Jan Burke - Nine

He wished Slick were here, to help him find out all he could about the newcomers. But Slick would not return from his journey to Puerto Escondido until late this evening.

Castillo del Chapulínes-castle of the grasshoppers-was a small luxurious hideaway for the well-to-do. There were never many guests, he was told when he was met at the Oaxaca Airport by Alberto, a helicopter pilot who spoke just enough English to communicate a few basics about the resort. The helicopter provided the only easy route into the resort’s location, in the mountains of the state of Oaxaca. This was an area of Mexico where many native tribal groups lived-few of the inhabitants spoke Spanish or any other European language. A beautiful part of the country, Majors thought, when he viewed it from the air. There were still unspoiled beaches along Oaxaca’s coast-Slick had chosen to visit one today.

Majors did not want to be in places like Puerto Escondido and the city of Oaxaca, though, where too many Americans could be encountered. He was glad to be out here in a more remote area.

The golden-haired man by the pool laughed. The other was solemn, only smiling softly now and then. They were handsome, he thought, wondering what they had looked like when they were six. At six, they would have been irresistible. They were angelic even now. Perhaps not so irresistible even now.

The thought disturbed him. He tried to be critical of them. Was the scarred, dark angel a child abuse victim out for revenge on all other abusers? Or a child abuse victim who was now himself an abuser, looking for victims? It could go either way. One had to develop a certain ability to perceive the signs that differentiated them.

And so he studied them.

The men must be filthy rich-even beyond the usual for this resort. Majors had already noticed the deference being paid to them by the staff.

The resort was all Slick had said it would be. A place where he could feel safe and yet be pampered. There were no women guests here, at the moment, although one could send for one for a reasonable fee. The two other guests ignored him, but from Alberto he had learned that they were a Brazilian and a Canadian, apparently here to hold private business discussions. They had arranged the trip to Puerto Escondido and had politely-if somewhat coldly-agreed to allow Slick to take the fourth seat in the helicopter.

“Sorry to leave you,” Slick had said to Majors, “but I could use a change of scenery.”

He didn’t mind. Slick was tiresome, really. One couldn’t expect anything but nervous tension when dealing with a person you were blackmailing. He had several holds over Slick-ones that would have made him a three-strikes lifer in California. Slick knew that if Majors was arrested or harmed, his own freedom and well-being were in peril. It did not make him good company.

• • •

The Germans were going swimming now, in nothing more than those skimpy European swimming suits. He couldn’t take his eyes off them. The dark one was in the water already. The blond stood, then turned toward Majors, his gorgeous green eyes looking at him with amusement. He smiled and said, in the mildly German, strongly British, accented English of the private language school, “You’re American, aren’t you? Come, swim with us-you don’t seem terribly comfortable up there on your-oh, scheisse, what’s the word?”

“Balcony,” Majors said, hearing the carefully pronounced th’s and w’s. Definitely not Americans.

“Of course. Balcony.”

“Perhaps later.”

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug and joined his companion.

Majors watched them move through the water, then heard the blond call to someone else in Spanish, another invitation to swim. The man’s Spanish was excellent, although with the soft lisps of Spain rather than the harder sounds of Mexico, and yet again the faint German accent came through. European Spanish. Majors relaxed a little.

He heard an answer from inside the building, a deep male voice. Majors couldn’t catch all of it, something about trusting Señor Emillio to take care. A moment later, Majors tensed in surprise.

A young Mexican boy, giggling, dressed in only swimming trunks, came running toward the pool. The dark one smiled and opened his arms. The boy jumped into the pool. Majors watched, and for the first time since he had been observing him, the dark one’s face lit with pleasure, transforming him. Majors realized that he was more excited by the young man than the boy.

This was a first for him, slightly upsetting, and yet he found himself unable to stop watching the boy and man together.

The man said something in a low voice, and the boy replied, laughing. Majors caught enough of this to understand that the boy was amused by his Spanish. “No, no, señor, no burro-caballo.” To a soft-spoken question came the answer, “Sí, el poney.” As he moved to shallower water and set the boy gently on his feet, the boy spoke rapidly and enthusiastically to him, telling him of some adventure he had on his new pony, a gift it seemed, from the señor.

The blond watched, smiling, and came closer to them. He glanced up at the balcony and beckoned again to Majors. “Come and meet our friend Justino. He is telling us what a fine horseman he is.”

Majors smiled back, made a decision, and hurried into his room.

After brushing his teeth and quickly washing his armpits, he sped downstairs-but by then, the blond was taking the boy, wrapped in a towel, inside. “Sorry,” he called from the doorway, “he’s scraped his toe and no one but his papa will do for him now. But I forget my manners-I’m Emil.” He nodded toward the pool. “There is my friend, Conrad.”

“Gerald Majors,” he said.

“I’ll take Justino to his father. May I bring you something to drink?”

“Sure-Scotch on the rocks.”

“Conrad, bitte,” he said, “be entertaining, won’t you?”

Conrad smiled at Majors, and in much more awkward English, said, “How do you do? You would like to swim with me, please?”

Majors smiled back and got into the water. He swam toward Conrad, but Conrad, smiling coyly now, evaded him, and for a time they played a little game of chase. The young man easily swam past him again and again, but occasionally brushed against him.

Emil returned with the drink, and refills for Conrad and himself. Majors was quite out of breath by then, and nervous as well-a little afraid of what he was feeling. He drank deeply, felt better, and then belatedly toasted the young men.

“Your first time to the Castillo?” Emil asked politely.

“Yes. Yours?”

“Oh no, we are friends of the family who own it. We adore it. We come here from Frankfurt every chance we get.”

“Frankfurt? I was just there.”

“No! You do business in Germany?”

“All over the world.”

“But how wonderful! Do you speak German?”

“No, I’m afraid not. But so many Europeans speak English so well these days-you and Conrad, for example.”

Conrad smiled and shyly said, “Emil, yes. Mine is…not so good.”

Majors moved a little closer to him, patted him on the shoulder. “Your English is fine.”

Conrad smiled and stepped a little away, but Majors read invitation in his dark eyes.

Majors made short work of the Scotch. It was excellent, smoother than most. He began to feel a slight buzz-he hadn’t eaten much at midday, the heat having taken the edge off his appetite. The young men kept smiling at him, and he found Emil’s conversation more and more charming. Perhaps both of them, together? Why not?

He turned to set his glass on the pool deck and found that he couldn’t quite coordinate the action. Suddenly light-headed, he wondered who it was who said, in perfect English as the sky began to spin, “Oh, at last. I’ll up the next dose. Now, catch him, Cameron-drowning is really too quick and painless.”