The Mexico Run (21 page)

    An hour later, when I returned to the Del Rey Hotel for the night, I carried the package with me in an attache case.

    The following morning, I found the Hutchinsons back on the veranda shortly after ten o'clock. They had already had breakfast, but told me they would be glad to join me for lunch in a couple of hours. I was turning to leave them, planning to drive out to La Casa Pacifica, when Mr. Hutchinson said something that stopped me cold in my tracks.

    "It's nice of you to have asked us," he said. "Particularly as it will be our last meal in Mexico."

    I looked at him, startled.

    "Mother and I have had a change of plans, and we've decided to check out this afternoon and get back across the border before nightfall. We talked to our daughter in San Francisco this morning on the telephone and are really anxious to get up and see her."

    For a moment I had a false sense of sudden relief, but then in another second I almost panicked. I knew that if I were to tell Captain Morales that they had left without the package, he would at once suspect that I might in some way or another have tipped them off. He would hold me responsible.

    Captain Morales might not be able to prove anything, but I knew if the Hutchinsons crossed that border without the box which was in my attache case in the room upstairs, Angel Cortillo would at once be transferred back to that original, vermin-infested cell in which I had first found him.

    Captain Morales was not a man who would accept excuses, but he was a man who wouldn't hesitate to show his power.

    Mr. Hutchinson was speaking again, and I jerked my attention back to him.

    "… and we figure if we leave immediately after lunch we can take it leisurely and we'll have plenty of time to get into Los Angeles before dark, where we will spend the night. We're pretty well packed up, and all I have to do is take the car around and get it gassed up and have the oil and tires checked out before starting the trip."

    "I did want to stop at one of those little shops and get that stuffed Mexican donkey for our granddaughter," Mrs. Hutchinson said. "If we have time…"

    I thought quickly.

    "You have plenty of time to make Los Angeles," I said, "before dark. It's not much over a hundred and fifty miles, but I think you're smart to have your car checked out before starting the trip. There isn't very much time between here and the border."

    I hesitated a second and then looked up and smiled. "I'll tell you what, I'm not doing anything, and if you want to wander down into town and do a little shopping, why don't you let me take your car over to the gas station and have it checked out. I have a friend who runs a station a few blocks away, and he's very reliable. I would be delighted to take care of it for you, and you'll have a chance to do a little final sightseeing before you leave. I can drop you off where the stores are and then pick you up, say, a half an hour later or whenever you think you'll be ready,"

    "Why, that would be most kind of you, Mr. Johns," Mrs. Hutchinson said. "I like to have Philip with me when I shop, particularly if there are crowds. He handles the wheelchair a lot better than I can manage by myself."

    Twenty minutes later, I dropped them off in town and helped Mr. Hutchinson lift the wheelchair out of the car and assisted him in installing his wife in it. We agreed that I would pick them up at the same spot in one hour.

    They again thanked me for my kindness as I climbed back behind the wheel of their blue Buick station wagon.

    When I returned exactly one hour later, the gas tank of their car was full, and I had had the oil changed and the tires checked. The small package which had arrived for me the night before at La Casa Pacifica was no longer in my attache case. It was carefully concealed in the tire well of the station wagon, behind the spare tire, in such a fashion that anyone casually lifting the trunk lid would not observe it.

    We had lunch in the dining room at the Del Rey Hotel, and Mr. Hutchinson insisted on picking up the check.

    "It's the least I can do in return for your kindness," he said.

    I didn't wait to see them off, but immediately drove out to La Casa Pacifica. I wrote the message on a slip of paper and put it in a sealed envelope. I stated in the message the time I expected they would be leaving, and gave their destination, and then rang the bell at the desk and handed it to Mr. Billings when he came out. There was no name on the envelope and I said, "This is urgent. Very urgent."

    He looked at the blank envelope and then looked up at me and nodded his head. He said nothing. He knew exactly what to do with it.

    I went back to my room and opened a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels. I wanted to get drunk. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to do anything. I just wanted to get stony drunk.

    I poured four ounces into a water glass, and was lifting it to my lips when there was a knock on the door. It was Juanita Billings and she handed me an envelope, smiling.

    "Came for you this morning, senor," she said.

    I took the envelope and thanked her. My name and address at La Casa Pacifica were on the face of it, and there was an American airmail stamp. There was no ' return address and I was curious to know who could possibly have written me, as I slit the envelope. I lifted the glass to my lips as I unfolded the single sheet of paper.

    I didn't get drunk after all. The letter was dated five days previously, and I looked at the date first and then the signature at the bottom of the handwritten page. It was signed Ann. Quickly my eyes ran down the script.

    "Lynn has been kicked out of school again, something to do with a pot party she attended on the campus. I have decided to get her out of San Francisco for a while and away from her friends, so we are taking the VW camper and are going on a trip. I've arranged to take a month off from the office and really look forward to getting away myself. We have no definite plans, but we'll head south for warm and sunny weather. It is just possible that we may cross over into Mexico for a few days, as Lynn has never seen it, and I have not been down there in a couple of years. If we do, I will telephone you, and maybe we can get together for dinner or something. I hope things are working out for you and send my love, as always. Sincerely, Ann."

    I again checked the date, then picked up the envelope and examined it carefully. I saw at once that it had been opened and resealed and I realized why it had taken five days to reach me. It had obviously been intercepted.

    Ann Sherwood and her young sister were the last two people in the world I wanted to see in Mexico.

    Quickly, I searched through my wallet until I found her telephone number and then I put in a long-distance call to San Francisco.

    I wasn't optimistic. The letter had been mailed five days previously, and I knew that there was little chance that I would be able to reach her.

    It took some time to get a connection through, which was not unusual on Mexican telephones, and then there was the ringing at the other end of the fine. The operator had to tell me three times that there was no answer before I gave it up.

    This time when I poured the drink from the Daniels bottle I really needed it. I cursed myself for ever having given Ann my address, but I had never dreamed that she would take time off and head south. I only hoped that she had changed her plans and headed for Nevada or Arizona or anyplace but Mexico.

    I had enough problems on my hands without Ann Sherwood and her sister Lynn.

    Two drinks later, I went out to the lobby and spoke to Billings.

    "I am going to be leaving tomorrow," I said, "and I would have given you more notice, but something has come up."

    He looked at me blankly and then nodded. He said nothing.

    The Daniels bottle was half empty when the telephone rang.

    Billings had said nothing to me when I told him I was checking out, but he very obviously had said something to someone else. Once more Captain Hernando Morales didn't identify himself when he spoke. The message was brief and to the point, and it was delivered softly and in a pleasant, friendly tone of voice.

    "You are not to leave Ensenada, Senor Johns, and you are to stay at La Casa Pacifica. You wouldn't want to leave now while your friend is still being held, I am sure. We will be in touch in a few days."

    He hung up before I had a chance to answer.

    

    

    Had I ever dreamed that Ann Sherwood might plan to be in Mexico, I would never have given her the address of La Casa Pacifica. I wanted to see her, wanted to see her badly, but the last place I wanted to see her was in Ensenada. Mexico was not a healthy country for people that I knew and liked and loved.

    I didn't make the telephone call from La Casa Pacifica, but drove into town and made it from a phone booth at the Travelodge. I tried her telephone number on Telegraph Hill, and again there was no answer. And then I called her office.

    I tried to explain that it was an emergency and that I had to get hold of her, but they refused to give me any information and merely said that she would not be back for at least three or three and a half weeks. They wanted to know who was calling, and I left my name and asked if they heard from her to please give her the message that I wanted her to get in touch with me, that it was vitally important.

    Then I did the only other thing that I knew to do in an effort to detour her should she have any possible plans for actually coming into Mexico. I sent an airmail letter to her office, with the request that it be forwarded immediately. I wrote her that I was leaving Mexico and that I strongly advised that she not come into the country as the water was atrocious, the food worse, and the weather was terrible. I also said that, if by any chance the letter was forwarded to her after she was already in Mexico, she was not, under any conditions, to go near La Casa Pacifica, and should avoid Ensenada entirely.

    I wrote that I missed her and that I wanted to see her, that I would be back in San Francisco and would call her as soon as she returned, or as soon as I heard from her.

    I told her that if she got my letter, to write me in care of the Mark Hopkins. I sent a second letter to the Mark Hopkins saying that I was planning to check in shortly and to please hold any mail addressed to me at that address.

    I posted my letters, and then went over to the city jail and asked to see Angel Cortillo. I was slightly surprised when I had no difficulty in getting in, and was escorted to the room in which they had confined him.

    Angel has the constitution of an ox. I was amazed at the progress of his recovery. He was. sitting in bed reading a Mexican paperback-novel with the one eye which was now fully opened. They had partially removed the bandages from his face, and he gave me a crooked smile when I entered the room. We didn't talk until the turnkey had locked the door and departed.

    "Well,
amigo,"
he said, "they really gave me a working over. And I don't understand it. First they try to kill me. And now they are treating me like the star boarder in this joint. You must have worked magic. That doctor told me that you hired him and arranged for him to see me. In a Mexican jail, this is almost unheard of. Perhaps you can enlighten me and explain to me what this is all about. Why I have been framed."

    "It is all my fault, Angel," I said. "They have used you in order to get a hold over me. There are certain things they want me to do. I don't want to tell you too much now, here, but soon I will explain everything to you. In the meantime, I can only promise you that I will get you out and get you free."

    He looked at me seriously and half shook his head. "I am sorry," he said. "Sorry about the girl."

    "I am sorry too, Angel. Very sorry. Sorry for everything that has happened. But I'm going to get you out of here. In the meantime, is there anything I can do?"

    He shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "I do not want my family to know about this. I do not want them involved in any way. But tell me,
amigo,
what is it that they want you to do?"

    This time I shook my head.

    "You must trust me, Angel," I said. "It is better at the moment that you do not know. The less you know, the less trouble there can be. Just trust me. I will get you out of here, and soon. In the meantime, whatever you need…"

    "Nothing," he said. "The meals, they are so-so, because you have left money, apparently, and they send in private food. I have reading material. I will wait."

    "It won't be long, Angel."

    "And when I get out, well, there is a certain man that I shall personally kill."

    "I may kill him first, my friend," I said. "I may kill him first."

    We talked for a few more minutes, and then I left. I went back to La Casa Pacifica and I waited. I waited for three long days before Captain Hernando Morales once again showed up.

    He arrived just after six in the evening, and he came alone. I was in the bar having a drink, and he merely walked in and nodded at me. I returned to my room, and a moment or so later he joined me. He smiled. He took a wallet out of his pocket and extracted five one-hundred-dollar bills and tossed them on the table.

    "You did an excellent job with the Hutchinsons, Senor Johns," he said.

    I didn't reach for the money. I looked at it and then looked at him and shook my head.

    "I don't want the money, captain," I said. "I want Angel Cortillo out of jail and freed."

    He shrugged and picked up the money and put it back in his wallet.

    "I understand you are anxious to leave La Casa Pacifica. Are you unhappy here?"

    I didn't say anything.