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.
****
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