Down Among the Dead Men

25

Playa Azul. Baja Norte.

Just another harbor town full of bars and trinket shops, as far as Beth could tell. People and cars crowded the sidewalks and streets, competing for room among the vendors and open-air restaurants that dominated the place.

Small children hawked Chiclets to unsuspecting tourists as their mothers sat nearby, selling colorful bead necklaces. Curbside stands offered painted plates and jewelry and Mexican blankets and T-shirts and sunglasses and lighters and knives and ornately carved ivory figurines.

And horse shit cigarettes.

There were signs everywhere advertising them. GENUINE HORSE SHIT! they proclaimed. Beth was no smoker, but even if she were, she’d have no desire to find out if this proclamation was true.

The first thing they’d seen as they strolled off the ship was a red, white, and green flag flapping in the breeze above the harbor. It was massive. The size of a building-leaving no question that they were on Mexican soil.

They traveled on foot, navigating the few short blocks past the fish markets and taco stands to the center of town, Jen getting appreciative stares along the way, thanks largely to a pair of cutoff jeans and a halter top.

She was, of course, just another crazy americano turista, one of thousands who circulated through Playa Azul on a weekly basis. But Beth was pretty sure that this didn’t keep some of the locals-particularly the gangbangers who cruised the streets in souped-up import cars-from fantasizing about Jen.

Images of Jen cavorting with Rafael on a rumpled stateroom bed suddenly popped uninvited into Beth’s mind, and she reeled them back quickly, doing her best to ban them from her consciousness.

But setting aside the ick factor for just a moment, she had to wonder if Jen was right about her.

Maybe she was a prude.

She hadn’t been lying earlier when she said that she sometimes envied Jen’s freedom. Even if much of her fearlessness was a mask for insecurity, maybe it was better than the one Beth herself had chosen.

She was, she had decided-long before today, in fact-a boring woman who led a structured, predictable life. She had taken the job with the DA because it had promised to be exciting, but she soon discovered that it held no real surprises.

There were laws; they were broken. You broke the law, you went to jail. Prosecutors rarely dealt in shades of gray.

The position was more about stats than truth and justice, about keeping your conviction rate high, and Beth was long past the thrill of winning a case. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt butterflies before closing argument.

It was a job, plain and simple. And it didn’t fulfill her any more than her marriage had.

Or her sex life, for that matter.

While Jen was working toward orgasm number two thousand whatever, Beth was still working on number one.

And who knows? Maybe that was why Peter had cheated on her.

“Oh my God,” Jen said, “look at these.”

They had been wandering the streets for what seemed like hours now, moving from shop to shop, finding a lot of interesting little trinkets but nothing they’d felt like spending actual cash on. The latest stop had been a right turn down a narrow alleyway lined with street vendors.

Beth, who had been pretending to admire a stack of Mexican blankets as she ruminated on her humdrum life, turned and saw Jen stopped at a small table lined with jewelry.

“What did you find?”

Jen held up two thin silver-tone rings, each with a small, flat black and silver carving of a hooded skull in place of the stone. The workmanship was borderline crude but oddly affecting.

“They’re wonderful,” Beth said.

Jen nodded and gestured. “Put out your hand.”

Beth obliged, offering the left one, and Jen slipped the ring onto her newly bare fourth finger.

“Perfect.” Jen took the second ring and slid it onto her own finger. “We’re officially best friends forever,” she said, then smiled. “With the devil.”

Beth laughed. “Been there, done that.”

She started to pull the ring off, but Jen stopped her.

“Consider it my way of apologizing for being such a bitch.”

“Jen, you don’t have to keep-”

“It’s either this or a pack of horse shit cigarettes. Which would you prefer?”

Beth smiled. “The cigarettes might be more appropriate.”

Jen stuck her tongue out, then turned to the vendor, a slender man in a T-shirt, jeans, and sunglasses.

“?Cuanto cuesta esto?”

She’d told Beth earlier that she only knew two phrases in Spanish: “How much does this cost?” and “Where’s the bathroom?”

Beth suspected she butchered them both.

The vendor’s accent was thick, but at least his English was better than Jen’s Spanish.

“Sixty dollar for two,” he said.

“Seriously?”

“On especial today. Forty-five.”

“I was thinking more like ten bucks each,” Jen said, and started to take hers off.

“Thirty dollar,” the vendor told her.

“Make it twenty-five and you’ve got a deal.”

He nodded, and Jen dug into her purse for the cash. She rooted around for a while, then said, “Shit.”

“What?” Beth asked.

“I must’ve left my wallet in the cabin.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I could’ve sworn I had it, but all I’ve got is my seafarer’s card and a bunch of loose change. Can I borrow a few bucks?”

Beth rolled her eyes.

“Come on,” Jen said. “I’m good for it, I swear. Soon as we get back on board.”

Beth looked at the ring on her finger, the tiny hooded skull staring up at her. It belonged on the hand of a punk rocker or a goth girl or a wild child like Jen. Certainly not her. But she liked it and thought, what the hell, why not do something unpredictable for once. Maybe she’d even wear it for her next opening argument, see what the jury made of it.

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her wallet, opened it, and extracted a twenty and a five, handing it across to the vendor. He quickly stuffed the cash into his pants pocket, then turned his attention to an elderly couple who had just approached.

Jen grinned at Beth and held up her hand, admiring the ring. “Big sis to the rescue again.”

“Don’t even start.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Beth heard a faint gurgling sound and Jen frowned, patting her stomach.

“You hear that? I’ve got the growlies. Let’s find some food.”

“I’m tired,” Beth said. “Why don’t we just go back to the ship and eat there?”

“Now why would we want to eat assembly-line hamburgers when we can go for some authentic local food? Come on, you can pick the place.”

“ And pay the bill?”

Jen offered her a sheepish smile. “Don’t you still have a couple of Peter’s credit cards?”

“Ha-ha,” Beth said. “You’re hilarious.”