Читать книгу Day of the Dead - Lisa Brackman - Страница 11

‘The consulate called me.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Michelle repeated. ‘I didn’t call them.’

They rode in Gary’s car, a black Land Cruiser with tinted windows, looping around the airport on the highway, heading north. Leather seats. Gary seemed to do pretty well with his consulting, whatever it was.

‘Mexican authorities are supposed to contact the consulate when they take an American citizen into custody,’ Gary explained. ‘That doesn’t happen a lot of places, but Puerto Vallarta’s better than most.’

‘And the consulate called you?’

‘I help them out now and again. I’ve got some experience with Mexican law.’

‘I see.’

She must have sounded skeptical. Hell, she was skeptical.

‘Well, their staffing’s not what it should be,’ Gary said. ‘Not always enough to help out Americans in trouble. And when they mentioned your name, of course I wanted to do what I could.’

The sign on the two-lane highway said they were heading toward Tepic, wherever that was. The surrounding landscape was flat, green splotched with brown, broken up by the occasional gas station, cinder-block building and cluster of scrubby palms. There was a lot of traffic, and the Land Cruiser’s air-conditioning could not entirely filter out the raw diesel fumes from the buses in front of them.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Thought you might want to shower and change your clothes.’ He tilted his head over his shoulder. ‘Your stuff’s in the trunk.’

They drove awhile in silence, the air conditioner drying the sweat on her skin to salt. Dirt from the jail powdered her arms and legs. Probably the rest of her as well.

‘What’s my situation?’ she finally asked. ‘Am I out on bail or … or what?’

‘Looks like they won’t be filing charges. At least not yet.’

‘What does that mean, “not yet”? Do I need to get a lawyer?’

‘Well, you got me,’ he said, turning to smile at her. ‘And right now that’s enough to keep you out of jail.’

‘I don’t understand.’

He turned back to watch the road, left hand on the wheel, right arm resting on the center console, hand drifting close to her thigh. ‘You know, in Mexico you’re guilty till proven innocent. If they’d charged you, the bail would’ve been pretty substantial. Or maybe they wouldn’t have granted bail at all. Depends on the charges and the judge. Then the trial … well, it can take a while for the trial to even begin. A year’s not unusual. You know the percentage of folks in Mexican prisons who haven’t been convicted of anything? Then the sentences …’ His plump lips parted slightly as his smile broadened. ‘Not a nice situation, especially not for a woman like you.’

‘As opposed to a woman like someone else?’ The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Gary chuckled. ‘You’re a cool customer, Michelle. I sussed that out about you right away.’

They turned off the main highway and took a sudden turn to the left, toward the coast. Now they traveled on a two-lane road landscaped with evenly spaced palm trees. Michelle glimpsed tennis courts, swimming pools, brightly painted townhouses shaped like honeycombs.

‘Here’s what I don’t understand: What was someone like you doing with cocaine? I’d of thought you’d know better.’

‘It wasn’t mine.’ She didn’t know if Gary would believe her or not, and she honestly didn’t care. ‘Somebody planted it. Probably the policeman.’

‘A shakedown? Then how’d you end up in jail?’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe you ought to think about how else those drugs might’ve gotten into your purse.’

Michelle remained silent. She didn’t have an explanation. Nothing made sense, no matter how she looked at it.

Gary sighed. ‘You gotta be careful, hanging out with guys like Danny. Not that you had any way of knowing that.’

Daniel could have done it.

She felt like she’d swallowed an ice cube.

That night at the hotel, maybe. Or when she’d gone to return his clothes. Or he could have hired someone else to do it. Maybe even the policeman.

But why?

She wasn’t going to ask Gary. Not yet. She didn’t trust Gary at all. But there was something else she could ask him.

‘Why are you helping me?’

‘You’re a suspicious person, aren’t you?’ His grin broadened. ‘Well, the way I see it, we’re helping each other.’

Michelle took a long, hot shower. She was truly filthy, for one, and sore. Being in the shower also gave her time away from Gary. Time to think.

He’d taken her to a condo in a gated complex on the bay, a series of ten-story towers flanked by a golf course. On one side of the complex, the towers were only half built, still bare concrete and rebar, and even the completed towers had an unfinished look to them, uncluttered by any signs of occupancy. ‘Yep, these just came on the market,’ Gary had said. ‘I practically have the whole floor to myself.’ His unit, on the seventh floor, overlooked the golf course. ‘It’s a great course. You like to golf, Michelle? Maybe you and I could play a few rounds sometime.’

I should have just asked him to take me to the airport, she thought. I could have cleaned up in the restroom or something, gotten on a plane to somewhere, anywhere in the United States. But she’d been so tired, so out of her own element, that she hadn’t thought of that soon enough. She’d just sat in Gary’s expensive car, on Gary’s expensive leather seats, and let him take her here.

There was something very wrong with this situation.

The attack in the hotel room. The pig’s head. Two acts aimed against Daniel. And her. But it couldn’t really be about her, could it? She was just a tourist who’d hooked up with a good-looking man she’d known nothing about.

So it had to be about Daniel. Until the drugs planted in her purse.

Maybe Daniel blamed her for what had happened to him, for the break-in and his injury. Maybe he thought that she’d set him up somehow, and this was some sick form of revenge.

The way Gary had shown up at the jail, playing her rescuer, everything suddenly fixed – she didn’t believe that performance at all.

She felt dizzy and sick, like she was going to throw up. Which could have been from the jailhouse burrito and not just her nerves. Keep it together, she told herself. Get dressed and figure out some way to get out of here. Just get to the airport.

Figuring out what she’d landed in wasn’t nearly as important as getting out of it.

She toweled off quickly, put on a clean blouse and knee-length shorts – because a dress felt too vulnerable – unlocked the bathroom door, and stepped out into the hall.

She could hear the TV blaring from the living room – a comedy, she thought, because suddenly Gary laughed out loud.

Heart thumping, she stepped into the bedroom where her things were.

First things first. Make sure there were no more surprises in her luggage.

She searched her suitcase as quickly and thoroughly as she could. Nothing there, at least that she could find. She could tell that the suitcase had been unloaded and hastily repacked, but there was nothing unfamiliar here.

She checked her purse next. Opened every pocket. Dumped the contents out on the bed.

Nothing.

But something was different.

Her passport was gone.

Michelle decided to put on a little makeup. She didn’t know what she’d gotten herself into with Gary, but she did know the advantages of looking good.

‘Well, don’t you look nice,’ Gary said.

He’d turned the TV off. He sat at the table by the open kitchen, a setup not unlike the one at Daniel’s place, though done on a larger, more expensive scale. It still had that same anonymous look. The art on the walls – Banderas Bay at sunset, with whales; donkeys by the cathedral, vaguely mystical; pseudo-Mayan corn maidens – she’d seen paintings like this countless times in the downtown Vallarta tourist galleries.

On the table was a pizza in a box, a salad in a plastic take-out container, and an open bottle of wine.

‘Thought you might be hungry,’ Gary said. ‘I know this isn’t exactly haute cuisine, but these guys do a pretty good job on short notice.’

‘Thanks,’ Michelle said, sitting down at the table. Pizza wasn’t generally her thing, but she really was hungry. She helped herself to a slice and a scoop of salad. Gary poured her a glass of wine.

The pizza was good, and so was the salad. The wine was drinkable, which was good enough under the circumstances.

‘You know, I can’t find my passport,’ she finally said.

‘Anything else missing? Oh—’ He made a show of patting his chest, as if he’d stashed something in a nonexistent pocket. ‘I have your phone and your jewelry. Almost forgot about it.’

‘What about my passport?’

‘Well, that’s a little complicated.’

‘Complicated how?’

He took a slow, deliberate sip of wine. ‘They’re dropping the charges, for now. But they don’t quite trust you, Michelle. They want to keep their eye on you a little bit longer.’

That doesn’t make sense! she wanted to scream, but she didn’t.

‘I guess I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Somebody planted a little bit of – what was it, coke? – in my purse. Not enough for anyone to really even care about. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten me out so easily. Right? But you’re telling me they care enough to hold on to my passport?’

Gary smiled and served himself another slice of pizza, cutting the dangling strings of cheese with his knife. ‘I knew you were smart. It’s always a pleasure, finding someone like you. A diamond in the rough.’

‘Look, Gary …’ How was she going to get herself out of this when she didn’t even know what she’d gotten into? ‘I’m really grateful for the help. But right now what I need to know is, when do I get my passport back? I have a lot on my plate, and I’ve got to get home.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ He seemed to find this doubly amusing. ‘I imagine you do. I did a little checking into your situation – no place to live, a pile of debt, a lawsuit or two hanging over your head – I’m sure you can’t wait to get back to all that.’

Michelle felt her cheeks burn red. ‘I have obligations to deal with,’ she managed.

‘Husband dies, leaves you holding the bag …’ Gary shook his head. ‘And all this time you spent … well, what is it you’ve been doing the last ten years, Michelle? Entertaining? You’re capable of so much more.’

How the fuck did he know all this?

‘Thanks for the compliment.’

Gary reached over to grasp the wine bottle, ready to refill her glass. Michelle put her hand on his and gave him a little squeeze. ‘What about my passport?’

She wanted to see if the gesture would rattle him at all. It didn’t.

‘Like I said before, this is about us helping each other. Here’s your chance to help me back.’

‘What if I just went to the consulate, told them I lost my passport?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Michelle.’ His eyes widened ever so slightly, bloodshot beneath the puffy lids. ‘I really wouldn’t.’