Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard (20 page)

Mexico City, Mexico

Benito Juarez International Airport, Terminal Bldg 1

January

Monday, 8:09 p.m. CST

P
aul
gulped, his throat tight, and he turned
his face away from the window, sickened by the gore. He hadn’t planned for that
outcome at all. His intentions had only been to frighten the Oni, at least long
enough to make good on his escape. He certainly hadn’t intended for them to
die, even if they had been trying to kill him!

But there could be other Oni in the vicinity too. Paul didn’t
dare to remain in the airport, not even to try to catch a flight to the United
States. He needed to put as much distance between himself and this disaster as quickly
as he could. So he didn’t hesitate but instead used his gold bar to open a
portal that would put him out in the middle of the main terminal.

In his haste, Paul forgot to invoke an invisibility spell. Several
people nearby did double takes, pointing in his direction and backing away.
Ignoring them, Paul spied a currency exchange booth just down the corridor and zigzagged
through the crowd to reach it.

Fortunately, there was no one else in line, and the clerk
was efficient. In less than three minutes, Paul had exchanged half of his stash
of Euros for pesos and the other half of them for U.S. dollars. With a grateful
smile at the clerk, he hurriedly shoved the money into his pants pockets and
strode away. Without a care what the other people around him might think, he
gripped the gold bar, popped open a portal, and ducked through.

A series of portals, all overlapping and using every other
trick to disguise them that Merlin had taught him, took Paul two miles west to
TAPO, the Terminal de Autobuses de Pasajeros de Oriente. Bus travel was the
major form of public transportation in all of Mexico, far more so than air or
train travel. Many Mexicans didn’t own a car but traveled by bus everywhere
they went.

TAPO was a unique place with no similar counterparts in the
United States, resembling a train station but servicing buses instead. Paul did
briefly consider taking one of the combiss, one of the small local buses
(typically a Volkswagen microbus), but he decided against it. A
Primera
(1
^st
class) bus would take him farther and faster.

Inside the domed building of the bus station, Paul decided
to purchase three tickets. At the first window, he bought one for Guadalajara,
which he purchased as himself, without using a spell to disguise his appearance
in any way. In the second line, he appeared as an itinerant young Mexican man
wearing second-rate clothes, buying a ticket for San Luis Potosi. The third
ticket was purchased at yet another window with a destination of Tampico, Paul
assuming the disguise of an elderly woman wearing a shawl and a frumpy,
checkered dress.

• • • •

The Tampico bus was already boarding, and Paul joined the
line, letting the spell on his appearance morph back into his regular self
again. No one around him seemed to be paying any attention. A bus line worker
took his carry-on to load into the baggage compartment.

When it was his turn, Paul climbed aboard, handing his
ticket to the driver, who grunted in return and pointed toward the rear of the
bus.

Once inside, Paul grinned in unconditional appreciation. The
autobus here had better accommodations than the passenger buses he had seen
back in the States. The seats were larger and much better padded, with large
arm rests, cup holders, and even a night light built into the head rest. He fell
into one of the seats and stretched out, appreciating the luxury.

The bus sat at the terminal building for another few minutes
as several other passengers boarded. Nervously awaiting their departure, Paul
took a moment to survey some of the closer passengers, including one heavyset
lady and her prettier daughter. Another seat was occupied by an older, thinner
Mexican carrying a brown paper bag wrapped around a bottle that had a small
funny red hat on top. Probably a bottle of tequila. There were other passengers
too getting on, mostly migrant or factory workers.

To Paul’s great relief, the driver swung the door shut and
started the engine. Backing out of the parking slot, the bus followed the loop
around the terminal building and out the exit.

Paul was on his way out of Mexico City. Hopefully, in
Tampico, he could buy another ticket for points farther north, with an eventual
destination of the United States border.

• • • •

It was a long, winding trip, parts of it through rugged
terrain. The sun was rising on the eastern horizon as the bus entered the
outskirts of Tampico. By all appearances, it was a sleepy city, although this
early in the morning, it was hard to tell for certain. The mundane looking
streets rolled by the window in sedate fashion.

He had no warning whatsoever. As the bus pulled into the
parking lot next to the Terminal Central de Autobuses de Tampico, it abruptly
jerked to a halt, and every shiny surface inside reflected strobing blue lights
from outside of the vehicle. Through the windows, Paul noted with sickening
horror that the bus was now surrounded by a half-dozen police and military
vehicles and at least a dozen armed men in uniform.

And two Oni that he could see, dressed in Mexican military
fatigues and carrying FN P90 submachine guns.

He reached into his shirt pocket, grasping his gold bar, and
frantically tried to create a portal in the aisle. But instead of a portal,
there was only a brief fizzle of light. His spell had been blocked from
outside! He tried to invoke another spell, this one to change Planck’s constant,
but that too failed.

“Paul Armstead!” shouted a voice through a bullhorn. “Come
out with your hands up! Think of the other passengers! Come out now and they
won’t be harmed!”

All the people on the bus were looking around at each other
in growing fear and excitement. The man with the bottle in the bag was staring
at Paul.

What am I going to do now
?
he asked himself.
Is
the stuff in my pocket going to help protect me?

He glanced out the window again, noting that there were now
three Oni in view. He was well and truly busted. He stood slowly, feeling
trapped and afraid. He really didn’t have any faith in the soybeans, garlic,
salt, or onions in his pants pockets.

And then, in a flash, he remembered something that his
stepson, Douglas, had once told him about drinking alcohol. It dovetailed with
what Abe no Seimei had said.

Which caused a new idea to pop into his head. Without
questioning his inspiration, he dug out the roll of bills from his rear pants
pocket.

“You have just 30 seconds to come out, Paul! Then we storm
the bus!”

The other passengers were beginning to freak out, their
cries of alarm rising quickly in volume.

Paul doled out several neuvo peso bank notes in $100
denominations and thrust it at the man with the bottle. “Necessito su botella!
(
I need your bottle!
)” he yelled over the noise.

The elderly Mexican blinked but grasped the bag and bottle
more firmly, pulling away from Paul.

“Twenty seconds!” screamed the bullhorn.

“No me iré sin botella!
(
I’m not
leaving without the bottle!
)” Paul snarled.

Glancing out the window at the flashing lights and armed
men, the other passenger changed his mind, reaching out to snatch the money and
pushing the bottle into Paul’s hand.

With a quick spell, Paul popped the little hat off the
bottle and did a strange thing. He raised the bottle high and upended it on
himself.

His nearest neighbors gasped in surprise and disgust as the
alcohol splashed downward, mostly on Paul, but some of it splattering on the
closest of the other passengers.

Ignoring their cries of outrage, Paul dumped the bottle’s
entire contents all over his chest, shoulders, and head. The liquid burned the
corners of his eyes, the smell of it overpowering him, and he coughed and
gagged at it.

Dropping the bottle to the floor, Paul took the gold bar from
his pocket, perched a foot up on the armrest of one of the seats, and tucked
the bar into his sock.

“We’re coming in!” squawked the bullhorn.

The driver was heading down the aisle, determination and
anger in his eyes. Paul dropped his leg and charged up the aisle to meet the man,
who dodged, gripped Paul by the collar, and yanked him forward. There was
banging at the bus doors, but the driver slapped the door button and shoved
Paul down the steps at the same moment.

The doors opened just in time to let him fall into the
waiting arms of an Oni.

The Oni yelled, spun him around, and tripped him. Hitting
the asphalt knocked the breath out of Paul and caused white dots to form at the
edge of his vision. Combined with the smell of the tequila, he nearly vomited.

But strong arms yanked him back up to his feet and thrust
him away from the bus.

All around Paul, grim-faced men pointed a variety of rifles
and handguns at him, but the scariest sight was the four Oni surrounding him.

His arm was twisted behind him with irresistible force, and
the sudden pain made him gasp hard. Despair filled him. Was he about to die,
right here, right now? With all these witnesses?

And then a strange thing happened.

The Oni in front of Paul leaned forward and took a whiff.

“He’s drunk,” it said with an American accent. “Good stuff,
too.”

“What? You didn’t save any for us?” roared another Oni.

All four of them laughed in their funny way at that joke.

Gritting his teeth and sub-vocalizing, Paul whispered, “In
the names of Preston Foster, Al Bundy, and Homer Simpson, may the alcoholic
fumes from my clothing be concentrated in their noses!”

“Hey!” growled the Oni behind him, the one gripping his arm.
“He cast a spell! Weak, but he must have something on him!”

“Search him!”

Rough hands began frisking him. In seconds, they pulled the
money from his pockets and then the bag of salt.

“What’s this? Salt? Another bag? Are those soybeans?!
Really
?!”

This time, they laughed all the harder, while the Oni
searching him tossed the bags on the ground, stomping on them in contempt.

The Mexican police were frowning, lowering their weapons in
puzzlement. This was not how to arrest a dangerous suspect.

“No one has tried to use soybeans against us since the
Sino-Japanese war!” the second Oni declared, laughing loudly.

Well, so much for the grocery plan. Will my new idea work
better
? Paul wondered. Doug had told him that breathing strong alcoholic
fumes was a far faster way to get drunk than by drinking the stuff. Alcohol
inhalation bypassed the stomach and liver, going straight from the lungs into
the bloodstream. Doug had actually confessed to having tried it, despite the
fact that it was illegal in California. Of course, that little fact had not
deterred him any.

Paul studied the nearest Oni. According to the Japanese
expert, Abe no Seimei, the Oni loved to drink. What was their tolerance level? Would
the smell be enough to make them drunk? And if so, how would they react? Since
the soybeans and other items had failed, this was practically Paul’s last hope.

Another Oni leaned close and took a deep whiff. “Tequila!”
it roared. “Not my favorite, but not bad!”

More whiffs from the other Oni. They were enjoying
themselves.

And then the pressure on his arm decreased.

“Found it!” said the searching Oni, pulling the gold bar
from Paul’s sock. “Ooh, gold! Nice work there, wizard!” Then the Oni turned to
one of the unhappy Mexican police officers. “Here! Catch!”

And just like that, the gold bar was gone.

“Do you remember that saké we had at the New Year’s party?”
Oni number three asked. “That was pretty good stuff too!”

More sniffs, deeper ones.

“Can’t stand it anymore,” Oni number one pronounced with a
snarl. “I need a bottle.”

Paul felt one of them cast a spell, and suddenly, there was
a bottle of tequila being passed from Oni to Oni, each taking a big belt in
turn.

“I prefer an Irish Whiskey myself,” Oni number four remarked
airily. “Let’s have a bottle of that too.”

Oni number two released Paul’s arm and swung him around, bringing
Paul close, face to face. Paul gagged and jerked backward.

“Listen, wizard,” the Oni barked. “Behave yourself and we’ll
let you have a drink too. In fact, we’ll let everyone here have one! Okay,
guys? Drinks for everyone!”

A bottle was shoved into Paul’s hand.

“Drink up, wizard! Drink and be merry, before we take you to
Ruggiero! Come on, be a man! Let’s party! Everybody! Oh, and let’s have some
music!”

Using their magical powers on the police and the bus
passengers, the Oni gathered everyone together, first in the parking lot, and
then moving everyone into the bus terminal itself. The alcohol flowed freely in
a variety of different spirits, from beer to various hard liquors.

Unfortunately, Paul was not able to sneak out. The Oni kept
tabs on him and offered him drinks which he was not allowed to refuse. Since he
had previously never drunk anything stronger than wine, the alcohol quickly
went to work on his system, and in less than a half-hour, he too was
rip-roaring drunk, trading jokes and stories with Oni number three.

• • • •

Paul awoke with a start, feeling terrible and disoriented.
He was cold, his stomach churned wildly, his throat burned, and his head
pounded in sync with his heartbeat. He felt like every pore of his body was screaming
in pain. And the noise! It was like thunder, it was so loud!

He discovered too that, much to his dismay, he was lying face-down
on a laminate floor.