As a matter of fact it was the integrity of that personal creed of his, as affected by the street thief and the cinnamon girl, that had him worried, and making for his favorite watering hole for reinforcement at the first soft promise of twilight. Live and let live. Hed come way too close to forgetting his favorite motto to suit him. Today a ladys purse, tomorrowwho knew where such a careless act could lead? If he didnt look out, before he knew it hed be sliding down that long slippery slope toward a social conscience. Uh-uh, no thank you, not for him. No sirree.
That was why he sailed into Josés Cantina with a wave and his usual, José-¿Qué pasa? for the guy behind the bar-who also happened to be the owner-and swam his way through the noisy murk to his favorite table without taking much notice of who else was in the place. If he had, hed have turned around and walked right out again and never looked back. He swore he would have.
As it was, by the time he saw her-Lord help him, the cinnamon girl!-sitting there all alone at the table in the front corner by the glassless window, he was already settled comfortably in his own favorite creaky rattan chair with the tequila, a quarter of lime and a saltshaker and the first of the local brews making wet rings on the table in front of him, and it just seemed like it would be too much of a waste to go off and leave them sitting there. Hell, he thought, might as well drink em and see what happened in the meantime.
Maybe nothing would. Maybe none of the regular patrons of the place would notice her. Maybe shed come to her senses and leave. Maybe the person she was obviously waiting for would show up and McCall wouldnt have to think about how she was going to get herself back to her cruise ship without getting her bones jumped in one of the dark alleys between here and the tourists part of town.
Maybe it would turn out to be true that the Lord looked out for children, drunks and fools.
Hell, it was none of his business, anyway. Live and let live.
But the image of that smile of hers kept crowding into his mind, the way it had burst so suddenly, so wonderously over her grave little face, likeoh, a dozen comparisons he could think of, all of them clichés, none of them quite worthy. So naturally he couldnt help but watch her as he licked lime and salt, slugged the tequila and sat back to enjoy his pulque, though he tried to look as if he wasnt-watching her, of course he meant, not enjoying the beer. Noticing the way she kept looking at her watch, frowning.
Noticing the growing ripples of interest from the regulars lounging around the bar, and the helpless looks José-who knew his customers well-kept throwing McCall. The ones that said plainly, Hey-shes a gringa, youre a gringo, that makes her your responsibility. So do something!
To which McCalls response was a shrug uniquely Latino in character, but which in any language easily translated to, Shes not my problem, man.
Hed just about decided to take a chance on ordering a second beer when, Lord help him, he saw the woman get up from her table and head straight for the bar. How could any woman be so stupid, he wondered, even for a turista? Hed thought her pretty cute, he remembered, when hed seen her this morning, but she was seeming less and less cute by the minute. Even her smile was fading from his memory. In fact, he was experiencing a powerful urge to yank her up by the scruff of her neck and haul her home to her mama-or her husband, he amended with a frown, belatedly recalling the gold band hed seen on the third finger of her left hand.
That memory inspired a new spurt of anger. What was her husband thinking of, to let his wife go off alone to such a dive? Or-a new thought-if he was the one shed been waiting for, to stand her up like this?
He blamed the anger for making him once again forget his motto as he watched the woman push her way through the massed male bodies at the bar, cinnamon head barely topping burly shoulders-and Mexican men werent that tall. His muscles tensed and anger sizzled in his belly as he watched those bodies turn to let her through, but just a little, being sneaky about giving way just enough to let her pass but with plenty of contact. Watched her ask José a question, apparently oblivious both to the bodies and to the leers on the faces around her. Watched José shrug and shake his head in reply.
With a sinking feeling in his gut, McCall then watched the woman squeeze back through the pack, and with one final frowning look at her wrist and a sweeping glance around the cantina, go out the door.
A moment later he knew a sense of inevitability-of fate, if you will-as two of the more disreputable-looking bar patrons separated themselves from the wolf pack and slunk out after her, smirking to one another and their comrades in an anticipatory way that made McCall go cold.
Live and let livelive and let liveshes not my problem, he chanted hopelessly to himself, staring into the gloom at the bottom of his pulque bottle.
And then, Ah, the hell with it, he muttered to nobody in particular, tossed a handful of pesos onto the tabletop and followed.
Chapter 2
Outside the cantina, McCall paused to light a cigarette while he checked things out, caution being, in that part of town, always the better part of valor.
A soft breeze-a subtle reminder from Tropical Storm Paulette, like a blown kiss-was whisking away with it the heat of the day and the odors of poverty and inviting in the cool green smell of the sea, and he was savoring that along with his tobacco when the sound of voices drifted to him, carried on the wind. Male voices first, slurred and guttural, speaking Spanishanswered by a lighter one, low and scratchy but definitely female.
And becoming all too familiar.
Following the sound of the voices, McCall was finally able to make out three shapes a little farther down the narrow sandy street, in the shadows just beyond the yellow patch of light from the cantinas open window. He exhaled, tossed his match into the dirt and started reluctantly toward them.
He was still several yards away when he heard a mans laughter abruptly interrupted by a sound rather like, Oof. At the same time, one of the bulkier shapes suddenly and mysteriously doubled over on itself.
He was still several yards away when he heard a mans laughter abruptly interrupted by a sound rather like, Oof. At the same time, one of the bulkier shapes suddenly and mysteriously doubled over on itself.
A moment later, the taller of the two remaining shapes began to perform a sort of hopping, stumbling dance, like a broken marionette.
Sharp, staccato Spanish rent the velvet night. Cuss words, if McCall was not mistaken. Very angry cuss words.
Seizing the moment, he lunged forward, pushed between the two would-be assailants and their intended victim, grasped her firmly by her upper arms and hustled her rapidly away from the scene of the intended crime.
Naturally, she resisted-silently except for some heavy breathing-until he growled, Cut it out, you idiot-cant you see Im trying to help you?
He felt her body go taut and her face jerk toward him, but she still didnt say anything, not until theyd turned a corner and were out of sight of the cantina and well out of range of the two disgruntled thugs. There McCall halted and let go of her arms.
She stepped away from him then and said breathlessly as she set herself to rights with little brushing, tugging motions, Youre the artist. The American. From the plaza this morning.
McCall snorted. He could see her face, a pale blur in the darkness.
I didnt need help. She sniffed-a disdainful sound. Not to handle those two.
McCall made a disgusted sound of his own. Lady, you dont need help, you need a nanny. All you did was tick them off. What were you going to do when they decided to come after you?
Outrun them, she answered promptly, with an arrogant little toss of her head. I came prepared this time-see? And she lifted one foot to show him a tidy white running shoe.
Lord help us, he breathed, exhaling smoke. But in spite of his very best efforts to squelch it, he felt the beginnings of admiration-just a tiny burr of amazement in the center of his chest. Fearing that in another breath he might even laugh out loud, he said instead, Youre way off the tourist path, lady. What the hell were you doing in a dive like that anyway? Much less alone.
Thats none of your business, she said in a surprised and huffy tone.
Sister, you got that right, McCall shot back. He was thinking dark and sour thoughts about sticking to his motto from now on, no matter what. Live and let live. No doubt about it, that was the way to go.
So what were his feet doing, carrying him along with the foolish turista, walking him right beside her as she started off down the now-deserted street? She didnt want his help, shed told him so. And besides, she was none of his business-shed told him that, too, and on that subject at least, they were in complete agreement.
You sure youre headed in the right direction? he inquired sarcastically after a while, keeping his lips firmly clamped on the filter of his cigarette.
She ignored him and strode confidently on, finding her way as he did, by the light of a rising three-quarter moon and the occasional splashes of pale yellow from an open window or doorway. Voices-snatches of conversations, bits of laughter, a crying baby-made little sparks, tiny explosions of sound in the quiet. Far away McCall could hear the shushing of waves on the playa, keeping up a quirky rhythm to their own crunching footsteps.
He said in a pleasant tone, Whatd you do, leave a trail of bread crumbs?
She threw him a look but didnt reply, and a moment later jerked impatiently, like a balky child, when he took her arm. The playas this way, maam, he said with exaggerated politeness as he steered her oh, so gently in the right direction. Sos the launch that will take you back to your ship. I assume thats where you wanted to go? He figured with this woman, you never knew.
Yes. Of course. Thank you. He could hear the prissiness of chagrin in her voice, and feel the stiffness of wounded pride in her arm just before he let go of it.