruining a fairly nice umbrella on his small head. “Goddam it, lady!” he shouted in English. He may be little, but he could move fast when motivated. Everyone was staring, the waiters, the customers. A policeman on the outer walk seemed to be taking an interest. I heard laughter as I slipped out the back door.
We met in Jeb’s room as planned. I recounted Mr. Runt’s ladies room fiasco and we all had a good, if nervous, laugh at his expense. “He’s not really called Runt,” Lucy said, “at least, not to his face. Not twice. Near as I can figure, his name, or one of them, is Macalusa. He and his buddies are the ones who killed our mutual friends. And my big cousin. Shot them in cold blood and enjoyed it,” she said. The smile, this time with a hint of tears. That certainly explained the anger.
She turned away. “We’d better have a new plan for tomorrow. We’ll leave earlier, and take the car. Jeb will drive and cruise around to make sure we’re not followed. You and I will keep our heads down, and we’ll wind up on Muelle 9.”
“It could be a coincidence that those people are here in Veracruz, but I don’t think so. They’re after our ‘Item’ themselves and might come this way anyway, but I think they were looking for me. They knew our travel route out of Nuevo Laredo. They knew the truck. That confirms there’s a leak at the Houston end. Damn.”
We asked for information and now we’re getting it, I thought. Good but not good.