La Maria (motion picture link)

Perception and reality collide when a group of Hollywood kids try to film a documentary about a mind-bending herb from the mountains of Mexico. (salvia divinorum)

Recombinant Fictions: "Fausto" (inspired by Hotel California by the Eagles) Stephen Richter

Ash Wednesday, Cabo San Lucas, Mexico…

 

Major Louis Burns walked along the marina with his hands in his pockets. Moonlight cast shadows across his path. He looked over his shoulder. A splash in the water caused the major to jump. He jogged the rest of the way to the gate of Muelle D.

A pelican flew from the water. It landed on the quarterdeck of a fishing boat.

Major Burns shook his head.

He removed a card from his pocket and swiped the security pad on the gate. The gate opened. The major walked to the bottom of the gangplank. Sweat rolled down his face. It stained his armpits, soaking the Varga girl on the back of his Tommy Bahama shirt. He approached the end of the landing then stopped in front of a monster of a fishing boat. Across her back was written:

 

The River Styx

Newport Beach, CA

 

The major climbed aboard. He scanned the marina with his eyes. The pelican choked down the fish in its mouth.

“Where you hiding, hard charger?” said the major. “You ain’t that good.” He looked back across the dock, over the marina again. Nothing stirred. A cell phone rang. The major answered it. He descended into the cabin.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? I don't heve it yet.” said the major. He walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of Southern Comfort. The boat rocked with the tide.

He stopped.

The major placed his cell phone and cocktail on top of the bar. He turned around. Footsteps crossed the quarterdeck outside. The major swallowed.

Men entered the cabin of the boat.

“Well it’s about time, gentlemen,” said the major. “You sons of bitches have a lot to learn about noise discipline, though.” He smiled.

Across the marina, a sound like a firecracker caused a group of tourists to look towards the water. There was a second crack and a flash of light from inside one of the boats.

“Viva México!” said a tourist. They all laughed then staggered away, arm in arm.

 

Viernes Santo (Good Friday)…

 

A black Cadillac Fleetwood glided down the two-lane highway. Cactus stretched on for an eternity in all directions. Vultures circled overhead. The Pacific coastline appeared then disappeared again. The Cadillac rolled on, cresting another hill. The ocean came into view once more. Fausto looked at his gas gauge. He frowned. The sun darkened his aviator sunglasses. He tapped the gauge with his finger. The gaslight turned on.

“Great,” said Fausto. He lit a cigarette then wiped the sweat from his forehead. His hair was cut high and tight. Fausto tossed a Zippo cigarette lighter over his shoulder. It landed on a sea bag in the backseat. The letters USMC were embossed on its side.

A statue of the Virgin Mary gazed through wreaths and rosaries, out over the desert, from a roadside shrine. The Cadillac shrank on the horizon. Flowers and crosses decorated each curve in the highway. Fausto drove on.

Not a soul was to be found on the streets of Todos Santos. Fausto rolled down his window. The heat and dust forced him to squint. The Cadillac crept along the avenida principal of the pueblo. A woman appeared up ahead, limping across the road towards the mission. Fausto pulled over and parked across the street from a hotel with Moroccan decor. Fausto reached over the seat and fished a trifold brochure from the sea bag. It had a picture of the same hotel on its cover.

Meet with florist - 0930 hrs.

was scribbled beneath the picture in black ink. Fausto climbed from the vehicle and stretched. Dog tags jingled beneath his t-shirt. He looked up at the brass letters above the balconies.

 

Hotel California

 

Fausto crossed the street, through dust and wind. He entered the building.

“Welcome to the Hotel California,” said the girl at the front desk. She sounded French. Fausto pulled an envelope from his pocket. It was from the Red Cross. He looked at the handwriting on the back.

“Excuse me,” said Fausto. He removed his sunglasses. “I was wondering if you might know where I could find a woman named Persephone Mauvais?”

The girl smiled. She brushed the hair from her forehead. Daffodils adorned the desk beside her.

“You must be Fausto,” she said. She extended her hand. “I’m Persephone.” Fausto frowned. He shook her hand.

“You’re younger than I thought you’d be,” said Fausto.

“I’m twenty-three.” said Persephone.

“When was the last time you spoke to my father in person?” said Fausto.

“Wouldn’t you like to get cleaned up first?” said Persephone. “You’ve been driving a very long time.” She gathered up a towel, soap, and a room key. She walked from behind the check-in desk.

“Come,” said Persephone. She took Fausto by the arm. He followed. “What would you like to know?" she said, "Where all the people of Todos Santos have gone?” Persephone led Fausto through a courtyard with a fountain.

“No,” said Fausto, "That's not what I wanted." They climbed a flight of stairs. Fousto’s knee buckled. “Jesus, I guess I am a little-”

“Tired?” said Persephone, “Yes, you look very tired.” She led Fausto down a hallway and unlocked the door to room nine.

“So, where have all of the people gone?” said Fausto. Persephone smiled.

“Everyone's dead,” she said. “Didn’t you know?”

“You’re joking, right?” said Fausto. They entered the room.

“Yes,” said Persephone, “but you do look terrible, Fausto.” Fausto yawned. He rubbed his face. “Like someone about to collapse,” said Persephone.

Fausto collapsed.

He fell in slow motion. His cheek landed against the floor. The air smelled of sandalwood. Persephone’s feet crossed the black floorboards towards him. Fausto lost consciousness.

****

“Dehydration,” said a man. Sunlight silhouetted him against the skylight above Fausto. Persephone leaned into view. She placed a washcloth on Fausto’s forehead. Mirrors decorated the ceiling above her.

“What happened?” said Fausto.

“Looks like a little heat exhaustion,” said the man. He seemed to be in his forties. He smiled. “I’m Omar,” he said. He reached into a black duffle bag on the floor.

“Fausto,” said Fausto. He sat up on the bed. They shook hands.

“I’ve heard,” said Omar. He handed Fausto a business card. "Just get some rest. You're going to be fine. Maybe give him some pomegranate juice," he said.

"You a doctor?" said Fausto.

Omar laughed. He stood and walked to the door. Persephone accompanied him. Fausto couldn’t understand what they were saying to each other. It sounded French but different. Fausto looked down at the business card Omar had given him:

 

Ohm-ar
Red Tantric, White Tantric, Kundalini yoga / CPA
Todos Santos B.C.S Mexico
(52) (624) 142 0666

 

Fausto turned the card over.

 

“The road to enlightenment is paved with precious things left behind” - Midas

 

"You've got to be shitting me," said Fausto. He dug through his pants pockets and produced a pack of cigarettes and his lighter.  Omar’s footsteps sounded on the stairwell outside the door. Persephone walked back into the room. Fausto lit his Zippo. Persephone took the cigarette from Fausto's lips.

“Please don’t,” she said.

Fausto caught her wrist. He noticed a gold chain and a locket around Persephone’s neck.

“Where did you get this?” he said.

Persephone pulled away. She held the locket to her chest.

“Louis gave it to me,” she said.

“What?!” said Fausto, “That’s my sister’s.”

“He gave it to me,” said Persephone. She backed towards the window.

“What for?” said Fausto.

“He was a nice man.”

“Was?”

“Is... He is a nice man, your father, he always brings me fresh flowers to-”

“Where's my father, Persephone?!” said Fausto. Persephone stared at him. Her back pressed against the wall. Fausto smacked his palm against the wall beside her head. She closed her eyes.  

“Where is he?” said Fausto. His eyes searched her face. "What was he doing down here? With you..."  His eye teared.

Perspiration rolled down Persephone’s neck, wetting her linen shirt.

“I don't know,” she said.

Persephone wiped the tear from Fausto’s cheek with her thumb. He was unshaven.

“I'am sorry,” she said, “I have no idea where he went.”

“Then help me,” said Fausto. He drew close to Persephone.

Persephone slipped away. She straightened out her shirtfront.

“Okay,” she said, “I did see Louis on Wednesday, in Cabo San Lucas. He was with Dionisio, the divemaster there.”

“Dionisio,” said Fausto.

“I was hitchhiking to Playa Médano and they gave me a ride into town,” she said.

“Can you take me to him?” 

Persephone looked out the window. The old woman limped across the road, away from the mission. Dust and sand blew about her.

“Could you at least show me the way?” said Fausto.

Persephone looked into Fausto’s eyes. They were black.

She took the Zippo from his hand and lit the cigarette she had taken from him. She exhaled into the air with a cloud of smoke.

“You have your father’s eyes, you know that?” she said.

Fausto stared at her.

Persephone shook her head.

"I have no one else..." said Fausto.

They held each other's gaze.

“D'accord,” she said, “Okay, I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks,” said Fausto.

“As long as you give me a ride back,” said Persephone, “I need to get some flowers in Cabo anyway.”

“Deal.” 

Persephone walked through the open doorway.

"Can I have my lighter back?" said Fausto.

She continued down the hall, to the stairs.

Fausto followed.

 

****

 

 

Fausto Part II by Stephen Richter

 

They crossed the lobby. Persephone took her purse from the chair at the check-in desk. She brushed some hair behind an ear and wrote a note. They walked out of the hotel. Across the street, Omar’s face reflected in the backseat window of the Cadillac.
He tried the door handle.

“What the fuck there, Omar?” said Fausto.

Omar stiffened. He smiled. “Just admiring your Brougham, Fausto, it’s beautiful,” he said.

Persephone opened the passenger’s door. She climbed inside.

“That’s my dad’s Bro-ham you’re admiring there, Omar.” Fausto climbed behind the wheel. “Never lets anyone drive it though, especially not me.” Fausto put on his shades and fired up the engine. He rolled down his window.

Omar leaned in.

“You shouldn’t rush into things without meditation,” said Omar, “Seriously, you need some rest, Fausto.”

“Good looking out, Omar,”

Fausto stepped on the gas pedal. The Cadillac drove away.

“Namaste,” said Omar. He looked back at the hotel.

The Cadillac glided down the road past the mission. The sun sank on the horizon. Fausto drove through a grove of palm trees. A cloud of mosquitos dissipated then reformed again. Water trickled. A vein of sawgrass and cattail split the desert near the oasis, beneath the town of Todos Santos.

The Cadillac turned onto highway 1.

Persephone placed a foot on the dashboard in front of her. Her skirt opened. A pale thigh. A friendship bracelet adorned her ankle. Fausto looked back at the road. The Pacific appeared then disappeared again. The Cadillac crested a hill. Cactus stretched to the horizon, to the coast and the blood red sea approaching sunset. They drove south, towards Land’s End. The Cadillac passed shrine after roadside shrine. Each cross marked the place of  someone’s death on the highway. The majority were at the curves in the road. Some crosses had flowers beneath them.

“So, what exactly do you do down here?” said Fausto.

“Im a florist.”

“in the desert?”

“You’d be surprised how much people will pay to have a little beauty,” said Persephone, “especially in the desert.”

“What about my father?” said Fausto, “Did he ever pay?”

“For what?”

Persephone fished through her purse.

“For the beauty,” said Fausto, “Did he ever have to pay for this beauty you’re talking about?”

Persephone laughed. She took out a bag of weed and rolling papers. She rolled herself a joint. “So, what do you do in the army?” she said.

“Marines.”

“In the marines, then.”

Persephone lit her joint.

“Drug counterinsurgency,” said Fausto.

“Counter-whom?”

“Intelligence to stop drugs and drug-lords.”

“Well, you’re not stopping me,” said Persephone. She smoked her joint and squinted. “This is México, Fausto. You’re a gringo down here. Never forget.”

“And what are you, invincible?”

“I’m better than invincible,” said Persephone, “I’m Canadian.”

They crested a hill.  The coastline appeared. They descended into the next canyon.

“I have three days, Persephone.”

“Me too,” she said, “I leave Easter Sunday.”

“Why so soon?”

Four skeletal cows crossed the road at the bottom of the arroyo. Fausto pumped the brakes. The Cadillac stopped just short of the crossing cattle. Ribs moved beneath their grey hides. Their heads hung. Fausto drove around them. The Cadillac accelerated to the top of a curve.

“I’m only here for the winter,” said Persephone, “After high season I go back to Montréal.”

“Why did my father give you the necklace, Persephone?”

Persephone pointed. “Your gas lamp,” she said.

“Shit,” said Fausto.

The black Cadillac coasted down the hill, towards Cabo San Lucas, on nothing but gravity and gas fumes. El Arco, the great stone arch at Land’s End, marked the outer edge of the bay. Cruise ships, yachts, and fishing boats drifted off the coast of Médano Beach. The sky and sea purpled with the approaching night. The lights of the resorts sparkled in the twilight.

Fausto yawned.

He blinked and shook his head. “I need coffee anyway,” he said. He put the transmission into neutral then raised his arms above his head. “Woooooooo! burn the boats, baby, we’re coming in hot!” he said. He looked to Persephone. She raised her arms and smiled. She shrieked. The Cadillac coasted down the hill into the PEMEX service station at the edge of town with a bounce.

****

Cabo San Lucas, Mexico - 20:30 hrs.

The Cadillac climbed an unpaved street. It labored up the backside of a hilltop colonia. Persephone looked out over the city and bay. The Cadillac’s undercarriage scraped a rock. It sparked.

“Damnit, Persephone!” said Fausto, “this is horseshit.” The dirt road steepened. At the top of the incline, sat a white minimalist residence. “There?” said Fausto. Tires spat gravel and lost traction on the hill. The Cadillac slipped backwards.

“That’s where he lives, Fausto. Do you want to go or not?”

Fausto put the tranny into first gear and floored the gas. The Cadillac lurched forward.

“I like your attitude, Fausto,” said Persephone, “you are man of action.”

“Action Jackson.”

The Cadillac climbed and fishtailed and fought its way to the gates at the top of the hill.

“That’s how we get her done,” said Fausto. He set the parking brake with his foot.

“Yes,” said Persephone. She looked Fausto up and down then climbed out of the vehicle. They walked to a stainless steel intercom beside an iron Door. The walls were over ten feet high. The view of the bay behind them was spectacular.

“Wow,” said Fausto.

“I know,” said Persephone. “Don’t let it get to you, Fausto.” She dialed a sequence of numbers on the key pad. “It happens to everyone.” A telephone rang somewhere inside the compound. The ringing continued.

“He’s not here,” she said. “Want me to text him?”

Fausto stared at the bay. “Huh? Yeah, do that,” he said.

Persephone turned away from Fausto. She leaned over her mobile device. Light from its screen illuminated her face. She laughed and typed with her thumbs.

“Get the fuck out of here, Dionisio. You’re such a cabrón,” Persephone laughed. “He’s over at... Oh, god-”

“Oh, god what?”

“It’s just pictures... He’s at Passions, and Nikki Beach at the ME,” she said.

“The who?”

“The Meliá,” she said. “He’s texting me again. He wants us to meet him there.”

“Where?”

“Nikki Beach,” said Persephone, “It’s spring break, Fausto. There’s no way Dionisio will abandon the party tonight. No way in hell.”

“What’s wrong with you people?” said Fausto. “Bunch of goddamned hedonists.”

“It’s getting late.”

“Alright, damnit, we’ll go to spring break.” said Fausto.

Persephone’s eyes flashed. “I’ll get my scarf.”

They climbed back into the car. Persephone removed her shirt. Her breasts were pale like her thigh. She pulled a long silk scarf from her purse. She tied it around her neck, then wrapped it around her body into a dress. Persephone shook her hair out then looked at herself in the rearview mirror.

“It’s Hermès,” she said, “You can drive, you know,”

“I will if you let me.”

Fausto twisted the rearview mirror back to where he could see again. He started the engine. Persephone laughed.

“You can’t counterinsurgency everything, Fausto.”

“Just trying to find my father, that’s all.”

“Let’s go find him then.”

Fausto nodded.

****

The black Cadillac bounced along a dirt road between the Casa Dorada Beach Resort and the Meliá Cabo San Lucas. Shirtless and bikini-clad people roamed the streets in flip-flops and straw sombreros. Humvees and limousines inched through the crowd to the main entrance of Nikki Beach. Arclights crossed the sky above the red glow and smoke rising from the oceanfront nightclub. Fausto parked. The stream of tourists engulfed the vehicle. Fausto reached into the seabag in the backseat. He removed a navy sport coat with brass buttons.

Maj. L. Burnes USMC

was embroidered beneath the inside pocket in gold. Fausto put the jacket on over his t-shirt and jeans.

“Fancy,” said Persephone.
Fausto locked the seabag in the trunk of the Cadillac. They crossed the street, hand in hand. They walked to the entrance of the the nightclub.

“Persephone!” said Ricardo at the velvet rope, “Canada’s in the house, baby.”

“It is now,” said Persephone.

“Clearly Canadian,” said Ricardo, “Mmmm, grade A maple syrup right there. Y’all seeing this?” He closed the rope in front of Fausto.

“He’s with me, Ricardo,” said Persephone.

“My bad,” said Ricardo, “Welcome to paradise, soldier.”

“Marine.”

Persephone pulled Fausto behind her. They merged into the crowd entering the courtyard. Bass thundered through the open air. Moonlight shimmered on the beach and bay beyond the resort grounds. The crowd was dense but far better than the chaos being caused by college students on the public side of Playa Médano. At Nikki Beach, everyone wore white. Fausto and Persephone wore black. A DJ in white denim spun dance music from his tower above the swimming pool. Persephone pointed. A shirtless man in linen pants danced onstage. Black curly hair shook with beads of sweat. Go-Go Girls in white plumage samba-danced around the man. Hips gyrated.

The man’s shoulders shimmied in a blur, like a Turkish dancer.

“Dionisio,” said Fausto.

A girl grabbed ahold of Dionisio’s waist onstage. Her eyes widened. Dinisio’s ass shook in a flurry between henna-painted hands. A conga line formed. It coiled around the DJ booth. Dionisio danced at the head of the serpent. The conga line snaked onto the dance floor below. People cheered.

Dionisio raised his arms to the night sky.

“Hurry!” said Persephone. She took Fausto’s hand.

“What?!”

Fausto followed Persephone into the sea of dancing bodies. She placed Fausto’s hands on her hips. They merged into the conga line dancing behind Dionisio. Fausto shook his ass and tried to mimic Persephone’s movements.

“I can’t believe this shit.” said Fausto. They sambaed their way poolside, around a palapa, a fountain, then to a private corner on the sand. A row of giant beds were elevated on stilts beside them. Sheets of white fabric blew in the night breeze. Dionisio placed his forehead to Persephone’s and grinned. He lifted her off the ground. A diver’s mask was tattooed to his shoulder.

“Have a drink with me, “ he said.

“Nice moves there,” said Fausto. He adjusted his jacket, “Hard to keep up with.”

“Who is this sexy man?” said Dionisio. He smiled.

“Fausto,” said Persephone, “Fausto Burns.” Dionisio’s expression faded. “He’s looking for Louis, Dionisio, have you seen him?” Dionisio seemed sober now. He looked towards the entrance of the club.

“He never showed,” said Dionisio, “I’ll radio him tonight.”

“Show up for what?” said Fausto. Dionisio looked around.

“I’m meeting a friend here,” said Dionisio, “After that I can take you to use ship-to-shore radio at my place, yes?”  People danced all over the beach. Beyond the white ropes of the club the crowd swelled into a fish farm of dancing bodies. Fireworks exploded overhead in molten red.

“How long?” said Fausto.

“Thirty minutes,” said Dionisio, “maybe less, or the anchovies are free.” He put on a linen shirt and buttoned it. “You like anchovies?”

“Does my father?”

Dionisio smiled. “Yes... Yes he does like anchovies.”

“Alright,” said Fausto, “where should we wait for you?”

“Smart and sexy... Are you Greek, Fausto?”

“No.”

“Shame.” Dionisio looked at Persephone. “Meet me in the beach bar at midnight.”

“No time for quickies, Dionisio,” said Persephone.

“always time for quickie, my darling, this is Dionisio!” He backed away from them smiling, his tongue between his teeth.

“What the hell’s with you people?” said Fausto, “Thirty minutes there, Dionisio! No bullshit. you hear me?” Dionisio danced into the crowd. Fausto ran a hand over his scalp. The music thundered. He squeezed his temples between his thumb and forefinger. Persephone touched Fausto’s cheek. Fireworks painted their faces with color.

“I like you,” she said. Fausto Smiled.

“Buy you a drink?”

“I don’t think we should, Fausto.”

“I’ll watch your back, Seph.”
 
Fausto pointed to his eyes. “Better than waiting here for Dionysus with our dicks in our hands.”

Persephone laughed.  “Don’t let Dionisio hear you say that.” She shook her head.

“It’s true,” said Fausto.

Persephone wrapped Fausto’s arm around her shoulder and clasped his fingers. They walked down to the beach bar on the sand. They kicked off their shoes. Fausto rolled up his jeans. They sat on barstools beneath a moonlight sky.

“Tequila, porfis,” said Persephone.

“Dos,” said Fausto. The bartender obliged. Fausto looked into Persephone’s eyes. She smiled. He looked at the locket around her neck. “Persephone?”

“Yes?”

Fausto watched the colored lights play over her face. Boats floated on the bay over her shoulder.

“Salúd,” said Fausto. He raised his glass.

“Salúd,”

They drank for thirty minutes.

Dionisio returned, covered in sweat. He searched the beach bar but Persephone and Fausto were nowhere to be found. He tapped his PDA.

Persephone rolled into Fausto’s arms atop one of the giant beds on stilts above the beach. They kissed. Persephone reached inside Fausto’s jeans. The screen lit up on her PDA. Dionisio peeked his head over the mattress with a cell phone to his ear. Persephone howled. She rolled off the bed and hit the sand with a thump. Fausto laughed.

“I need to leave, like now, people,” said Dionisio. He put away his device. “We can do this at my place, yes, we can, we will, my friends. But we must go now, okay? right now.”

“We’re the black Cadillac at the top of the hill,” said Fausto. He tossed Dionisio the car keys. “Go on ahead. I’ll get Persephone and catch up with you.”

Dionisio nodded. He walked through the crowd. Fausto tried to help Persephone to her feet.

She slapped his face.

“Fuck you, Fausto, why’d you throw me off there?!”

“I didn’t throw you off anything!”

“Then why’d you laugh?!”

A firework burst with a flash of blue.

“Come on, Seph, give me your hand.” said Fausto.

Persephone jumped into Fausto’s arms. He caught her.

“Carry me... I’m dizzy. I’m tired, and you did this to me, Fausto,” she said. “I told you I didn’t want to drink.”

Fausto shuffled through the dancing bodies with Persephone in his arms. Her face pressed against his chest. Her arms clung to his neck. Fausto walked out of the club. Sweat rolled down his face. They reached the top of the dirt road. Fausto set persephone down. Three men in boots and black cowboy hats looked through the Cadillac’s open trunk, across the street.

“Wait,” said Persephone.

Fausto walked towards the men.

“What you doing there, hard-chargers?” Fausto closed the distance between them. A Cadillac Escalade idled in the shadows of an alley, in the background.

“Que quiere este güey?” said the man with the seabag.

Fausto gripped the man’s hand.

“That’s my father’s.”

It happened in a blur. Persephone screamed. The first man ran off, his arm bent grotesquely backwards. The second man crawled away from Fausto. Blood poured from a hole on the side of the man’s head. He scrambled to his feet and ran into the night.

Cowboy hats littered the ground.

Fausto crouched in the street behind the Cadillac. His knee pressed into the remaining cowboy’s throat, beneath the bumper of the vehicle.

“Fausto, stop!” said Persephone. She ran.

Fausto pressed his thumbs against the man’s eyelids. His nostrils flared.

A human ear lay in the dirt beside Fausto’s knee. Fausto blinked at the sight of it.

“Fausto!”

Persephone threw her arms around him. She pulled. Fausto sprang to his feet.

“Goddamnit!” he said. “What’s wrong with you people?” His eyes widened. Fausto looked around. He breathed through his teeth.

The remaining cowboy ran down the hill towards Nikki Beach. “Motherfuckers. What the fuck’s wrong with you?!” said Fausto.

“Fausto!” said Persephone. She rolled the seabag into the Cadillac’s trunk and slammed the door shut. “Get in the car.”

Fausto climbed into the passenger’s seat. Persephone drove. The Cadillac fishtailed around the corner in a cloud of dust. The moon shone overhead. Headlights illuminated Persephone’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Faust looked back. Dionisio was passed out cold in the backseat. His linen shirt  was rolled up, exposing his stomach. A syringe hung from a swollen injection site beneath his navel.

Fausto’s lips puckered up, like a fish, but he couldn’t find the words.

“Ay, Dionisio,” said Persephone, “you could have at least helped us, cabrón.”

Dionisio smiled. He moaned. “Their black hats, they were freaking me out, so I stayed here.” His accent was even thicker.

“Want to secure that syringe there, hard-charger?” said Fausto. He pointed to his arm.

“Oh, god. How embarrassing is this?” said Dionisio. “It’s not what it looks like, Fausto, not really.”

“Really?” said Fausto.

“Nothing in the Baja is, Fausto, never.” He removed the syringe from his skin and rolled his shirt down.

“How do you know my name?”

“I’m psychic,” said Dionisio.

“I introduced you two at Nikki Beach,” said Persephone.

Fausto nodded. Persephone turned onto the same dirt road from before. Dionisio’s house sat at the top of the incline. “Easy there, Seph.” Fausto reached for the steering wheel. “Maybe I should just-” Persephone rolled her eyes.

She floored the gas.

Dionisio laughed.

****