Take the Money: Romantic Suspense in Costa Rica (10 page)

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Carlos’ chest heaving with suppressed laughter, but he was so sure they were about to crash he didn’t care what the asshole thought. A baby screamed as the plane hit the ground and jerked a couple of times before coming to a grinding halt.

The minute they walked into the airport, they stopped for beer. Cody had downed three to Carlos’ one before they got through customs. 

“Hey man, better watch it.  You’re liable to barf that up.”

“Shit. Take more’n three beers to make me sick.”  Cody gritted his teeth so hard his jaws ached. Goddamn Carlos thought he was a hotshot just because he was used to flying back and forth to Puerto Rico.  Cody’s fingers itched. Without his switch-blade, he felt like he’d had his arm chopped off--weak and defenseless.  Soon as they hit the streets in San Jose, he’d pick up what he needed and then they’d see who had the upper hand. 

Right now, he had to depend on Carlos to navigate their way through this bewildering maze of foreigners. When they finally got outside, they hit a wall of short dark men waving placards, jostling with each other for access to a fresh carload of tourists.  Carlos bartered for the best offer and they followed a skinny old man with a face like a walnut to a battered taxi at the end of the parking lot.

After Carlos asked the cab driver to find a cheap place, they ended up in a small pink stucco building with chipped paint and broken windows.  Their room at the end of the hall had two narrow cots with dirty torn sheets and thin blankets but it didn’t matter, they wouldn’t be there long.  A Nicaraguan street vendor sold them two turquoise handled knives.

The neighborhood looked like it housed the same kind of low life’s that hung out along the Wabash River, except everyone had dark skin, black hair and brown eyes.  Smelled different, too.  Funky. Like rotten garbage and outhouses with their own peculiar mixture of shit.   Hot moist air pressed down, and the rash on Cody’s face began to swell and itch.   Damned meth did that. Having to sleep in the same place he cooked it.  He had his eye on a big house in the country, but that took money--money that had been stolen from him and that he now intended to get back. There was no time to waste. He’d made up his mind to something else, too. Julie Lawson was never coming back to Indiana.

Carlos asked around and found out the place where all the gringos hung out was in downtown San Jose. The Memphis South seemed like a good place to start.  Both of them felt at home right away.  With the country music, rowdy beer drinkers, and half-dressed women, they might just as well have been sitting at the Red Bandanna back in Lewiston.  And best of all, the broad who ran the place knew what a boiler maker was. 

Cody felt like his old self. He fingered the new knife in his pocket and decided it was time to get down to business. “Let’s talk to some of these guys and show them those pictures,” he suggested.

Carlos moved his palm back and forth in front of Cody's face.  “Calm down, man.  What’s the hurry?”

“The hurry is that this here trip is costing me money.  Every minute.  I’m the one that’s paying the bills here, not you.”

Carlos placed his hands on the rough wooden tabletop and leaned forward, talking through clenched teeth.  “You want information, it takes a little diplomacy. And you have to be willing to pay.”

“How much?”

“A couple of dollars and a free drink might do it.  But we have to be careful.  Somebody might tip her off that we’re looking for her.”

Carlos signaled the waiter for more drinks. “We need to act like we’re just a couple of gringos on vacation.  Get the burr out of your ass. I know this is going to be difficult,
Amigo
, but try to pretend you’re down here to have a good time. Then let me handle the rest.”

Carlos saw group of men two tables away knew the names of the waitress and called across the room to some of the other customers. “Probably regulars,” he said.  Carlos and Cody moved to the table next to them when it emptied.  The men were talking college football.

“You guys from Nebraska?”  Carlos asked.

“Nah,” one of the older ones with thin white hair hanging down his neck turned and gave them a quick glance, then returned to his conversation.  No one else looked their way.

Carlos waited a few minutes and tried a different approach.  He scooted his chair back so that his head was inches away from another man who seemed to have consumed too many Cuba Libras, from the look in his bloodshot eyes.  “Hey buddy, we’re looking for a little action.  Any suggestions?”

The man seemed more willing to talk than his friend did.  “What kind of action?  Whores or gambling?  Plenty of both.  Where you guys from?”

“Indiana.”

“Hoosiers.” The man slurred the word, dragging out the O’s and bobbing his head.  “You’re a long way from home.  What’s your business?”

“We’re looking for a friend of ours from home, an American girl.  We hear she’s hanging out down here.” Carlos said.

“Alone?”

“Well, she came alone.”

“Why?  She one of those missionaries?” 

Carlos gave the man a sly grin, his white teeth gleaming under the strobe lights in the darkened room. “Do we look like the kind who’d be looking for a missionary?” He signaled the waitress. “How about if I buy you guys a drink?”

“Sure.” 

Carlos reached in his back pocket and produced the pictures of Julie they’d taken from her bedroom. “You know this chick?” he asked. The drunk picked up the pictures and held them to the light, capturing the attention of his companions. Conversation halted as the pictures were slowly passed around the table. One man squinted and mumbled something, and Carlos saw the guy next to him poke him in the ribs. The others didn’t open their mouths.

“So, none of you have seen this lady,” Carlos said in English.

The response to his question was an innocent chorus of “no’s.”

Carlos pressed his fingertips together for a moment and shrugged. “No big deal. We’ll probably catch up with her somewhere.”

Someone said, “If she’s such a good friend, how come you don’t know where she’s staying?”             

Carlos ignored the question and stood up, signaling for Cody to finish his drink. “
Hasta Luego,
” he called over his shoulder.  “We need some fresh air.”

Cody gulped down the last of his drink and followed Carlos outside.  “Why’d you leave like that?” he demanded. “ I think those guys did recognize her.”

“I think so too, otherwise they wouldn’t have kept so quiet. But they weren’t about to tell us.  It doesn’t matter, she’s around somewhere close.  It won’t take long to find a hungry Tico who's willing to sell some information.”

“Like who?”

Carlos lowered his head and snapped his fingers.  “Think, my friend.  Did you get a good look at the waiters?”

“The waiters?  Why would they tell us anything?”

“How much money do you think they make?”

Cody scratched his face, thinking. “Five bucks an hour?”

“You kidding?  How much was your drink?”

“ I can’t figure out this foreign money.  That’s what I’m paying you for.”

“Okay, then you’ll have to trust me. I’m telling you those guys in there are going to pass the word that someone’s looking for Julie. We’ll wait around until that bunch of drunks leave. Then, we go back in and talk to the waiters and offer them a little
dinero.
Meanwhile, it looks like there’s plenty of action here on the streets.”

Carlos nodded at two young girls strolling by. Their tank tops and skinny pants were so tight they could barely walk on their five inch spiked heels. Their glossy black hair was loosely knotted on top of their heads, with stray tendrils spilling down over their dewy cheeks. They smiled at Carlos, their eyes lingering for a meaningful moment.

Carlos licked his lips. “Those
putas
are in cahoots with the waiters inside, trust me. We’re not just going to get laid, we’re going to find little Miss Julie.”

SEVEN

“Gimmie a great big juicy ole' hamburger and a double order of fries.”  Two burly Texans had gotten off the plane an hour ago and headed for the Memphis South to find some action.  Julie was into her second week and just starting her shift, but could have predicted what these customers would order.

“Why is it,” she asked Nellie during a momentary lull in the kitchen, “Americans travel all the way to Central America and immediately head for a place that’s exactly like home?”

“Don’t know honey, but it’s fine with me, I can just pretend I’m back at the American Legion in Beaumont, Texas.  Except we had air conditioning.” Nellie wiped the back of her neck with a tea towel, exposing damp patches under the arms of her white-fringed blouse

“The American Legion?”  Julie’s brain went static for a second, trying to see the connection between this feminine, adventurous lady and a bunch of aging warriors guzzling beer in a pine paneled room on a Saturday night.  “Were you a veteran or something?” 

“I’m a veteran, all right.  A veteran of slinging hash and going nowhere fast.”  Nellie looked like she was about to cry.

“So is that why you came down here?  To make your fortune, at last?”

“Something like that.  I heard from an old friend that it was up for sale.  I was managing the Legion in Beaumont, so figured I could handle it.  So I sold my house and cashed in my chips. About everything I own is tied up in this place.”

“You bought it sight unseen?”

“Afraid so.”

“You’d never even been to Costa Rica?”  Julie tried to keep her voice from escalating.   “Wouldn’t it have been easier to buy a place in the States?”

Nellie stuck out her lower jaw and pulled her hair above one ear.  “See that scar?  That’s from my ex.  He slashed my face and warned me that was just the beginning if I didn’t go back with him.”

Julie stared at the shiny, pink seam that curved down the side of Nellie’s cheek.  “But couldn’t you have gotten a restraining order?  Isn’t that what the police are for?”             

“I had one, it didn’t matter, they couldn’t keep him away from me.  I’d hear noises at night, look out and see shadows, and then he’d get in his car and drive away.  I knew it was only a matter of time before he finished playing cat and mouse, and I’d be dead.  The only thing I’m scared of now is that he’ll find me down here.”

Julie felt a sudden bonding with Nellie.  They were both on the run, like many of the regulars at the Memphis South: a motley bunch of expatriates who be-bopped and gyrated on the dance floor with sad, unfocused eyes like a scene out of Dante’s Inferno.  What dark secrets had brought them to this point of no return? 
Abandon all hope all ye who enter here.

Julie was at a loss for words of comfort.  She headed for the dining room where the waiter she was replacing had just left without cleaning his tables.  Back at the Kensington House, this would have caused a squabble, but she was becoming resigned to the lackadaisical Latin attitude about work.   She picked up a wet sponge and attacked the debris.  There had been a smoker here; the table top was covered with ashes, ketchup smears, and spilled salt.  A couple of slobs, for sure.

She dumped the dirty ashtray into a plastic container when her eyes fell on a small book of matches that looked familiar.  Still navigating on autopilot Julie brushed them into the bucket along with the crumbs and dirty napkins when a switch went on in her head, like the feeble sputtering of a fluorescent light trying to connect.  She looked again at the matches, a chill sweeping through her body as she snatched them out of the trash and held them in her trembling fingers.  Black matte background, fine silver lettering:

The Kensington House

400 South Fourth Street

Lewiston, Indiana

Julie felt a jolt like an electric shock; she hadn’t expected him to find her so fast.

“What is it?”  Julie heard Nellie’s voice, but her face was blurred.

Julie put a hand to her throat.  “I’m in trouble.”

Nellie moved closer, enveloping them in the warmth of her exotic perfume.  “What kind of trouble?”

Julie opened her hand and showed Nellie the matches.

Nellie looked at the logo.  “This is probably just a coincidence,” she said. “Aren’t Indiana restaurants smoke free now? These are probably from years ago.”

“They are, but Kevin had a carton of them leftover from the old days. He kept them near the back door.  Anyone who went out the back way could help themselves. So, whoever left these matches knew Kevin very well.”

“You’re white as a ghost,” Nellie said. 

It was no use trying to keep it from Nellie now, she had to trust her. “There’s someone looking for me back in Lewiston. I witnessed a murder.”

“A murder?  And you didn’t call the police?” 

“Come on, we just talked about that.  How much help did the police give you?  Didn’t you tell me that’s why you had to get out of the country?”

“Oh Jesus.  You too, huh?”

“Why are you surprised?”

“You seem too classy for that kind of trouble.  Or maybe classy isn’t the word.”

“Stupid would work,” Julie said “I got involved with a man I knew was all wrong for me.”

“But exciting, huh?  Those kind always are.”

“More excitement than I bargained for,” Julie agreed.

“You think it would help if you got out of San Jose for awhile?”

Julie threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know, but I feel like I have to do something.  If they know I work here, they can probably find out where I’m staying.  I can’t go back there tonight.”

“Tell you what,” Nellie said. “There’s a pilot for Tico airlines comes in here sometimes.  He runs a shuttle plane to the beach, up north in Guanacaste. I’ll call and ask him if he has an empty seat.”

“Have you ever been to this place?” Julie asked.

“Yes, it’s peaceful and beautiful. Tourists love it. I took a little trip when I first came down last month.  Just one thing.  I hope you don’t get airsick.”

“Not normally.”

“It can be a pretty wild. The wind in the mountains whips that flimsy sucker around like a model airplane.”

“Is it a four seater?”

“Six or eight, maybe.”

“Do you mind, Nellie?  I hate to walk out.  I know you need help right now and you’ve been so good to me.”

“Don’t worry.  Just this week has helped me get my bearings.  I’m learning some Spanish and you’ve helped train the staff.  I really owe you, Julie.”

Nellie wrapped her fingers tightly around Julie’s wrist. She waited until the other waitresses were out of earshot and lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’d better get going.  No telling what they’ve heard from some of the people working here.  I don’t have what you’d call a loyal staff.”

Julie nodded.  “I’ll call when I get to the beach.  You can let me know if anyone’s been asking for me.  Right now, I’m going to sneak out the back, pack a few things, and run to the bank.”

She started to turn away, but a lump in her throat pulled her back.  She wasn’t a hugger, never had been, but she knew she was going to miss her friend. Impulsively, she leaned forward and held Nellie so close she could feel the beating of her heart.  Both their faces were hot and wet with tears.               

“You take care, now,” Nellie’s voice was husky with emotion.

“I’ll be back,” Julie promised as she turned to leave.  Once again, she was off on another adventure.  They were coming close together now--too close. And the old thrill of going into uncharted territory had been replaced by a fear of what lay ahead.

* * *

The cab bounced up the mountain on a yellow dirt road, spewing diesel fumes and kicking up clouds of dust that swept through the open windows.  Julie’s throat constricted as she breathed in the polluted air.  At last they came to a low cinder block building that reminded her of the bus terminal in Lewiston.

The cab skidded to a halt.  “Is this it?”  Julie asked.

The driver gave her a quizzical look. 
“Si”

“But it’s awfully small.”

“Look. That is your plane to Guanacaste coming in.” He pointed to a small plane careening downward in their direction, its wings seesawing back and forth.

Julie struggled to control her fears. She couldn’t possibly fly across the mountains in that contraption. Unaware of her mood, the driver got out and opened the door with an elaborate courtesy. She jumped out onto the road, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Would you like me to wait while?” he asked.

“No.”  Julie said. “I’ve arranged for a ticket, and this place doesn’t look too busy.”  She walked inside just in time to see the plane taxiing across the runway and come to a stop.  The lone passenger--a sandy haired man in cutoffs carrying a surfboard--stepped to the ground, followed by the pilot. 

“Great waves,” the surfer called out to Julie before dashing outside in time to flag down her taxi
.

“I hope you have only one bag,” the clerk at the ticket counter said. 

“Of course, just this.”  Julie pointed to the dark green backpack.

“You’ll have to be weighed with it.”  He pointed to the next room where a path led to a large scale.

“Weighed?”

“Yes.  But don’t worry, a beautiful slim lady like you won’t tip the scales.”  He winked, slowly stroking the end of his thin mustache.

“Just how large is this plane I’m taking?  Or should I say, how small?”

“It seats six very comfortably. Don’t worry, we have good pilots and the plane is safe. Are you visiting friends in Liberia?”

Nosy questions could lead to trouble she didn’t need. “Yes,” she lied. “They have a home there, in the city.”

“Oh. I see.” His voice dropped and he busied himself with making out her ticket. Julie wondered what he would have said if she told him she hadn’t the slightest idea where she was staying once she got off the plane.  She remembered Bud’s comments about women traveling alone in this country and realized most Ticos probably regarded her as something akin to a prostitute.

The waiting room was deserted; it seemed Julie would be the sole passenger on her flight.  She walked into a small room that looked like a garage, where an attendant asked her to pick up her bag and step on the scale.  125 pounds.

Julie laughed. “You think I’ll sink the plane?”

“You have not exceeded the limit,” he said gravely.  “You may board as soon as the pilot arrives.” She wondered what, exactly, the limit would be.  

The pilot who’d landed a few minutes earlier emerged from the men’s rest room and walked briskly toward them, still wiping his hands on a paper towel. 

She wasn’t ordinarily afraid of air travel, but this plane looked like it was made of tin.  Was she really going to fly over the mountains in this thing? There was an overpowering odor of mildew as she settled into the seat with torn upholstery.  The rusty doors clanked shut and the pilot motioned her to fasten her seatbelt.  Julie complied, and looked out the window, not sure she wanted to watch every move he made since she didn’t understand the instrument panel. 

A few minutes passed as the pilot went through a checklist. She studied the back of his head while he fiddled with various knobs. He was one of the few Ticos she’d seen without a mustache and was the picture of competence in his starched shirt and navy blue pants with knife-sharp creases. She assured herself that this was a well-established airline; their pilots had to be well trained. It was comforting to see that he wore a wedding ring. A married man would be more stable.

The pilot gave her a quick smile, started the engine, and taxied down the runway, accelerating rapidly while the engine sputtered and growled.  Suddenly he braked.  Two men in the hanger waved, but he shook his head furiously and wagged a finger, then made a right turn.

“What’s wrong?” Julie asked.

“The wind,
Senorita
.  They had me going against it.”

As they climbed upward, the plane dipped up and down like a rubber raft on a tidal wave. Julie was glad she hadn’t had lunch.  “How can you tell by looking?” she called above the sonorous drone of the engine.

“You watch the trees,” he said, “the way they bend against the wind.” Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he casually picked up a barf bag from the seat beside him and handed it back.  “You’ll be needing this,”

Julie pressed the stiff paper bag to her face while her stomach heaved, but thankfully, nothing came up.  Finally they were above the wind and out of the city, drifting above the verdant countryside--an undulating landscape of mountains and green valleys. They crossed over crystal clear rivers and great waterfalls plunging down mountain slopes.  Occasionally, they passed through a cloud. These lapses of visibility made Julie’s nerve endings tense and she exhaled shakily when the mist cleared and they could see land once again. Although she spotted an occasional landing strip, the terrain looked treacherous; an emergency landing would be hazardous. 

An hour later, the pilot said. “Be sure your seat belt is tight. We’re nearing Guanacaste.”  The sky was like a rotating color wheel, shifting rapidly from light blue to dove gray and finally leaden with thunderous black clouds. The plane lurched, dropped, and rumbled between upward thrusts as they headed straight into a storm.  Julie watched the pilot for facial clues and signs of tension as jagged streaks of lightning flashed across the horizon, but except for the deepening of the furrows in his forehead, his facial expression showed no hint of alarm, and his hand on the steering wheel appeared steady and relaxed.  No white knuckles yet.