7 - Meeting Gravestone

Vincent Crocadero sat uncomfortably in the wing-backed chair across from the massive, glass-topped desk. He watched silently as the man behind the desk applied his signature with a flourish to a series of pages then closed the folder and handed it to the petite young woman obediently waiting.

"What happened to your hand, Vincent?" The voice was as flat as the face; a slab of beige, compliments of a tanning salon, with a wide, equally flat nose splitting the surface between two arched, bushy brows. The lips had a pink tinge and moved with exaggeration as they formed each word.

"I broke a finger." He rubbed the gaudy bandage self consciously.

"How?"

"I just broke it, okay?"

"Hmmm. What happened with Miss Howard?"

"She gave the statue to some guy she works with. I didn't find out 'till after I got her alone in the car. I poked around and found out who it was and went to his place and searched it thoroughly but it wasn't there."

"Poked around. Is that how you broke your finger?"

"No I-"

"Who was the . . . guy?"

"An Arnold Wainright. He's just a co-worker, nothin' special."

"So what do you suppose Mister Wainright did with the statue?"

Vincent considered his shoes for a moment. He knew damn well that Bishop Gravestone knew all about them leaving the country before he caught up with them. This was just his way of leading up to a punishment for failure.

"It's with Howard, Wainright and the professor, on the way to Mexico." He sighed and waited for the dunning.

"And this Wainright was nothing special." It was not a question.

"Not that I knew about."

Gravestone swiveled back and forth for a moment considering his employee. "How are you in the tropics, Vincent. Does extreme heat bother you?"

Vincent recoiled inside. He was going to Mexico for screwing up. "I dunno, haven't been in the tropics much."

"Really? Well then, time for a new experience, Vincent. You will hie to Mexico, pick up our friend's trail and either retrieve the statue, uncover what they are up to, dispose of them, or all three."

Two fat-fingered hands spread apart, palms up, in a gesture of c'est la vie. "Am I clear on this point?"

"It might be helpful if I knew what part of Mexico to hie to." Vincent said with obvious disgust.

"Bear in mind just whom you are speaking to when you use that tone of voice. I happen to know where they went first and to make positively certain you don't let me down . . . again . . .I'm sending Claude along to keep you company."

Vincent tried to swallow but his throat seized. Claude DeGeer was a stone killer interested only in plying his trade as often and as brutally as possible. "Is that really necessary, Mister Gravestone?"

"He has the tickets and is waiting in the anteroom. Have a nice trip, Vincent." Gravestone immediately picked up the phone and punched in a number. Vincent was through. Done. Dismissed.

*****

"Captain Gomez was a simple constable when I first met him," the professor was shouting, over the roar of the jeep racing down the highway. "We met when the dig I was on was raided by banditos."

"Banditos?" Arnold gave Gretta a doubtful glance.

"Absolutely. They were looking for radios, cameras and the like for their revolutionary comrades. You must remember, Arnold, this was twenty-five years or so ago. The sites we worked were deep into the mountains and jungles and close to the borders of neighbouring states."

"So what happened?"

"Captain Gomez - not a Captain then - and his small force of policemen rescued us and saved our belongings. They had been tracking the bandits for some time waiting to catch them red handed."

"So it was off to jail for the bad guys, eh?" Arny shouted over the engine noise.

"On the contrary, the police executed them on the spot."

Arnold jerked his head to Gretta who just shrugged and nodded. "You mean they killed them? That's murder!"

"That was law in the Mexican jungle, Arnold." The jeep bounced over several potholes nullifying any attempt for a further response. Arnold turned his face to the passing terrain and frowned. It didn't sound like law to him.

The jeep raced past roadside hovels of crumbling adobe with tethered goats chomping at sparse, brown grass; plumes of choking dust trailing in its wake.

Arnold tried to take in the scenery of the mist-shrouded mountains of Chiapas and the barely discernible profile of the Sierra Madre del Sur along the Pacific Coast. But the further they went south, the more humid and tree covered the land became.

"Where are we headed first?" He hollered.

"San Lorenzo," Gretta replied. "Actually, not right in the town. We'll be a few kilometers outside. That's where we'll stay tonight and that's also where my uncle based his expedition from."

"How far is it?"

"As the crow flies, about thirty miles or less. As the road goes, about seventy."

"Jesus, how long is that gonna take?"

"Maybe another couple of hours. Relax, Arny. Enjoy the adventure." She rested a hand on his leg and he imagined the image of her fingers burned permanently into his flesh.

"Do you speak any Spanish, Arnold?" The professor called from the front seat, breaking his fantasy.

"Si."

"Wonderful, that'll make things a lot easier."

"No professor. Si is almost my entire Spanish vocabulary."

"Oh." The professor fell silent again. Gretta slapped Arnold's leg and grinned.

"Obviously you speak the language, how long have you been coming here anyway? And why were you working in the ad agency up north?"

"I needed money and the agency needed someone who could speak Spanish. Simple as that. I did very well too. It gave me enough to finance this little expedition."

"I thought he was the guy in charge."

"Cheesy is the best man I know that's left who can authenticate what my uncle was doing. We've worked together before."

"Which was my first question."

"I started coming along on digs when I was twelve."

"And?"

"And nothing. That answers your question." He stared at her for a moment then went back to watching the scenery.

"So what do you do, normally?" He asked, turning back.

"I help Cheesy with some of his projects and the stuff I was doing at C&G."

"What do you live on then, does he pay you?"

"It's - complicated." She tipped her hat down over her eyes and settled back in the seat.

Arnold woke with a start as the jeep bounced to a stop. The sky was dark blue with pink and orange horizontal streaks and the air had cooled slightly. He mumbled a cough and sat up looking at the few meager buildings huddled in front of the backdrop of dense forest turning black in the waning light.

The professor was holding an animated conversation with a tall, lean man wearing dirty white cotton pants, a floppy sombrero and worn sandals. He was shaking his head and pointing to a small clearing off to his right. The professor stamped his foot, looking a little childish, and stalked back to the jeep.

"What's wrong, Cheesy?" Gretta asked.

"That idiot won't let us use the empty hut for the night. He says Miguel is not here and Miguel never said he could let people stay there."

"You told him we were good friends of course." The professor drew a pained expression. "Right. So what, we pitch our tents over there?"

"That's the option."

"Uuh, tents? Are we camping out . . . here?" Arnold sat higher and cast a doubtful look about.

"It's not so primitive," Gretta laughed climbing out of the jeep and grabbing a large pack from behind the seat. "C'mon, I'll show you."

Reluctantly, Arnold trailed after her to the indicated clearing and watched in amazement as she opened the pack grabbed something and gave a sharp snap of her arm.

A small, pup-tent sized dome opened like an umbrella and with a few deft moves she had it standing on a plastic base and the front flap opened for inspection.

"Your quarters, m'lord." She bowed theatrically and waved a welcoming hand. "We each have one. I'll get you a blanket and your backpack and help you set up."

Arnold felt like an idiot with Gretta getting him ready for bed so he followed her back to the jeep and helped unload the other tents and supplies.

"We'll make some coffee and plan tomorrow before we turn in. It'll be up with the mist, Arny." She laughed again, the sound tinkling across the clearing and vanishing in the black forest.


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