Short Straw

Thirty-nine

CUPIE WAITED UNTIL HE WENT AROUND A SHARP CURVE, separating him from the red car, then he floored the Toyota. It didn't exactly give him whiplash, but the V-6 began to put on speed, while Cupie watched the rearview mirror. The red car was a good half mile behind him, so he had a thirty-or forty-second edge.

The road whipped back in the other direction, putting two curves between the Toyota and the red car, and then Cupie saw exactly what he wanted: a dirt road to the left, climbing a hill into a grove of pinons. He jerked the wheel and left the main road. The dirt road was little more than a track, and the Toyota did some dancing.

"What the hell is going on?" Barbara shouted from the rear seat.

"Shut up," Cupie explained. He whipped the car to the left behind some trees and quickly got out, peering through the branches at the road below him. The red car shot by, having picked up speed.

For a moment, Cupie had thought he saw Vittorio at the wheel, but he guessed his mind must be playing tricks. He turned to Barbara, who was leaning out the rear window. "Break out the sandwiches," he said. "We're having lunch here."

VITTORIO CAME OUT of the first curve and saw an empty road ahead. He stood on the accelerator and by the time he got around the second curve, he was doing eighty. He went around several more curves before he realized he had been snookered. He had underestimated Cupie.

He slowed to make a U-turn, but before he could execute it he saw blue lights flashing in his rearview mirror. A police car came up quickly and sat on his bumper. Behind that was the black Suburban. He pulled over, rolled down his window and placed his hands on the steering wheel.

The police car pulled in front of him and stopped, and from the passenger side emerged an officer wearing a captain's insignia, the same cop he had seen in the rear seat of the Suburban the last time he had been stopped.

The captain strolled toward him in a leisurely fashion, then stopped, looking astonished. "Dios mio!" he said. "Are you a dead man?"

"Not quite," Vittorio replied.

"But there was a search of the Gulf for you."

"I slipped and fell overboard from the ferry, but a fishing boat picked me up and took me to Cabo San Lucas."

"You are a very lucky man, senor…"

"Vittorio."

"Yes, I remember the name."

"What can I do for you?"

"You were driving very fast, Senor Vittorio. The speed limit on this road is one hundred kilometers per hour; that's sixty-two miles per hour."

"I'm very sorry," Vittorio said. "It's a mostly empty road, and I wasn't paying attention."

"Would you step out of the car, please, senor?"

Vittorio reached outside and opened the car door, so that his hands would remain in view. He wasn't going to give this man an excuse to shoot him. "How can I help you?" he asked the cop.

"You can tell me where is the woman you and the other gringo had with you."

Vittorio shrugged. "I expect she is in New York City," he said. "We put her aboard an airplane in Puerto Vallarta."

"Senor," the captain said, "nothing happens in Puerto Vallarta that I don't know about. No charter airplane took off from the airport that morning."

"Well, she said she had arranged a charter, and we left her there. Perhaps…"

"Senor, you are beginning to try my patience. Open the trunk immediately."

Vittorio got the keys from the ignition, walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. He kept his hand ready to draw the.45 in the holster on his belt. The captain leaned forward to peer inside, but there was only a spare tire and Vittorio's single piece of luggage.

The cop spun around, anger on his face and his hand on his gun. "Where is she?"

"Captain, I give you my word, I don't know where she is. As you can see, I am traveling alone, and I only wish to drive to Tijuana and return to my country."

"Where is your partner, Senor Cupie?"

"I don't know. After I fell off the ferry, I never saw him again. I expect that, since he must think I'm dead, too, he went home to Los Angeles."

The captain seemed to cool off a bit. "Perhaps you are right, senor," he said.

"Captain, may I ask, why are you so interested in this woman?"

"Because she is a murderer," he replied.

Vittorio was not shocked to hear this. "And who did she murder?"

"My nephew."

"Please accept my condolences, captain. When did this happen?"

"Some years ago. She came to Puerto Vallarta with another woman on a vacation-she used a different name, then. She met my nephew at the bar of her hotel, and they spent the remainder of the evening… entertaining each other. The following morning she checked out of the hotel, and the maid found my nephew's body. He had been killed by a knife in his heart. Then, earlier this week, she checked into another hotel in Puerto Vallarta, and an employee there, who had formerly worked at the hotel where the murder took place, recognized her, even though she had changed her appearance."

"Why do you suppose she would be so foolish as to return to Puerto Vallarta?"

"Because she was running from her husband," the captain replied. "This is what your friend Mr. Cupie told me. Also, she had shot Mr. Cupie, and she had to leave Mexico City. I was not surprised to hear that this woman and your client's wife were the same person. Perhaps you can understand why I am extremely disappointed not to have apprehended her."

"I can certainly understand," Vittorio said. "I would like to meet her again myself, for my own reasons."

"Is it possible that the woman had something to do with your swim in the Gulf, senor?"

"Let's just say that if I should encounter her again in the United States, you will have no further need of arresting her."

The captain smiled broadly, revealing two gold teeth. "Perhaps if that should happen, senor, you might do me the courtesy of informing me of the outcome?" He handed Vittorio his card.

Vittorio pocketed the card. "I would be very pleased to do so," he said.

The captain saluted. "Then I bid you good day and good journey," he said.

They shook hands, and the policeman returned to his car.

Vittorio got back into the Chevrolet, wondering if the captain's story could be true. He decided it probably was.