Stephen Randel - Trail of the Chupacabra

“Not my concern. May I suggest you take the matter up with Mr. Mountain personally? He is usually sober by two or three in the afternoon, except for weekends and holidays, but the window of lucidity is rather small. Don’t wait until after four.”

“To whom am I speaking?”

“For now, just call me Rock Star.”

“What is the nature of your call, Mr. Star? Or should I just call you Rock?”

“I’m in a bit of a pickle. You see, I’m here in Mexico and seem to have misplaced a couple of friends.”

“Misplaced?”

“They were taken, actually.”

“Many people are taken in this country. It is not so uncommon. I suggest you contact the police.”

“Normally, that would be my first call. Well, not normally, but I’m not the most popular person with the authorities at the moment.”

“Are you a wanted man?”

“Most likely.”

“By who?”

“The government.”

“Which one?”

“All of them, I think. There’s also a little problem with the appropriate travel documents for several of the members in our party.”

“You’re in the country illegally?”

“We didn’t exactly sign in at the front desk, if you know what I mean.”

“What makes you think that I can help?”

“According to Confucius, if you toss a pebble into a pond, you get a ripple. If you toss a toaster into a pond, you get a bigger ripple, not to mention a whole lot of dead fish. What I mean to say is that, according to my attorney, you are the kind of man who can make a very big ripple.”

“You’re a very strange man.”

“Thank you. Genius is almost always misdiagnosed.”

“Besides you and your two missing colleagues, how many others are with you?”

“Six others.”

“Where are you currently?”

“A little place outside of Piedras Negras at a house of ill repute known as the Coyote’s Lair. Our friends were taken to a large farm not far from here.” There was silence on the other end of the line.

“I know the place you are at,” Mr. Montalban said after a few moments. “Stay there. I will make some calls and see what I can find out. Can you describe your two companions? The ones who are missing, so to speak.” Avery gave him a detailed description of Ziggy and Private Zulu. “Thank you, Mr. Rock Star. Once again, do not leave the Coyote’s Lair. Someone will be in contact with you. Someone who can help.”

“Thank you in advance for your kind assistance, Mr. Montalban. Now, make it snappy.”

“But of course.” Mr. Montalban hung up the phone.

“There, that was easy.” Avery returned to the group.

Back in New Orleans, Mae Mae rocked in her chair. The rocking chair was hand carved by her father. It was old, and it helped the elderly voodoo priestess to relax. Something wasn’t right with Mae Mae. She felt it in her bones. It ached deep within her. Her dreams had been crazy lately. Those two white fools. Mae Mae rubbed her temple. It didn’t help with her headache. Her granddaughter, in her little white dress, came through the purple strands of beads.

“Mae Mae, we need more whiskey.” The pretty little girl went to the back of the building.

“It’s up in there, child,” Mae Mae said in a hushed voice. “Take it all out, sweetie.”

“Mae Mae, you okay?” The little girl carried a case of liquor toward the front of the house.

“Hush, child. Leave me be.”

“Okay, Mae Mae.” The little girl looked over her shoulder with concern. The shouts from the bar in the front room grabbed the girl’s attention. “I’ll be back, Mae Mae. You just rest easy.” The girl disappeared through the purple beads.

“I’ll be here…child.” Mae Mae exhaled, long and slow. She climbed out of her rocker and went to the table. Standing above it, she tossed the bones. A concerned look spread across her face as they settled. She sat down at the table and began to deal from a deck of tarot cards. She looked at the cards, examining them closely. A worried look spread across her face. I can’t believe those two crazy honkies actually went to Mexico. Mae Mae picked up her cards and bones, and went back to her rocking chair. She was tired. She went to sleep… and prayed for them. For the first time ever, she prayed for honkies.

“Nancy… Nancy,” Ziggy whimpered in the dark.

“Where are we?” Private Zulu asked.

“Like, I don’t know, man. Nancy…”

“Quiet… I don’t think we’re alone in here.”

“Huh?”

“I think there’s someone over there.”

“Like, where?”

“Over there.”

“It’s, like, too dark, dude.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling.” A groan came from the other side of the room. “I told you so! Help! Get us out of here!”

“Nancy!” Footsteps came from outside the room. Suddenly the door opened, and a light was turned on. The brightness temporarily blinded the two men, who struggled at the bonds that held them firmly in their chairs.

“Help us, mister,” Private Zulu begged the figure slowly coming into focus in the doorway. The man, wearing a dark suit and priest’s collar, lit a cigar.

“What were you doing on my property?”

Neither Ziggy nor Private Zulu said a word. Their eyes were riveted to the sight of the massive, bloody, naked man tied to a chair on the other side of the room. A car battery rested at his feet.

“I said, what were you doing on my land?”

“We wasn’t doing nothing, mister,” Private Zulu said. “According to the General, I’m only supposed to give you my name, rank, and serial number.”

“I don’t, like, have a rank,” Ziggy mumbled.

“Do you know who I am?” the Padre asked as he blew a cloud of smoke across the room.

“No, sir,” Private Zulu answered. “May I use your the toilet, mister? I’ve got a real bad case of the green apple squirts. I don’t cotton too much to the chow down here.”

“How many others are with you?”

“Oh, a whole bunch, mister. They’re probably on their way to get help right now.” Across the room, Barquero moaned. “Maybe, if you just let us go, we can forget this whole dang thing. We was just about heading back to Texas anyway. Bygones is bygones, my granny used to say.”

A man carrying a cell phone entered the room. Cesar followed the man. He paused when he saw Barquero.

“Hello, my old friend,” Cesar said. Squinting through the blood in his eyes, Barquero struggled at his bonds and cursed through the duct tape covering his mouth.

“Padre,” the man with the phone said, “you have a call.” He handed the Padre the phone.

“Who is it?” the Padre asked. “What do you want? Really? Where? I see. I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Mr. Montalban.”

Back at the Coyote’s Lair, Avery and the remaining men of STRAC-BOM watched the naked women dance for the evening crowd. The bus was parked out back. The General had insisted, for security reasons. They all had their sombreros on for disguise, except the General. As usual, the main focus of attention in the building was on Esmeralda. The curvaceous brunette slowly spun her way around the main stage. She pulled a large revolver from the holster on her hip and playfully pointed it at random men in the audience. Her intoxicating smile virtually hypnotized customers into tipping her every peso they had on them.

“Man, that babe is finer than a frog hair split three ways.” Fire Team Leader Bravo finished his beer.

“Be careful, my friend,” El Coyote said as he placed another round of beers down on the table. “She’s a beauty, but she bites.”

“That pistol she’s packing sure looks right legit,” Private Foxtrot said.