As they sat in the hotel dining room awaiting their lunch, the conversation was strained and artificial. It was as though a third person sat unseen at their table, listening.
18
THE AIRPORT AT Mazatlan was small by United States standards. Karyn Richter unbuckled her seat belt as the Aeronaves 727 rolled to a stop. From the window by her seat she watched with amazement the number and variety of aircraft landing, taking off, taxiing, waiting, and just sitting there. There were sleek new jets, old DC-3s, corporate Lears, private Cessnas and Pipers, and even a battered old open-cockpit biplane. Karyn could see no pattern to their movements, but she assured herself that somewhere a control tower was directing the traffic. Nevertheless, compared to big, orderly LAX, it was like a downtown intersection on Christmas Eve.
When the door was opened she joined the other passengers and filed out and down the stairway that had been rolled up to the plane. She crossed the expanse of black tarmac to the terminal building.
Inside it was hot and crowded. Over the noise of arriving and departing passengers announcements rattled continually over the PA system loudspeakers, first in Spanish, then English. Karyn located the baggage-claim counter and after an hour was finally reunited with her bag. She carried it out of the terminal building and set it down on the sidewalk. The air outside was fresh and cool with a hint of the sea, and she inhaled gratefully.
'Carry your suitcase, lady?'
The voice close behind her startled Karyn. She turned to see a tall, pockmarked youth grinning at her through bad teeth. The end of a wooden match protruded from one corner of his mouth.
'No, thank you,' she said, and turned away.
'Ah, come on, lady, you don' wan' to carry that heavy thin' all by yourself.'
Karyn looked pointedly up the street, trying to ignore him.
'I'm real strong. I can carry anythin' you got. Wan' to see my muscle?'
'I don't need anything carried.' She tried to keep the apprehension from showing in her voice.
The youth picked up her bag and backed off, hefting it. 'See? It's not too heavy for me.'
'Please,' Karyn said, trying to sound authoritative, 'put that down. It belongs to me.'
'Ah, lady, you don' wan' to talk like that.'
'Ay, chico!' A deep male voice snapped off the words like a whip. The startled boy looked over Karyn's shoulder, and she turned too to see who had spoken.
A square-bodied man with an enormous Zapata moustache glared at the boy. He spoke in hard-edged street Spanish, punctuating his words by jabbing a finger down at the sidewalk.
The boy's insolent grin fell away. He set the bag down at Karyn's feet and started to back off.
The stranger spoke again in Spanish. His voice was soft, but the words were unmistakably a command.
The boy's eyes shifted over to Karyn. 'I'm sorry, lady,' he muttered, then slipped away into the crowd coming out of the building.
'Permit me to offer apology for my city, senora,' said the man with the moustache. 'That boy was a ruffian, a bad one. We are not all like him. There are many good people in Mazatlan.'
'I'm sure there are,' Karyn said. 'Thank you.'
The man gestured toward a mud-spattered, ten-year-old Plymouth parked at the curb. The white painted letters TAXI were barely visible on the door under a coating of dirt. 'The taxi of Luis Zarate is at your service, senora. Also guide service, if you desire.'
'Well — I could use a taxi,' Karyn said. 'Can you take me to the Palacio del Mar Hotel?'
'Con mucho gusto, senora,' said Luis Zarate. With a flourish he swept open the rear door of the Plymouth and gestured Karyn inside. He carried her bag to the rear and put it in the trunk, which he closed by tying the lid to the bumper with a frayed length of electric cord.
'The Palacio is a beautiful hotel,' he said when he was in position behind the wheel. 'It is old and comfortable, and not so big that they forget about you.'
'That's nice,' Karyn said, without really listening.
Luis started the car and they pulled away from the curb with a grinding of gears and the roar of an unmuffled engine. As he drove, Luis proudly pointed out the sights of the city — the twin golden spires of the cathedral, the old Farol lighthouse looming off-shore, the busy fishing docks — until he sensed that Karyn was not paying attention.
'The senora is troubled?' he said.
Karyn looked up sharply. 'What's that?'
Luis Zarate's dark, liquid eyes regarded her seriously from the rear-view mirror. 'Forgive me, senora, I do not mean to speak out of my place. But I am a gypsy, comprende, and through my blood I have a gift for knowing when someone is in trouble.'
'Really?' Karyn said. 'You're a gypsy?'
Luis' eyes twinkled at her. 'Well, a little bit. My great-grandmother on my mother's side was said to be a gypsy. Anyway, it talkes only a little such blood to make you a gypsy, no?'
'I suppose so,' Karyn said, smiling.
They drove on in silence for a mile before the taxi driver spoke again. 'The senora is visiting Mazatlan all alone?'
Karyn answered carefully. 'No, I–I'm meeting a friend at the hotel.'
'It is well. Mazatlan is a beautiful city, and visitors are welcome, but as you have seen, there are bad people here as there are in all cities. It is not wise for a lady to travel too much alone.' He was silent for a moment, then added, 'You will be here long?'
'I don't know,' Karyn said. 'Not very.'
'Forgive me,' said Luis with a little shrug. 'I ask too many questions. I jus' thought maybe the senora could use a guide. Someone who will charge you a fair price, and who knows Mazatlan and the jungles and hills behind the city like the lines in his own hand.'
Karyn could not suppress a smile. 'Someone like Luis Zarate?'
'Si, senora. Forgive my boast, but it is the truth.'
'I appreciate the offer,' Karyn said, 'but I don't think I'll be doing much sightseeing.'
'Eh, bien, you will keep Luis Zarate in mind, yes?'
'Yes,' Karyn told him, 'I will.'
Luis drove on out of the city and along a stretch where tree branches with broad green leaves overhung the road on both sides. They turned back toward the sea then and followed the lip of a bluff for a short distance before starting down to the crescent of beach belonging to the Palacio del Mar. Karyn was pleased by the symmetry of the white main building with its red-tiled roof and the cabanas, like miniature copies, extending in a curved row on either side like arms embracing the beach.
As Luis drove along the roadway skirting the beach Karyn looked for Chris Halloran, but did not see him. The closer she came, the more her nerves jumped. There were so many questions. What would be his reaction to seeing her? Would he reject her? Was it fair for her to come back into his life bringing a horror that was no longer his concern? For a moment Karyn had a wild impulse to order the taxi around and head back to the airport. But then where would she go? There was no place left. There was no one else to go to.
'Senora?'
At the sound of the driver's voice, Karyn realized they had come to a stop before the hotel's wide Spanish- style veranda.
Luis jumped out and opened the door for her with another flourish. He retrieved her bag from the tied-down trunk and followed as Karyn walked up the steps and into the tiled lobby of the old hotel. She crossed to the registration desk, where a light-complexioned man with a high arched nose watched her with a small professional smile. A metal plate on the counter before him spelled out in raised letters: J. Davila, Manager.
'Good afternoon, senora,' he said.
Karyn nodded to acknowledge the greeting. 'I'm looking for a gentleman I understand is registered here. Mr.
