Charlie Huston - Six Bad Things

– Rolf?

– Yeah?

– What was that?

– Just the usual. Don’t fuck around with him or he’ll fucking kill Leo and then you. That kind of stuff.

– OK.

I hold the money belt out in Candito’s direction, nodding my head.

– Tranquilo, amigo.

The gun pointed at Leo’s head is shaking, sweat is pouring down Candito’s twitching face, and I realize that Rolf is right. This guy is scared pissless. I know the feeling.

– Tranquilo, OK?

I swing the money belt once and toss it to him. It lands neatly at his feet. He keeps the shaking gun pointed at Leo as he squats down. The fingers of his left hand fumble one of the compartments open and he pries out a thick sheaf of bills. His eyes flick to the money. He lets it and the belt fall into the edge of the puddle of Morales’s blood, then he stands back up and starts screaming at me, the gun vibrating.

– What the fuck, Rolf?

– That’s what he says, dude.

– What?

– He wants to know what that shit is, how much?

– It’s about seventy-five thou.

Rolf looks at me.

– No shit?

– Yeah.

– Dude.

Candito yells at us. I take my right hand from my head and point at the money belt.

– Tranquilo, amigo. Setenta cinco mil.

He tilts his head, shakes it.

– Setenta cinco mil?

– Si.

Then he’s screaming again, too fast for me to follow.

– Rolf?

Nothing.

– Rolf?

Nothing. I look at Rolf. He’s staring at me.

– He says fuck your mother and fuck your seventy-five grand. He wants to know where the real money is.

– Tell him that’s all there is and he can take it or leave it.

– What’s he talking about?

– Fucked if I know. Just tell him that’s all there is.

Rolf tells him, and Candito sprays curses and bends over to press the gun against Leo’s head.

– He doesn’t believe you, dude. He says give him the money or he’ll shoot Leo.

I look at Leo heaped on the floor. I can’t tell if he’s breathing. And it’s not like I can run out, call Tim, and have him ship the money back to me.

– Tell him there is no fucking way in heaven or earth that he is ever going to have more than what he has right now. That’s all there is. Tell him if he leaves now, he can keep the money and probably still work it out so he keeps his job and keeps his partner alive. Tell him if he wants to shoot me he might as well do it because I’m about to walk over there and see if Leo is OK.

– Cool.

Rolf tells him. Candito looks from Leo to the money to me as I walk out from behind the table and start to cross the room toward him. Then he bends, scoops up the money belt, points the gun at me, and backs away shouting. I hold my hands out in front of me.

– Tranquilo.

– He says tranquilo yourself. He says he’s gonna take the money and go get the doctor and when he gets back we should be the fuck out of here and if we hurt his partner he’ll hunt us down and blah blah blah.

I stop walking and watch as Candito backs himself around the tiny bar to a doorway covered by a Virgin of Guadalupe curtain. He reaches behind himself and pulls the curtain aside, jabs the gun at me three times, emphasizing that I should not fucking follow him, then ducks through the doorway. I can hear his feet sprinting away on the gravel outside.

– Rolf.

He pops up from behind the barrel.

– Dude, that was tense.

I kneel next to Leo and roll him onto his back. His face is beaten and bloody. At least one of his teeth has been knocked out. I put my finger alongside his throat; his pulse is steady and strong. Rolf walks over and looks at his best friend.

– Motherfucker.

He looks at Morales where he’s still sprawled on the floor, mewing, his eyes rolling in his head.

– Mother. Fucker.

He raises the revolver, shoots Morales in the face, and spits on his corpse.

– Rolf!

I’m staring at what used to be Morales’s face.

– Rolf! What the fuck are you doing?

– You see what this dick did to Leo, dude?

– You don’t just. You don’t just. What the fuck?

– Dude! He fucked up my best friend.

I look at the lines tattooed on my forearm, and find I have nothing else to say.

– So what now?

– You take Leo in the buggy. There’s only the one road in and out of town, so just cruise out to the highway, park, and I’ll drive out in their truck after I take care of the other guy.

– Rolf.

– Hey! You hired the pros to get you out and shit got fucked up. That’s cool, you paid, but now shit’s got to be taken care of. These cops? They know who Leo is, where he lives. Get it? So untwist your panties and help me get him to the buggy, ’cause I got a pig to ambush.

And what do you say to that except Yes, sir ?

LEO STAYS unconscious as we put him into the passenger seat of the buggy. I get behind the wheel and fire it up. Rolf slaps me on the shoulder. He’s holding the revolver and has Morales’s 9 mm dangling out of his hip pocket.

– Just turn north when you hit the highway and pull into the trees. I’ll be there in a few.

He walks back into the bar. The town is dead silent, motionless except for one painfully skinny stray dog that limps across the park. I pull onto the road out of town. Behind me I might or might not hear gunshots. It’s hard to tell over the roar of the buggy’s engine.

Back on the 261, I pull into the trees where Rolf told me to. I get out, grab my pack, and hoist it onto my shoulders. It should be about twenty kilometers from here to Campeche. If I stay near the highway I can walk and be there in several hours. Or maybe I’ll take a chance and stick my thumb out. If Morales and Candito were working alone no one will be looking for me. If not, they’ll find me soon enough. I lick my fingers and rub a little blood from Leo’s forehead, but there’s nothing I can do for him. I check his pulse again, still strong, and put my face close to his.

– I’m sorry, my friend.

And it’s time to get moving again before anyone else gets hurt.

I HITCH a ride with a family from Cancun that are on their way to Campeche to stay with relatives for Christmas. I sit in the back seat of their Jeep, between their two small sons. The boys are quiet for the first couple miles, but get over their shyness and are soon pointing at their own body parts and at things in the car, asking me to tell them what they are called in English.

– Ashtray. Headrest. Ankle. Gearshift. Eyebrow. Toenail. Booger.

They giggle after every word and try to repeat them back to me. Their parents sit quietly in the front seats, holding hands, seemingly happy just to have a break from entertaining the kids. They drop me off in the middle of the city and I take a cab to the airport.

Campeche is a state capital and a tourist destination; the airport has everything I need. I go to the departures board and find a flight. I call Aeromexico from a pay phone and get transferred to an English-speaking agent. She says I can’t make a reservation without a credit card number, but assures me there is room on the flight and tells me how much it will cost. At the American Express counter I get about ten thousand pesos worth of traveler’s checks.

I have to make a decision here about which identity to sign the checks with because that’s who I’ll be flying as. I’m about to give the guy at the counter the Carlyle passport when I remember that all it has is a three-year-old entry stamp and no visas. Not a problem with AmEx, but it will be a problem if anyone in a uniform needs to see it.

I give him the passport I’ve been using for the last two years. Of course there is a problem there as well. When Morales’s and Candito’s bodies turn up, the Federales will look into their recent cases and start asking questions. Soon, they will find that I have disappeared. After that they’ll be looking for this identity. Of course if Rolf didn’t get Candito, all of this is moot. Because Candito will be coming after me, the real me. And all this is just too confusing anyway; too many variables and too few options for a guy who needs to get the fuck out of Mexico. I sign the checks and walk over to the Aeromexico counter.