Down Among the Dead Men (A Thriller) (31 page)

But Vargas didn’t think so. He’d spent enough time with Manny over the years to know that something was up and that Beth’s headache could well have been a sign of worse things to come.

Cursing himself for leaving her alone, he continued moving, pushing through the crowd until he came upon his first outdoor café and knew immediately that this wasn’t the one.

No leather-goods shop in sight.

Moving on, he went a block and a half and found another one with umbrellaed tables taking up most of the sidewalk, tourists lined up nearby, waiting to be seated.

They were young and loud and Vargas marveled at how Americans seemed to lose all sense of decorum when they were drunk and on vacation, coming into a foreign country as if they owned it and had the right to be served, screw anyone who got in their way.

Vargas himself tried to blend in whenever possible, no matter what country he might visit. And he was sure there were many Americans just like him. But the loud ones always got the attention and helped generate the anti-American sentiment that pervaded so many countries.

Stalled on the sidewalk, waiting for a crowd of oncoming tourists to pass, Vargas felt a tap on his shoulder and turned, hoping it was Beth.

Instead, he found a couple of glassy-eyed twenty-year-olds staring up at him, both wearing tight black dresses, their faces painted white, with smudges of black around the eye sockets.

“Aren’t you that guy?” one of them said.

Vargas was at a loss. “Guy?”

“The one from that
Desperado
movie.”

“Antonio Banderas,” the other one said, running a finger suggestively along the line of her cleavage. “You’re him, aren’t you? Is it true Salma Hayek is only like five feet tall?”

“No habla inglés,”
Vargas told her, then turned and continued up the street.

Two blocks later, he saw it. A leather-goods shop directly across from an enclosed oblong structure jutting out from the curb, crowded with diners.

Vargas searched their faces, saw no sign of Beth, then crossed to the leather-goods shop and went inside.

The place was jammed with tourists looking at handmade jackets and belts and handbags and luggage. Vargas worked his way to the register, told the woman behind the counter who he was looking for, and did his best to describe Beth.

The women eyed him as if he were a crazy man and gestured to the half-dozen Beth look-alikes who crowded her store.

Nodding, Vargas went back outside.

Next stop: Armando’s.

73

A
RMANDO’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.

74

“
I’VE NEVER BEEN
so embarrassed in all my life,” Beth said.

They were back in her hotel room now, and she didn’t seem to be able to look him in the eye. She stood by the window, staring out at the courtyard, silhouetted against a darkening sky.

She looked waiflike, vulnerable. But now that her headache had cleared and she’d regained her mental faculties, she sounded exactly like the hardened prosecutor she once was.

“I’m lucky that poor guard didn’t have me arrested.”

“It’s not like you jumped up on a table and did a striptease,” Vargas said. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You weren’t the one wandering the streets like a crazy woman.”

Vargas sighed. She had a point.

On the walk back, he’d been trying to figure out the best thing to do—what was best for
her
—and he’d come to only one conclusion.

“Listen, Beth. Maybe I should take you back to the clinic.”

She turned, looking at him now. “Forget it.”

“You’re not well,” he said. “And as much as I hate to say it, you need supervision. God knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found you.”

“I won’t go back. You can leave me here if you want to, but I won’t go back.”

“You aren’t safe here. Besides, I’m not leaving you alone. Not again.”

“I’m alone in that clinic, aren’t I? My parents are dead; my sister’s gone; my cheating bastard of an ex-husband cringes every time I call him.…I’ve got no one, Nick. Do you know what it’s like to have no one?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Then don’t make me go back there,” she said. “I’m getting better. I can feel it. And if a headache starts to come on, you can lock me in the goddamn bathroom. I don’t care.”

He moved to her.

“Look,” he said. “You barely know me. I’m not good at being responsible for people. I’m not even good at taking care of myself.”

“You found me, didn’t you? You kept me out of trouble.”

“I got lucky. We both did. But how can I pursue this thing if I always have to keep an eye on you?”

She paused. “So then I’m a burden, is that it?”

He didn’t want to tell her “yes.” He didn’t even want to be thinking it, but the answer must have been plain on his face, because her eyes grew hot and she pushed past him.

“Fine,” she said. “Screw you.”

He grabbed her arm as she passed. “Beth, wait—”

But she pulled away from him and spun, her eyes burning now. “For what? I don’t need you; I don’t need anyone. I’m sick and tired of everyone coddling me. I just want…” She paused again, trying to control her anger. “I just want to remember. Why can’t I fucking remember?”

Then the tears came again and Vargas moved in close, once again pulling her into his arms. He’d only just met this woman, yet he felt as if he understood her better than anyone he’d ever known.

He felt sorry for her, but it wasn’t pity that drove him. He wasn’t sure
what
it was.

And before he could catch himself, he placed his hand on her head, against her scar, wanting more than anything to draw the pain out of her.

Then he bent down and kissed her cheek.

“I’m a fool,” he said. “I shouldn’t even have suggested taking you back. We’re in this together now. And I’ll help you remember. I promise.”

She brought her arms up around him then and turned her face toward his, pulling him into an embrace, kissing him. And as he felt the heat of her breath, Vargas thought: This is it; this is that magical movie moment I’ve been waiting for all my life.

Only it was real.

And the next thing he knew, they were pulling their clothes off and climbing onto her bed, and Vargas felt exhilarated and guilty at the same time, thinking he shouldn’t be taking advantage of her vulnerability, her illness, but not wanting to stop.

She didn’t seem to want to, either. Pulling him toward her, she gently touched the bandage on his shoulder, then kissed him again, using her tongue this time.

And there was an urgency in the kiss—a need—that neither of them could or wanted to fight.

75

Beth and Vargas

S
HE COULDN’T EXPLAIN
it, wasn’t sure why now and never with Peter, but the moment Nick pushed himself inside of her, his strong hands cupping her thighs, she felt something she’d never felt before.

It was as if his every kiss, every caress, every flick of the tongue had prepared her for just this moment—yet she wasn’t prepared, and the rush of pleasure that consumed her was unexpectedly exquisite.

All the muscles in her body seemed to tighten and she had this sudden, intense urge to pee. And when she let it loose—couldn’t
stop
herself from letting it loose—a wave of electricity rolled through her, triggering tiny implosions inside her head, followed by a bigger, all-consuming burst of pure ecstasy.

And as she came, a long, guttural moan rose from inside her, and all at once she understood what Jen had been talking about so incessantly for so many years, had constantly been in search of.