Austin Camacho - The Payback Assignment

“You’ll show me yours if I’ll show you mine, eh? Well, fair’s fair.”

For the next few minutes they exchanged personal stories, but their conversation did not stray beyond the events that directly led up to their meeting in the jungle.

About a half- hour after passing Uxmal they came within sight of the Hacienda Yaxcopoil, which Morgan explained was a seventeenth century estate and another popular tourist stop. Not long after that they rolled into recognizable suburbs and appeared to have left the third world far behind. Felicity made it one-forty p.m. when they motored into Merida, the major city in the southeast corner of Mexico complete with wide, clean streets and snarled urban traffic.

“You know, I love Acapulco,” Felicity said. “People call it the Riviera of Mexico, but there isn’t much there beyond perfect beaches. This place is much bigger and a lot more urban.”

“Yeah and noisy as hell,” Morgan said. “Now you want to find a hotel?”

“What I really want is that haven for lost Yank travelers, the American Express office.”

They had entered the city on a main street and soon spotted an information booth. Felicity jumped out of the truck and in the time it took Morgan to sit through a single streetlight change she was back with good news.

“The American Express office is dead ahead on Calle 60,” she said as Morgan pulled through the intersection. “It’s at the north end of the city. Let’s get going.”

But after a morning at highway speeds they seemed to be crawling now, through a city as congested as Paris or London. Most of the cars there were older, but drivers leaned on their horns as much as anyplace she had been. On the way they passed some lovely parks and one impressive church, but Felicity was focused on their objective. She bounced impatiently in her seat and, when traffic stopped them half a block away from the American Express sign, frustration overwhelmed her. Morgan’s jaw dropped when she popped her door open.

“I’m going on ahead,” Felicity said. “By the time you find a place to park I’ll likely be back.”

The statuesque redhead drew all eyes when she walked across the lobby. She was relieved to see only a handful of people inside. Their conversations hushed as all turned to stare at her. Despite her discomfort, she maintained her erect carriage and commanding manner. Her practiced eye led her to the manager without her having to ask anyone. She walked up to the slightly built man’s desk and lowered herself into the chair beside it.

“How can I help you?” he asked hesitantly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“My name is Felicity O’Brian and I’m in a bit of a spot Mr…” she looked at the name plate on his desk, “Mr. Marshall. I need some traveler’s checks and probably some cash for local purchases. For that, I’ll need to have some money wired in from L.A.”

“You are an American?” the manager asked, skepticism fighting with annoyance for display space on his face.

“U.S. resident, yes,” she answered patiently. She crossed her long, bare legs to make sure she could maintain the man’s attention. “I was robbed, and kidnapped by three men. They took my purse and ditched me in some jungle south of here. Look, I’m registered at the Hyatt Regency Acapulco hotel and my car’s there. That should be easy enough to verify. I just need some funds for traveling.”

The manager stared at her thighs, and ran a hand up through his short, sandy hair. “Have you a passport?”

“In my purse of course,” Felicity said.

“I’m very sorry,” Marshall said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “I’d like to help you, really I would but, without positive identification, I’m afraid I’m helpless.”

“Is that the only problem?” To the manager’s embarrassment, Felicity slid her fingers inside the top of her left brassiere cup and pulled it forward. From a pocket inside she pulled a titanium American Express card. Here right cup yielded a California driver’s license. In one motion she laid them on his desk and pulled a small note pad toward herself. She wrote a name and telephone number on it and pushed it back toward him. She offered him a demure expression, actually batting her big green eyes for effect.

“Now call my banker in Los Angeles and get me some money.”

While she watched, he picked up the telephone and pushed the buttons to call the number in Los Angeles. He glanced at Felicity in surprise when he heard the reaction he got from a mention of her name. When he reached the right person, he handed the telephone to her. She spoke to her American banker in a friendly but businesslike manner, and handed the receiver back to the American Express bank officer when she was finished.

“Now if you’ll point me to your ladies’ room, I’ll let you work out the details of the transfer with him.”

After using the facilities and splashing some water on her face and neck, she returned to sit calmly in front of the manager’s desk. She relaxed, determined to show patience with the process while Marshall’s eyes flitted around the room. His nervousness seemed to match her patience.

Neither Marshall’s nerves nor Felicity’s patience was tested for long. Within fifteen minutes, her bank had telexed expense money to her. The baffled manager went to a cage himself and counted out four thousand American dollars in traveler’s checks and another thousand dollars worth of pesos to a dirty, barefoot girl in half a dress.

“With your card, there’s really no reason for a lot of cash,” the manager said. “Why carry so much?” the manager asked.

“Security,” she replied. “I just feel better with the cash in my fist.” She closed her hand around her money and practically skipped back to her stolen vehicle. Morgan had found a space across the street within sight of the door. She raced through the sluggish traffic, bounced into the truck and slammed the door.

“Well, shall we go get us some decent clothes?” Felicity asked. Her smile stretched wide enough to almost hurt her face. She had money again and to her, money was power.

“No. First we need to find us a hotel room.”

“I beg your pardon?” Felicity glared at him. Had he told her no?

“You need a bath before you do anything else,” Morgan said. “I spotted a Hyatt while I was circling for a parking space. Should suit a civilized gal like you. And you better give me that wad of money.”

“Excuse me?” she responded icily through clenched teeth, her usually soft brogue coming out. “You’ll not be telling me what to do. You’re not in charge here. Why on earth should I be handing my bankroll over to you, a total stranger, when I’m a billion miles from anywhere?”

“Because I have pockets! If you stuff that wad in your bra you’ll look like Dolly Parton.”

Nonetheless, when the gas-belching, backfiring pickup pulled to a stop in the hotel parking lot, she still clutched her money in her sweaty little palm. The seventeen-story Hyatt Regency Merida was not hard to spot in Merida’s skyline. The building was in no way Mexican or even Latin. In fact, the glass and silver structure was totally devoid of any local imprint. It could have been a Hyatt Regency anyplace on the planet, which gave Felicity some comfort. It would represent a total return to civilization. There was even a shopping mall across the street. As soon as Morgan parked and shut the engine off, Felicity stepped down to the ground. She had taken three steps before she realized that he hadn’t moved.

“Are you coming? If I need to bathe so badly, you need to register us in a room.”

Morgan slowly stood up and out of the jeep. “Not me. I’m broke. You don’t trust me with your money, so I guess you’ll have to do it.”