Chapter 8
There was a small hotel next door to the Post Office, not the best in town, but quiet and clean. I rented a room, insisting to the clerk that it overlook the street.
As soon as I was settled in the room, I pulled the drapes and looked out the window. I couldn't see the entrance of the Post Office, but I could see the street in front. Nobody could go in or come out without me seeing them.
I smiled with satisfaction. When those jewels came in, I wanted to be right on top of them.
I didn't unpack the suitcase, except to hang up the spare suit. I'd be living out of the suitcase for a while. It was best to be ready to leave at a moment's notice.
The packs of twenties were bulky in my pockets, but I wasn't going to leave money lying around my room the way Duke had. I tried a couple of shops along a side street leading off Presidente Aleman, but I had no luck.
Then I stopped at a place where there were a dozen people along a bench, making things out of leather, wallets, belts and even saddles. I made a quick sketch for the head man to show him what I wanted, and he made me a money belt while I waited.
It took less than twenty minutes. I borrowed a back room to load up the belt and strap it around my waist under the shirt. Then I went on my way.
My next stop was another small shop that had just about everything in the window, including a display of guns. When I walked through the door, a sleek young woman with jet black hair and very light skin came up to me. She had a Latin face, sultry dark eyes and a sensual mouth.
"Good afternoon, senor."
"Hello," I said.
"May I help you?"
I looked her over. She wore a pale gray dress with a red sash. There was a bright red rose pinned to the side of her hair. It was effective as hell. I could see that she had the lean body of a thoroughbred, slim legs and narrow waist. Her breasts were big and luxuriant. I saw the soft shimmer of flesh and the deep valley between, because her dress was cut very low at the neck.
We stood there for a moment, silently appraising each other in a kind of mutual admiration. She arched her brows. I saw the interest in her big brown eyes.
I'd like to look at guns," I said. "Small. Pocket size."
"Oh-" She smiled. "It is muy macho for a man to carry a pistol in Mexico."
I watched the bewitching sway of her hips as she led me over to a display case. She took out a tray of guns, and I hefted a small chrome-plated automatic. A 25 caliber that wouldn't bulge in my pocket.
"I'll take this," I said. "And a box of ammunition."
"Anything else, sir."
"Not today."
I watched the jiggle of those magnificent breasts while she wrapped the gun and a box of shells into a small package. It gave me some pretty lowdown ideas. But I couldn't let a little sexpot like this distract me from my purpose, no matter how nice the distraction would be.
She counted out my change, then she handed me a small business card.
"You wish a hotel room?" she asked. "This is my uncle's place. Very nice"
"I've got a room," I said. "The Cortes."
She knitted her brows.
"I don't know this hotel-"
"Next to the Post Office."
"Oh, the Post Office." She flashed a bright smile. "My cousin works in the Post Office."
I chewed my lip. It was a harmless bit of information, but suddenly I was alert to certain possibilities. Iedged a little closer to her and gazed into those big brown eyes.
"You're very pretty, senorita"
The wings of her nose spread just a little, and I saw a tremor pass through her. Here was one hell of a woman, a purely physical little animal.
"And you are so handsome, senor."
"Could I take you to dinner this evening?"
I'd like that very much."
"What time do you get off work?"
The tiny pink tip of her tongue slipped out and stroked her full lips, leaving them moist. When she inhaled, her breasts rose buoyantly.
"I'm finished at six o'clock," she said in a low, sultry voice. "But I must freshen up for you."
"Say, seven-thirty?"
"Very good."
"I'm Hank," I told her.
"My name is Felicia Chavez. I'll write my address for you. It isn't far-"
She scribbled on the back of the card and handed it to me, purposely touching my hand with her delicate fingers. It was enough to stir up the fire in my guts. We both smiled and said goodbye for now.
I went back to my room in the Hotel Cortes.
L lit a cigarette and sat on the bed to open the package. I checked over the gun to get familiar with it, then I opened the box of shells and loaded the clip. I clicked on the safety and dropped the automatic into my coat pocket. It was small enough, so it was hardly noticeable. Though it would take me a while to get used to the weight of it.
There were still some hours of daylight left, and I knew that I ought to stay holed up in the room. But there was one more piece of business I had to negotiate.
I needed identification. I needed a name and papers, in case something went sour and I had to start answering a lot of questions for the police. I put on my hat and dark glasses, and I went down the stairs to the street.
In every city in the world there is a place where men on the shady side of the law can contact each other. Usually ifs a bar. I didn't know which particular bar it would be in Acapulco, but I had an idea what kind.
I would know when I saw it.
There would be a lot of drifters, who are never too hard-to spot. There would be sharpies and gamblers and guys who had left the states to cool off a while, the way Chris Maddox had arrived in Puerto Reyes.
It would probably be a waterfront bar, though most of Acapulco's waterfront was taken up by beaches and hotels. I decided to work away from the malecon, along some of the streets where tourists seldom went.
I looked out of place in my imagine clothes, though there were some hard lines in my face that would get me past the door in a lot of joints where the average American citizen wouldn't dare to go.
You had to look tough sometimes, when that was your only protection.
I tried several rundown bars until I found one that looked promising. It was a busy place. The few Americans sitting at the bar were not going tourist class. I sat on an empty stool beside a guy who looked like a seaman.
I ordered a rum drink and nursed on it for a while.
The guy was big, though he was going to seed. He had a hard face that carried the scars of several brawls. He was just drunk enough that the hair fell in his eyes and he didn't bother to shove it back.
"Can I buy you a drink?" I asked.
He looked at me through bleary eyes.
I'm drinking their damned tequila. If you're buying I'll switch to American whiskey."
I threw ten dollars on the bar. The bartender walked up, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.
"A double shot of your best American whiskey", I told him.
"Si, senor."
The drunk seaman waited expectantly, his hands twitching on top of the bar. He tossed off the double shot and gave a sigh of deep satisfaction.
"Want another?" I asked.
He nodded and shoved the shot glass toward the waiting bartender. Then he turned and gave me a hard look.
"What the hell are you after?"
"I'm in trouble," I said.
"Who ain't?"
"I need identity papers."
"What makes you think I can get them for you?"
"I figure you can."
He reached for the whiskey, which the bartender slid in front of him. He tossed it off like the one before and sat for a moment licking his lips and thinking.
"How much you willing to pay?"
"For good papers plenty."
"How much for me?"
I took a sip from my drink and watched him, letting him stew a little. With his thirst I could buy him for peanuts. But I didn't want to waste time haggling.
"Twenty bucks."
"Make it thirty and the change on the bar."
"Pick up the change," I said.
He gathered the coins and we went out the door. I followed him down a dirty alley which would turn to mud when it rained. We walked until the alley ended against the side of a hill. Then we climbed the hill, following a well-beaten path. On the other side of the hill was a cluster of adobe huts with thatched roofs. There were a lot of kids playing around an old junked car.
The seaman stuck his head in the door of one of the huts, said a couple of words in Spanish, then stepped inside.
I kept my hand on the gun in my coat pocket, just for the hell of it.
There was a guy lying on a cot in the corner. He raised his head and looked at us. He was a small man and he wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.
"What is it?" he asked.
"He wants papers," said the seaman.
"I see " The little man sat up and wiped the sweat from his face with the edge of his finger, then snapped it at the floor. "I can't give you a passport."
"I don't need a passport," I said. "Just a few papers to give me some kind of identity."
"I can give you a driver's license. Credit cards. Very good forgeries."
'Who will they fool?"
"Many people."
"The policia?"
"Even the policia." The little man grinned. "If you have trouble with them, the mordida will also help."
"How much for a license and a credit card?" I asked.
"One thousand pesos. Cash." I leaned against the wall and figured for a minute.
"That's eighty bucks, American. I don't have pesos"
"Dollars are very good," said the little man.
He opened a cabinet and took a shoebox from the shelf. Then he shoved the dishes to one end of the table and sat down. The seaman who had brought me began pacing the floor, clenching his hands restlessly.
He was feeling the need for another drink.
I didn't need him any longer, so I took thirty bucks from my wallet and handed it to him. He shoved it into his pocket and walked out the door.
The little man had found a couple of cards he had been searching for. He put the lid on the shoe-box and laid it back on the shelf. Then he took an old Underwood typewriter from the cabinet.
He turned one of the cards with the roller and adjusted it carefully.
"What name do you wish to use, senor?"
"Make it Jacob Green."
"And the address?"
"What state is the driver's license from?"
"Louisiana. If you prefer, I also have Michigan."
"Louisiana will do. Make it New Orleans." I figured there would be a Bayou Street in New Orleans. "Twenty-four hundred Bayou Street."
The little man typed carefully, hunting for each key. He filled out the card, then scrawled an official-looking signature at the bottom of it. He took it out of the machine and fixed up the credit card the same way. Then he used some kind of clear glue to put cellophane on both sides. When he had trimmed the edges it looked like a professional job.
It was worth the money.
I paid him and left, following the path over the hill. It was six o'clock by the time I arrived back at the Hotel Cortes. I knew that Monica had found my my note by now. She was quite a dame, and I'd hated to dump her that way. But there were plenty of females around. When you got rid of one, there was always another to take her place.
I figured Felicia Chavez would make a dandy substitute.
As soon as I got to the room, I slipped the new identity cards in my new wallet, and I was a human being once again. I stripped down and showered and shaved. Then I took a cab to the address on the card Felicia had given me.
It was a three-story, modern apartment building with balconies on every floor across the front and a lot of potted plants on the ledges. Balanced precariously. So that if one should happen to jiggle off, it would be sure to hit a pedestrian in the street below.
That was one of the crazy games they played in Mexico.
Somebody gets beaned by falling objects, they shake their heads and call it fate.
When Felicia answered the door, I got one hell of a thrill. She was downright gorgeous. She was wearing a black velvet gown, and I could see right away that black was her color. It went with her hair and set off the creamy smoothness of her skin. like ivory and ebony. Pale loops of gold dangled below her ears--
The only touch of color was the crimson of her lips and a small pink cameo she wore around her neck on a black ribbon. She wore her long black hair pulled away from her face, framing it. Her hair was tied in a bun at the nape of her neck, and there was a small curl on each cheekbone. She had a delicate nose and burning black eyes.
It was a classic Spanish face.
There was mystery and promise in the dark pools of her eyes. Felicia was as beautiful and desirable as any woman could possibly be.
She arched her eyebrows and smiled at me.
"Good evening, Hank."
"You're a real jewel, Felicia," I said.
Her smile grew broader.
"You like me?"
"Very much."
"And I like you Hank. I'm very happy you came into the store today so we could meet. I hurried over as soon as I saw you, before the other girls could take you away. Do you have the gun?"
I felt my coat pocket, and it was there. I'd already gotten so used to it that I no longer noticed the weight.
"I have it," I said.
"Who are you going to shoot?" she asked coyly. "Nobody."
"You must want to shoot somebody. That's what guns are for." There was a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "If you want to kill someone, you should hire a pistolero to do it for you. In Mexico it is easy."
It wouldn't be a bad idea, I thought grimly. If I had all the money Duke Bevins had stolen. But right now he was worth a lot of money to me alive. I'd heard enough talk about the gun, which seemed to fascinate Felicia.
"Let's change the subject. I'd rather talk about you," I said. "You're beautiful."
"I know," she replied nonchalantly. "And the evening is beautiful. Let's go have fun together-"
I took her arm and led her down the stairs. I'd already picked out the restaurant where I wanted to take her. A quiet, out-of-the-way place which shouldn't attract a jerk like Duke Bevins. But it had quality just the same, and the food was supposed to be good.
Another asset was the lights, which were kept very low. The only illumination was the candles flickering on the tables. The waiter led us to a corner near the string ensemble. We had cocktails, then a leisurely meal, then more drinks. After that we danced for more than an hour.
Felicia was a sweet little armful. I felt the supple movement of her body as she leaned against me, and I felt the softness of those big, swelling breasts.
The lights were low, the music was pleasant and romantic, like only Latin music can be. As I danced with Felicia, her body pressed tight against me. I was aware of every contour, and my blood began to warm.
I moved my hand upward along her back until I touched the bare skin above the clinging black velvet of her gown. My fingers caressed her neck. I felt her shiver.
Her arms tightened.
"That's so good," she whispered. "So lovely."
"Bueno?" I asked, kissing her cheek.
"Mucho bueno," she sighed.
When she inhaled I felt her breasts expand against me like s pair of inflating balloons. She clung to my neck and began to rotate her hips. She was fired up too, and making no attempt to hide it.
I nibbled her ear.
"Felicia-"
"What?"
"I want to take you home with me."
"Of course, hon-eee," she whispered. "I want you too. You are muy macho, Hank. A real hombre. I just melt in your arms."
"Shall we go now?"
"Yes. If you like-"
As soon as we returned to the table, I took care of the check and the tips. It was cool on the street when we went outside and caught a taxi. I told the driver to take us to the Hotel Cortes.
Felicia's body went limp as I took her in my arms. Her lips parted and her tongue was there, worming brazenly into my mouth. She stroked my cheek with her fingers.
They were flame-tipped fingers with a delicate touch like the stroke of a feather. I could imagine how she could rouse a man with those fingers alone. Yet she had all that proud, voluptuous body to go along with it.
I pulled her hard against me and returned her kiss with fire. She went suddenly wild with passion, breathing hoarsely, making gasping sounds in her throat.
She was crawling all over me, digging her fingers into the back of my head, kissing my face, smearing her hot lips, biting with her teeth. She'd gone absolutely out of her mind. She kissed my eyes, licked my mouth, then she thrust the fluttering point of her tongue into my ear.
I nearly went through the roof of the cab.
Finally I realized that we were parked in front of the hotel. It took us a minute to get untangled--
I paid the cabbie and we walked across the lobby, holding each other. I felt her hip bumping against my leg.
We climbed the one flight of stairs, breaking into a run at the top. Then we were in my room and she was hanging onto my neck, pounding at me with her excited thighs.
She was making all the body motions of love, and yet we both still had all our clothes on.
I was trembling with desire. I crushed her against me fiercely, kissed her face and mouth. I nuzzled beneath her ears and kissed the tiny lobes.
"Oh, honeeeeee-" she sighed.
It was that same old cry of lust I'd heard so many times from passion-fired senoritas down in Puerto Reyes. Felicia looked all the world like a lady when she was fixed up, but underneath it all was a bawdy little tramp.
And that was the way I wanted her to be.
I never could stand a dame who pretended she didn't like it when she did. When they feel raw passion, I want them to damn well show it.
The way Felicia did.
Her whole body seemed to be tingling with joy. I pushed my hands down and cupped her quivering buttocks, feeling the warmth of them through the velvet gown. Her hips swiveled, her belly rubbed.
We were both floating six feet off the ground.
At last she pulled away and reached behind her neck. When she loosened her hair, it fell down her back, reaching almost to her waist. It was as black as coal, with little blue sparks glowing here and there on the surface.
"Undress me," she whispered.
Her eyes were half closed as she watched me. Her lips were swollen and feverish.
I reached behind her and found the zipper of her gown. It fell away easily. I pulled it over her hips, and she stepped out of the clinging black velvet. Then she dropped onto the bed. She lay there wearing black panties and bra, sheer black hose and a black garter belt. All enhanced by the pale glow of her skin.
I removed her slippers.
I slid my fingers beneath the top of the lace panties. She lay there trembling, clutching the bed. I unsnapped the garters and removed the belt. One at a time I rolled her stockings down her legs. They peeled away smoothly with a tiny whisper of silk.
Next I rolled her onto her side and unfastened the bra. It was a startling sight to see her magnificent breasts suddenly burst into view.
They were even larger than I had guessed, almost oversized, for such a small female. And yet they were lovely big hillocks of flesh, firm and pink-tipped. There were small blue veins just below the milky white surface.
Felicia caught my neck and snuggled against me, her hips writhing. Then she started clawing at my clothes. I stood up and began to strip. She was so anxious that she peeled the panties down her legs and lay there waiting for me.
I fell beside her and caught her in my arms.
We lay struggling, kissing frantically, until neither of us could hold off any longer. I rolled her onto her back, and in the next instant we were together, tossing on the bed.
Waves of feeling swept over me like white-hot flames. I felt the soft bulbs of her breasts rolling beneath me, felt the round little dome of her belly, the frenzied clutch of her thighs and scissoring legs.
I smelled the perfume in her long dark hair as it swirled around my head. She climbed higher and higher, smearing my face with kisses. Her lips and tongue were everywhere, urging me on.
My face was buried in that mass of lovely, raven-black hair. It covered my eyes and mouth. I was surrounded by it, and I had to fight to breathe.
We were sweating all over now, and our skin stuck together. I was panting from exertion, but still she kept revolving those seductive hips, clamping her body to mine.
Her sharp nails tore at the muscles of my back.
Never once did she stop writhing and thrusting with her greedy little thighs.
She squirmed against me, reaching up for me while she arched her back. We surged faster and faster, our bodies straining. A sob burst from her throat, then a wild pagan cry of delirium. We went spinning together through space, as convulsions tore through us both at the same instant.
I held her in a violent grip, crushing her hot, lusting body to me. The light faded, and the vision of her lovely, twisted face grew dark before my eyes.
I fell exhausted at last and felt her still quivering against me. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It sounded like a sigh.
A sigh of pure contentment.