Rum Luck Page 23

  Though they’d only just opened for lunch, the main lounge area of the cantina was already jammed with customers chatting happily, drinks in hand. Some of the regulars greeted them or clapped Ben on the shoulder as they walked past. Word of their showdown with Vasquez had quickly spread. The tale grew more fantastic with every telling.

  Luis smiled at him from behind the bar, then began shaking another Totales Morales, the end result of Enrico’s little science experiment. No one—least of all Enrico—knew what it contained, but the customers seemed to love it. It tasted like stale turpentine to Ben, which meant there was tequila in there somewhere.

  Their busboy had been somewhat amused to discover he’d been the lead suspect in Antonio’s murder, but still stepped up when Miguel took time to recover. By unanimous vote, he’d earned a promotion to bartender. And a day off for his fashion show.

  Ben gazed past the stack of surfboards leaning against the timber doorframe, beyond the sand to the sparkling blue ocean. A line of waves swelled and crashed onto the beach, bathing the soles of smiling travelers. He would never tire of that view. He took a deep breath, savoring the smell of grilled meat and plaintains. A familiar figure walked through the front door, plucking awkwardly at his neatly ironed khakis and tucked-in Hawaiian shirt.

  “Captain Reyes,” Ben said warmly. “Always a pleasure.”

  “Mr. Cooper.” The captain handed Ben a thin manila envelope. “I wanted to return this to you.”

  “What’s in here? You’ve already given me my passport back.”

  “It is the deed to your bar, the one we took as evidence on the day you were arrested. Mister Vasquez has confessed to the manslaughter of Antonio Guiterrez and the hit-and-run against Miguel Valares, so we no longer require it.” Reyes smiled. “I included the death threat as well. I thought you might appreciate a—what is the word?—a memento of your little adventure. You can put them on your wall of self-love.”

  Ben looked up from the blood-splattered deed that bore his signature. “My what?”

  “Perhaps my English fails me. The wall that people have, where they hang their degrees and records of their accomplishments?”

  “His ‘I love me’ wall?” Victoria asked.

  “That sounds right,” Reyes agreed.

  Ben was genuinely touched. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll hang them in our office.”

  “You’re welcome.” Reyes’s expression darkened. “But do not take this as any sign that the Tamarindo Police approved of your interference in the apprehension of Mr. Vasquez.”

  Victoria snorted.

  Reyes continued, “In light of the unusual circumstances, however, we are prepared to withhold charges. This time.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Ben said. “And the emeralds?”

  “The emeralds will be kept as evidence in our ongoing investigation against the cartel.” Reyes scowled. “Don’t push your luck.”

  “Understood, Captain. Please let us know if we can be of any further assistance.” He grinned broadly.

  Reyes shook Ben’s hand in an ironclad grasp. “Welcome to Tamarindo, Mr. Cooper. You should fit in well.” He marched out the way he came in.

  Victoria glanced around the cantina, then sighed. “Wait here. I’ll go and get Ana.”

  Ben stepped behind the bar and tucked the envelope in one of the drawers, then slid himself onto a bar stool. They really needed to fix the hole Miguel had carved in the roof during his rescue attempt. Ana and Luis had taken to calling it the skylight, but when it rained—

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hiya, Ben.”

  He swiveled around. “Oh. Hi, Jenni.” He gave her a small, awkward smile. “Long time no see.”

  She looked up at him with wide green eyes. “Look, there’s something I need to tell you . . .”

  “Oh?” Ben did his best to sound surprised. She looked every bit as striking as he remembered, but whatever spark there once was had since winked out. He’d apparently have to add pumping me for information on behalf of a crooked cop to his list of deal-breakers, somewhere between clown fetishes and leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor.

  “A few months back, Detective Vasquez caught me with a small bag of pot. He promised not to press charges, so long as I kept my eyes open for him.” She lowered her gaze. “After Antonio was murdered, he asked me to spy on you.”

  “I see.” Ben found himself wishing Jenni had arrived about four Totales Morales into the evening.

  “I didn’t tell him very much about you, but, well . . .” Jenni faltered under Ben’s steady gaze, then pressed on. “I want you to know I hated every moment of it. And I never would have agreed if I’d known what Vasquez had done.” She gave him a small, sad smile. “Or if I’d known what a great bloke you are. That’s all. Bye, Ben.” She started to walk away.

  “Jenni, wait,” Ben said. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

  “Yes?” she asked, hope in her eyes.

  “Victoria put a tracking device in your purse and followed you to your meeting with Vasquez. I didn’t find out about it until later. I never would have approved, had I known. But if she hadn’t, he might well have escaped with Ana and the emeralds. So, can we call it even?”

  “She put a tracker in my bag?” Jenni grabbed her purse and started rummaging.

  “Yeah. And she’d like it back, if that’s not too much trouble. It’s . . . There it is. That stick of lip balm.”

  Jenni shoved it into Ben’s hand.

  “If it makes you feel any better, she stopped tracking you ages ago,” he said.

  “She—” Jenni fumed, then took a deep breath. “I suppose I deserved it.”

  “Can we start over?” he asked. “As friends?”

  “I’d like that.” She smiled, then suddenly threw her arms around him. “But you tell that hussy if she spies on me again, I’ll wallop her with my surfboard.”

  Ben moved to return her embrace, but flinched when Victoria cleared her throat inches from his ear. Where on earth had she come from?

  “We’re waiting,” Victoria said.

  “Sorry,” he said to Jenni. “Got to run.”

  Ben and Victoria walked over to where Miguel and Ana were standing outside the front entrance to the bar.

  “Where is he?” Miguel asked.

  “He’ll be here any second,” Victoria said. There was a crash over by the office. “Here he comes.”

  Enrico stepped through the doorway, towing a pair of massive leather suitcases and wearing the same cheap rumpled suit as when he’d arrived.

  “That’s everything,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness.

  After Vasquez was arrested, Enrico had insisted on moving into the cantina so Miguel could recover at the Tamarindo Diria. The rest of them suspected it was so he could wander the bar in the middle of the night, prowling for prowlers.

  Ben cleared his throat. “Enrico Morales, on behalf of the staff and customers of Enrico’s Cantina, I would like to thank you for your dedicated service as our owner. You are, without question, the best client we’ve ever had.”

  Enrico glared at him. “I’m the only client you’ve ever had, you pendejo.”

  Victoria handed him a thin package wrapped in brown paper. “We would like to offer you this token of our appreciation to remind you of your time at the cantina.”

  He tore open the package. Inside was a framed picture of Enrico standing behind the bar, tossing a bottle of rum in the air. He had a huge smile on his face.

  “Thank you,” Enrico said. “It’s . . . just . . .” He dabbed his eyes with a filthy handkerchief.

  “Enrico Morales, speechless.” Victoria shook her head in mock disbelief. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “You’re ruining the moment.” Enrico blew his nose. “Don’t forget to keep some of your weekends open. I want you to join the band on tour later this year.”

  Victoria smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “And if I ever need to borrow
some of your surveillance equipment?”

  She laughed. “Then you can pound salt.”

  Enrico shrugged. “Never hurts to ask.” He stuffed the handkerchief back into his jacket. “Almost forgot,” he said, pulling a crinkled envelope from the same pocket. “I know this was supposed to be a trial run, but I’d like to pay for my ownership. I didn’t know how much you’re planning to charge, so I took a guess.” He handed the envelope to Ben.

  Ben took the envelope and ripped it open. His eyes bugged when he saw the amount Enrico had written on the check inside. It was enough to pay for the car, to restock the bar, to . . . “This is fine,” he said quickly, slipping the envelope into his pants pocket.

  “I’ve told my friends about the cantina as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you get a few calls. And let me know if you ever need a loan to cover some repairs.”

  “Thanks, Enrico,” Ben said, profoundly grateful.

  “Thank you.” Enrico held out a hand, which each of them shook in turn. “I haven’t had this much fun since—”

  “Take care, Uncle.” Miguel gave him a hug to stall yet another long story. His bruises were starting to fade, but his neck was still mottled brown and purple from his collarbone to his ears.

  “You too, Miguel. Try not to tackle any more gunmen.” Enrico grinned. “That goes for the rest of you as well.” He picked up his bags and pulled them over to his red Mercedes.

  They waved until he disappeared in a cloud of dust and tire smoke. Ben turned back to the cantina, stopping when something flashed in the corner of his eye. He looked up at the sign that had said Enrico’s until minutes ago. Now, the side panel of the rental car hung in its place, letting all the world know that Gringo’s was open for business.

  “Ana, did you do this?” Ben asked.

  “Do you like it? It seemed . . . perfect.”

  “I love it.”

  “Me too,” Victoria said. “Thank you, Ana. For everything.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for ever thinking you could have murdered your uncle.”

  “That is all right,” she said. “I would have done the same thing, if I was in your heels.”

  They started toward the beach, but then Ana held Ben back by his arm.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  Her eyes were downcast. “Are you sure I don’t need to worry about Juan? He keeps sending me text messages threatening to . . . and . . . and I do not think he will wait much longer.”

  “You have nothing to worry about. I’m sure.” He smiled. “Come on, let’s go.”

  They walked together down the beach to the crashing waves, where Miguel and Victoria waited for them. Ana picked up a small brass urn and stared out over the ocean. “Antonio Guiterrez spent his entire life in Costa Rica, and he loved it dearly. He was not a perfect man, but he was like a father to me. He helped me through some tough times in my life, even after . . .” She looked at Miguel and faltered. “. . . after others had given up. Some people will only remember him for stealing a small fortune in emeralds, for drugging Ben and attacking a detective with a bat, but I know . . . I know . . .” Ana stammered. She looked up at the rest of them. “I am not very good at this. Would any of you like to say something?”

  Victoria, Miguel, and Ben looked at each another expectantly. Finally, Ben stepped forward and cleared his throat. “I’ve come to realize that the greatest people in life are those who help us change in ways we can’t manage on our own. By that measure, Antonio was one of the most important people in my life. Thank you, Antonio. I hope you know peace.”

  Ana smiled. “That was nice, Ben. Gracias.”

  “Well done,” Victoria whispered as he stepped back.

  Ana knelt in the rolling surf. She set the urn down, removed the lid, and stepped back from the water. A wave rushed over the urn, scooping up ashes as it passed. Within moments, Antonio Guiterrez was part of the Pacific. She picked up the empty urn and turned to Ben. “Do you mind if I go on break for a while?”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  She walked along the beach, the empty urn tucked beneath her arm. Victoria looked at her watch. “When do you want us back here? An hour after sunset?”

  “That’s right. Mind giving Luis a hand with the lunch rush before you go? I need to make a phone call.”

  “No problem.” She turned and headed back to the cantina.

  Ben slowly lowered himself onto the sun-warmed sand and watched the surfers slice across the massive waves. Perhaps he could—He stopped himself. No, no more excuses. He pulled out his phone.

  He brought up the most recent message from Tara. “It’s me. Again. I’d hoped we could settle this like adults, but it’s already been more than a week. I want you to know that my parents and I have contacted our lawyer, and we intend to get back every penny, plus interest and damages. If you think you can hide from this in Costa Rica, I have two words for you—Extradition. Treaty.”

  Ben let out the breath he’d been holding. It was worse than he’d hoped, but not as bad as he’d feared. Despite it all, he was truly happy.

  Something clicked.

  He picked up the phone and dialed a number he hadn’t called in almost a week.

  “Canadian First Financial. How may I help you?”

  “Happy!” Ben yelled. “I want to be happy when I grow up.”

  He waited, heart hammering in his throat.

  “I’m sorry, Ben. That’s not the correct answer,” Miranda said.

  “Dammit, Ben,” he muttered to himself.

  “ ‘Ben’ is the correct answer. Your account is now unlocked. Would you like to make a transaction?”

  Elation washed over him. “Not today. Thanks.” He clicked off the line.

  Ben. He wanted to be Ben when he grew up. It made sense, in a Drunk Ben kind of way.

  Luis appeared at his side. “Ben, there’s someone on the phone for you. It’s a reporter.”

  “Not the Tamarindo Gazette again. I’ve told them three times now, I’m not paying for that bloody ad.”

  “No, not them.” Luis looked down at the slip of paper in his hand. “He said he was calling from En Bee See. He wants to speak to someone about the emeralds.”

  NBC? “Hold on, I’ll be right there.” Ben rose to his feet and dashed back inside. He had a sneaking suspicion they might not have to search long for new clients.

  Ana slid off her sandals and walked along the beach, barefoot. A gust of wind ruffled her hair. She ignored the burning sky and the sparkling waves, staring instead at the rocks and twigs and the dirt in the sand. She should have been relieved; instead, she felt nothing at all.

  Her phone beeped twice. A new text message. It read in Spanish, “Should have paid when you had the chance.”

  She pulled up her inbox. There it was: the email from Juan, the one with attachments that he’d sent to all of her family and friends. Ana’s worst fear. She tapped on the message and held her breath. The screen flooded with photos.

  Every last one was corrupted beyond recognition. All she could make out was the small message in the corner of each of them that read, “Juan es un picha.”

  She laughed, and then she started to cry.

  Finally, Ana mourned her uncle.

  Miguel found Ana sitting on the beach, a lone figure on the vast expanse of sand, dwarfed by towering palms that bobbed in the wind. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.

  “Do you want some company?” he asked softly.

  She nodded, and he sat down beside her. They sat together in silence for a time. Finally, he leaned closer and said, “Thank you.”

  Ana looked puzzled. “What for?”

  “For starting the boat when you did.” He lightly touched the bruise on his neck. “If you hadn’t . . .”

  “I am sure you would have been fine on your own.” She brushed the tears from her eyes.

  “I’m not so sure,” Miguel said. He vividly remembered the feel of Vasquez’s hands around his neck, the way sound had faded out and his vision had
turned to black as he’d started to lose consciousness. It had been a rough couple of days since then. Everyone thought they were doing him a favor by giving him time to rest and heal, but he couldn’t sleep. The dreams were back again. But at least his heart no longer felt as though it would burst from his chest. Until now.

  “Ana, I . . .” he stammered. “There’s something you need to know—”

  “I know, Miguel.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “And there is a lot that you need to know, too. But for now, let’s just spend some time together. Ta bien?”

  He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

  Miguel and Victoria wandered back down to the beach later that evening, drinks in hand. Ben had already built a bonfire that popped and cracked as the flames spread through the pile of driftwood. He gazed into the embers, a perfect pint of cold beer in his hand.

  “How’d the calls go?” Victoria asked.

  Rather than relay Tara’s message, Ben finally told his friends about the many attempts to unlock his bank account.

  “Ben.” Miguel slowly nodded. “That’s deep, brother. Really deep.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Victoria said. “You should have asked us for help.”

  “You would have figured it out sooner?” Ben asked.

  “Of course not. But it would have been hilarious. Like watching a Labrador try its paw at calculus.” Victoria shook her head. “Seriously? A grizzly bear?”

  Ben checked his new watch. One minute to go. “Did you bring them?”

  Miguel tapped his pocket.

  “Me too,” Victoria said, “Though if we were doing this properly, we would have done mine ages ago.”

  “Stop being a spoilsport.” Ben reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and held it above the fire. Miguel and Victoria did the same.

  Ben said, “At six—”

  “Wait.” Victoria cut him off. “Are you sure you didn’t grab Enrico’s check by accident?”

  “Yes, Victoria. I’m sure.” Ben surreptitiously double-checked the slip in his hand, then continued, “At six forty eight p.m., Air Canada flight 4354 departed San José, Costa Rica for Toronto, Canada. Two passengers never boarded.” He looked at Victoria. “Flight 4410 left Liberia one week earlier. One passenger was absent.” He glanced again at his watch. “It is now seven p.m., which means these airline tickets are now worthless.”