Stuart Woods - Short Straw

"She'll probably sign them Minnie Mouse," Vittorio said drily. "And they don't know where she is."

"If you figured out where she went, so can the kidnappers. Three hundred grand is a great incentive not to give up."

"In that case," Vittorio said, "they're probably only an hour or two behind her, maybe less."

"A scary thought," Cupie said. "Maybe it will scare her when we tell her." He studied the map the rental car agent had given them. "You know," he said, "the main road from Puerto Vallarta is only a couple of blocks from where we are right now. Why don't we just drive over there, park, and wait for her to show up?"

"Good idea."

"You said she rented a Cherokee?"

"A Grand Cherokee is what the agent said. Red."

"What a nice color; pops right out."

Cupie directed Vittorio to the highway, and they found a spot a little way up a hill that gave them a view for half a mile up the road. They parked and settled in to wait.

"You an Angelino?" Vittorio asked.

"Grew up out in the San Fernando Valley," Cupie replied. "Roy Rogers used to sing a song about it. Made me proud."

"College?"

"Two years of night school. Wish I'd gotten a degree; I might have made lieutenant or even captain. You?"

"Grew up on the reservation, got a degree at Santa Fe State, did four years with the tribal police. Boring. Found out I was good at tracking people. I guess it's a genetic thing; Apaches are great trackers. The signs you follow these days are different, of course. Instead of going rock to rock, you go cheap motel to cheap motel. If I had a hundred bucks for every cheap motel door I've kicked in, I could retire."

"Me, too. Family?"

"Nah, I like single."

"Girl?".

"I go from woman to woman; best not to get tied down. When I get to where I need somebody to cut my meat and wipe my chin, I'll settle down. You?"

"Wife died six years ago-cancer. I've got a daughter graduating from UCLA next year. She wants to join the LAPD. Can't seem to talk her out of it."

"UCLA sounds expensive."

"I live on my pension; the P.I. work pays for UCLA. Maybe when she's out on her own I'll just play golf all the time."

"I play golf," Vittorio said.

"Yeah? I never saw an Indian on a golf course."

"Maybe not in L.A."

"Something red," Cupie said.

"Indians aren't red."

Cupie nodded. "Up the road, something red."

Vittorio squinted, then produced a small pair of binoculars from a pocket. "Grand Cherokee," he said.

"Check out four cars back."

Vittorio moved the binoculars slightly. "Black Suburban," he said, "with black windows. Trying to get around the traffic."

Cupie sighed. "Here we go again."

VITTORIO STARTED THE CAR, AND AS SOON AS THE BLACK Suburban passed, he gunned the V-8 engine and forced his way into the line of traffic, nearly causing a multicar accident.

"What the hell are you doing?" Cupie demanded, struggling to get his seat belt on.

"Is it the same Suburban?"

"Don't you see the bullet hole in the rear window?"

"Right. Hang on; big curve coming up."

"What's your plan, Vittorio? If we chase these guys, they're eventually going to get out of their car and shoot at us. You want to get shot at again?"

"Nope, I want to avoid getting shot at."

They entered a sharp curve to the left, and Vittorio stomped on the accelerator again.

"Slow down!" Cupie yelled. "You want to hit them?"

"Yeah," Vittorio said, his face screwed up with concentration.

"You're tailgating!"

"Shut up, Cupie." Well into the curve Vittorio pulled to the left, brought his front bumper in line with the Suburban's rear bumper and jerked the wheel hard to the right. The bumpers connected, and the rear end of the Suburban began sliding to the right. It continued sliding until the big vehicle had rotated about a hundred and fifty-degrees, then its rear wheels left the road and the Suburban began to travel, backward, down a steep, dirt embankment and toward a big copse of thick brush.

"Holy shit!" Cupie yelled.

They passed the Suburban when it had already reached the brush and was tearing, backward, into it.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

"I used to drive in demolition derbies when I was a kid," Vittorio said, permitting himself a rare, small smile. "Look back. Did they turn over?"

"No, but they're still going backward."

"Shit! I wanted to roll them over. I guess I'm a little rusty."

"They're going to be busy for a while, getting out of those brambles and back on the road."

"Barbara is still three cars ahead of us," Vittorio said, pointing.

"Good. Let's hang back until she parks the car, then reintroduce ourselves."

They followed the red Grand Cherokee into the shopping district of the village and watched Barbara park in front of a restaurant and go inside. They jumped down from the big Toyota and followed her.

The headwaiter was seating Barbara in a booth at the rear of the restaurant, and when he returned, Cupie waved him off. "We're with the lady," he said, brushing past the man.

Barbara didn't see them coming until Cupie slid into the booth beside her and Vittorio sat opposite.

"Good afternoon," Cupie said. "I missed lunch, too. What kind of food they got here?" He looked over her shoulder at the menu.

"Mexican," she said acidly, glaring at him. "Why don't you two guys just leave me alone?"

"Because if we do that, you'll be kidnapped," Cupie replied. "Didn't you see the big black Suburban following you as you drove into Acapulco?"

"Liar."

"No lie, sweetheart. Vittorio, here, managed to run them off the road in a way that must have been very embarrassing for them, but they'll be back. This is the second time your bank gave them a call."

"I'm having the combination plate," she said, handing Cupie the menu.

A waitress came over, and she ordered.

"Whatever she's having," Cupie said.

Vittorio nodded. "Same here."

"And three Carta Blancas," Cupie added.

"Well, this is very cozy," Barbara said. "How about if I cause a big scene, and they call the cops. Would you like that?"

"Okay by me," Cupie said. "But you should know that I paid the cops in Puerto Vallarta a visit and swore out a complaint against you for shooting me, so they're looking for you all over the country right now."

"Lying again."

"Would you like me to ask the headwaiter to call them?" Cupie asked, waving at the man, who started over.

"No!" she said.

Cupie waved off the man as their beers arrived, then he took a big swig. "Ahhhh," he said, "that hits the spot." He turned back to Barbara. "So let's recap," he said. "You've got three parties who insist on your company: the cops, the kidnappers and us. The cops will lock you away in a jail that will not meet your housekeeping standards and make you eat beans and rice with people you wouldn't ordinarily see at dinner; on the other hand, the kidnappers will hurt you until you countersign all the travelers' checks in your purse-they won't take kindly to Minnie Mouse-then they'll gang-rape you and leave you in an arroyo with a bullet in your brain; but all Vittorio and I want is for you to sign six blank sheets of paper, and then we'll leave you alone. Who do you choose?"

Barbara took a pull on her beer. "I'm thinking it over," she said.

"Any one of the options will meet our client's wishes," Cupie said, helpfully.

"And you… What's your name?"

"Cupie Dalton, at your service."

"And what do you and the grim savage, here, really want?"

"Only to be of service to our client, your very concerned husband."

"Could you use ten thousand dollars each, in cash?"

"Why madam, are you trying to bribe us?"

"Because that's what I'll give you to get me out of this country, without being arrested or kidnapped, and back into the United States."