Malice in Mexico Read online

  He stared at her thoughtfully, thinking his niece was a bloodthirsty devil. That was for sure. “So he didn’t respond to your charms? And now you want to kill him? Really Kathleen, be practical, it might be smarter to wait and see?”

  Her face flushed with anger. “You make it sound so stupid. It’s not personal! I consider him a danger to our plan. I don’t think we should take chances because we have too much at stake.”

  “Of course I agree about that, but remember San Miguel is where I’ve kept my safe house for many years. I’m not anxious to jeopardize it’s location by calling attention to it, and we both know when a CIA agent dies it triggers a close scrutiny of the circumstances. I definitely don’t want that kind of attention here.”

  “Well, of course, but accidents do happen.”

  He looked at her with a hard stare. “There better not be one unless I okay it.”

  * * *

  “Senor Rallins?” The handsome young man, clad in crisply creased khaki trousers and a blindingly white shirt, stood smiling at their table.

  Jack nodded, stood and held out his hand. “Raphael? You found us.” Then he introduced Claire, and invited him to sit a moment until they finished their coffee. “Would you care for a cup?”

  “No, thank you. I have already had my quota. So, are you enjoying our little town? I believe you said you were from the San Francisco area, didn’t you?”

  At their nod he continued. “I only visited a short time there, but I lived for four years in Los Angeles. It was a wonderful city. That’s where I learned to drive. For several years I drove a taxi and later a limousine. I am a very careful driver, you will see.”

  They nodded. “That’s what we were told. They said you were the one to show us around. That’s why we called you.”

  He smiled. “I liked the States. I loved my time there, but I always intended to return to my home. I saved my money until I bought my car then I came back to start my business here.”

  “Your English is perfect. I wish I could do better with Spanish. Did you learn it while you were in L.A. or did you speak English before then?” Claire asked.

  “Thank you. Actually I spoke some English. My mother teaches English here and so we all learned it early. But when I was in L.A. I was able to learn how to use it properly. You know, the slang?”

  Then becoming business-like, “Now, I understand you would like to see Delores Hidalgo and Guanajuato today. We can do those easily. Is there anything else, perhaps a pottery?”

  Claire nodded. “I would like to see a pottery or two. Jack, I’d like to pick up a couple pieces for my mother. You know how she loves to use unique pieces for her catering.”

  “So, perhaps we should get on the road.” Raphael led them to where he parked his car. It turned out to be a very clean BMW only a few years old. Raphael held the back door open so they could settle into the cream colored leather seats. He got behind the wheel and said, “I suggest we go directly to Delores Hidalgo as I believe they have a procession scheduled this morning. I think you might find it interesting. Then we’ll visit a pottery I know on the way to Guanajuato. That will give you the whole afternoon to see Guanajuato and you’ll most likely want to lunch there.” Raphael skillfully drove through town. Claire was happy to see she recognized some of the streets, especially when he turned on Hernandez Macias near the Bellas Artes and drove past Isobelle’s shop. He drove them through a part of town they had not yet visited and kept up a lively discussion of what they were seeing. She found his command of the language astounding. She suspected she wouldn’t be as fluent in a second language no matter how many years she spent in the country.

  Soon they were in the country and it looked much like the arid vista they had passed coming from the airport interspersed with an occasional field ready to plant or a hacienda nestled against a low hill. Raphael and Jack were discussing Father Hidalgo, the leader of Mexico’s bid for independence from Spain in 1810, and the historical significance of the town which later was named for him. It seemed the book Jack had checked out of the library and had been reading since was about that historical event, so he was very interested in seeing the location where it all started. Claire listened with only half her mind; the other half was reviewing the party last night. She was glad they went, but agreed with Vern’s assessment; Teddy and Jeff did lead a fast life. It was fun to watch, but she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to participate.

  * * *

  Claire looked around when Raphael turned off the highway onto a little dirt road and then bumped along through some mesquite trees into a village of sorts. She was looking for a gas station or a restaurant which might have an available ladies room. There didn’t appear to be anything like that here. But there was a pottery. This was the place Raphael had told them about, and it was better than he promised. It wasn’t like the potteries they had visited in Delores Hidalgo. Those contained the garish and somewhat primitive pieces you saw being sold off the back of trucks at intersections throughout California. This pottery consisted of a large rambling structure. On one side there was a large parking lot and the other side shielded a few humble dwellings. The whole complex just seemed to pop up in the middle of nowhere. The show room displayed a variety of attractive pieces, including some old-style majolica-like pieces, some of which seemed to be of museum quality. These were just what she wanted to buy for her mother. Her need for a restroom was momentarily forgotten in her enthusiastic examination of the pottery on display. She and Jack carefully perused the offerings and finally selected six pieces, platters and serving dishes, four for her mother, one for Mrs. B and one for their own use. They would have bought more, but they worried about how much could be safely checked as luggage on the plane going back. Then while the young clerk carefully packed the pieces for them she asked to use the restroom.

  The young girl rattled off instructions pointing towards the back and Claire headed that way, assuring Jack she’d be right back. “The back” was a casual description of a hodge-podge of enclosed spaces used for various steps in completing the pots. And because they had apparently arrived during the lunch hour there was no one around to direct her to the restroom. She hurried through space after space, some filled with more pottery, some containing work tables and wheeled racks holding bisqued pieces waiting for glazing. She glanced in a room with pottery wheels and other paraphernalia she didn’t even know how to describe, but she finally located the restroom and was grateful to find it was reasonably clean, although by this time she wasn’t going to be too fussy.

  When she finished she found she was a little confused about how to get back to the showroom. She wandered into a room which led to a courtyard with a roof overhead and two mammoth kilns, one glowing from the fire inside. She knew she hadn’t come this way and turned around. She passed a closed door and found herself in a room with packing supplies and dozens of small black frogs. These were so similar to the prototypes she had seen in Jeff’s studio she knew they were copies of his pieces. She picked one up, examining it critically and grinned. She had to get one. It would look perfect in her friend’s pristine garden. It would add a little character and she knew her friend, Lucy, would love it, especially when she heard that Jeff called it his black prince.

  Since there was no one available to price it, she just took it with her to the front. She finally stumbled into the room with the racks of pottery, which she recognized from earlier, and then it only took her a moment more to emerge into the shop.

  She plunked the frog down on the counter and asked, “How much?”

  The clerk looked puzzled and shook her head. Claire tried to explain where she found it. The clerk didn’t want to sell it; saying it must be part of a special order.

  “Oh, no, I have to have it. Lucy would love it. Please, Jack, convince her. Even if it is a special order there were dozens there, surely they won’t miss one.”

  Somehow Jack did talk the clerk into selling it to them. Even willingly, paying an exorbitant amount for the frog, which h
e thought was ugly. Since the box with the other pieces had already been sealed, Claire just put the frog, wrapped in paper and taped, into the tote bag she was carrying.

  When they emerged triumphantly, Raphael was leaning against the car in the dusty empty street waiting for them. He stowed the box in the trunk and soon they were off to Guanajuato.

  Soon the terrain began to look very different. They were in the mountains and the road was twisting and curving up, always up, through the tall trees covering the terrain. As soon as they entered the beginnings of the city, they could see this was different than the dusty, old Delores Hidalgo or the picturesque San Miguel.

  Raphael said he was going up to the top for a look at the city by the statue of El Pipila before taking them in to explore the city center. He laughingly explained that Guanajuato meant mountain place of frogs and was established in 1540, after the Spanish found silver there.

  “Frogs, how appropriate. See Jack, Lucy is going to love that piece of pottery.” Claire grinned; it seemed the frog was meant for her to buy.

  She loved the look of this city and the narrow streets with the brightly colored buildings climbing up the mountains. They were surprised when the road they were on plunged deeply into a tunnel beneath the town. The whole town was riddled with tunnels intersecting and branching off in all directions. Cars were parked haphazardly on both sides in the tunnels, especially near the stairs which provided a way out.

  “It’s an old city and like many in Europe, parking is at a premium in the city center. People have learned to park where they can and take the stairs to their destination. And some park on streets farther away and take the bus down into the city center,” Raphael explained.

  He exited the tunnels and drove up a little street crowded with small shops selling ice creams and souvenirs to pull into a parking space near a vendor selling booklets with the story of the city. After a discussion with the vendor he led them to the plaza dominated by a very large stone monument and then the edge of the mountain where they could look over the valley filled with an astonishing assortment of buildings. Directly below them were the tracks of the funicular, a little cable car which clung to the steep track as it climbed the cliff.

  “What is that building down there?”

  “Ah, that is the Teatro Juarez, a very famous opera house. I believe it is open for touring if you’d like to see it. It is very old and very grand and the sound is heavenly. And there,” he pointed, “is the University of Guanajuato. It is a very prestigious school of theatre and music. See all the buildings look the same.”

  “Raphael, these three towns, Guanajuato, Delores Hidalgo and San Miguel are so close to each other, but each is entirely different. Is that usual for towns in Mexico?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I’m sorry to say that most towns are more likely to look like Delores Hidalgo or even the little village where we visited the pottery. Both Guanajuato and San Miguel are unique. Of course there are other towns with unique qualities, but they are spread around.”

  Claire snapped a few pictures and then put her camera back in the tote bag, hanging from her shoulder, so Raphael suggested, “Let’s go down to the city center and you can explore. The Jardin here is called Jardin Union. It is very beautiful and lined with outdoor cafes. And while this is a very beautiful city, there will not be as many Americans or Canadians here. I’m not sure why, but as a result I’m afraid you may not find English spoken here as readily as in San Miguel.”

  Raphael pulled his car into an area in front of the Teatro Juarez which seemed reserved for taxis and touring cars. He handed them a map of the city with a list of sites of interest. “This is the Teatro Juarez, you should be able to find it easily, and around the corner behind it you will find the funicular we saw from the top, in case you’d like to ride it. Across the way over there is the Jardin Union. There are plenty of cafes. Take your time and enjoy yourselves. When you’re ready to return, you will find me here waiting.”

  Jack and Claire got out of the car, took the map and eagerly headed toward the Jardin.

  “I feel like I’ve been turned loose in an amusement park; kind of excited, like I don’t know what to do first.”

  “Well, I know what we’re going to do!” Jack was headed for the Jardin Union. “We’re going to find a pleasant café and have a drink and something to eat. I’m starved.”

  Claire laughed. “Me too,” she admitted.

  * * *

  “We’ve lost one.”

  “What do you mean lost one?” He barked into the receiver, “How could you lose one? They don’t walk, do they?”

  “Lost as in some dumb tourist bought one and took it with her.”

  “What! How in the hell could a tourist see it?”

  “Shit happens, you know? Tony was all set to start packing, when one of the girls invited him to have lunch with her. He says she had tamales and she makes great tamales, so naturally he didn’t see the harm in packing after lunch. When he came back he noticed he was one short. He unpacked everything and counted them. One was missing. He searched all over for it and finally asked the clerk in the shop. When he described what he was looking for she admitted selling it to a tourist, who apparently saw it when she went back to use the restroom. She said she tried to talk her out of buying it as it didn’t have a price tag, but the woman insisted. She said she put a very high price on it to discourage her, but the woman still bought it. The clerk was proud of the money she charged, stupid pig! Little did she know the real value of that particular piece.”

  “Well, we’ll have to get it back. Not only is it too valuable to be lost, but there’s always the danger that someone will discover what it is.

  “You and Ricky will have to retrieve it. Do you have any leads?”

  “We have the name on the credit card the guy used, Jack Rallins...”

  “Jack Rallins! Oh, shit.”

  The silence hung heavy across the miles. “That is definitely the wrong person to have one of our frogs.” His voice was heavy with doom. “We need it back. Jack Rallins is traveling with his friend, Claire Gulliver. I just saw them at a party last night. Did the clerk say how they came and where they may be going?”

  “Yes, she said they came with a tour car, driven by Raphael. He introduced them when they came in. They have an arrangement with these drivers so they get a percentage of whatever the customers spend in the shop. But she says they didn’t say where they were going next, although she would guess it would be either Guanajuato or Delores Hidalgo.”

  “Never mind, I’ll find out. Hold on a minute and I’ll call Raphael on the other phone.”

  After a short pause the voice came through the phone once more. “We’re in luck. They’re in Guanajuato. Raphael is driving a silver BMW, 740i series. You and Ricky make sure they don’t make it back here. I’m afraid they’re going to have a terrible accident.”

  “Good idea, I know just the place. That road can be treacherous. We’ll take care of it, trust us.”

  “Don’t forget I want the frog back. So you’ll have to be first on the scene, understand?”

  “We’ll get it. Don’t worry.”

  “And then we need to have a talk with Tony. His penchant for tamales led to this situation and that’s just not acceptable.” On that ominous note he broke the connection.

  “Are you having a bad morning? Your scowl is what I would describe as thunderous,” Kathleen said as she entered the den.

  “I wasn’t until I got that call.”

  She arched her brows, waiting for more information.

  “I think we have a real problem at the factory. It seems Tony was going to pack up the pieces today and got distracted by an offer of homemade tamales. While he was gone a tourist on the way to the restroom wandered by and picked up one of our frogs. She apparently loved it and insisted the clerk sell it to her. The clerk, a young girl who has only been working there a couple of weeks was reluctant and put a ridiculous price on it to discourage the sale, but the w
oman bought it anyway.”

  He stopped, watching the astonishment on Kathleen’s face turn into fury.

  “She sold it? She sold one of our frogs?”

  “That’s not the worst of it.” He paused a moment to let the suspense build. “It turns out she sold it to your friend, Jack Rallins.”

  “What? I can’t believe it.” Kathleen was sputtering. The words were falling over each other. “Jack and Claire have one of our frogs? How could that be? How did they even find the place? What if they recognize it? Our whole plan is in jeopardy.”

  He shook his head at the stupidity of the situation. “I told you, Claire Gulliver is trouble. Things just seem to happen around her and none of them are good for me. That pottery is a favorite of the tour car drivers because their clients love the merchandise. Jack and Claire hired Raphael to take them on a tour of Delores Hidalgo and Guanajuato and of course he stopped at the pottery on the way.

  “Maybe we’ve made the pieces too attractive. I didn’t want to model them after Jeff’s frog. That was your idea. I thought it was too artsy looking. Remember? You thought it would be funny. But it’s not so funny, now. That hunk of coca negra, shaped as a frog is worth a lot of money to us. We need to get it back and we need to make sure Jack Rallins doesn’t stumble on to what it’s made out of.” He shook his head with disgust. “Claire and Jack have just sealed their fate. Ben and Ricky will see Raphael’s car gets run off the road on its way back to San Miguel and somehow in trying to aid the victims of this terrible crash, they will retrieve the frog for us. “