grin.
“ Hell no. You’re going to talk to Nicholson. I have some words for that man too.”
Alex turned to look at him as a lock of golden hair curled around her smile.
“ Then I suggest you hang on, Mr. Hasslet.”
***
They pulled into Ramonez with the welcoming fanfare of a homeless cat.
Mitch barely warranted a broken snore from the first human he encountered−a man sleeping erect on a motorbike. Alex on the other hand, drew more attention. The blond hair alone roused men from their indifference, and Mitch didn’t like the look in their eyes. Sitting in wicker chairs on the side of the road, these men were hungry for alcohol and hungry for other things. If it were up to him, he would have thrown a bag over her when they walked down the dirt road leading into a town square. The square possessed a fountain in the center, but it seemed its source of water had long run dry. Colonial buildings dating back to the early 1600’s flanked the fountain, the most striking being a church that reflected Spanish masonry with its arched campanile.
“ Wonderful,” Mitch mumbled when she pulled the Jeep up idle in front of a local market.
“ I’m sorry, did you mutter?”
“ Just great to see what a low profile you’re keeping.”
Alex clenched her hands around the steering wheel. “I have been to Ramonez many times, Mr. Hasslet. My profile is that of an archeologist here for supplies. It’s not unusual in these parts. This town is used to white entrepreneurs. They regard us with the same respect as a slug, but they don’t complain about the money.”
Alex got out and he followed her into the market, which consisted of rows of mismatched tables covered with assorted sundries ranging from overripe fruit to tractor tires. She moved directly past the snoring clerk to the back wall where an archaic pay phone was mounted.
Mitch couldn’t resist. He flipped open his cell and checked for ‘bars’.
“ Fool.” Alex smirked.
“ Well, I don’t have any pesos on me or whatever the hell this machine takes, so it was worth a shot.”
“ Centavos.” Alex reached into the front pocket of her shorts and plopped a coin into the phone.
She spoke in fluent Spanish to the operator and then stood fingering the metal cord as she waited for the connection.
“ Is he there?” Mitch was edgy. He wanted to have words with that man. There were so many elements that Nicholson had misled him on.
A cat jumped onto the store clerk’s belly, jarring him from his sleep. Now the man stared at them as if they were prospective vandals.
“ I’m waiting on the operator. Why don’t you make yourself useful and pick up these items?” She handed him a crumpled list.
Mitch refrained from saluting before turning to search for batteries on a crooked table. The formica surface was burdened with cracker packets and bags of rice, their brands indiscernible beneath a coat of dust. He skimmed the rest of the list and perked up at the words six-pack scrawled hastily at the bottom.
“ Phillip?”
At the sound of the name, Mitch spun around, but Alex switched back into Spanish and turned her back to conceal her conversation. It wasn’t even true Spanish, rather some local derivative.
So, the enigmatic Mr. Nicholson could speak the local dialect? Why was Mitch not surprised?
As he picked up a can of beans, Mitch noticed that Alex had grown agitated. He also noticed the clerk watching her. Mitch grabbed the next item−the cherished six-pack.
“ He wants to talk to you.”
Alex looked miffed by the fact and extended the phone towards him.
“ Good.” Mitch put the beer back. “I want to talk to him.”
As Alex handed over the receiver, she stepped back and rested her hip against a table, studying Mitch with interest.
He raised an eyebrow and stared her down until she made a slight huff and stalked off.
Satisfied with her distance and very satisfied with the posterior view, Mitch finally lifted the receiver to his ear. He expected
“ Hell no. You’re going to talk to Nicholson. I have some words for that man too.”
Alex turned to look at him as a lock of golden hair curled around her smile.
“ Then I suggest you hang on, Mr. Hasslet.”
***
They pulled into Ramonez with the welcoming fanfare of a homeless cat.
Mitch barely warranted a broken snore from the first human he encountered−a man sleeping erect on a motorbike. Alex on the other hand, drew more attention. The blond hair alone roused men from their indifference, and Mitch didn’t like the look in their eyes. Sitting in wicker chairs on the side of the road, these men were hungry for alcohol and hungry for other things. If it were up to him, he would have thrown a bag over her when they walked down the dirt road leading into a town square. The square possessed a fountain in the center, but it seemed its source of water had long run dry. Colonial buildings dating back to the early 1600’s flanked the fountain, the most striking being a church that reflected Spanish masonry with its arched campanile.
“ Wonderful,” Mitch mumbled when she pulled the Jeep up idle in front of a local market.
“ I’m sorry, did you mutter?”
“ Just great to see what a low profile you’re keeping.”
Alex clenched her hands around the steering wheel. “I have been to Ramonez many times, Mr. Hasslet. My profile is that of an archeologist here for supplies. It’s not unusual in these parts. This town is used to white entrepreneurs. They regard us with the same respect as a slug, but they don’t complain about the money.”
Alex got out and he followed her into the market, which consisted of rows of mismatched tables covered with assorted sundries ranging from overripe fruit to tractor tires. She moved directly past the snoring clerk to the back wall where an archaic pay phone was mounted.
Mitch couldn’t resist. He flipped open his cell and checked for ‘bars’.
“ Fool.” Alex smirked.
“ Well, I don’t have any pesos on me or whatever the hell this machine takes, so it was worth a shot.”
“ Centavos.” Alex reached into the front pocket of her shorts and plopped a coin into the phone.
She spoke in fluent Spanish to the operator and then stood fingering the metal cord as she waited for the connection.
“ Is he there?” Mitch was edgy. He wanted to have words with that man. There were so many elements that Nicholson had misled him on.
A cat jumped onto the store clerk’s belly, jarring him from his sleep. Now the man stared at them as if they were prospective vandals.
“ I’m waiting on the operator. Why don’t you make yourself useful and pick up these items?” She handed him a crumpled list.
Mitch refrained from saluting before turning to search for batteries on a crooked table. The formica surface was burdened with cracker packets and bags of rice, their brands indiscernible beneath a coat of dust. He skimmed the rest of the list and perked up at the words six-pack scrawled hastily at the bottom.
“ Phillip?”
At the sound of the name, Mitch spun around, but Alex switched back into Spanish and turned her back to conceal her conversation. It wasn’t even true Spanish, rather some local derivative.
So, the enigmatic Mr. Nicholson could speak the local dialect? Why was Mitch not surprised?
As he picked up a can of beans, Mitch noticed that Alex had grown agitated. He also noticed the clerk watching her. Mitch grabbed the next item−the cherished six-pack.
“ He wants to talk to you.”
Alex looked miffed by the fact and extended the phone towards him.
“ Good.” Mitch put the beer back. “I want to talk to him.”
As Alex handed over the receiver, she stepped back and rested her hip against a table, studying Mitch with interest.
He raised an eyebrow and stared her down until she made a slight huff and stalked off.
Satisfied with her distance and very satisfied with the posterior view, Mitch finally lifted the receiver to his ear. He expected
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