Down Among the Dead Men

73

Armando’s Cantina was an institution in Playa Azul. Opened in the late 1800s, it had seen the town grow up around it, turning into a thriving seaport.

But the moment Vargas stepped inside, he knew he had wasted the trip. Not only was Beth not here, but the place was so crowded, the music and conversation and laughs so loud and obnoxious, that if she had bothered to come by, he was pretty sure she would have fled immediately.

As he stepped back out onto the sidewalk and closed the door behind him, a thought occurred to him:

Seaport.

The cruise liner.

He’d seen it docked in the harbor when they drove into town.

If Beth was in a bad way, if she was-as Pasternak had told him-reliving the same two days over and over, wasn’t it possible that she would have gone to the ship thinking that she was still a passenger?

Cutting across the street, he headed in the direction of the harbor. But as the ship came into view his cell phone rang.

He answered it without looking at the screen. “Vargas.”

“Hey, pocho, you’re on for midnight.”

“Little Fina?”

“She didn’t want to talk to you, but I told her you were writing a book and might make her famous.”

Vargas hesitated. “How did you know I was writing a book?”

“Come on, genius. Your cousin Tito, remember? You think I’m gonna sell merchandise to a guy, I don’t know something about him? He told me your whole sad story.”

“I’ll have to remember to thank him for that.”

“You can thank me, too, while you’re at it. Where you staying? I’ll pick you up around eleven forty-five.”

“You don’t need to do that. Just tell me how to get there.”

Ortiz snorted. “It don’t work that way, pocho. I drive or it don’t happen.”

“Okay, fine,” Vargas said, then told him the name of his hotel. “What kind of car do you drive?”

“Look for a blue and white taxi.”

“You’re a cabdriver?”

“Hey, man, you think I can make a living selling popguns to cheap bastards like you? Tourism, baby. That’s where the real money is.”

They hung up and Vargas continued west, waiting at the light to cross Avenida Reforma toward the Playa Azul port terminal.

Up ahead was a road leading directly to the ship. The road was gated, with a security guard standing watch.

And there was Beth, yelling at him.

Vargas couldn’t hear what she was saying. But the moment the light turned green, he darted across the street and approached them, Beth’s voice coming into range:

“What do you mean, you can’t let me in? I just got off the ship this morning.”

“No seafare card,” the man said in broken English. “No seafare card, no enter.”

“I told you, I lost it. Now, if you can’t-”

“Beth.”

She turned, saw Vargas approaching. Squinted at him. “Yes?”

“It’s me. Nick.”

She just stared at him. “Nick? Nick who? How do you know my name?”

He gestured to the guard, said in Spanish, “It’s okay, she’s with me.”

The guard nodded and turned away, going back to his booth.

“What did you just tell him?” Beth snapped. “Who the hell are you?”

Vargas moved in close, took hold of her shoulders, but she jerked away. “Let go of me!”

He reached for her again. “Beth, it’s me. Nick.”

“What the hell are you doing? Let me-”

“Stop. Listen to me.” He grabbed her shoulders and held firm. “You didn’t just get off that ship. You haven’t been on it in months.”

“Get the hell away from me, you fucking perv-”

“ Listen to me, Beth. You’re not well. Your head was injured and you haven’t been thinking straight. We came to Playa Azul to try to help you remember.”

“What are you talking about? Remember what?”

“ Concentrate, ” Vargas told her. “Look at me and concentrate. I’m Nick Vargas. I’m writing a book about you and your sister, Jen.”

At the sound of her sister’s name, Beth’s eyes came into sharp focus and she stared at him. He could almost see her mind trying to put it all together.

Then there was a sudden shift in her gaze, a look of recognition, then realization, and she stopped resisting.

She was back. “Oh my God…,” she said. “Oh my God…”

“It’s okay.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe…I…”

“It’s okay,” he said again, then pulled her into his arms, letting her cry against his chest. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here. You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna be okay.”

And as she continued to cry, he wondered if that would ever be true.