Chapter 2: The Soul of Man Under Suspicion

Maria began to get excited during breakfast the following morning. Her athletic endeavors in bed had been nothing short of disastrous; it was an Oscar winning performance in which my role was the human dildo. There was no love or even affection in our coupling. I rose as soon as my eyes were open, resisting her petulant demands that I rejoin her in bed. She had sulked until we sat down to eat but now she had recovered her enthusiasm for our visit to her Uncle Miguel.

When she was relieved at the end of her shift on the first day we met, the new girl had implied that Maria had once been an escort as her sister Consuela now is. Her technical skill when she took me in her arms strongly supported the notion that she had professional training as a courtesan. The warmth I felt when she held my hand and in the few kisses we had shared was totally absent in bed.

I was confused by the mixed signals she was sending out. However, I had still three days before I could begin to settle my future and I was enjoying her company. She might take all the money I was carrying in my belt, but I did not think she would cause me physical harm to get it. I was certain that Miguel was part of her plan but whether for her benefit or his I could not guess. Until she turned her seduction technique loose on me, I had even wondered if she was genuinely trying to help me.

She drove the hour or so it took to reach El Centro while she gave me all the details about her uncle. He is the younger brother of her mother and is regarded as the brightest and most successful of the extended clan. He has law degrees from both sides of the border. He is much sought after by companies planning cross-border trade. Mexicali, the Mexican town neighboring El Centro has recently gained much wealth from factories assembling American made parts and re-exporting them. Maria thought he would find me an investment opportunity.

“He lived with us when he was attending law school in America. He is about your age, Andreas, and all us girls thought him very dashing. Mom dotes on him. We don’t see him as often now since he is so busy raking in the big bucks, but Momma still talks to him on the telephone about once a month.”

“Does he send her any money?”

“I’m sure he would if she asked but Momma is a proud lady. We have always paid our way.” That was clearly a somewhat sensitive subject, so I soothed her by saying how much I admired her mother for the way she had raised her daughters. There was no irony intended, although I was aware that one of the girls was an escort and the other had been until her looks were destroyed. Who was I to judge what a mother might have to do to survive in the cesspool underlying the glamour of Las Vegas?

I remember Maria’s stories of the ‘uncles’ who tried to take advantage of an underage girl and my heart ached for little Angelina who probably had nothing better to look forward to. Then I felt a bit ashamed at my response to Maria’s lovemaking: she had freely offered me the one skill she has and I rejected it because it did not meet my criterion for love. There was still a great deal for me to learn.

It cheered me up a little to acknowledge that the old Andrew would never have considered sitting in a car being driven to the Mexican border by a former hooker that he had known for two days. I cannot believe there is a serious threat to my life and the only other thing she can take is money. Since I have already offered to let her look after it for me, I really feel relatively secure.

Maria grins at me whenever she looks over. She is wearing a very brief, flared skirt that exposes her shapely thighs almost up to her pants; her white, sleeveless blouse reveals a black, lacy bra. The blouse fastens all the way to the neck, and she has modestly left only one button undone. Her shoes have a slight heel and altogether she looks cool and businesslike. I would be proud to take her into any company.

El Centro is not a resort town. It is hot, dusty and decaying. We picked up a town map at a filling station on the outskirts, finding little difficulty in locating the four-story building housing her uncle’s business empire. The ground floor is occupied by a gun shop and a beauty parlor. Entry to the business premises is through a shabby door between the shops into a dingy lobby.

A tired-looking notice on the elevator announced, in Spanish, that it was out of order, so we trudged up three flights of stairs to the dimly lit hall giving access to the suite of offices. At one end, enjoying the light from a dirty window, there was a desk occupied by woman who aged as we approached. Her off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and bouffant hairstyle suggested a teenager, but her true age soon emerged. She smiled showing twisted and discolored teeth, addressing us in rapid Spanish.

Her dialect was the thickest I had yet encountered, and I did not follow all she said, partly because I now noticed that Maria had undone two more buttons on her blouse opening it almost to her navel; the frilly edges of her bra were now on display. Getting no reaction from me, the receptionist began again in intelligible but heavily accented English. She was Rose and Senior Miguel was expecting us. She rose, opened a door beside her desk and let out another stream of colloquial Spanish.

I had my face under control as she told the occupant of the office that the gringo pigeon had arrived ready to be plucked in the company of Miguel’s niece, the slut. Uncle loomed over Rose, beaming a welcome in Spanish and English. I replied in hesitant Castilian with a clearly rehearsed greeting. His beam grew still wider. Maria raised her eyebrows but gave me a little smile.

Miguel is about three inches shorter than me with broad shoulders but much of the muscle had slipped down to circle the area where his waist was a distant memory. Everything matched: his office was shabby, as was his suit, and I noticed that the peasant dress Rose was wearing had been inexpertly repaired. I can truly say that Miguel is the only impoverished lawyer I have ever met. He shook my hand, letting go swiftly when I returned his attempt to squeeze my fingers. From then on, he turned all his charm on my companion.

He came round the desk, drawing her into a bear hug and attempted to kiss her lips. Maria adroitly turned to catch the salute on her cheek, but she could do little to stop his hand wandering over her bottom and close to the side of the breast furthest from me. I took a step to the side to look at the framed certificates on the wall of his office. One was written in flowery Spanish which I would need more time to translate but the other was from the University of Nevada recording that Juan Miguel Cervantes had qualified as a paralegal.

Glancing back at uncle and niece, the bunching of her skirt suggested that he had moved a hand under the hem onto her naked thigh. She was smilingly ignoring the groping. The tableau was disrupted by the receptionist entering with a tray of coffee in Styrofoam containers. “Is latte OK?” She asked in her pleasantly accented English. She then addressed her boss in patois; I understood almost all of her complaints that his lust risked scaring off the pigeon before it was in the cage.

Miguel settled in a chair behind his desk while Maria moved her chair closer to mine, surreptitiously reaching out to touch my fingers with her own. I snatched my hand away, putting both hands on the desk, one on each side of my coffee cup. The receptionist brought in another chair which she placed at the end of the desk beside me. She leaned close, lightly striking the back of my hand as she asked if the coffee was as I liked it. Her smile was guarded to disguise her spoiled teeth.

Close up, I could see that the neck of her blouse was slightly frayed and rather discolored from coming in contact with her heavy make-up. She looked tired, as if she had not slept properly for too many years. Miguel appeared tense but confident, but his assistant revealed the true state of his affairs: he was struggling to survive. I had an urge to tell her that I was only there because I was at a loose end for a week and that I had no intention of investing even the price of the coffee in front of me.

I owed it to Maria to give her uncle a chance to make his play, so I smiled at the woman beside me and patted her hand. She rewarded me with a burst of dialect, telling Maria that she would be mad to lose me and that she, Rosa Theresa would take me in a minute even without my wealth. I was watching Miguel, so I did not see Maria’s reaction. His lips were moving as he rehearsed the opening salvo of his offensive.

His English is good without a trace of accent, and he had lowered the pitch a little, so he now spoke in a reassuring baritone. “You are lucky that you were led to me by my delectable niece. El Centro is becoming a boom town with so many American entrepreneurs arriving daily to exploit the engineering skills and low wage rates of my compatriots across the road in Mexicali. Many of them are left waiting for weeks to get to meet me and the other handful of trustworthy lawyers.”

He stood and turned his back on us to look down on the dusty street below before he admitted that the new wealth had yet to appear in civic works. He turned back, wiping an imaginary tear as he declared his pride in his adopted town. That allowed him to summarize his earlier exploits in San Diego and Las Vegas where he claimed stellar careers in company law. “It is my love of my people that has brought me to this little outpost.

“When I reached forty, I asked myself: ‘Miguel, you are rich, famous and respected, but what have you done for your people?’” he was back to wiping his eye, but he took the opportunity to walk round his desk to put his hand on Maria’s shoulder and upper chest under her blouse. “Of course, my own family is most important of all.”

“Sit down you old buffoon. If you can’t keep your prick in your pants, I’ll cut it off and feed it to you,” was the bowdlerized version of Rosa’s response. A chastened Miguel returned to his own side of the desk and from then on, he was all business. Maria reached her fingers towards me again and this time I allowed her to entwine little fingers out of sight of the other two occupants of the office. I had thought that allowing her uncle to paw her was a betrayal, but I had time to think while he was declaiming.

She had certainly brought me here and had allowed Miguel to take liberties with her body, but she had not disclosed the fact that I understood all or most of what Rosa was saying. The whole set-up told me that I was intended to be the victim of a confidence trick and the extra information gleaned from what they thought were private conversations made it simple for me to avoid being trapped.

My first thought, when Maria seemed to be happy to flirt with her uncle, was that she had started planning the con as soon as she saw the contents of my money belt in Las Vegas when we were test driving the car. Knowing the true nature of her uncle, she set out to bring me to him, being paid off when he had eased the cash from my wallet to his. The problem was that the scenario was seriously flawed. I had offered to let her take care of the whole sum, so why would she bother to drag me all the way to El Centro to earn a small share?

It seemed equally improbable that she believed her uncle to be an honest man. Even if she had been fooled by him – and I remembered that she had seen very little of him since he lived with her family – what had she seen to change her mind since we arrived? The old Andrew would have shut down and waited for his chance to take off running, never stopping until I reached a safe bunker. The new me surprised me yet again by settling down to enjoy the remaining part of the con, confident that an exit door would appear.

I moved my hand towards Maria so I could grasp hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She gave a little squeal which she quickly turned into a cough, apologizing that something had gone down the wrong way. Miguel and Rosa were so focused on their own performance that I do not believe they noticed.

Miguel recovered from his moment of lust, beginning to describe the many advantages that I would gain from investing through him in a sound, prosperous company. His delivery was a bit stilted at first, but his confidence grew with the telling. After about ten minutes he was confident enough to advise me not to visit the factory which was in a difficult area of Mexicali. He was too anxious to rise above the mediocre in his presentation and I became bored after a while.

“Sounds wonderful, Miguel,” I interrupted. “But not quite what I’m looking for, I’m sorry to tell you.” His mouth opened and shut several times, but he was clearly at a loss how to respond. “I’m an engineer and still a comparatively young man, so I have no interest in sitting around idly counting my increasing fortune. Especially not in El Centro, if you’ll forgive me saying so.”

Maria laughed and Rosa joined in, but Miguel looked confused. “Find me a factory in a better part of town where I can visit regularly – perhaps even work alongside the guys.” He was still trying to find words to respond when Rosa burst into speech. She really is the brains of this outfit. I was understanding more and more of her dialect although there were a few idioms that I struggled with. Miguel’s expression changed from deep gloom to hopeful optimism as he listened.

Her brother is a nightwatchman at the best factory in Mexicali. For a small honorarium he could arrange for one shop to be opened after hours with a few workmen laboring at the benches. I would be told that entry to the other shops was restricted for security reasons. “What will we do with them until the factory closes?” Miguel wanted to know. “I can take them to your house for a siesta while you set things up with Manuel.”

Miguel brightened up at once, launching into a convincing description of the effects of the heat and glare on northerners like Maria and me. He strongly advised us to wait until the cool of the evening to view my new factory. In the meantime, we were warmly invited to use his home to enjoy a siesta beside his swimming pool. Maria tentatively proposed that she and I find a hotel, but Rosa was affronted by the very idea of spurning the invitation to a private home. “We want you to experience the full warmth of our Mexican hospitality,” as she put it. She failed to mention that I had been chosen as the source of funds for the junket.

I pointed first at Miguel then at Rosa: “Are you two, an item? I didn’t know.” Rosa put her hands over her face, pretending to blush as she agreed that they were indeed more to each other than master and receptionist. I heartily congratulated them, making no comment on the mauling he had given Maria when we arrived; nor did I mention that Rosa had been pushing her thigh against mine since she sat down. My guess is that there were too many secrets between them to allow them to split up.

I was wondering how they were going to set up the evening visit to the factory, when Miguel announced that Rosa would travel in our car while he remained in the office for another half hour since he was expecting an important call from Houston. He did not name his contact but tapped the side of his nose indicating that it was more than his life was worth to go into details.

The two girls walked downstairs ahead of me while I assessed Miguel’s performance. Four was the best I could give him for preparation and a doubtful four for adaptability, but I rated him seven for presentation; an overall five seemed fair. I would give Rosa a seven any day. I got in the car and started the engine while the girls stood chatting under an awning. When the air conditioning became effective, Maria took my place in the driving seat and Rosa climbed in the back.

Less than half a mile along the street, Maria pulled into a slot in front of a pharmacy, selecting ‘N’ on the gear lever before turning to Rosa. “I have a thumping head. Will you run in and get me some painkillers while I keep the engine running. We don’t want to lose the air con.” Rosa shrugged and got out, accepting the five-dollar bill I offered her.

No sooner had the pharmacy door closed behind Rosa than Maria engaged reverse, backed out of the parking lot and drove off down the street to make a sharp left turn onto the main road going east out of town. She was crying and muttering incoherently. We were more than five miles down the road when she spoke her first intelligible words: “I’m so damned angry!” She was still weeping when I asked her what I had done.

She glanced at me grinning at her from the passenger seat. “I’m not angry with you - or not much with you. I’m mainly angry with myself. Will you ever believe that I didn’t know that bastard was a conman?”

“I had already worked out that you didn’t know. You could have had the whole bundle back in Vegas and you didn’t tell them that I understood what they were saying.” Now, pull in behind that diner before you hit something. You can’t drive when you’re blinded by tears. Park at the back in case uncle comes searching for his lost pigeons.”

We were in Yuma by this time although it was not any improvement on El Centro. I did not really think that Miguel would come looking but Rosa and her brother might decide to take us on. The smell of food as we entered the diner reminded us that the continental breakfast at the Sparrows, while delicious, was far from filling. The all-day breakfast adequately met our needs. We were sitting over ice teas when we resumed our discussion on the events so far.

“I haven’t told you any lies, Maria, but I’ve been fairly economical with the truth. I was suspicious about Uncle Miguel right from the start, but I did not positively know he was a conman until Rosa gave the game away. As you know, I have learned to be distrustful, so I did not confide my doubts to you. My only excuse is that I have time to spare, and I was enjoying your company, so I thought it was worth the risk.”

She put her hand to her face, drawing the scar to emphases the ugliness. “I have some trust issues of my own, Andreas.” As before, I leant across to stroke her wounded cheek with my fingertips; She reached up to take my hand, bringing it to her mouth and gently kissing the pads of my fingers.

“I should have guessed about that rat Miguel years ago. He stayed with us when he was at college, but I don’t remember him ever giving Momma any money for food or lodging. I was sixteen and knew about boys, but Connie was only twelve, so I let Miguel touch me up to protect her. I’m so sorry for taking you to meet him.”

“I am not blameless, so why don’t we put him behind us and concentrate on the future. How long can you stay away from Las Vegas?”

“I arranged for a week off, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I lost that crummy job.”

So, I asked her to come with me to El Paso, offering her the choice of Phoenix or Tucson for a two-night break at a hotel with a decent swimming pool. “Dolores – the tall brunette at the pool – comes from Tucson. She says it’s a great place to visit but she couldn’t stand living there.” Maria got on her phone calling Dolores for recommendations for a hotel. She scribbled directions on her napkin before the conversation shifted to events in Vegas since we left.

The hotel photographers have, she told me as we prepared to leave the diner, compiled a hilarious tape of Henry and the guys. Steve has left the group to go off with some girl with a rough reputation, but the other guys are happy. They have experimented with marijuana and have still sufficient funds to keep Dolores and the other girls loyal. They all send their love, or so Maria reports.

“Just one question, Andreas,” Maria asked as we were getting into the car. “Where the Hell is El Paso?” I was hoping that it was the start of the Yellow Brick Road.

I drove to Tucson while my companion fiddled with her phone and yawned. She had driven most of the previous day and I spent the first hour of our trip becoming accustomed to handling a large car on American highways. “Call someone or put the damn phone away,” I growled at her when the sun through the windscreen had reflected off the dial into my eyes for the hundredth time. “I’ve never seen you with a cellphone,” she replied. “Do you even own one?”

“It’s in my sock drawer at home in Reading along with my wedding ring.” I held up my left hand where the mark of the ring I had worn for twenty years was quickly fading. “I’m sure Susan will get the message when she eventually finds it.” Maria sat up straight, turning in her seat to look at me intently. “Are you saying that you left without telling her; didn’t you even leave a note?”

For the remainder of the drive to Tucson, I explained the sequence of events after I left home for the final time. We left just after breakfast on Thursday to catch a two o’clock direct flight from Heathrow to Las Vegas. Susan had wished me ‘Good luck’ from the bottom of the stairs as she left for work with Mark; he grunted something around the slice of toast he was eating at the time. Penny was at university, but she had called the previous evening to urge me to relax and enjoy my holiday. It sounded as though she meant it.

The rest I can only imagine, although all the characters are boringly predictable. Of course, they thought that I was even more boring and predictable. Probably Susan used her freedom to slip in an extra dinner date with Dan on the Thursday evening of my departure. She was certainly leaving on the Friday straight from school for a pampering spa weekend. That, at least, was what was posted on the family calendar hanging beside the fridge in the kitchen. I am only supposing that Dan will be at the same spa.

It certainly is a more believable cover than the weekend courses for senior teachers that they share ten or more times a year. I look after the family finances, and it would be more credible if their employers contributed anything to the cost of the courses. How the schoolchildren benefitted from the extra insights Dan and Susan gained, I do not know, but the training weekends were a net drain on our household budget. By the time they returned from the spa on Sunday evening, Maria and I were leaving the Joshua Tree Monument.

Now we were bowling along I-80 while my wife would be getting ready for bed after marking essays or helping Mark with his homework. Tuesday was the night Dan and Susan went to choir practice; so far as I know, they could do little more than hold hands under the eagle eye of the choirmaster. Wednesday is a home night and Thursday my wife and her paramour share the duty of preparing the church for Sunday services. They are soulmates, so I suppose their swapping of bodily fluids is sanctified.

This Friday is going to be rather different. According to the family calendar, I will be landing at Heathrow at about seven in the morning. Susan will go to school as usual but will expect me to be home when she returns shortly after four with Mark. I can picture them entering the house, finding it quiet, assuming that I have gone upstairs to bed to sleep off jet lag. They probably smile at each other at Dad being such a predictable character.