Hurricane Gold (12 page)

‘Why can’t they just let us go?’ said Precious. ‘If it’s the safe they want, why do they need us?’

‘Good question.’

James and Precious looked up to see Mrs Glass. How long had she been there? How much had she heard?

She stood over them for a moment, then dropped her cigarette to the ground and trod on it. It was past eleven and she was still wearing her hat. She only took it off to sleep, and even then she kept a scarf wrapped around her head. The wide brim meant that her eyes were often shaded and hidden. But now the light was from below, from the flames, and James could clearly see her face.

Her perfect, creamy white skin, her pale blue eyes and the glossy, blonde curls that spilt out from under her hat, gave her the looks of a movie star. But there was an iciness in those eyes that made her both beautiful and tough.

‘You’re our insurance, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Until we’ve got what we came for we’re keeping hold of you.’

‘But you’ve got it,’ said Precious. ‘You’ve got the safe.’

‘But what if we get it open and find it’s empty. Hmm? What then?’

‘Then you’ve wasted your time, haven’t you?’ said Precious acidly.

Mrs Glass smiled. ‘It’s just possible,’ she said, ‘that you father took what we’re after with him. Or hid it somewhere else. And I’m betting he’ll swap you two for it.’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Precious. ‘He keeps all his money in the safe.’

‘We ain’t really after his money, sweetheart,’ said Mrs Glass and she lit another cigarette.

‘What do you want?’ asked James, adopting his Mexican accent again.

Mrs Glass blew smoke at him. ‘You interest me, Corona,’ she said. ‘You’re the only blue-eyed Mexican I ever met.’

‘My mother was not from here,’ said James. ‘She was Swiss.’

‘Swiss, huh?’

‘Yes,’ said James, who so far wasn’t lying.

But now he lied.

‘She was a nurse. She was working here. My father, he fell in love.’

‘All his brothers and sisters have blue eyes,’ said Garcia.

‘Is that so?’

‘
Sure
. They are famous in Tres Hermanas.’

Mrs Glass squatted down on her haunches and stared into James’s face for a long time, without saying anything. James kept his expression dull and bland.

In the end it was Precious who broke the silence.

‘When this is over my daddy will hunt you down,’ she said. ‘He will hunt you down and catch you and make sure you hang.’

‘I don’t think you should be too sure of just what your daddy might do, honey,’ said Mrs Glass.

‘You don’t know him.’

‘Don’t I now?’

‘He’s a hero.’

‘He
was
a hero,’ said Mrs Glass. ‘Shot down a lot of Germans in that plane of his during the war. Just how many men did he kill?’

‘Don’t speak about him.’

‘The thing about heroes, honey, is that when the war finished they all found out that their country didn’t have a lot of use for them. If you only knew your daddy better, you’d understand that he and I, we’re playing in the same band.’

‘Shut up, just shut up,’ said Precious angrily.

Mrs Glass blew another mouthful of smoke towards James.

‘So, what happened to your mother, blue eyes?’ she said.

‘She died,’ said James, once more telling the truth.

Garcia put an arm round his shoulders and shook him roughly.

‘He went a little crazy when she died,’ he said. ‘He fell in with the wrong crowd, as you say.’

‘The wrong crowd, huh?’

‘And you?’ said James. ‘How did you end up here?’

Mrs Glass raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe I’ll tell you someday.’

‘I’d like that,’ said James.

‘It’s not a very nice story,’ said Mrs Glass, standing up.

‘Does it have a happy ending?’ James called out to her as she walked away.

‘We’ll see,’ she called back.

‘I hate her,’ hissed Precious when she was out of earshot. ‘I want to kill her.’

‘I wouldn’t try it if I were you,’ said James. ‘She’d eat you alive.’

But as he said it, James saw a light come into Precious’s eyes and she seemed to change. He had never seen her like this before. She suddenly looked very old and very fierce. He felt a shiver of fear.

‘I swear,’ she said, ‘I will kill that woman. I will kill all of them for what they have done to us.’

12

Fanfare of Death

They made better progress the next day, climbing steadily out of the forest and into the foothills of the Sierra Madre Oriental. Gradually the lush vegetation thinned and the air became cooler and drier. From the back of the truck James could see the mountains rising against a clear blue sky.

At one point they heard the sound of an aeroplane and scanned the heavens.

‘Maybe it’s Dad,’ said JJ feebly, shielding his eyes from the glare. ‘Maybe he’s fixed his plane and come to look for us.’ He struggled to sit up and Precious helped him, glad to see the boy still had a spark of liveliness.

But when they eventually spotted it, it was only a heavy-looking cargo plane. It crawled slowly across the sky, heading north-west.

‘He’s never going to find us,’ said JJ quietly and he began to cry.

Precious put an arm round him, murmuring soothing words until he fell asleep.

On this steeper track, the truck struggled and its failing engine whined. Twice James had to jump down and help the others to push. Eventually, though, the track levelled out and joined a proper road that appeared to be the main north–south highway. The way north, however, towards the United States border, was blocked. The rain had brought rocks down on to the road. A gang of local men was trying to clear it, but it would take them days.

‘We will need to go south. We have no choice,’ said Garcia after talking to the men. ‘This is the only way that is open. Is OK. We will be able to cut across towards Mexico City. From there you might take a plane, or head north by road.’

‘What about Vera Cruz?’ said Mrs Glass. ‘Could we get a boat from there?’

‘It depends how bad the storm hit,’ said Garcia.

‘You think you can get us there?’

‘I can try.’

‘Good,’ said Mrs Glass. ‘We got to get as far as we can before the truck gives up the ghost.’

They rattled on, passing no other traffic in either direction. The sky darkened and night fell. James could see no sign of human life at all, no lights anywhere, no towns or villages. He felt like they were alone in the world. He tried to sleep but it was too uncomfortable. Parts of the road were unmade and pitted with ruts and holes and the truck had no suspension. He lay on the floor, his head knocking against the safe, looking up at the stars. He thought how far away they were, and how small this planet seemed.

Finally, just before midnight, there was an almighty bang and a hiss and the engine fell quiet. The truck coasted to a halt by the side of the road. Strabo cursed. ‘That didn’t sound good,’ he said, standing up. ‘Looks like we’ll be walking from here.’

Garcia got out of the cab and opened the bonnet. A cloud of steam billowed out.

James climbed stiffly down and stretched his legs, breathing in the scented night air and relishing the silence after the ceaseless pained complaints of the engine. He wandered over to Garcia, who was using a match to see what damage had been done.

‘She is dead,’ he said, running his fingers through his hair. ‘I can do no more with her.’

Strabo joined them.

‘Lousy Mexican truck,’ he said.

‘Actually, Señor
Strabo,’ said Garcia, straightening up, ‘she is an American truck. If I had the parts I could fix her and make her go. But…’ He shrugged.

Strabo kicked a wheel and went over to give Mrs Glass the bad news.

‘We’ll sleep here and decide what to do in the morning,’ she said, opening her door and jumping down.

They made camp, and while they waited for Whatzat to cook some food, Sakata taught James some more ju-jitsu. It was very late by the time they all settled down to sleep.

They were awakened by the sound of an engine and James felt like he had only just dozed off. His body felt bruised and heavy from sleeping on the stony ground. Still half-asleep, he wondered whether, despite everything, Garcia had managed to coax some life back into the poor old truck.

He forced his eyes open and blinked in the harsh early-morning sunlight. He soon discovered that it wasn’t their engine he could hear. Another vehicle was approaching. A Mexican army truck with an open back.

Mrs Glass, Sakata and Strabo were already awake and standing up, watching the road. Whatzat was snoring loudly. Presumably he hadn’t heard the engine. Strabo kicked him with the side of his foot and he grumbled, shivered and sat up.

There were six soldiers in the back of the army truck, wearing scruffy uniforms. They looked tired and bored. An officer sat up front with the driver. As soon as the truck ground to a halt, he put on his cap and got out, grinning. He had a pistol strapped to his side in a highly polished brown leather holster.

‘
Buenos dias
,’ he said, looking them over. He was a scrawny, skinny little man with big teeth and a thin moustache.

Two of the soldiers joined him. They had rifles slung across their backs. They looked scarcely older than James and one of them had bare feet.

‘
Buenos dias
,’ said Mrs Glass and the officer grinned even wider.

‘
Americanos
?’ he asked and Mrs Glass nodded.

‘Good morning to you,
señora
,’ he said, with a heavy, rough accent. ‘Is this your truck?’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Glass. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘No problem,’ said the Mexican. ‘Where are you going?’

‘South. To Vera Cruz.’

‘To Vera Cruz?’

‘Maybe. Is it far?’

‘Not far,’ said the officer. ‘About one day, maybe two. But is a big shame you are going to Vera Cruz.’

‘Why?’

‘We need trucks like yours. We are going to the coast. The storm has done much damage. We are going to help. A truck like this would be very useful.’

‘I’m not sure it would,’ said Mrs Glass. ‘It’s broken down. Beyond repair, I’m afraid.’

‘Broken down, huh?’ The officer walked slowly over to the truck. He whistled when he saw the safe in the back. ‘What have you got here?’ he said.

‘What’s it look like?’

‘It looks like a safe. You taking it to Vera Cruz, huh?’

‘That’s right. Did the storm hit there?’

‘
Sí
. But not so bad as in the north. There was some damage. Some small boats sunk.’

Two more of the soldiers had got down from their truck. They squatted in the shade, their rifles resting across their knees, staring openly at the Americans. The insistent ticking of the engine droned on.

The officer now came over to look at Precious and JJ, who were still on the ground wrapped in blankets. He smiled at Whatzat.

‘These your kids?’ he said.

‘Whatzat?’ said Whatzat.

‘I said are these your kids?’

‘What? Whaddid you say?’

‘You deaf or something?’

‘You asking if I’m deaf?’

‘Sí.’

‘Maybe I am. You got a problem with that?’

‘No problem.’ The officer smiled at him.

‘You think it’su?’ said Whatzat. ‘You think it’s funny I don’t hear so good?’ He stood up, pulling on his suit jacket. ‘I get ringing in my ears, OK? I can’t hear nothing else. All day and all night. Like an alarm going off in my head. Drrrrrrrrrrrrrr. You think that’s funny? You laughing at me?’

‘I never said it fonny,
señor
.’

‘You’re grinning like an ass.’

‘You calling me an ass?’

‘Leave it, Whatzat,’ said Strabo, coming over and putting a hand on his friend’s arm.

Whatzat shook him off.

‘This beaner thinks I’m funny.’

‘He was just being friendly,’ said Strabo. ‘He was just asking about the kids.’

‘Whatzat? Whatzat? I don’t like his attitude.’

Strabo sighed and approached the Mexican officer, shaking his head.

‘Yeah, these are our kids,’ he said. ‘We’re one big happy family, on the way to Vera Cruz to deliver a safe.’

The Mexican officer stood there for a moment, sucking his big buck-teeth and thinking.

For the first time, James took in his surroundings. They were on the side of a hill, the road following its contour, winding between clumps of prickly pear, agaves and low, scrubby bushes. To the right were steep rocks and, beyond them, mountains; to the left the ground fell away down a boulder-strewn slope to a pine forest about 50 feet below them.

The little Mexican officer came to a decision. His expression turned serious.

‘Can I see your papers?’ he said.

‘Whatzat? What did he say?’ said Whatzat, frowning.

‘Your papers. Show me your papers.’

‘What papers?’

‘All of your papers,’ the Mexican officer shouted. ‘For this safe. For the kids. You got passports? Huh? You understand? You hear what I am saying?’

‘I hear you,’ mumbled Whatzat, and he went over to the truck. ‘I’ll show you the papers.’

Whatzat reached up into the cab, still muttering to himself.

The Mexican officer stood there in the sun, his head cocked to one side, smiling at Mrs Glass. Suddenly there was a shout from Whatzat.

‘You want to see my papers? Read this!’

Whatzat was walking quickly forward with an automatic pistol in each hand.

James threw himself to the ground as four shots rang out in quick succession.

The officer wasn’t so quick to get out of the way. He wasted time fumbling to release his pistol from its holster, and by the time he brought it up four bullets had punched into his chest and he fell backwards into the dirt with a little cry.

At the same time Strabo was coming up from the other side of the truck with his own gun, firing at the two soldiers who were still up on the army vehicle.

Mrs Glass had also produced a gun from somewhere, too fast for James to see, and was firing on the four men who had dismounted.

The doomed soldiers were thrown into a panic and had no time to react. Their rifles were too big and clumsy to be much use up close, and the Americans moved quickly and methodically among them.

For a few seconds there was a hideous, chaotic racket of shooting and yelling. A brief fanfare of death. And then there was silence. Absolute, dead silence. Even the insects were still. It lasted a second or two before James heard flies, already homing in on the scent of blood.

He stood up. He couldn’t bear to look at the dead bodies of the soldiers.

Then Whatzat shouted, ‘They’re getting away.’

The driver and two of the soldiers were running off down the slope, scattering rocks and stones as they went.

Strabo snatched up a rifle from the hands of a dead soldier, quickly checked it over then slid the bolt back and forward to shunt a bullet into the chamber.

‘They’re too far away,’ said Whatzat.

‘Shut up,’ said Strabo, closing one eye and resting the butt into his shoulder. He pulled back the hammer, took aim and squeezed the trigger.

A sharp bang echoed but the bullet missed. James saw a prickly pear splatter. Strabo swore, reloaded the rifle and fired again. This time, the driver, a heavy-set, older man who couldn’t run very fast, threw out his arms and fell headlong down the slope.

‘Good shot,’ said Whatzat appreciatively and Strabo laughed.

‘Could hardly miss the fat idiot.’

‘Betcha can’t hit the other two.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

There was another bang and one of the soldiers was hit. He stumbled, but carried on running. Strabo’s next shot stopped him for good.

‘Where’s the other guy?’ said Whatzat. ‘There was three of them.’

‘Damn,’ said Strabo, lowering the rifle and peering down the slope. ‘Musta made it to the trees.’

‘Get down there and find him,’ said Mrs Glass. ‘We don’t want any witnesses.’

Strabo and Whatzat ran off awkwardly down the hill.

Garcia came over to Mrs Glass. He was shaking with anger. ‘Are you crazy?’ he said.

‘You got a problem, Garcia?’ she replied, lighting a cigarette.

‘Sure I got a problem. You just killed seven men in cold blood.’

‘They were only Mexicans.’

‘I am a Mexican.’

‘It was a typical Mexican shakedown,’ said Mrs Glass dismissively. ‘What was I supposed to do, Garcia? Let them rob us, or arrest us, or shoot us, or whatever the hell they were going to do to us? Besides, we need their truck. Now help me get these bodies out of the road.’

Garcia picked up a dead soldier and gently laid him down next to the safe. He said a few words, then crossed himself and closed the man’s eyes.

James spotted the skinny officer’s revolver, lying half under his body, and, while Mrs Glass was distracted, he picked it up and stuffed it inside the waistband of his trousers, under his shirt. Then he went over to comfort Precious and JJ, who were crying. Sakata was with them and it struck James that he hadn’t joined in the firefight.