Taming the Alien

Montezuma’s Revenge

The Alien admired his growing tan, thought: Yah handsome devil!

The thing about foreign holidays was you could do all the asshole things you’d always ridiculed. Such as:

1. Wear Bermudas

2. Perch shades on yer hair

3. Carry a bum bag

Reg Fenton was many things — ruthless, determined, and uncompromising. What he had never been was given to flights of fancy. He had no truck with superstitions, omens, any of that. He believed in what was in front of him. Sitting at the bar, he was drinking tequila with all the trimmings. Salt on the hand, slices of lemon and sure, it gave the rush. He suspected all the ritual was a crock, but what the hell. He said originally … ‘When in Mex!’

A tape was playing Dire Straits’ ‘Ticket to Heaven’. A song that proves, yeah, them guys did have something. Glancing out the window, he saw Stella and dropped his glass. The waiter, startled: ‘Que pasa?’

Fenton looked at him, then back to the window, she was gone. He moved to the waiter, grabbed his arm, shouted, ‘Did you see her …? Jesus H Christ … it was her!’

‘No comprende, Senor!’

Fenton let him go, tried to rein in his emotions, then staggered over to a table and sat heavily. The waiter approached, nervous as a rat. ‘Senor would like something?’

‘Yeah, get outta my face, arsewipe … no … hey … get me a tequila. Shit, bring the whole bottle.’

As the waiter got this from the bar, he put his finger to his forehead, made circular motions, whispered, ‘Mucho loco.’

The barman nodded. Tourists, gringos, Americanos … he’d seen all their shit.