Short Straw

Twenty-five

THE THREE OF THEM SAT ON PINE NEEDLES IN A LITTLE patch of woods off the main road, eating tacos and drinking Dos Equis.

"I hope this food doesn't do things to my digestive tract," Cupie said.

"It's cooked," Vittorio pointed out, "and the beer isn't going to hurt you."

Barbara finished her taco and stood up. "Excuse me, while I locate the powder room," she said, then vanished into the trees.

"There's something I didn't mention in front of the lady," Cupie said.

"Oh, shit."

"It's not necessarily bad. The police captain told me his people are looking for the guys in the Toyota 4Runner; that's you and me."

Vittorio allowed himself to look minutely alarmed. "And how is that not bad?"

"They don't have a description of us, just the SUV, and that is now history."

"I hope it's history they don't bother to check with the rental car people."

"So do I, but I think we're okay. He took the two grand, made it disappear like a sleight-of-hand artist; that should mollify him. I also told him we put Barbara on a private jet out of here early this morning and that she's halfway to New York by now."

"Let's hope he buys that."

"He was disappointed, naturally, not to get the whole five grand."

"Not as disappointed as he was not to get her three hundred grand in travelers checks. The natural state of mind of your average Mexican cop is Greedy, with a capital G."

"Well, let's hope he thinks she's gone."

"You know what I'd like to do?" Vittorio said. "I'd like to give her the ten grand back and get the first plane out of here to anywhere."

"I don't think you'd run out on the lady, after making her a promise, but I'd feel better if we were better armed," Cupie said.

"I can do something about that," Vittorio replied.

"You got a secret weapons cache?"

"I got a guy in Mexico city who can deliver anything anywhere. What would you like?"

"A nice twelve-gauge riot gun with an extended magazine would be nice. And a whole lot of double-ought buckshot."

Vittorio took out his cell phone, checked for a signal and speed-dialed a number. His conversation was brief and in Spanish. He closed the phone. "An hour from now, at a little cantina south of Puerto Vallarta, not a ten-minute drive from here."

"Now that's what I call service," Cupie said. "Your guy ought to be in the pizza business."

Barbara returned, sat down, got out a compact and tended to her makeup.

"It's nice of you to want to look pretty for us," Cupie said.

"Force of habit," she replied, "regardless of the company. What's next on the program?"

"We're going to wait here an hour, then stop at a cantina and pick up a package that Vittorio has ordered," Cupie said.

"Package?"

"Don't ask."

"You're not bringing drugs into this equation, are you?" she asked, looking alarmed.

"Nope. I assure you, the package is pertinent to the effort to get you out of the country as quickly and as safely as possible. And the hour is well spent: it's better for you if Vittorio and I are not seen on the street for a little while."

Barbara sighed. "I hope I hired the right guys."

"You hired the only guys," Cupie replied.

"That's what I mean."

THEY PARKED THE CAR behind the cantina, left Barbara lying down in the backseat and walked in the back door. There was a filthy kitchen to their left and a restroom to their right that, given the state of the kitchen, Cupie didn't want to see.

There were four men in the place, two at a table and two at the bar. Vittorio made eye contact with each of them and didn't get so much as a lifted eyebrow.

"It appears my guy's guy isn't here yet," he said.

"Dos cervezas," Cupie said to the bartender, holding up two fingers to prevent being misunderstood.

The bartender placed two sweaty bottles on the bar, and Cupie gave him five bucks American. He still didn't have any pesos. They sat down.

"I don't like this place," Cupie said. "Where's your guy's guy?"

"Relax, we're ten minutes early."

Cupie stuck a hand under his jacket and manipulated something.

"Take it easy, Cupie, we're not getting into any gunfights."

Cupie leaned in close. "There are four guys in here, and every one of them looks like he lives for a gunfight. And I'm not too sure about the bartender, either."

"Cupie, it's just a cantina, okay?"

Cupie nursed his beer and continued to look worried.

At the stroke of the hour a man holding a longish cardboard box walked in. The box bore the legend callaway golf. He looked around for a moment, then his eye alighted on Vittorio, who was wearing his hat. He came over.

"Buenos dias, senores," he said. "Meester Vittorio?"

Vittorio nodded. "What's the bill?"

"Nine hundred, senor. American."

Vittorio handed him the money, already counted out. "Ammunition?"

"Two boxes double-ought, one of solid projectile," the man said. "Bye-bye." He turned and left.

"Let's get out of here," Cupie whispered hoarsely.

Vittorio got up and led the way, carrying the box, while Cupie walked backward behind him, watching the four men, whose expressions never changed.

Vittorio opened the trunk, set the cardboard box inside and opened it. Keeping both weapons inside the trunk, he handed Cupie a Remington riot gun and took a stockless Ithaca for himself. Both men loaded their weapons with eight rounds, pumped one into the chamber, then loaded a ninth.

"I like the extended magazine," Cupie said. "Saves reloading when you're about to die."

They picked up the remaining ammunition and got into the car, placing the shotguns on the floorboards.

"Artillery?" Barbara said from the backseat. "Are we expecting war?"

"The worst thing that can happen is what you didn't prepare for," Cupie explained. "I feel better now; don't you feel better?"

"I feel like getting on an airplane," Barbara said.

"Time to make a pass at the airport," Vittorio said, starting the car.

They drove back up the main highway to the airport turnoff, where Vittorio pulled off the road and stopped.

"Why are we stopping?" Barbara asked.

"Please be quiet," Vittorio replied, picking up his binoculars and training them on the airport building, half a mile away. "Uh-oh," he said, then handed the binoculars to Cupie.

Cupie trained them on the airport building. "I see two cops and-oh, shit! That fucking black Suburban! Why can't we shake those sons of bitches?"

"Let's go to Tijuana," Vittorio said. "We'll find a place for the night and get there tomorrow."