DARK BLISS (Dangerous Games,) (5 page)

“Now days, most Chinese are like us,” said Ricardo. “Chinese by birth but Mexican in every other way.”

“Hear me play!” said Rosa, running to a piano in the corner of the living room and banging out Mozart. I sat down to listen while Maria pirouetted. Ensconced in the midst of this happy, loving family the horror of the morning day seemed distant and unreal.

A
rt got
up from the table and went to the front door, gesturing for Rock to join him. They stepped out in the warm night air. The two lit cigarettes and Art studied the street. “Fellow came around last week, asking about you,” he said.

Rock
stiffened. “What sort of fellow?”

“American. Maybe thirty years old, dressed like a tourist but he was no tourist.
Way he talked, sounded to me like a cop of some kind. Like what he really wanted to do was interrogate me but had to be polite.”

“What did he want?”

“Wanted to know if I’d seen you lately. Said no, I hadn’t. Wanted to know if I knew how to get in touch with you. Said no, I didn’t. Said he was with that company or agency or whatever it was that you used to work for. He handed me some horseshit about an insurance claim that had been settled. Wanted to give you a big check. He knew a lot about you, Rock, even down to what kind of bike you ride. You in trouble?”

“I am if they find me. He
may really be with them. They wouldn’t be trying to locate me if everything was peachy.”

“And if he’s not?”

“In that case he only wants to kill me. What I used to do, I made enemies.”

“He left a card.” Art got out his wallet and handed it to Rock. It said:

Walter
N. Turner

D
.A.R.C.A.A.L.C.N.

909-5535-1306

[email protected]

Rock read the card and then tore it into small pieces, tossing them to the night wind. “That all?”

“No, I think he left watchers too. Like I said, he knew a lot about you, probably
figured you’d show up here in a couple of weeks like usual.” He smiled. “Though this is the first time you’ve brought somebody. Seems like a nice girl, little young maybe.”

“She w
as in trouble, might still be. She lost her papers. I’m taking her to the consulate, for pay of course.”

“I see.”

“This is just a job.”

“Of course.”

“What about the watchers?”

“Well, I don’t have your
training so I can’t be absolutely positive, but I keep an eye on my street. We’re downtown. There’s always guys hanging out, killing time on the corner. But not the
same
guys, day after day.”

“Professionals?”

“Oh no, just locals. Couple of kids about Arturo’s age.”

“Maybe that’s all they are, boys with time on their hands.”

“I don’t think so. They work in shifts. One from late morning to mid-afternoon, then the other takes over until we close. There doesn’t seem to be a night shift. You showed up about ten minutes after we’d locked the doors. He might have already gone home.”

Rock put out his cigarette. “Or not.” He clapped his friend on the arm. “Thanks, Art.”

“Thought you’d want to know. Would have called you if I
did
know how to reach you. You’re a little paranoid, you know?”

“
Won’t deny it. When I was in the sand box—”

“Sand box?”

“What we called Afghanistan. Over there, you get in the habit of being paranoid or you get hurt.”

“That was years ago, amigo.”

“Yeah but, well, in my line of work, it was useful there too. Problem is, it’s a tough habit to break. Art, I’m sorry but we’ve got to go. I want to keep maximum distance between me and whoever’s looking for me.” The two went inside.

T
he twins
were halfway through their recital when Rock appeared. I patted the sofa for him to join me. Instead, he gestured for me to get up. I rose, not a little puzzled. He began to applaud loudly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, girls, but we have to go.”

Rosa and Marie wailed in protest. So did I. “What for? I want to stay!”

“Something’s come up,” he said tersely.

My hand went to my mouth in alarm. He shook his head. “No, not that. Something else. We need to leave.
Now.” He took my hand and pulled me toward the stairs. Arturo and Ricardo came in, adding their voices to the chorus of complaint.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Rock apologized. “I really am. Can’t be helped. I’ll be back soon as I can. Bike rides for everyone
!” He hurried me down the stairs. There were rushed hugs and farewells with Art and Min and another kiss for Señora García, who charmed me by demanding one from me as well. As we walked to the door, Tiffany jumped on Rock’s back, saying that either
he
stayed or
she
was going with us. Art reached around her waist and pulled the girl off.

“What’s this about?” I said as we got on the motorcycle.

“Can’t say exactly. Art said someone was asking about me. Nothing to do with you.”

“Are you in danger?”

“Doubt it. Mostly danger of being pulled back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Like I said, it hasn’t anything to do with you.”

“But do we have to leave right away?”

“Afraid so.”

“And what about the hotel? My
bath
?”

“Can’t be helped. Sorry.” The engine came to life and we pulled out of the parking lot. The
García family stood in the doorway, waving as we passed. I waved back sadly. Passing through Ciudad Flores’ downtown, I spotted what was undoubtedly the hotel, a charming three-story structure that must have been a least a hundred years old, with columns and cornices and French balconies. It had been painted recently, a lovely pale rose, the window ledges done in the aqua blue I saw so often in Mexico.

I suppressed a sigh. It was cozy and romantic and we were
forgoing it and a lovely evening with a loving family because of what I began to think was Rock’s ongoing paranoia. He was a man of contradictions. The jovial uncle who hugged children and told stories had vanished, replaced by the brusque man of action. Grateful as I was to that man, I found myself acutely missing the other.

M
ile
after mile of highway rolled beneath us. I couldn’t say how long or far we traveled but headlights became fewer and eventually the only things on the road were Rock’s motorcycle and the big tractor-trailers. The night enveloped all the vehicles like an ocean, broad and deep, as we made our way through the dark, a minnow among whales.

Tired and
full, clutching Rock’s back, I drifted from time to time into a kind of daze, lulled by the hum of traffic and rushing wind. I woke from one of these to find we had left the highway and were pulling into the parking lot of a motel, a big one, crowded with trucks of every kind and size.

“We’ll spend the night here,” he announced
as he climbed off. I followed him into the motel office, not liking what I saw on the way. The sprawling two-story structure was seedy and badly in need of a paint job, its few trash cans jammed to overflowing. Despite the hour, small clusters of truckers in sweaty undershirts were gathered here and there, drinking beer and talking loudly.

The office was
unswept and its cheap paneling had begun to warp. The bored young clerk eyed me and smirked, but his expression turned to bafflement when Rock said he wanted a room for each of us: first floor, side by side. The clerk told him the best he could do was two on the second floor. Rock scowled and took them.

We went back to the m
otorcycle and drove until we were as close to our rooms as we could get, several trucks preventing Rock from parking directly beneath them. He wasn’t happy about that. “I like to keep that bike close. It’s worth a lot of money.”

My room was what I expected,
cramped and drab with fake wood furniture that was vinyl veneer on top, fiberboard underneath. The sheets were clean but the mattress on my bed had been pounded thin by years of hard use. There was of course no bathtub but at least there was a shower, although one with cracked tile.

The
place was stuffy and Rock dialed the thermostat so that cool air began to flow into the space. “I don’t want you going outside for any reason,” he instructed, now in full drill sergeant mode. “If you need me, knock on the wall.”

“What if you don’t hear me?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll hear you. And you’ll hear
me
, also whoever’s on the other side of you.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s one o’clock. I want to be on the road by eight at the latest. Any questions?”

I sprang to attention and saluted. “No,
sir!
”

He frowned and then the frown eased into something not exactly a smile but a close relation. “
Point taken. We’re not in-country and you’re not some grunt under my command. I can be a little abrupt, especially when I’m nervous and I’m going to be nervous until I see you safe in the American consulate. Anyway, nervous is better than careless. Careless can get you kil– in trouble. See you in the morning.”

He turned and walked out. No parting hug, not even a handshake. I shook my head at my earlier notion of a romantic night at that darling little hotel. What
was
I thinking?

I shucked my clothes, took a shower and washed
the grit out of my hair. I rubbed conditioner into it and let it air dry. I put on my white cotton nightgown with the Mexican floral embroidery around the neck. My fingernails were dirty and two were broken. I worked on them for a while, then brushed my hair.

I in
spected myself in the bathroom mirror. I saw a red-haired woman with long Pre-Raphaelite waves. (All right, I’m vain but my hair is my best feature and it
does
look like the flowing tresses on those Arthurian maidens the Victorians loved to paint.) The woman in the mirror was fair-skinned with blue eyes that were nice enough but ordinary, not the kind of deep ocean-blue that a lover could fall into and never surface. Her nose was thin and long, not too big, thank God, but not cute or pert. She had okay lips, the top one too thin and the bottom too fat but on balance they passed. Her second-best feature was her chin, which was as delicately pointed as Audrey Hepburn’s. If boys fell for chins instead of eyes, this gal could have had a different date every Saturday.

Moving from her face to her body, s
he was on the tall side with breasts a little on the small side. Her waist was nicely slender but her hips too thin to make waves in a bathing suit. Overall, I’d give her an eight, oh hell, eight-point-five. That’s 8.5 out of a possible 10, not going to go home with the gold but a respectable showing. Smile for the cameras, Rory.

Oh
, and she had a great smile. Terrific smile, broad and wide with real Pepisdent teeth, shiny and straight and white as snow. Give that girl a 9!

So why didn’t she get even a goodnight kiss from Mr. Call-Me-Rock?

I turned out the lights and flopped in bed. Maybe he was gay? That would explain a lot. Mushy inside, soft on kids and grannies but has to hide it by becoming a trained killer. Typical over-compensation. Boasts about chasing girls when he can’t bring himself to touch one. Probably does push-ups every night until he’s too exhausted to think about naked boys.

Poor, tortured man! You’ve done this before, Aurora Constable. Fell for pale, artistic Stephen
Schaeffley your senior year at Boston School of Performing Arts, made him write poetry to you and hold hands in the hallway until he botched a suicide attempt and got his stomach pumped. Do Rock and yourself a favor and accept him for who he is. Stay in touch of course. How could you not? Be his best friend, the one he can confide in. Maybe you can even hook him up with a nice guy. They’ll settle down, open up a little business in an old house on Mulberry Drive: antiques on the first floor, karate classes on the second.

Yup,
I was going crazy, all right. All this went though my mind while I lay in the darkness on my lumpy bed, listening to the snores of my neighbor and the raucous laughter of a group of truckers swilling beer a few doors down. They must be outside. I could hear Rock’s voice among them. Why the hell wasn’t he in his own room?

I got up and dialed the thermostat to coldest, not that I thought it would make much difference. The room was about as cool as a
refrigerator whose door had been open all night. There wasn’t even a fan. I had some bottled water but it had gotten warm.

I must have drifted
off because the next time I looked at the clock it said four o’clock. The room was no cooler and I’d kicked off my sheet. I couldn’t wait to get back to Boston, where it’s never hot or even warm, just sometimes unseasonably temperate. That would be so nice. Back on campus at BU. Back in Richard’s big old mansion with my own suite of rooms. I dreaded telling him what happened. He was already over-protective, worse than my father. Of course, Daddy was old, a little out of it, so maybe Richard thought it was his duty, at least until I got married to some nice, over-protective investment banker like himself.

And then there was Rock, over-protective in his own way,
indifferent in every other way.