By edRogers
[Reviewed here on the novel’s publication day, October 6, 2018: “Coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you?”]
Charlie awoke from a bad dream. Sweat covered his body, and his hands were shaking. A horrible smell assaulted his senses. He jumped from the chair, his mind still trapped in the nightmare, and fell to his knees, with great sobs shaking his body.
He lay in a ball on the porch for some time. At last, he stood up and looked at the smoldering fire pit, the smell of which must have triggered a memory from his time in Iraq. Only part of a boot sole remained, and he poured some gas on it and threw another match into the pit.
He walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. He emptied the glass and then went into the bathroom. Halfway through his urination, he remembered the bag of money. He finished emptying his bladder and then quickly pulled on a pair of pants and sandals and ran back to the living room. He snatched up the bag from next to the front door where he had dropped it the night before and ran back out to the porch, across it, and up the embankment behind the house.
In the sniper’s nest that was used by the man who killed Margot, he hid the bag under a log. Then he sat on the log for a while looking down the range that the sniper had used that fateful night. It was at a perfect angle to see over the house and onto the gate and road. The spot hadn’t been picked at random; someone had scouted the property and found this precise location. What a waste! He wiped the tears from his eyes and walked back to the house.
Everything in the house reminded him of Margot. He tried to pack her clothes up and give them to the needy, but he couldn’t even bring himself to do that. Juan would have to deal with reminders of Margot when he moved into the house; it was beyond Charlie’s ability to even think about her without crying.
But right then he had more pressing issues. He had to prepare himself to answer the questions Detective Araya would no doubt be throwing at him. The detective had a hard-on for Charlie, and Charlie knew that as soon as Morales’s body was discovered, Araya would be coming for him. Charlie went to the garbage can and removed an empty wine bottle and rum bottle. He took them outside and placed them on the deck around the chair he had sat in the night before. He then moved the ashes around to be sure no recognizable shreds of clothing were left. Once he was satisfied that the deck looked like the scene of an all-nighter, he went back inside. Charlie opened a beer and lay on the couch, where he drank half the beer before falling asleep.
It was around two in the afternoon when Charlie was awakened by the sound of a car horn. He got up and looked out to see Araya standing beside the car. Charlie took the shot of rum he had prepared, pressed the gate opener, and then walked outside. Only if asked would he bring Araya inside. If not asked, all the better.
Araya walked through the gate, leaving his car where it was. Charlie wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign or a bad one. “Hola, Araya, what brings you out my way?”
Araya slowly made his way from the gate to the front door. “The murder of a friend of yours.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken – my friends all died some time back.”
“I would have thought you and Victor Morales had a lot in common.”
“I know the name but never met the man.”
Araya was standing close enough to smell the booze on Charlie’s breath, and it was almost making him gag. “Have you been drinking all night? You smell like a bar on Sunday morning.” There was nothing friendly or even civil in Araya’s tone.
“What the hell business is it of yours?”
“I would like to know where you were last night when someone broke into Morales’s house and shot him in the head.”
Charlie looked sideways at Araya and said, “I was on the back porch drinking. I started about seven and woke up there this morning. Then I came inside and crashed on the couch until you woke me up. And, before you ask, I was alone.”
“So you have no alibi.”
Charlie shook his head, thinking, This asshole is playing games. “I have an alibi – I was here. I didn’t know I would be needing a witness or I would have invited a hooker over.”
Charlie turned to go into the house, saying over his shoulder, “If that’s all, I feel like shit and need a beer.”
Araya reached out and caught Charlie’s arm. “I don’t know how you’re involved in all of this, but I do know you are neck deep in these murders.”
Charlie pulled his arm loose. “Araya, I’m tired of you trying to pin all this on me. First, you say I killed a man by the name of Romero who worked for Morales, who I have never met, and you don’t even have a body. Then you say I killed my friends Howard and Tommy, even when you found a gun at the scene that had this Romero’s fingerprints on it. Now you want to blame me for the murder of Victor Morales. The only person I have ever had a problem with was Mr. Tai, and your Coast Guard killed him.”
Araya turned and started toward his car, soon stopping and turning around again toward Charlie. “Mr. Blankenship, you might think about leaving Costa Rica. As you pointed out, all your friends are gone. Why are you still here?”
Without turning around, Charlie shouted back, “For once we agree on something.” Charlie did turn to watch Araya get into his car and drive off. Charlie thought, He’s right, it is time to leave. Charlie went back into the house and out the back to retrieve the bag of Morales’s money, and then back inside to collect his bag of personal belongings and Margot’s ashes, before coming back out the front and closing the door without stopping.
Charlie parked the jeep near Diego’s office and signed all the papers. He went to the bank and closed Margot’s account, which held a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He put it in the bag with Morales’s money, but then pulled out a hundred for Juan and another two-fifty for a sailboat.
He thought about stopping at the bar for one last beer, but only smiled and said aloud, “Maybe next time.”
| Copyright © 2018 by Ed Rogers |
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