One Rough Man

Web site.

“I have it. We’re only minutes away. What do you want to do?”

35

Jennifer and I crossed the lobby of the hotel and headed to the stairs. I had made it back to her and the Jeep without incident, although she was spitting mad. I had found her hiding in the bushes, apparently unsure if the racket I made while approaching wasn’t a bad guy or a jaguar. I had pulled a bush aside and found her staring up at me in fear, which had immediately turned into anger.

“You think you could give me some warning that it was you coming? What the fuck are we doing out here? Jesus Christ! I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Hey, calm down. It was worth it. Nothing bad happened.”

She had continued on, and I had let her. I took the tongue-lashing, because she was right. That was a pretty shitty thing to do. I should have simply left her in the hotel room, like I was going to do now.

“I’ve got about forty-five minutes before I need to head out. You can do whatever you like, but I’d ask that you don’t leave the hotel until I get back. We’re getting close to wrapping this up, and I don’t want to have any hiccups.”

“Where’re you going tonight? Do you have an idea?”

“Not really, but there are always tourist markets around the big hotels. I’ll wander around a little bit until I find one that meets our needs. I want one that’s open enough to require a large amount of manpower to cover it and give us multiple options for escape, yet small enough for us to see the exchange people before they spot us.”

“I’d like to come with you.”

I paused, acting like I was considering it, then said, “It’d be better if you just waited here. I’m not going to be gone that long.”

“Are you trying to hide something? I’m getting a little sick of being stuck in the corner like a five-year-old. I might even be able to help you. Wouldn’t it be better for both of us to know what the site looks like in advance?”

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m going alone. Just stay here.”

I walked to the door, now just wanting to get out of the room before she convinced me to let her come. I had my hand on the doorknob when she came back at me.

“Wait, I thought you said you had forty-five minutes before you had to leave. It’s only been about two, or was that a bunch of crap just to keep me thinking you had some sort of incredible plan?”

Man alive, she tries hard to piss me off. “Look, I’m trying to save your uncle’s life. I’m not going to fight you on this. Just sit down. Please. I’ll be back soon.”

“Well, you won’t need the MP3 player for this, will you? Leave it here with me.”

“What, now you think I’m trying to fuck you over or something? Jesus, you asked me to come here. To help you. If I wanted to cut my own deal, I’d do it without sneaking around. How about a little trust?”

She threw her handbag onto the bed, “Okay, fine. I do trust you. So you won’t mind leaving the MP3, will you? Unless you plan on doing something with it while I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs.”

She was right, there was no reason to keep the MP3, but there was no way I was going to admit that now. I left without another word. For whatever reason, my rage had yet to show itself, and I wanted to get out before that changed and I lost control.

Exiting the hotel, I wondered what brain disease had caused me to fly down here in the first place. All I had to look forward to was a murder rap when I got back home, no matter how this turned out. What the hell am I doing? Who gives a shit about someone’s uncle? I considered simply getting on a plane and going back to the U.S. I’d have to get Jennifer to buy the ticket, but I figured she’d do it. She clearly didn’t like me being in charge.

I flagged down one of the unregulated taxis that regularly cruised the city. I asked where I could take my girlfriend to see some sights downtown. The driver said he knew just the place, called the Plaza Mayor, and set out toward the historic district.

He let me out at an open air market and pointed toward a towering, ornate cathedral a few blocks away. After walking west, I came upon a large open parade field with a fountain in the center. It did look like a great tourist stop, but it sucked for an exchange. There weren’t any crowds to hide within, and it had a clear field of view from all directions. I stopped a woman and asked about the parade ground. The woman didn’t speak English, and shrugged apologetically.

Another person standing nearby taking pictures must have overheard me because he said, “You from the United States?”

I told him I was.

“Me too. This is the central plaza or Plaza Mayor in Guat talk. It really gets hopping on the weekends. I was here last Sunday and there must have been a thousand people around here, all out to have a good time. It’s the best time to be here. If today wasn’t Sunday, you’d see nothing at all.” The man was younger than me, with a four-day growth of beard, a stuffed backpack at his feet.

I moved on with a wave, acknowledging his help, silently giving thanks for Birkenstock-wearing, dope- smoking granola-eaters. Quite possibly America’s number one export. Crossing to the other side of the parade ground, past the large fountain in the center, I came upon a small Plexiglas monument containing a single flame burning from a hidden gas source. The inscription read, “A los heroes anonimos de la paz”—the anonymous heroes of peace — a monument to the peace accords of 1996 that ended the civil war here. If the place got as crowded as the backpacking college student said, I had found my exchange location.

I began to walk away from the monument, back toward the taxi stands. Moving through the packed streets full of vendors, I got sick of being accosted by every single one and turned into an alley as a shortcut.

I walked for thirty seconds before realizing it was a dead end. Turning back, I faced two local nationals moving in my direction. I pushed through them with a halfhearted excuse-me, getting a quick feeling that something wasn’t right by the way they stared at me. As soon as my back was to them, I was thumped hard on the head and hit in the kidney. Rolling with the blow I turned to face the pair, only to be tackled. They were uncoordinated, simply hitting and kicking me all over like in a schoolyard fight. I lashed out with a backfist and connected with one of them. He rolled off and shouted at his friend. I turned my attention to the other man on top of me, preparing to wrap my legs around the man’s waist in a guard mount that would prevent him from pinning me down and allow me to finish the fight. Before I could do it, his friend jerked him off of me, and both ran back down the alley.

I stayed still for a few seconds to catch my breath, then laughed at how easy it had been for a couple of local pickpockets to take me down. As I sat up, it dawned on me that the first man had shouted to his friend in Arabic. I couldn’t speak the language but had listened to it almost more than English in the past few years, and had no doubt that’s what I heard. What the hell? Why would a couple of rag-head toughs be running around Guatemala?

I had seen stranger things and let it go. I checked my watch and wallet and saw that I still had both, so they had failed in their attempts. I picked up my backpack and looked through it. All appeared to be there. I honed in on the small outside pocket, torn open by the assault. A shock went through me. The MP3 player was gone. I ripped through the rest of the knapsack looking for the device. It wasn’t there. I searched the ground around me, seeing nothing. I ran back the way I had come, scanning left and right, but still came up empty. I stopped searching. What the hell am I going to tell Jennifer? How are we going to make an exchange? How on God’s green earth have I managed to lose the device?

I flagged down a taxi, gave him directions, and sat back for the ride. Before I knew it, I was back at the hotel. I exited the cab and dragged myself up to our room, not wanting to tell Jennifer what had happened, knowing she would hate me for the incompetence that would cost her uncle his life.