Austin Camacho - The Payback Assignment

As they passed a couple of small shacks Felicity got the feeling she had seen this very village in an old spaghetti western. Unwashed children played in the unpaved street, which was lined with wooden buildings. They walked into a small cafe, which also looked like something out of the Old West. A bar counter spanned one wall, in front of shelves crowded with unrecognizable bottles. The rest of the space was cluttered with round wooden tables. Only two of the tables were occupied, in both cases by older couples. The looked fairly clean, despite the fact that it smelled of hot oil and perspiration.

Morgan moved toward a table in the corner, reaching for the chair with the best view of the door. Felicity liked sitting with her back to the corner as well, but settled for the side with her back to the wall. From habit, she stood next to her seat, waiting. Morgan sat down, evidently oblivious to her. With a sigh, she seated herself. She had a good view of both the door, and his face.

Surely they made an unusual sight in this rural locale, or in fact anywhere, but the aging proprietor hastened over to them. He seemed to make a point of not noticing anything odd about them, as if he dealt with armed black soldiers and ragged barefoot white women all the time.

“Buenos dias,” he said pleasantly.

“English?” Morgan asked, not looking up.

The tavern owner nodded and his smile never changed. “Good morning. Our menu is small, but I can offer you fresh lemonade on this hot day.”

“We’ll take a pitcher,” Morgan said. “Strong and sweet. And a fat beef enchilada. Re-fried beans. Small bowl of chili. Twice.”

The old man nodded more deeply and moved away. When he was gone, Felicity leaned toward Morgan and said in conspiratorial tones, “He speaks English!”

“Of course he does,” Morgan said. “Belize is not Mexico, you know. You’ll hear a lot of Spanish here, and a kind of Cajun dialect, but English is the official language. This little country was a British Crown Colony for a hundred years. Only got its independence in ‘81.”

“Oh.” Felicity fell silent. She was sure she must look like a total idiot to him, and did not want to give him any further evidence. His mind seemed light years away anyway, which suited her just fine. It gave her time to think. As always, she had a plan. It percolated in her mind while she excused herself to visit the ladies room. It too proved clean, although she didn’t enjoy washing her face and hands in cold water.

When she returned to the table, she saw that Morgan had also washed while she was gone. She found him easier to look at with clean hands and face but she wished he would smile more. Soon after she sat down their food came, on chipped china plates. Morgan fell on his hungrily. Felicity poured and emptied two glasses of lemonade before she even approached the food. She finally lifted a fork full of the beans as if judging their weight, and dropped them back onto her plate.

“How can you eat this disgusting, overly spiced slop?” she whispered.

“Hey, when you’re hungry, food is food,” Morgan said between mouthfuls. He continued in an imitation Massachusetts accent that surprised her. “I suppose you’ve got the cultivated palate of a gourmet. Too bad. I’ve eaten too much mess hall food, in the U.S. and a few other armies. My taste buds retired long ago.”

Despite her reservations, only seconds passed before the necessity of hunger drove Felicity to taste parts of her meal. Two minutes later she was eating steadily, and soon was devouring her food greedily. She had nearly finished her greasy meal when she suddenly looked up.

“Do you have any money?”

“About twenty dollars American,” Morgan said. “More than enough for the meal.”

“Wait a minute. You travel in a foreign country with just twenty dollars in your pocket?”

Morgan’s face hardened again. “I didn’t get paid for my last job.”

“Hm. You know, the men who stranded me also stole something from me,” Felicity said between bites of enchilada. “I’d be willing to pay you a fair amount if you’d help me get it back.”

“What’s your idea of fair? I’m pretty expensive help. Besides, right now I don’t even know when we’ll get to civilization. Hell, I don’t even know where I’m going next.”

“Look, I’ve got plenty of money,” Felicity said, pushing the last of her rice onto her fork. “I just don’t have any with me. I lost my purse in the jungle in the dark. As for how we’ll get to civilization, don’t be worrying your little head about it. I spotted an old pickup truck down the road. Nobody will miss it. You said Merida was less than three hundred miles away, right? We can be there tonight. I can wire for cash from there and we can fly to my Los Angeles home.”

“Hold on!” Morgan said. “You’re moving a little fast here.”

“I thought you were an adventurer. Besides, do you have anywhere else to go?”

“Well, I guess not,” Morgan said after a few seconds.

“Well then, I say let’s be off.”

They were approaching the end of the road when Morgan finally accepted that this woman was serious. They stopped next to an ancient blue Chevy pickup truck. Dust covered, with just passable tires, it stood like a lonely swayback mare awaiting its rider.

“You intend to buy this old hulk somehow?” Morgan asked, grinning. “Or maybe talk the owner out of it?”

“Don’t be silly. We’ll just take it.”

“Real nice,” Morgan said, trying the door. “Just like that. It’s locked, you know.”

Felicity shrugged. “So?”

From her matted hair she drew a small sliver of spring steel, almost like a shiny bobby pin. She slid this into the driver’s side door lock in businesslike manner and opened it. Under the dash, she pulled wires and twisted them carefully. The starter reluctantly turned and the engine leaped to life. Just under seven seconds passed between her sprightly “So?” and her terse “Get in!” They heard loud voices behind them, shouting in Creole and English, but Morgan figured that by the time the locals got another vehicle on their trail, that trail would be cold. The local police force was probably pretty disorganized, so getting into Mexico with this rust machine should prove no problem. All in all, he was impressed.

“You know, Red, you’re all right,” he said, shaking her head by a handful of hair.

“Thanks,” Felicity said, “but don’t call me Red, okay? Nobody calls me Red. Hey, this thing’s got a tough clutch. You want to drive?”

“Sure thing, Red,” he said with a deep laugh. “Pull her over.”

“No need. Don’t want to give anybody a chance to catch us.” Felicity gripped the wheel tightly and raised herself from the seat. After a couple of seconds she said, “Well, come on. Step on the gas and slide on over here.” Shaking his head, Morgan pushed her foot off the accelerator with his own and pulled himself under her body, so that she was steering from his lap. Once he was in place she nimbly hopped off him to land on the seat to his right. She was giggling a bit, as if they had just performed some schoolyard prank, and Morgan had to admit her relaxed smile was infectious. As the truck, bucking like a rodeo bronco, rolled over the endless treadmill of a road, he thought it was a good chance to take some time to think.

After a couple of minutes, Morgan asked, “Are you sure this `business acquaintance’ of yours stole something from you? Not that it matters, but it occurs to me that maybe you stole something from him.”

“Not from him,” Felicity answered. “For him.” After a much longer hesitation she added, “It was a contract job. I’ve a feeling you know about such things. Only, like yourself, I didn’t get paid.”