Chapter 10
We kept this up for three days, spending most of our time in the bed, dressing only for an occasional meal, or in the afternoons when Felicia made her daily trip to the Post Office. On the fourth day all hell broke loose.
I was sitting on the window ledge, watching the front of the Post Office. Felicia had just gone in. Then Duke Bevins drove up in the cab, as he had every afternoon. It was going according to script.
My insides were tied up in knots as usual. The same thing every day was beginning to get to me. I sat and smoked while the sweat trickled under the collar of my shirt.
Then, sooner than I had expected, Felicia came out the door. I jumped up, banging my head against the window.
She had the goddam package in her hand.
I cursed and ground my teeth. After I had told her to leave it there and let me pick it up. Every day I had told her when she went out the door.
Duke came out, right at her heels.
She didn't know Duke from Adam, but he was following her.
I leaned out the window and opened my mouth to shout at her, then I bit down hard. The last thing I wanted was for Duke to know I was alive.
When he followed her up to the room, if she got that far, that would be the end of Duke. But I had to get the jump on him. Duke stood on the steps of the Post Office, watching her, trying to make up his mind whether to jump her there on the street or follow her.
Felicia walked to the corner, then turned down a side street. My curse came out a scream.
The bitch was double-crossing me.
I ran across the room, snatching up my coat from the chair as I busted out the door. I felt for the automatic in the coat pocket. It was there.
I took the stairs two at a time. As I dashed across the lobby. I shrugged on the coat.
I went around the corner on the run. It was too late now to worry about whether Duke saw me. He would be intent on Felicia anyhow. I caught a glimpse of his pale blue sport coat a half block ahead.
I was conscious of banging into people, knocking them aside, as I ran along the sidewalk.
Then I slowed down because Duke was walking and I was only fifty yards behind him. Felicia was ahead of Duke, going as fast as she could in her high heels, half running, half skipping. When she turned the corner I saw the package, the size of a cigar box, wrapped in brown paper.
Duke came to the corner next. When I reached it Felicia was gone. There was only Duke and the empty sidewalk and some kids playing baseball in the street.
Duke was running now.
He turned down a narrow opening, and when I reached it I saw it was a passageway between two buildings. There was sunlight at the far end.
I waited until Duke was out of the passage, then I ran. My feet clattered on brick, echoing off the narrow walls.
Something exploded loudly just as I reached the sunlightI broke my stride and shoved my back against the wall. The automatic was in my hand. I eased up to the edge of the building and looked into the empty patio-There was an old stone fountain in the center of the area, which was walled in by buildings on all sides. There were a few small tropical trees and the stench of a thousand privies. When I moved into the open, my foot crushed an overripe banana that lay on the ground.
I stumbled forward, suddenly tense with panic, because I didn't see either of them. After all the goddam waiting, Duke had come out on top.
The bitch the bitch the bitch, I kept mumbling over and over, grinding my teeth.
There was a wooden scaffolding against one of the walls. Beneath it was a pile of brick and rubble. That was where I found Felicia.
She was lying on her back, her dress pulled as high as her waist. A piece of her face seemed to be chipped away. There was a hole in her temple that was oozing blood. She stared up at me and beyond with eyes that were dead. The package was gone. All I could do was curse.
The double-crossing bitch. I was tempted to pump a couple of bullets into her myself.
Instead I turned and raced across the open stretch, looking for the way out that Duke had taken. A woman let out a shrill scream just above my head. I saw her leaning out a window, staring over at the pile of rubble. Then I was aware of more screaming. It had been going on for quite a while-There were women in other windows. I was surrounded by a chorus of harpies.
I ran toward an archway which opened into one of the buildings. It had to lead out of this place.
I was almost there when I heard a shout across the courtyard. A fat cop had come through the passageway, and he was standing beside Felicia, waving his gun at me.
It went off and I ducked instinctively.
My arm jerked like someone had twisted it out of the socket, then I felt the bullet eating at my flesh like a white-hot flame. I shoved my back against the wall, raised the automatic, and squeezed off two shots.
They both went wild, but the cop dove for the ground. That gave me time to get through the archway.
I looked down at my arm as I ran. The numbness was going away and the pain reached down to my guts. I had come to the door that led to the sidewalk. Before I stepped out I took off the coat and draped it over my shoulder. I turned the sleeve to hide most of the blood--
There were sirens in the distance.
I cut through a side street to Miguel Aleman and made it back to my hotel room.
First thing I did was to strip out of my shirt and wash the blood away from my arm. There was a jagged tear across the bicep where the bullet had passed through. There was a lot of ache, but the bone didn't seem to be broken.
I ripped up the shirt and tied a tourniquet to stop the flow of blood. Then I cleaned up the mess in the bathroom. I put on a clean shirt, draped another jacket over my shoulder, and snapped the suitcase shut.
I had the bloody jacket and shirt rolled up in a bundle. On the street I looked for a trash can. I finally settled for throwing the bundle on the floor of the car. I wheeled the Karmann Ghia away from the curb and turned east along the boulevard.
They would have road blocks up by now. But I wasn't going to leave town for a couple of days. I had to let things cool down, and I had to get the arm fixed. The best time for that was after dark.
My first stop was a liquor store. I bought a full quart of stateside bourbon, then cruised over to Cuauhtemoc, where there were a number of second rate motels. Maybe half the tourist trade was American, so I wouldn't look out of the way.
I kept the jacket over my arm when I went in the small office to register. The sleepy clerk paid no attention to me at all. He hardly opened his eyes.
I paid for two days and took the key to number 10. I parked in the slot beside the unit and carried the suitcase inside. Then I went back and got the bundle of bloody clothes. I still had the damned things to dispose of. It would be crazy to leave them lying in the car.
I took off my shirt and washed the dust from my face. Then I removed the bandage, which started a small trickle of blood. Opening the bourbon, I splashed some of it on the wound. It was the only antiseptic I had.
And it burned like hell.
Opening the bundle, I tore off another strip of shirt and made a clean bandage. Then I took a slug of whiskey and stretched out on the bed.
I lay there, nipping from the bottle, waiting for dark. For nearly an hour I dozed off. There was still a little sunlight filtering through the window. I took another drink of bourbon and tried to sleep some more. But the throbbing in the arm was too much.
I lay there gritting my teeth until night had fallen outside. A red and green neon sign began blinking against the drapes of my window.
I got to thinking about Duke.
He would be headed for the states by now, with the package of jewels. The jackpot. No cop had seen him at the scene of the crime. He didn't have a shot-up arm. He was a mile ahead of me in every department.
All I could do was lie there and curse my luck.
But I was going to make it, one way or another. I had to, just for the satisfaction of getting Duke. He still didn't know I was alive. That was one thing in my favor. I wondered what he thought about Felicia swiping the package under his nose. He'd have a hard time figuring that one out.
I had a feeling that once he got back to the states he would head for Nashville. After all, he thought he'd gotten away clean. He thought Chris and I were on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, feeding the fishes.
And Duke had always talked about Nashville. I got the idea he had a few buddies in his home town he would like to make an impression on, by showing off his money-Duke was that kind of a guy.
And that just might be a point in my favor. Anyhow, I was heading for Nashville as soon as the arm healed enough to permit the long ride.
I rolled over on the bed and a pain shot up my arm like a jolt of electricity. I managed to get onto my feet. Beads of sweat began rolling down my face. I lit a cigarette, then took a good belt from the bottle.
I hadn't eaten in a hell of a long time, and it was beginning to tell on me. I needed food almost as bad as I needed a doctor. What I really needed was a couple of breaks until I got out of Acapulco.
Before I went out to the car, I tightened the tourniquet around my arm. I gathered the bundle of bloody clothes and went outside.
There was a cool breeze coming off the harbor. I could even smell the freshness of ocean air, despite the neighborhood odors of garlic and sewers and garbage.
At the second corner I spotted a trash can and deposited the bundle. Then I cruised along Cuauhtemoc Avenue until I found a small grocery store. There were all kinds of things on the shelves that didn't look appetizing, like canned squid and iguana. I bought a couple of cans of beans, some peaches and a loaf of bread. I'd need a can opener. I found that in a little bin beside the mousetrap.
I wasn't about to buy any fresh food now. A case of Montezuma's revenge would be about all the misery I could handle, on top of the busted arm.
Back in the car again, I drove along slowly, watching signs on the doors of the clustered houses.
In the third block I found what I wanted. MEDICO. Dr. James Olivar. It was a small sign on a post in the front yard of a wooden house.
I kept driving for another block before I pulled into an empty space at the curb. I didn't want anyone to connect the Karmann Ghia with the doctor's office. Getting a doctor to sew up a bullet wound was going to be trouble enough.
I walked back casually, making sure nobody was watching when I entered. I pushed right through the door without knocking. That caused a bell to ring above my head.
The doctor came from a room in the back, scowling. He was short and round, with a fat Mexican face, puffy eyes, and the inevitable mustache.
"Que quieres?" he demanded.
I grinned at him, then pulled the jacket off my arm. His eyes grew suspicious as he fingered the tourniquet. He frowned and shook his head. I could see the thought going through his head as he put two and two together.
I didn't have time to argue. My hand had been on the automatic in my coat pocket. I pulled it out and touched his belly lightly with the barrel.
I felt him beginning to shake. He took a step back and knocked a vase off a small table. I could see the sweat popping out on his face. He nodded almost agreeably and led me into the small room he used for an office.
It looked clean enough. I figured I had a fair chance of surviving a minor operation.
He drew up two chairs beside a small table of instruments. Before I sat down, I removed the shirt carefully, slowly, keeping the automatic always aimed at a vulnerable spot on the doctor's bulky body.
He turned his back on me for a moment to wash his hands at a small sink. Then he sat down and removed the bandage. His face was impassive now.
He swabbed the ragged cut with something on a ball of cotton that stung like salt. Then he clamped the loose skin together and threaded a needle. He wasn't trying to make it easy for me, because he wasn't using any local anesthetic. I wouldn't have let him anyhow. He was just aching for a chance to get the jump on me and turn me over to the police.
I was sure he had heard about the shoot-up near the Post Office. It was probably the talk of the town.
I clamped my teeth together when he started using the needle and thread. He wasn't a very good surgeon with those fat, clumsy fingers. After he had snipped away the excess thread, he swabbed again and taped on a bandage.
I stood up. As I put on the shirt, I shifted the gun from one hand to the other. He kept watching, still sitting on the metal chair. There was an instant when I juggled the gun, catching my finger in the trigger guard.
That was when he made his move.
He jumped up suddenly, and I saw the glint of surgical steel in his hand. It was aimed at my guts. But he was too slow on his feet.
I darted to the side, brought my foot up, felt it bury into his crotch. He doubled over with a groan.
The butt of the automatic cracked against the back of his skull, and he sagged to the floor. When I leaned down, I could hear him still breathing. But it had been a solid blow, and he would be out for a while.
I hadn't heard anyone else in the house, but I went from room to room just to check. There was a cat asleep on the kitchen floor. That's all I found.
My arm was sore, but it was already feeling better. I figured I was well enough to travel. Unless I killed the doc, I knew I had to get out of town fast. By now the local police might have given up on the idea of catching anyone at a road block. They might not even have organized one. Sometimes they don't operate the way they do in the states.
When I went back to the office, the doctor was still stretched out on the floor. I ripped off a long strip of tape from a wide roll, pushed him over onto his stomach, and taped his wrists together. Then I taped his mouth and tied his feet with a long piece of rubber hose.
There was no more blood oozing through the bandage, so I put on the jacket. I watched out the front door for nearly a minute before I left. Then I was in the car, headed back for the motel. I loaded up the suitcase and pulled outI left Cuauhtemoc and rode over to Miguel Aleman. At the Diana Circle I turned onto Highway 95 and headed for Mexico City.
It was going to be a long all-night drive, but with a little luck and the help of the bourbon I figured I could be there before someone came and found Dr. Olivar lying on the floor of his office.