Montezuma’s Revenge

The rest of the passengers decided for him as the bus ground to a halt one last time. There were shouts of instruction and the wild clucking of suspended hens as everyone exited, Tony as well, carried along with the press. When he was outside and had managed to force his way clear he saw that they were in the open-ended cavern of a bus terminal, Estrella de Oro, a great sign read over the entrance and this star of gold was marked prominently on all of the vehicles here. A column of cities was picked out in red letters against the dirty white of the wall, but they were distant and hard to read. What was close was a rumbling giant of the road, tires as high as his shoulder, with a winding cue of prospective passengers snaking toward its open door. Without further thought Tony joined the end of the line and others grouped up behind him. They had shuffled forward a few paces before he realized that all the others held tickets, no doubt purchased inside the station. This was not a good thing. He liked the idea of boarding this bus at once, wherever it was going, though he disliked immensely the idea of asking for a ticket, being surveyed by the agent, who would undoubtedly be a man of suspicious manner and keen memory who would later tell all he knew to the police. What could he do? The man ahead of him, a farm worker in simple cotton and wide sombrero, clutched his slip of pasteboard between work-gnarled fingers. Tony leaned forward and spoke quietly into his ear.

“Friend, I am late arriving here and very tired. Would you save me the inconvenience of buying a ticket at the window by allowing me to purchase your ticket from you at a price ten pesos above the sum printed on its face?”

“Done,” the man said with instant decision. Money and ticket changed hands and the man hurried away to buy a second ticket. The quick transaction went unnoticed in the crowd. A moment later and he was aboard, taking one of the few remaining empty seats next to a woman of solid girth whose ample flesh lapped over onto his cushion, as did her armload of packages.

“Excuse me,” With his solid flank he pushed at her gelled one until it jiggled aside and gave him room to sit down. The flank’s owner sniffed loudly but said nothing. Within the minute the door closed, to the cries of the outraged ticket holders who could not be jammed in, while the barking exhaust of the bus echoed from the concrete walls and into the street. Safety, for the moment, lay with motion and Tony sighed inwardly, then realized that there was still one important point he was unaware of.

“Would you tell me where this bus goes?” he asked his seat mate. She first delivered a look that made silent comment upon his sanity or the quantity of alcohol he had recently consumed, and only after this message had been delivered did she reluctantly answer the question.

“Acapulco.”

Wasn’t that nice. Playground of the jet set, and perhaps not a bad choice. There was an international airport there, he knew from the ads in the travel section of the paper, and if he moved fast he might be able to get a plane back to the United States. He hoped the efficiency of the Mexican police did not extend to wiring his description to all airports in the country at once. He hoped. He nodded forward onto the attache case on his knees and dozed off with that hope, jogging and nodding as the bus forced its way through the city traffic, sleeping better once they plunged onto the toll road over the hills. When they made the occasional stop he lifted his head to see brown walls and dusty squares, occasionally a lurch disturbed him and he looked out at the sweep of valley and mountain they rushed through, replaced soon after by the acid green of jungle when they dropped down to the coastal plain. It could not be said that he slept well, but he did feel slightly better when with a great hissing of air brakes they pulled into the Acapulco terminal. This was done by completely blocking the width of Calle Costera Miguel Aleman ... the handsome boulevard that flanked the shore, then backing into the building. Tony blinked the sleep from his eyes and stepped out into the damp oven of the Acapulco afternoon.

“Pardon me, mister, but I would want to talk with you.” This was it; the expected touch on the sleeve, the long arm of the law reaching out for him, the end of the trail. There could be no escape now and it would be almost a relief to end this insane chase and be taken into custody.

Almost. While the tired part of his sensibilities wanted to flop down and toss in the towel there was a small hard core of resistance that would not allow it. No. He would not give in that easily. All of these conflicting thoughts warred and grappled in the seconds it took him to turn and look at the man behind him. As he did so his face grew slack, his eyes opened wide in simple wonderment.