I saw Miguel squatting and fooling with the dockside power outlet, trotting back and forth. Finally dirty water began to squirt off the bilge. Then, one at a time, I saw him lug four big batteries over to the office shed, where Heintz probably had a quick charger. Miguel went back and stood and studied the lines. It was well moored, with four lines and two spring lines. He took three lines off and coiled them, leaving the bow line, the stern line and the bow spring line on.
Then he went up the steps on the far side, and up the path and disappeared, moving very spryly. A few minutes later I saw a car going up the road, one of the three I had spotted while scaring hell out of myself. It was one of those Datsun things, the Nipponese version of a Land Rover. Carlos was fine for cars-the Datsun, the Ghia, and a big black Imperial.
In addition to the steps and walk there was a steep curve of narrow road which came down to the boat area. And I wondered why Miguel hadn’t used that. He had the car for it. The Boody jeep would make it easily. And I wondered if Miguel hadn’t been just a little too jolly in his long range conversation with Heintz. Also, he was doing nothing about dressing the boat up. Maybe she wanted to sell it in a hurry. That much of a hurry? Ninety-nine percent of the things that ninety-nine percent of the people do are entirely predictable, when you have a few lead facts. Drunks, maniacs and pregnant women are the customary exceptions. Everyone has the suspicion he is utterly unique. But we are a herd animal, and we all turn to face into the wind.
I sat and tried to read that bloody little man from long range. I could presume he had been with Menterez a long time, and had done him many violent favors, and had had the protection of Menterez to hide behind. He had had years of exile from the homeland. He would know that Menterez was an attractive target. Assume a hell of a lot of pride. The shot which had nearly killed Menterez would have been a personal affront to Miguel. Possibly his duties aboard the boat were more as bodyguard than mate. Assume he had itched to take care of the men aboard the Columbine IV, and could perhaps have handled that part of it alone, but Sam had to be along because it had to be done silently, and Sam would know just how to set up the controls to send them on their way. So it was done, and then the king was laid low when something burst in his head. The partner in murder took off.
Then there was the next affront, a bold invasion of protected ground, the treasured dog killed, a head broken. Perhaps the collapse of Menterez had made Miguel begin to feel a little insecure. He was, after all, a murderer. There can be an end to loyalty. This was not his country. Things were beginning to fall apart. The invasion would alarm him. And then, perhaps, he would see Menterez’s woman come home, soiled and sick, dazed and broken. That special look would be meaningful to Miguel. It would be something he had seen before. The marks on the wrists would be significant. And he would know she had known about the boat business. Chucho’s revolver had been taken. A revolver had been found in the room of a hotel guest, a big brown man who looked as if he could come over a wall in the night. The same man had been seen in the red car with the dark woman who was at the hotel with him.
Loyalty must stop, and a small bloody man must start thinking of his own skin.
Once aboard the boat and clear, he had a lot of choices. Angostura. Topolobambo. A little brown spry man with a sad face, and some pesos in hand, abandoning the boat and melting into an alien countryside.
I shook myself out of it like a wet dog. Imagination is useful, but it turns treacherous if you depend too much upon it. But it was like a picture hanging crooked on the wall. I wanted to go over and straighten it. If that violent little man was leaving, I did not think he would leave quietly.
Nursing another bottle of beer, I waited and watched. A half hour later the Datsun came back and parked along the road at a place I could not see. Miguel came down the path, heavily laden, and pounced aboard. He had comported himself in that super-casual manner of someone who wishes to avoid attention by seeming to perform perfectly ordinary acts. He went and got the batteries, one at a time, and brought them back and spent enough time aboard so I was certain he had strapped them in and hooked them up. The cruiser rode higher. The bilge outlet was spitting dirty spray. He took his power line off the dockside connection and it stopped. He coiled the power line, knelt and tied it, and took it aboard. Again he hurried back up to the truck and went back up to the last house at the crest of the knoll.
What if Carlos’ condition had suddenly worsened? Miguel would know it would make sense for him to take off the moment Menterez died. I could not imagine him being very close to the other Cubans in the compound. Those little deadly ones are loners, just as his dog had been.
I went to the desk and made arrangements about the bill. The fun-loving, sun-loving tourists were milling around. Arista was looking for an opening, perhaps to cover himself in the absurd eventuality that I had some sort of official status. I told him we would pay cash for breakfast, so he could have the account ready. The luggage would be ready to bring out at ten-fifteen. Yes, the bus would leave at ten-thirty, and make the air connection in Culiacan in plenty of time.
“I shall turn your property over to you upon departure, sir.”
“What property?”
“Uh… the weapon, sir.
“I don’t know anything about any weapon, Arista.”
“But, sir, you admitted that…”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t have anything of mine. If you think you have something of mine, why you just keep it.”
“But it was found…”
“I’m not responsible for what other guests leave in the rooms.”
When I looked back at him he was dry-washing his hands, and I think his underlip was trembling. The rooms were empty. I went looking for Nora. I found her coming out of the bar. She was looking for me. She had changed. She wore a very simple sleeveless white dress with a sun back. She had flattened her hair, fastened it into severity. The white dress deepened her tan. She looked very composed. I steered her back into the bar, back to the far table where we had first sat. She wanted bourbon on ice, and I got two of them.
“Get some sleep?”
“No. I just… did a lot of thinking, Travis.”
“Any conclusions?”
“A few. I felt very savage about Sam. It all seemed so black and white. Maybe that’s my flaw, to see everything as totally right or totally wrong. But it isn’t like that, is it?”
“You mean the bad guys and the good guys? No, it isn’t like that, not when you know enough about it.”
“I can’t be some sort of abstract and objective instrument of justice, Trav, when I don’t even know what justice is any more. I don’t think I ever really knew Sam. I know that you brought me along as… as a disguise.”
“And because you had to get it out of your system one way or another.”
“One way or another,” she said. She nodded. “Did you know that all that thirst for vengeance was going to sort of… fade away?”
“No. But I knew it was possible.”
She took the last swallow and the ice clicked against her teeth. She shook her head. “It’s such a… such a lot of bloody confusion And here I am, wandering around in it with my dime store morality. I feel like such an ass.”
“It got to me yesterday. It shouldn’t have. God knows I’ve been dry behind the ears for a long long time. But the little mental image of Sam holding the arms of the woman they didn’t know was there, and that bloody little monster sliding up behind her with… ”
“Don’t!” she whispered. “Please.”