David Morrell - Burnt Sienna

“All I want is what makes him happy.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“What?”

“Make him happy.”

The waitress brought the beers.

As Ramirez picked his up, an anxious soldier entered the restaurant and motioned for Ramirez to step outside.

Ramirez nodded, then turned to Sienna. “As you can see, I must leave.”

“Nice chatting with you,” Malone said.

But Ramirez kept his eyes totally on Sienna. “The pleasure was mine. Nos vemos .”

As Ramirez walked to the door, Sienna asked, “What did he just say?”

“‘We’ll see each other.’”

The screen door banged shut behind Ramirez and the soldier.

Everybody in the place had been watching the conversation. Now they went back to their meals.

Sienna leaned close to Malone, pretending to murmur endearments. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Take a deep breath.”

“All the while he was sitting there, I was sure I was going to throw up.” A film of sweat slicked her face. “Did it show? What the hell was he doing?” She kept her voice down, afraid she’d be overheard.

“I have no idea.” Doing his best to look relaxed, Malone took a long swallow of beer and wished it were stronger.

“At least, he didn’t ask to see your ID.”

“Which means he can’t have been that interested in us. Maybe he just felt like jerking some gringos’ chains. But he certainly had a lot of questions. He knows almost as much as if he had looked at my ID.”

“You’re not reassuring me,” Sienna said.

“I’m not reassuring myself.”

“I’m not kidding. I’m sick. Let’s get out of here.”

“We can’t.”

“What?”

“Suppose he sees us come out. He’ll wonder why he upset us so much that we didn’t stay for dinner.”

“Jesus.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Malone said.

When the waitress returned, they ordered the shrimp. Malone gave Sienna credit. She did what was necessary and ate what was on her plate. On the way back to the trailer, she had to get out and throw up.

She didn’t sleep. Lying in the darkness, she stared at the ceiling and hoped that the lapping of the waves would soothe her, but the calm they usually gave wouldn’t come. Maybe Ramirez was just practicing his English, she tried to assure herself. The area depends on tourism, after all. Why would he bother two of the few visitors still remaining in town? It doesn’t make sense. He was just being friendly.

Sure, she thought.

But she couldn’t shake the apprehension that what had happened at the restaurant was the same as what had happened at every fashion show and modeling assignment she’d ever been a part of, at every party, at every… It didn’t matter that she hadn’t worn makeup, that she hadn’t taken off her hat, and that she had kept her gaze downward. Ramirez had come over to their table because of her looks.

“We have to get out of here,” she told Chase in the morning. The haggardness around her eyes showed how little she’d slept, yet she didn’t look as plain as she wanted to be.

Outside, as they loaded the Explorer, the sound of an approaching engine made her turn. At first, she thought it was a motorboat. But as she scanned the waves, movement farther along caught her attention. Not on the water – on the shore. A military Jeep. Its top was down, showing that the only person in it was the driver. Her muscles compacted when she saw twin glints of light reflecting off mirrored sunglasses.

As Ramirez parked next to the trailer, Fernando’s wife urged her children into their trailer. Her panicked reaction gave Ramirez a look of satisfaction as he got out of his vehicle and straightened his sunglasses. His uniform was pressed stiffly, emphasizing his taut stomach and rigid back. His pistol was prominent on his right side. Unsmiling, he approached the trailer. “Good morning.”

“ Buenos dias ,” Malone said, trying to sound friendly.

“Please, in English.” The contrast between Ramirez’s polite words and his stern expression was vivid. “I so enjoyed our conversation yesterday evening that I regretted having to leave. I decided to pay you a visit.”

Malone spread his hands in a welcoming gesture.

“You weren’t easy to find.” Ramirez concentrated on Sienna.

Malone imagined the effect she had on him. Without the hat she had worn in the restaurant, her beauty was striking. Despite her restless sleep, her skin had a smoldering quality.

“You so impressed me with the sacrifice you’re willing to make for your husband’s artistic career, I thought I’d come and see his paintings,” Ramirez said.

“They’re not as good as I’d like,” Malone said, “but -”

“Nonsense. I’m sure you’re being too critical.” Ramirez turned toward a canvas leaning against the Explorer, where Malone had been about to load it. “Getting ready to leave?”

“A day trip up the coast. There’s an area I want to paint.”

“But you said you did landscapes. This is a painting of your wife.”

“Every once in a while, I do one of her.”

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” From the curve of Sienna’s hips, waist, and breasts in the portrait, he turned toward the real thing. “I’m surprised you don’t live in town, Mrs. Perry. Aren’t you lonely down here?”

“Dale says he doesn’t want to be distracted.”

“I should think you would distract him.”

“We enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“And to tell the truth,” Malone said, “we’re trying to save money. In Santa Clara, we’d have to pay rent.”

Ramirez kept his attention on Sienna. “What do you do for amusement, Mrs. Perry?”

She looked more puzzled. “Swim. Read. Go sailing.”

“And that’s enough?”

“In Abilene, we were always worried about Dale’s job. Then the worst happened, and we didn’t have to worry anymore. A simple life has been very satisfying.”

“To make up for my early departure last evening, I’d like you to be my guest for dinner.”

“Certainly. Dale and I would be honored.”

“Actually, the invitation was only for…” Ramirez aimed his mirrored sunglasses at Malone. “May I see your tourist card?”

“Tourist card?” Malone looked baffled. “But we don’t need one here. Santa Clara’s part of the Sonoran Free Trade Zone.”

“That’s correct. But this isn’t Santa Clara. You don’t live in the Free Trade Zone. Your tourist card, please.” Ramirez held out his hand.

“We don’t have one.”

“That presents a problem,” Ramirez said.

“It certainly does. We’d better drive back to the border and pick one up.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“But you just said -”

“I have business at the border. I’ll obtain a tourist card for you.”

Malone frowned. “But don’t they have to be picked up in person?”

“I’ll see that an exception is made.”

“That’s very generous.”

“Not at all.” Ramirez stared again at Sienna. “It’ll give me a chance to visit again. But I have to verify your names. The immigration officer I obtain the card from will need to be assured of your identities. May I see your driver’s license, Mr. Perry?”

“… Of course.” Malone pulled out his wallet and handed over the license.

Ramirez looked at the photograph of Malone that the Texas clerk had laminated onto the license. He read the name. “Dale Perry. An excellent likeness.” He put the license in his shirt pocket.

“Wait a minute. Why are you -”

“I need to keep this so I can present it as corroboration when I get the tourist card.”