Read Warriors in Paradise Online
Authors: Luis E. Gutiérrez-Poucel
Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller, #Suspense, #Action & Adventure, #Acapulco, #Washington DC
Warriors in Paradise (38 page)
Santi added, “By the way, these are my friends Charlie Underhill and Caleb Jackson. They’re staying with me.”
The doctor introduced himself, and they shook hands.
They sat in the living room while Caleb and Charlie went to the kitchen to fetch the drinks.
“How is Zulu doing?” the doctor asked.
“Zulu is doing very well. He is not moving much, which is to be expected, and I changed the dressing on the wound earlier today. I was able to shove the antibiotic down his throat by covering it in a chunk of cream cheese.”
Santi looked down at his hands and took a deep breath. Then he looked Willebaldo straight in the eyes and said, “Doc, the reason for asking you here was not only to thank you for what you did for Zulu, but to ask you to help me once more regarding the same shooting.
“There is not much more that I can tell you about it except that we were not and are not the bad guys. We were attacked in the middle of the night, and we were lucky to drive those people off. Unfortunately, my godmother, as well as Zulu, was shot. Zulu survived; she did not. She was shot seven times with an AK-47. I need a death certificate that states that she died of natural causes.
“Could you give me such a certificate? And please trust me when I say that if you say no, I will understand it. I know you just met me, so you have no reason to trust me.”
The doctor responded, “This is really too much in such a short time. What you ask of me could cost me my license. I can help you with a dog, no problem, but sorry, I cannot lie…”
After a pause, he asked, “Could I see the body?”
Santi took the doctor up to Sandra’s room and showed him her body.
After examining Sandra, he said, “She was sleeping when she was shot. She never had a chance.”
The doctor was ten years older than Santi. He was still young but wiser than his chronological age. Living in Acapulco and working at the emergency room at Caleta’s general hospital had aged him beyond his years.
“Can I see Zulu?” the doctor asked.
Santi was touched. He said, “Of course. Please come this way.”
Santi opened the connecting door to his bedroom. It had been eight hours since the operation, and Zulu was standing next to the mattress he had been sleeping on. Santi had kept him confined to the room because he was afraid that Zulu would rupture one of the sutures if he moved around too much. As soon as they came in, Zulu started wagging his tail and looked straight at the doctor. Zulu knew who he was.
What a dog!
That was enough to persuade the doctor to help Santi. He said, “Please give me Sandra’s birth certificate, and I’ll be back in half an hour for that drink.”
Forty minutes later, the doctor was ringing the doorbell. As Santi led the doctor to the living room, he gave Santi a folder with the original death certificate and several copies.
Charlie and Caleb came out of the kitchen with four glasses and a bottle of frozen tequila.
Handing the doctor a shot glass of tequila, Charlie said, “First, we toast with this, and then we can prepare you any cocktail you fancy.”
The doctor said, “Hell, I am not only Mexican, I am from Acapulco. Here, we drink mescal. Tequila is girlish. But as a concession to you three foreigners, I will drink tequila with you.”
They chuckled.
As he raised his shot glass, Santi said, “Doctor, here’s to you. Thank you for helping and trusting us. We hope that our future meetings will be devoted to celebrating good times.”
They drank the shots of tequila in one go.
The doctor put his glass down and said, “Santi, have you made any arrangements for Sandra’s body?”
Santi responded, “She wanted to be cremated. I have called the funeral home. They are expecting me. They are going to be open until ten p.m. We were the only family she had, so there is not going to be a wake.”
“Fine, but you cannot have the body any more time than you absolutely need to. Even though you have the air conditioning at full blast, bodies in Acapulco decompose fast.”
As soon as Willebaldo left, Santi carried Sandra’s body to the CR-V. Charlie drove to the funeral home. Conditions in Acapulco in the wake of the storm’s devastation were such that it was acceptable to transport the dead in your own car rather than wait for a hearse.
Santi carried Sandra’s body into the funeral home and placed her on a gurney. He selected an urn and paid the bill. He was told he could collect the ashes the day after tomorrow.
As he was leaving, Santi remembered Bob Dylan’s lyrics from “Simple Twist of Fate”:
Felt an emptiness inside to which he just could not relate
Brought on by a simple twist of fate.
Night after day
Several days had passed since the shootout with Pedro—the corrupt prosecutor—and his minions, the dirty cops.
Santi had hired a cook and a housekeeper. Santi, Charlie, and Caleb were not in the mood for cooking or doing housework. They were still in the process of healing.
Zulu was coming along well. Santi couldn’t keep him in the room. The little shit could open doors, and if Santi tried to lock the door, Zulu would scratch his way out. Santi had to give him his freedom or buy a metal door.
The house was gradually returning to normal.
Struck dumb by Valentina, Santi tried to call her several times a day, every day. However, he was unable to talk to her. Her brother Rubén told him, “Santi, my sister doesn’t want to see you, talk to you, or hear from you. Please don’t call here anymore.”
Santi felt a terrible emptiness in the pit of his stomach and thought that love was the ultimate outlaw. It did not conform to any rules. All that a lover could do when faced with an undeserving breakup was to sign on as an accomplice and break away from his loved one too. Santi thought that his love for Valentina had no strings attached, but he could clearly hear the strings snapping free.
Charlie, Caleb, and Santi were still on the mend, but at the same time, they were feeling a little more alive and a little better.
Every morning, they would wake up early and swim to La Roqueta and back. They would go to the gym and lift weights for a couple of hours. Then they would walk around the old town, distributing food rations and clothes and helping out with the rebuilding effort.
Toro’s money was finally being put to good use.
Charlie and Caleb were leaving the next day for Washington, DC.
***
The four of them were sitting in the living room, watching the 10:30 p.m. news on television, drinking beers. Zulu had laid claim to one of the sofas. The late-night announcer solemnly reported that the next day and throughout the next week, it would be mostly sunny with only scattered showers.
Charlie said, “I think I am missing the rain.”
Santi stood up and went to the kitchen. He grabbed a bucket, opened the freezer, and put all the ice he could find in the bucket. He filled it with water and carried it back to the family room. He poured the bucket of ice water on Charlie’s head while shouting, “Charlie, this is all the fucking rain you’re going to get for a fucking long time! So make the most out of it!”
Charlie jumped up, pissed off, drenched, and startled, shouting, “What the fuck! You little shit!”
Suddenly the three of them started laughing uncontrollably, accompanied by Zulu’s howling.
At that moment Santi’s mother arrived home, and that was how she found the three amigos: laughing and crying at the same time.
The End
About The Author
L
uis Emiliano Gutierrez-Poucel is a Mexican political economist with 30 years’ international experience at the World Bank and the Inter-American Development Bank. He was a wrestler in the Mexican Pre-Olympic wrestling team in 1968. He studied at the National University of Mexico, Victoria University of Manchester, Leicester University and at the Center for International Affairs at Harvard University. He is currently retired, living in Mexico City and Acapulco with four Rhodesian Ridgebacks and his lovely South African wife.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Fighting in Paradise
Chapter 4: Independence Day Party
Chapter 5: The Death of a Road
The loves and hates of Nicanor Toro
Chapter 8: Deeper into the Rabbit Hole
Breakfast with American royalty