Chapter 19

Wednesday evening in Tijuana was overcast and humid. The clouds seemed ready to spring a leak at any moment, although Mark had seen nary a single drop of rain so far during his West Coast visit. He'd had his final round of meetings earlier in the day. Now, his professional responsibilities for the rest of his stay consisted of one quick seminar on Thursday morning. He intended to spend the lion's share of his remaining time south of the border, before his departure on Friday. He looked forward to getting a glimpse of the daytime scene tomorrow afternoon.

As he stepped out of the cab into the midst of the Zona Norte madhouse, Mark's thoughts turned briefly to his concerns back east. He thought of Mandy, and of Shauna, wishing fervently that they both were doing well. He felt a brief, disconcerting flash of insecurity as he remembered that Julie was alone in their home. He hoped that he had covered his tracks well enough.

He didn't dwell on the negatives for very long, though. Here he was, surrounded by a weird, wonderful, and increasingly addictive atmosphere that was beginning to envelop his entire being. And the more time he spent in this setting, the more he believed that possibilities seemed endless, and consequences appeared to be few.

Once inside the Adelita Bar, the rhythmic, accordion-heavy banda music again assaulted Mark's auditory receptors as he took a seat by the bar and ordered up a beer. Almost immediately thereafter, he felt a soft hand slip between his arm and his body. The soft, cool sensation of a small set of fingers pressing intently against the skin on the inner part of his elbow caused him to shiver imperceptibly. And he knew before even looking, what face, what smile, what mischievous set of brown eyes would greet him as he turned to behold the womanly presence which had approached him.

Mark's gaze landed on that now-familiar countenance adorned with a wavy mass of blonde hair; he grinned and bent down to give her a hug. He'd seen her with a different hair color and style every evening so far. He'd known her formerly as Yadira, and presently as Pati. But whatever her name or physical appearance, the alluring feminine aura was always the same. And she once again had Mark's undivided attention.

Pati, it seemed, always had a game plan. She gestured in the direction of an empty booth along the wall of the bar, adjacent to one of the smaller dance floors. As they settled in, Mark asked her how her day went, not certain about what type of reply he'd get.

But Pati was more than forthcoming. "Today ... I sleep till twelve. Then I work out. Then I call my niños in Colima. Then I have dinner with my friends. We have Chinese," she smiled.

Mark figuratively kicked himself. As it turned out, he would have been able to meet her for dinner; his business meetings had finished up early enough. With everything that was on his mind, he hadn't considered that possibility at all. But it was water under the bridge now, so he let it go without mentioning it to Pati. He made a mental note to ask her later about her plans for the following evening, which was free and clear for Mark at this point.

She began to bounce in her seat along with the beat emanating from the DJ stand not far away. "You like music?" she inquired, suggestively squeezing Mark's thigh.

"Yes. I like many different kinds, but I don't often hear this type," he laughed. "Only on the Spanish channels on TV."

"You like, I think." Pati's smile brightened.

"When I go back home, I'll turn on the TV and it will remind me of you." Lame, Mark thought to himself. Completely lame. Pati was inducing him to act like a romantically-challenged teenager. He couldn't believe what he'd been reduced to in a few short minutes.

"You like to dance?" Pati asked abruptly, pressing her advantage even further. She giggled girlishly and stood up. She tugged on his arm, in an effort to drag him out onto the dance floor.

Mark had a brief flashback to the nightclub in New York, when he'd danced the night away with Angela. But this was a different setting; far different. He saw two couples on the floor; men paired with working girls, and noted how well they moved along to the Latin rhythms. And Mark, ever under control, realized that he just might be in over his head this time. "I don't know how to dance like that," he said as quietly as possible, just loud enough for Pati to hear over the din.

"I teach you," came her reply. She took both his hands, then began to move her feet and her arms. "This is the cumbia. Like this."

Pati was an exquisite dancer. Mark watched, enraptured, as she moved her entire being in a sensually charged display of body movement. Not until she began to laugh at the expression on his face did Mark begin to attempt to mimic her footwork.

"I dance like a gringo," he said with an apologetic chuckle, throwing up his hands in surrender.

"Is okay. Keep trying," came Pati's encouraging reply. Mark self-consciously submitted to the impromptu dance lesson, certain that all eyes in the bar were on him. But a quick glance around him verified that this was not so.

The song ended, and next in the queue was a slow, romantic ballad. Mark instantly perked up. He looked at Pati with renewed determination. "Now this ... I can do," he said, looking her square in the eyes. And he took her in his arms and began to sway his body along with hers.

At the conclusion of the song, Mark was startled to hear a loud whistle nearby, followed by a burst of applause. He looked around for the source of the outburst, then grinned as he saw Gary seated nearby in a booth, along with a man who seemed old enough to be Gary's father, or his uncle.

"Very nice! Very nice," Gary exclaimed with enough volume to cause everyone in the vicinity to glance in his direction. "Aren't you two cute!"

"How long were you there watching us?" Mark uttered, more than a little embarrassed.

"Long enough to see you making a fool of yourself with the white boy shuffle."

Mark impulsively turned to introduce Pati to Gary, and then recalled that no introduction was necessary. Fortunately, Gary broke the awkward pause in quick fashion.

"Hola, guapa," Gary said to Pati, with an unabashed leer. "You're looking appetizing tonight."

"Hola," came Pati's reply, accompanied with a patient smile. Mark noted a discernible chill emanating from Pati towards Gary. He wasn't sure what decorum called for in this situation. He wanted Pati to stick around, but sensed that she didn't care to, and that Gary and his cohort preferred a guys-only environment at that point in time.

Pati, however, was well accustomed to these situations, and knew how to bow out gracefully. She looked up at Mark. "Come see me later, okay?" She ran her tongue across her upper lip.

Mark leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Lo siento," he said, using his high school Spanish to formulate an apology. "I'll look for you later."

Pati affectionately pressed her hand against his cheek, and then sauntered off and blended into the crowd. For a brief instant, Mark's mood darkened. At the same time, he marveled at Pati's ability to touch him in her own gentle way, with nothing more than simple gestures.

He took a seat next to Gary in the booth. "I knew right away where I'd find you," Gary cackled. "Or rather, who I'd find you with." There was just enough of a disparaging air in Gary's words to induce Mark to hesitate slightly before replying, and to turn the conversation in a humorous direction.

"Well, I was getting a dance lesson. And look who's talking. You're a white boy too."

"That I am. Oh, by the way, I don't mean to be rude. Let me introduce you to this old scoundrel." Gary gestured toward the man seated across from them, who'd been a silent spectator up till now. "This is Jack Quigley, a buddy of mine who lives up in Encinitas. This man is a true inspiration to me, as I'm sure you'll find him as well. He's sixty-eight years young, and he gets more pussy than someone a third his age."

Though he was seemingly fit and in good health, Jack looked every bit his years. He was a short man with a round, weathered face, a rounder middle, and very little hair left. But Mark was quite grateful for the presence of a third party as he reached over to shake Jack's hand. "So I take it you're a TJ regular."

Jack motioned in Gary's direction. "I taught this young fool everything he knows."

"You wish, gramps," Gary said with a laugh.

Mark enjoyed watching Gary being put on the defensive for once. And as the introductory formalities progressed into deeper conversation, Mark discovered that there was, indeed, much about Jack that he found inspiring. A retiree and widower whose wife had passed away several years ago, Jack had come into quite a bit of money through an inheritance from his late wife's family, who were loaded with cash. He had been a devoted husband for many, many years, and it took him a while to get over the loss of his wife. But Jack had rebounded eventually, and along with that came a long-repressed desire to sow some oats. With more money in the bank than he could ever want, Jack discovered the ladies of Tijuana, and as he put it, "the rest was history." He was in the enviable situation of having unlimited cash, unlimited time, a still-substantial sex drive, and no one to answer to. And in TJ, that meant he could pretty much write his own ticket for whatever type of debauchery he was inclined to pursue. Mark sighed with envy as Jack began to spill yarn after yarn. With his roly-poly build and pleasant, jovial nature, Jack had much in common with a leprechaun. And he provided the perfect counter to Gary's chauvinistic cynicism.

Before any of them realized it, a few rounds of drinks had been consumed, and it was nearly ten o'clock. Gary caught Mark looking at his watch. "You'd probably like a tour of the Zona Norte, wouldn't you," he offered.

"Yeah, let's get the run-down on the entire neighborhood." Mark directed his next comment to Jack. "Want to join us?"

"I'd like to, but I have to split. I keep early hours in TJ. In fact, it's pretty unusual for me to be here after dark –"

Gary interrupted, "A guy his age needs plenty of rest." He let out a hearty guffaw.

"As I was saying," Jack continued, dismissing Gary's interjection with good-natured detachment, "I get horny earlier in the day than you young turks, so I need to come here during the daytime to take the edge off."

Mark chimed in, "I hope I'm still moving around like that when I'm sixty-eight."

"It's all in the way you feel about yourself," Jack countered. "And by the way ... what's your schedule tomorrow during the day?"

"I have a meeting in the morning back in San Diego, but I'm clear from eleven o'clock on."

"Would you like a tour of the daytime sleaze scene in TJ as well? I'll show you some of my lesser-known hangouts over by the tourist strip on Revolucion."

"Know what ... that's a great idea. Should I meet you somewhere?"

"Why don't I just pick you up at your hotel? I usually drive to TJ, and park in one of the lots down here. It's not a problem at all during daylight hours."

Mark wrote his hotel name and phone number on a napkin, and handed it to Jack. He wrote Jack's number on another napkin, folding it and putting it in his pocket. As Jack got up and departed the premises, Gary spoke. "Let's head on out ourselves. I'll get you up to speed with the attractions of the Zona. But then I want to come back here. The whores are out in full force tonight, and there's no way I'm coming down here and not getting laid."

"Fair enough," Mark replied, leaving it at that, as they too got up to leave. He didn't want to discuss his plans for later in the evening.

They took a left turn upon exiting. The cool night air gave Mark a rush as it drove from his lungs the smoky, soupy air from inside the bar. A short distance down the street, right past the hotel entrance, was a small restaurant. Surprised to find an eatery in this locale, Mark peered inside. Gary took note of his curiosity. "Want to grab a quick bite to eat first? I'm kind of hungry myself."

"Well, I had a full meal right before I came down here, but yeah, a heavy snack sounds good to me."

"The food's okay in here. A little pricey, maybe, but not bad. And there's an added benefit –"

Mark cut him off. "I see exactly what you mean." Several working girls from the bar next door, dressed in their skimpy job attire, were seated inside and chattering non-stop as they enjoyed what amounted to a late evening lunch break. This restaurant, with its convenient location, doubled as a break lounge for the ladies.

As they placed their respective orders, Gary remarked, "Many times I'll come in here for something to eat, hook up with one of the girls, and take her up to the room without ever setting foot in the bar. The lighting's better in here, so you get a better look at their faces. As much as possible, I want to see ahead of time what I'll be fucking."

"You just walk up to them and proposition them? Suppose they aren't working?"

"I'm a little smoother than that. Say I see a girl who looks doable sitting by herself. I'll walk up, offer to buy her meal and take it from there."

Mark had ordered a couple of birria tacos, accompanied with rice and beans. He left the beans on the plate, not wanting them to come back and haunt him later. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a couple of young, attractive girls walk in. Gary, of course, took note of them as well. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked.

"Yes," Mark replied, waving in the direction of the girls. He watched as the two of them looked at each other and smiled. They approached the booth where Mark and Gary were seated. A final quick glance between the ladies, and then one of them slid into the seat next to Mark, the other next to Gary. They'd cooked up a scheme of their own, and had summarily split Mark and Gary between them. Gary underestimates these women, Mark told himself.

Gary wound up with the more outgoing and affectionate of the female duo, a vivacious, petite young blonde. Mark's new companion was an auburn-haired young thing with caramel-colored skin and a smile that seemed glued on to her face, though she said little. He did manage to coax out her name, Marisol. Gary's new sidekick spoke up and introduced herself as Laura. But aside from that, Mark noted that neither girl appeared to speak much English.

He indulged in a little touchy-feely with Marisol while she finished eating, his hands passing over her firm, ample breasts. He reflected on what a strange and permissive environment he was in; conduct like that in a suburban stateside restaurant might get him arrested. If Pati walks in here, I'm in trouble, especially after the way I pretty much blew her off, he said to himself.

Mark and Gary split the check, and the ladies were on their way. "So, how'd you do?" Gary asked.

"Whaddaya mean? You saw what went on." Mark replied defensively.

"Did you set anything up for later?"

"No, in fact, I didn't. Did you?"

"I told her I'd meet her back in the bar in a short while. I negotiated the price already too. Spend a little more time here, and you'll learn to strike while the iron is hot."

"Actually, I already set something up later with Pati."

"Well, good for you. I was starting to worry about you," Gary chuckled. "So who's Pati? I know a couple putas by that name. Glad to see you're branching out."

"Um ... Pati is Yadira. That's her real name."

Once again, Gary remained silent for a moment, as he seemingly always did when preparing to deliver a lecture. "I see you're on a first name basis now."

"Yeah, I was kind of surprised she told me her real name. Is that common?"

"Who knows?"

Now it was Mark's turn to hesitate in order to formulate an adequate reply. "What kind of answer is that?"

"She told you her name is Pati. But you have no idea if she's telling you the truth. I'd wager she isn't."

Again, Mark saw which way the conversation was headed; he wasn't in the mood to proceed with it any further. "Real name or not, she asked me to call her Pati, so I honored her request. Ready to give me the tour?"

"Follow, and learn."

Gary led the way outside, as they continued their way down the sidewalk. A number of bars could be seen on either side of the street. "These are smaller hooker bars," Gary explained. "They're fun sometimes. They're hit and miss, though. Sometimes you'll get lucky and find fresh, innocent ones in these places."

Continuing onward, they passed a group of three roaming mariachi musicians, dressed in traditional Mexican garb with large, black, elaborately decorated sombreros. Mark handed them a couple of coins, while Gary looked on with disinterested amusement. They reached a corner and turned left. "You want to be careful around here," said Gary. "And don't ever go in any of those places across the street."

"How come?"

"The girls inside aren't really girls."

"Transvestites?"

"Affirmative. Chicks with dicks. And they're world-class pickpockets too. They'll come up to you, grab your crotch, and while you're trying to figure out what just happened, they've got your wallet and any other valuables in your pockets."

"Sounds pretty depressing," Mark muttered, shaking his head. "Got anything more exciting than that to show me?"

"You mean like this?" Gary grinned. They'd reached another intersection. This one was T-shaped, with a narrow alley extending off to the left. Gary stood in the middle of the street, his hand extended, and his palm upward, like a real estate agent showing off a new house to a prospective client.

Mark looked down the brightly lit, narrow passageway. This was unlike any back alley he'd ever seen. Bars, run-down old hotels and small eateries lined both sides. Collectively, they loomed over the street like the sides of an illuminated box. A number of men with obvious intentions caroused the alley looking to satisfy carnal desires. Down-and-out street people milled about, hoping to find a soul who was either generous or foolish. But Mark's eyes were drawn to another attribute of this small, confined avenue. Lined up against the buildings on each sides were rows of girls. Most of them stood still, expressionless, like statuettes.

"Are those streetwalkers?" Mark said under his breath, trying not to display his ignorance publicly.

"They're definitely hookers," Gary replied, "although streetwalker may not be an accurate term. They stay in one spot and hardly ever leave it till they find a customer. They work out of those nearby hotels. The rooms are some of the sleaziest dumps you'll ever see, but that doesn't deter some guys. The street girls charge less than the girls in the bars. And walking through this alley is like running a gauntlet. Come on. I'll show you what I mean."

As they walked past the first row of street girls near a garishly lit hotel entrance, a few looked at Mark and began to hiss. "Psst," they uttered, swaying their hips side to side, looking to turn the trick. "Wanna fuck?" one said directly to Mark. He smiled, but he was not looking to buy what they were selling, not at this point in time. He didn't even bite when one girl left her selected position on the sidewalk, walked up to him and briefly fondled his balls through his slacks. Moving forward, they passed another line of girls, closer this time. Their hissing was hypnotically melodious. Again, Mark felt a couple of hands reach out and grab him as they walked past. The alley was roughly a hundred yards long; it didn't take them long to reach the end. "Is that all?" Mark inquired.

"Not all, but that's a good bit of it. There are more street girls to your left and right."

Mark looked up and down the street; the red-light district seemed to extend a block or so in each direction. He had many questions, but one was first and foremost in his mind. "So, tell me, Gary. You mentioned at dinner back in Philly that you don't often pick up street girls. And you just said that they charge less. How come you, an admitted cheapskate, pay more for the girls in the bar?"

Gary looked at the ground thoughtfully before speaking. His reply came in an uncharacteristically dull monotone. "The whores in the alley ... they're a different breed, a lot of them anyhow. Most of them are compliant almost to the point of being unresponsive. Don't get me wrong, once in a while, that's what I'm looking for. They lie back on the bed, spread their legs and passively accept whatever you dish out. And when you get right down to it, they are nothing but a body, a pussy. Their mind is controlled by something else, either drugs or a pimp. And their souls ... they have no soul left. Their trade has drained it out of them."

They had come to a complete stop on the broken, dirty sidewalk. A bar entrance was a scant few yards away. The dull bass from the American hip-hop music emanating within permeated all barriers in close proximity, including human flesh. Mark could feel it reverberating through his chest cavity. A cool breeze whipped up. The light filtering above and below the dark curtain at the egress cast an eerie orange glow on everything nearby, including Gary's face. If he had sprouted horns and a tail at that instant, with the subdued, demonic scowl on his face, he could have been mistaken for Satan. Mark could feel the hair on the back of his neck begin to crawl, as Gary continued to speak in a slow, muffled growl that was saturated with raw lust.