Chapter Four continues....

Ricardo and Josephina sat there in the hotel room as Graciano paced about. He stopped by the window and stared out toward the distant harbor. The room was silent for a minute or so. It felt like the calm before the storm.
"We need not talk any further about what has happened before, but only about what to do now," he said. He turned and sat down in a chair next to them, clasping his hands together and looking down at them.
"We must move now into a calculated plan of action," he said, looking up at Ricardo and Josephina, his lips a thin emotionless line across his face. "It will call for a silent but deadly coup." Ricardo seemed to stiffen into full attention as Graciano's words raised the hair on his arms. He was only beginning to know why Graciano was a legend. "It will be as though it never really happened," Graciano continued. "There will be only an empty beach house in the end. A dormant boat moored to the pier as though no one had ever been there. We will leave Vera Cruz with Violet and Balthazaar at our sides, or we will simply be taking their remains home to properly bury them." He stood and began pacing the room again. Josephina watched him intently as though drawn into what she had loved about him for so long. His charisma, his passion, his resolve.

Graciano paused by the window again. "We will need a small cabin cruiser," he said, as he turned to look at Ricardo. "Nothing fancy. It should look local. Walk the harbor, Ricardo. See what you can come up with." Ricardo nodded. "A local fishing boat with a cabin," Graciano said. "Tomorrow we will go fishing then, and study the terrain around the beach house and the Lady Jane." He fished into his jacket pocket and handed Ricardo a roll of bills. "Pay what you must," he said. He raised his hand and counted off the agenda with his fingers as though thinking to himself. "Subterfuge, arsenal, ambush. Like an owl swooping silently through the night
snatching up a rodent or a snake...a sniper set-up with a silencer." He turned to look at Josephina. "If you would please, go down to the hotel lobby and be a tourist. Talk to the concierge. Ask for any maps of sights to see, and street or highway maps. Be discreet, Josephina." Josephina smiled. Graciano had taught her the art of discretion long ago.

Graciano walked over to the table by the bed and picked up a bottle of wine. "We must drink now," he said. "A toast to the liberation." He poured their glasses and his own. "Here is to freedom," he said, raising his glass.
"Here is to Violet and Balthazaar," Ricardo said. Josephina raised her glass.
"Here is to love."

UNSPOKEN AGREEMENT

Balthazaar looked over at Violet as their captors began to talk among themselves. Tears rolled down her cheeks and over the tape that sealed her mouth.
"It's ok," he tried to say as he looked into her eyes. Their eyes embraced as though to be together in some way should it be the case they might die then and there. Violet nodded her understanding. Balthazaar nodded back.

(to be continued)

CHAPTER FOUR

LOST, FOUND, AND LOST.

Violet was sheltered protectively by Juan and Cindy as they stood along the plaza watching the dancers. She wanted to be home. She wanted to be a little girl again and dance happily on the plaza. Would Balthazaar even want her again now that she had been so defiled? Her fingers idly caressed the small silver medallion dangling from her neck. The Virgin Mary. She whispered to herself.
"Hail Mary, full of grace.
Our Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of..." Her plea for intercession was interrupted by some scuffle in the crowd. Her eyes turned toward the sounds and the shoving.
"Balthazaar?!" She saw a glimpse of his eyes and his outreached hand. "Balthazaar!" She began walking hurriedly through the crowd. And suddenly, unbelievably, she was in his arms. "Oh Balthazaar," she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. His hand caressed her head briefly, then...
"Hurry Violet," he said, grabbing her hand. He led her back through the crowd. She ran along behind him clinging to his hand as they ran up the street toward his car.

ALMOST

"Get in," he said. They embraced again in the front seat. There was the sound of a sharp metallic click behind them.
"Don't move," a man's voice said. "Start the car." Violet glanced over her shoulder nervously. It was one them.
"I don't have the stones," she blurted out.
"I don't care," he replied. He tapped his gun on the side of Balthazaar's head.
"Drive." Balthazaar pulled away from the curb.
"Look," he said, glancing into the rear-view mirror. "You've got the money. We don't know what became of the stones."
"Shut up," the man replied. "Turn left here." They turned into an alley. "Pull up behind that truck," he said. "Now get out."
"What do you want with us?" Balthazaar said. The man smacked his pistol roughly against Balthazaar's temple.
"Get out of the fucking car." The back doors of the truck swung open. "Get in." A second man pulled them on in, pushing them to the floor.
"Tie them up and blind-fold them," he said. They closed and locked the back door of the truck and then torched Balthazaar's car.

SWEET JANE

Graciano sat on a bench along the boardwalk looking out at the harbor. His eyes carefully scanned the boats anchored there. He told himself that these men were likely gone by now. And perhaps Violet with them. Or perhaps they dumped Violet here in the city somewhere. And perhaps the Sweet Jane was lurking somewhere just out of sight. He walked on down to the water looking for a fishing boat to rent. He found a small outboard. Not a boat one would take onto the deep sea, but ideal for fishing close along the coast line. He purchased some fishing gear and bait then turned the boat out of the harbor. If The Sweet Jane was anywhere near Vera Cruz, he would find her. He scanned the curving coastline headed north. Palms, palmettos, and grasses. Little piers here and there and beyond them, well-worn beach houses or local shacks not yet bought off. He thought about Violet his darling daughter. And Josephina. Back then he thought he was doing the right thing leaving them to fight for the freedom of Latinos to live without fear in their homelands. To live free of power hungry dictators, or pirates disguised as revolutionaries. How many had he killed along the way? And where had it got him? It all came to a head as he rounded a point, and there sat The Sweet Jane. It sat tied off at a rickety pier, and back in a palmetto grove he could glimpse a humble beach house on stilts. Why would someone with a small yacht be here of all places? He cut the motor, and pulled out his fishing gear and took a seat.

HOTEL DILIGENCIAS

The old hotel, once a grand structure, now seemed a bit in disrepair. Like some woman fallen from grace, or an old movie star whose pancake make-up was cracking in the wrinkles of her face. But upon walking into the large and ornate lobby, it still had a by-gone charm and even a sense of pride in its shabbiness.

Ricardo and Josephina sat on one of the plush brown cowhide couches looking about at the people coming and going. They were waiting for Graciano to appear. He had said he would meet them there, and the desk clerk told them he had arrived, but was not in his room.
"Will you be happy to see him again?" Ricardo asked.
"You are my lover now," she answered obliquely. "He is Violet's father. I will always care about him. We have to tell him what has happened. I am most worried about that."
"That he would think us reckless?" Ricardo asked.
"Worse," Josephina said. "He would think us selfish."
"Yes," Ricardo replied. "And that we were. How I wish we could turn back time."
"And Graciano would laugh and sneer at such a futile way of thinking," Josephina said. "He would be focused on the future, now that done is done. He would think it not a time for self pity."

Ricardo had never met the man. But he knew of his renown as a freedom fighter. People would boast of having fought with him, or of knowing someone who was at his side at one coup or another. He was legendary for insisting he was only human, but everyone considered him as though a god. A redeemer.

THE CONFESSION

Graciano was mostly expressionless when he saw them. But he gave Josephina a warm hug sensing her sadness. And he hugged Ricardo as well, as though they were old friends. He led them up the stairs to his room.

The bed was cluttered with newspapers, maps, and written notes. He scooped them up and set them aside. Not as a courtesy so much, but as though it would be better for them not to know too much about his current enterprises. It was a familiar scene to Josephina. Graciano's secrets; his dealings in the shadowy world of smuggled weapons. They sat down around a small table.
"I have found The Sweet Jane," he said flatly. "It originated in Venezuela. It had been bought there, or perhaps pirated off the coast."
"How did you find this out?" Josephina asked.
"I have my ways," he replied. "And now I need to know just what the fuck has happened." Josephina grimaced and wrung her hands.
"Graciano, I am so sorry. So sorry."
"Is she dead?" Graciano asked.
"We are not sure," Ricardo answered. "We are hoping she is here somewhere in this city."
"Out with it then," Graciano said. "I need to know everything that has transpired. Everything."
"You will hate me," Josephina sobbed.
"I will never hate you," Graciano replied. "Tell me now. Time is precious when a life is in jeopardy." Josephina began blurting out the story amidst sobs. The silly idea. To find a way to live a better life by making a deal. It was mostly wine talking at the time, but then it got serious. Graciano reached across the table and took her hand.
"Josephina. You are talking in circles, yet telling me little."
"I have a friend in South Africa," Ricardo said. "He told me he could get some diamonds to us, and we could take them north and make a lot of money. He had his own profit figured in. All we had to do was to receive the stones, and take them to the next place. Across the border."
"To the states?" Graciano said. Ricardo nodded.
"The plan was to cross the Rio in Texas. The border patrol there is not looking for stones. They are busy with drug traffic, and coyotes moving illegals."
"Laredo?" Graciano asked.
"How did you know?"
"Don't ask," Graciano replied. "And Violet? How did she play in?"
"She wanted to be the liaison," Josephina answered. "She wanted to be the one to meet with the intermediaries. She convinced us she could do it." Graciano broke into a sudden burst of laughter that took Ricardo and Josephina by surprise.
"Oh, Violet!" he laughed. "She always had some romance with danger, even as a little girl."
"She grew to be like you, Graciano," Josephina said. Graciano nodded.
"Yes, perhaps. But for the wrong reasons. I must shoulder some of this blame. I was not there to guide her to the things that really matter. To teach her what it is that is worth fighting for." Josephina began to cry again.
"I am so sorry Graciano. I have let you down."
"Dry your eyes Josephina. What we must do is focus now. When all is said and done, there will be time for laughing or crying perhaps. But now, we must act to find Violet, or if she is dead, exact revenge."

NUMBERS

In the beach house, Balthazaar and Violet sat on the floor, hands tied behind their backs and gagged with adhesive tape. Both were wide-eyed with fear. They glanced furtively at one another and at the men pacing the room. Sometimes, the men screamed at them, sometimes they talked quietly among themselves.

A man they called Yosue put his face down and stared at Violet. His lips barely moved.
"Such pretty eyes," he said quietly. "Where are the stones?" Violet shook her head from side to side and whined in anguish. There was no way to say anything. There was no way to move her lips. His breath smelled like licorice. Jaibar moved over her and pulled the tape away as Yosue stepped back. He cupped her face softly in his hands.
"You don't have to die," he whispered. Violet pleaded with her eyes.
"The stones are safe," she said weakly. Jaibar caressed her, running his fingers through her hair.
"Good," he whispered. "So, they are safe. It's simple isn't it, Violet? When you tell the truth, your troubles melt away. So, now we need to go get them."
"I don't remember the number," Violet cried.
"What number?" Jaibar asked, still caressing her bruised face.
"It's...something...5," Violet said, her head beginning to spin.
"Something 5?" Jaibar repeated, standing up and looking at her.

Adan, who had stood back watching, approached Balthazaar.
"Perhaps you can help her remember?" he said, through gritted teeth.
"I don't know about the number," Balthazaar stammered.
"Maybe it is a number you knew once, but have forgotten?" Adan said, as he turned to look at Jaibar. "How many times have I paced the house, Jaibar, looking for the keys to my Maserati?"
"Too many times," Jaibar answered. Adan stared into Balthazaar's eyes.
"But, somehow, I always find my keys, and am on my way. So, what is the number, Balthazaar?"

Balthazaar shook his head. He glanced to Violet. He knew nothing of a number. Adan looked at his watch.
"It's getting late." He put his hands on Balthazaar's shoulders. He smiled kindly down at him. "Balthazaar, my friend. It is so easy. It is just a number. I forget things all the time myself. But in the urgency of the moment, I miraculously remember. So now, here is the urgency. The urgency you find yourself in." He pulled a knife from his pocket, and opened it. He ran his thumb across the blade. "One is about to have his balls cut off, and there is no anesthesia. The blood pools onto the floor. One gets faint. And the last thing one sees is his lover being force-fed warm testicles. In an urgent moment such as that, one remembers things long forgotten." Adan turned to Yosue and Jaibar. "Pull his pants down."
"It's three!" Violet screamed frantically. "The number is three!"

to be continued.....

Chapter Three concludes.....

CONVERGENCE

Balthazaar sat in a cafe in the shopping district of Vera Cruz sipping a coffee by the window. He stared idly out at the street as he played the 'what went wrong' game over in his mind. Ricardo trusted his friend in Africa who had offered up the stones and arranged for their transport. But the package probably traded hands along its route to the gulf coast. The smuggling of most things occurs in a pony express of relay runners. Stone runners, gun runners, drug runners, people runners. Somewhere along the way the stones fell into the hands of some ruthless cut-throats bent on making off with the money and the stones.

Graciano strolled idly down the Avenida las Vistas, a gradual downhill to the harbor and the sea. He would nose around. Maybe rent a boat himself. The Sweet Jane would not likely be found in the busy harbor among the other boats, but perhaps anchored somewhere just north or south. He had played this kind of chess with enemies before. Thinking about the kind of move they might likely make, developing counter strategies.

Ricardo and Josephina cruised slowly into the ramshackle outskirts of Vera Cruz. Joesphina peered out at the local folks walking along the streets as though by some miracle she might suddenly see Violet walking along among them. She traced a city map on her lap with her finger, steering Balthazaar to downtown Vera Cruz and to the hotel where Graciano said he was staying.

FEAR AND TREMBLING

Violet felt quite timid to step out onto the streets of Vera Cruz. She paused several times to glance at her reflection in the store windows, as though to assure herself she didn't look like who she was - that she looked local and belonged here. She stopped at a news stand and bought a local paper and a magazine, then turned the corner. The bank was two blocks down.

At the officer's desk at the Banco de Mexico the man had few questions. She wanted a small lock box. The smallest they had. He gave her a page to fill out and she paid a small deposit and then followed him into a room, three walls of which were lined with boxes arranged according to size. He turned a key in a lock box 707 and then handed her a personal key to open the second lock. As he left he pointed to several doors to private booths in which one could do their business. She carried her box into one of the small rooms and closed the door behind her. She turned the deadlock on the door and felt a sudden sense of relief. She felt safe, if only for a few moments. She was locked in a small windowless room at the back of the vault of a bank. Her knees felt weak as she sat down before the small table and set the box in front of her. She sat there for a few moments feeling the toll of the past few days on her body. She felt suddenly very tired. She wondered where Balthazaar could possibly be, and her mother Josephina, and Ricardo. Are they frantic? Do they have any idea of her whereabouts? She thought about her father, but he was so far away in Panama and probably doesn't even know what trouble she had brought on herself. It was probably better that way. She would not know how to tell him. It would be so humiliating. He was such a man of honor and integrity. A freedom fighter. And she had let him down.

She hurriedly opened the box. The stones clattered like loaded dice as she tossed them in. Her life seemed a crap shoot in a dark alley. Her soul but a stack of chips laid out on a table on some number against the odds. A shudder ran through her. Her hands trembled as she closed the box. She left the security of the bank and walked quickly back to Juan and Cindy's place feeling her vulnerability once again. Glancing over her shoulder.

DANZON

Balthazaar walked down the street in the approaching darkness feeling lured by some distant music and laughter down on the plaza. He followed those sounds wanting to drown his loneliness amidst the gathering crowd. In the middle of the ancient brick plaza stood a covered stage of sorts. An old gazebo of weathered wood and peeling white paint. A small band was playing an infectious music made for dancing. A Danzone. And people were dancing as though there were no cares. Little children too. He laughed almost hysterically with the joyousness of the moment. A relief from the heaviness of his heart. He strolled along the sidewalk around the large square. Those lucky enough to live in one of the old buildings leaned out their windows waving, clapping, talking to one another, or simply watching the nightly show from their perch. Vendors and peddlers were strewn about along the sidewalk. One could find most anything there. There were ashtrays of low-fired red clay embedded with pieces of abalone shell pressed in. Stuffed iguanas in various poses. Coral necklaces and ear danglers. Shark's teeth and endless sea shells. The sea's bounty was at the heart of Vera Cruz. The danzon was the endless celebration of the harvest. He paused amidst the crowd to watch the dancers.

For many of the young lovers, the danzon was a kind of foreplay for what they might later do. The rhythm of the music itself seemed about passionate fucking. It provoked sensual movements. It was up close and personal. It was all in the hips. Balthazaar smiled as he saw a young girl stomp away from a boy who was too amorous in groping her ass. The boy was following her through the crowd wanting to undress her perhaps in the alley. He looked around at those who gathered to watch the dancers and hear the relentless music. His eyes suddenly did a double take at three people on the opposite side of the plaza. A man and two women. Of the two women there was one his eyes got stuck on. She didn't look like Violet, but there was something in the way she stood. Even the way she turned her head here and there to look around. Her shoulders. Her hips. He knew those shoulders. He knew those hips. He knew those ways she turned her head. His heart began to pound. He hurried through the crowd angering more than one with his rude manner on such a night.

end of chapter Three.....stay tuned.

EVIDENCE OF VIOLET

CHAPTER ONE


THE LETTER....

I suppose the story might just as well begin with the letter from Balthazaar that Riccardo received. It had been mysteriously delivered in the night. It was confusing, and shed little light on what had happened before. But, the envelope and contents, written undoubtedly in Balthazaar's hand, established that he was alive.
The date on the letter is some 10 days old. He was alive then. Perhaps he is still alive. Perhaps she is alive as well.



FROM BALTHAZAAR

08, July

"I squat somewhere in the clutter of crumpled papers on the floor in this room somewhere in the back of my mind. There are so many rooms now. I get lost wandering around day after day. I stumble for hours along the dimly lit corridors. Opening and closing doors of chequered history. There is evidence of Violet. I haven't found her yet, but there are signs that she has been here. In this room of her notes. I can't make sense of them. But she wrote them for some reason.

"It is a day in July. I am somewhere near the coast. The dirtiness of the window through which I stare deepens the dreariness of the street below. It is dark and empty like me. Down by the corner market, a pink neon angel flickers and falters as though threatening to die. It was there, beneath that sign, I saw a vision of her so real as to cause me to run frantically down the stairs. The street was empty. She must have been a ghost. A disappearing shadow formed only by my longing to find her. I think I am getting close.
I leave it to you to speculate as to my whereabouts and the direction of my search. Such things I must not mention here, for fear of this letter's possible interception. But we have known each other since childhood. Long enough for each to understand what the other might be thinking. Remember the many games we played? Do you?
- Balthazaar

THE PUZZLE

This letter bore no address. No indication of origin or destination. Nor was the envelope postmarked. It was marked only with the letter 'R' in its center. Riccardo's first initial. It was folded twice and smudged by dirty hands. Held perhaps by many. Passed from pocket to pocket. Delivered anonymously in the night with a quick knocking on the door. The sound of the brass plate on the mail slot swinging open and snapping to a close. The distant crowing of a rooster tells Riccardo the day is on its way. The house was cold. He drew his robe tighter around his waist as he sat down at his desk and stared at the letter lying there. Balthazaar was alive. Perhaps Violet, too. There has been no word of her since her disappearance. Her family, having lost hope, buried a coffin full of flowers on a hillside and set a stone in her memory. It is chiseled crudely and says only, "Violet?" But now, this letter. Riccardo know Balthazaar well, and if he thinks he is onto something, he is probably right. He took the map from the drawer and unfolded it once again. He wondered how many times his fingers traced Balthazaar's possible route trying to second-guess the choices he might have made at each turning point.

SPECULATION

Ten days travel in any direction from where Riccardo sat describes a very big circle on the map. Non-stop by auto would take you to distant places. But he thought Balthazaar was likely closer than that. Knowing Balthazaar, and the way they had operated in the past, the letter made its way to him along some circuitous route, passed off to a friend and passed off again, and maybe again, in order to arrive at his house. There may have been a stop or two. A day or two. Two people holed up in a hotel and fucking in the middle of the deal. And the letter changed hands. Someone stopped to visit a friend and stayed for dinner. And the letter changed hands. And then, it finally gets to him in the middle of the night as though carried by a ghost. It would have gone something like that. That is Balthazaar's way of doing things. "
This draws a smaller circle," Riccardo thought to himself. If he took Balthazaar at his word, he was likely somewhere along the coast. His eyes kept leading his mind along a curving line that extended from Laguna Madera south to the Gulf of Compeche. Something vague told him Balthazaar was down along in there somewhere. And, if so, he had reason to believe Violet is also there. He found himself pacing. The very notion they are still alive. The idea of going south to find them. He picked the letter up and continued the restless walk between the wall and the window and back again.
"Remember the games we played?" Balthazaar had written..
"Which games, Balthazaar?" he said aloud. He must pack a bag. And he must talk to Josephina. He walked slowly down the alley and thought about the games he used to play with his little cousin. Balthazaar was much younger than him. He always had seen Riccrdo as some kind of hero. "Still does," he supposed. "
It is clear he wants me to find him." He kicked open the gate to Josephina's back door. He needed her now more than anything. She always knew what he wanted, be it breakfast, or relief from late night obsessions. Should he tell her about the letter? Why bother to wonder? She will look at his face and say,
"What's going on?" in a flash. There have been times she's even guessed his story long before he could muster to tell it. Violet was...or maybe still is...her daughter. And he was Josephina's lover. He will tell her after breakfast.


JOSEPHINA

They embraced in the doorway. She was in a long and well-wrinkled white cotton nightgown and she smelled like a woman just waking up. Any smell of Josephina never failed to arouse him. But even as his hands slid down her back and fanned out over her hips she was onto him.
"What is it now?" she asked, nuzzling her sleepy-eyed face beneath his chin. He lost himself in her thick dark hair wishing things could just be simple for awhile. And in his long sigh, he whispered out these words.
"Balthazaar is alive. And maybe Violet too." He tightened his grip around her, expecting her to faint. She didn't. Just some several abrupt sobs making her face wet against his neck and her fingernails digging into his shoulders. And then she pulled away.

The wooden tabletop was embellished with colorful burnt out hardened wax puddles of by-gone candles. They seemed a subtle history of evenings he had spent there with her, drinking wine and whispering. He sat and looked at her. She had her back to him, cracking eggs into a bowl. Whipping them. Pouring them into a black iron skillet. He slid her gown off her ample body, in his mind. Funny how such thoughts can erupt like that.
"How can you say such a thing?" she said, turning to look at him. He pulled the papers from his pocket.
"I got a letter. It is from Balthazaar." And this is where she fainted. By the stove.

She was only out a few seconds. By the time he jumped to grab her there on the floor, she was coming around. He helped her up and to a chair.
"Its true Josephina," he said, kneeling in front of her and trying to heal her pain -filled face somehow with his hands.
"Don't leave me now." she said.
"Read the letter, Josephina. Pack your bags. I will finish the souffle. "

THE DEPARTURE

They were on the road by noon. They would make it up the mountains if they drove through the night. They would spend some time there and rest. Get some food. Fuck. Sleep. Get up in the morning and mark our course out on the map. Move efficiently south through each little town and harbor. It is an art to pull into a town and gather information without arousing suspicion. One cannot go about holding up photos. Have you seen this man? This woman? You are seen as a hunter of people. And there are many in the south who are in hiding. The news of your inquiries will precede you into the next town and the next. You will get nowhere. He and Josephina would travel as tourists. Lovers on a holiday who have stolen away from some impossible reality back north. In essence, just two more people on the lam and hiding. Seen as such, they could perhaps find people here and there who would take them into their confidence. Over tequila perhaps a story slips out. Josephina is adept at this. Loosening the tongues of men so as to find out what she wants to know without asking the question.

THE WAY THINGS WENT DOWN

It was unusual. The way Josephina and Ricardo had hooked up back some time ago. He and Balthazaar had been like brothers since childhood. They were born on the same day of the month of the same year. But Riccardo was seven years was 7 years his elder. And now here they were. Riccardo, with a woman some 10 years older than he, and Balthazaar with her daughter. Or at least he was, until something went wrong and they are lost now from one another.

It was to have been a simple deal. Riccardo had made the arrangements. Balthazaar and Violet would make the exchange. A few precious stones he was middling up out of Africa to a collector whose name Riccardo dare not say aloud. Enough American dollars for all of them to live quite easily for some time. The deal was to go down on a charter boat amidst partying and pleasure fishing. Violet, while young, was as alluring as her mother. And she is a seamstress, as well. It would be relatively easy for her to conceal the stones in the hems of her clothing. And Balthazaar was renowned for his calm collected demeanor. He was at his best when backed against the wall.

So what went wrong? It's all Riccardo thought about as they drove southeast and into the night. Josephina curled up on the back seat and fell asleep. He headed the car up into the mountains. They should at least make La Coma by dawn, if the roads were not too rough. They might spend a day or two there poking around.

THE SLEEPING PRINCESS

They made it up the dark and winding road that ran countless zig-zags up the western slopes of the Sierra Madre Oriental range, and arrived in La Coma in the state of Tamaulipas just before dawn. On up above the small town, the snow-capped peaks seemed outlined in the first red glow of the sun just coming up on the other side.
Josephina pointed up to toward it.
"Look, Ricardo, she lies there blushing," she said. He followed her gaze up the mountainside. The profile of the mountain top was said to resemble that of a woman reclining. Locals called her La Mujer Dormida, the 'sleeping woman', or sometimes,'the sleeping princess'. In ancient Aztec lore the formation had been known as Iztaccihuati; named after a legendary Aztec princess. For many years mixed blood Mestizos of the region have carried the legend forward even to this day. Josephina told him some Aztec blood courses through her, making her a Mestizo. And she recounted to him the ancient tragic love story of the princess and her warrior lover, Popocatepeti, numerous times.
"Popocatepeti was one of her father's warriors," she said. "She was led to believe her lover had died in war and so she then died of grief, not knowing it was a lie. When Popocatepeti returned from war, he was stricken with grief. He buried his princess, and the gods covered her with a white blanket of snow." She pointed to a volcano just north of The Sleeping Princess. "And there Popocatetepi is today. And now and then his anguish and rage still spills forth as molten red tears of lava."

They spent what little was left of the night at El Mirador, a small inn whose rooms were above a cantina by the same name. Hours later, they awoke to see how the sun had risen and how its rays now radiated away from The Sleeping Princess with a light so blinding one could not stare at her for long.

THE AIR

The morning air in the cantina was a mouth-watering mix of chile peppers roasting, chorizo in the skillets, and the aromatic fragrance of goat's head soup simmering in a wine based broth. A handful of locals sat at a long wooden table engaged in animated noisy conversation as a dark and lovely young girl replenished their coffee cups. A young couple from the states sat at a table by the window, their backpacks leaned up against the wall nearby. Outsiders came through La Coma for off-the- beaten-path kinds of experiences. Trails leading up the mountainside toward The Sleeping Princess ridge were popular with rugged hikers. There were waterfalls and an icy mountain lake along the way. And from atop the ridge the view to the other side was panoramic as the mountains descended into foothills that tumbled on down eventually to the shores of the Gulf of Mexico not quite visible some 200 miles away in the distance. And if one was particularly lucky one might glimpse an increasingly rare Andean condor gracefully circling and gliding as it rode a rising column of thermal updraft.

Josephina chattered with the cook in her native tongue. It had something to do with the soup. Did they remove the brain and prepare it separately, or leave it cooking in the skull? The brain was her favorite part. Josephina told her that her daughter Violet likes to come up to these mountains sometimes.
"Violet?" the woman repeated, with a nod. "Si, Violet. Very pretty, no?"
"Si," Josephina smiled.
Over breakfast, Josephina told Riccardo that the cook remembered Violet passing through a few weeks ago.
"And was Balthazaar with her?" he asked.
"I was afraid to ask for fear she might think we were looking for them," Josephina replied.
"Most likely they would have still been together at this point," Riccardo speculated. "If they somehow got separated, I think it would have been more likely over along the coast. In Tampico, maybe. Or somewhere along the way from there to Veracruz."
"How far away is Tampico?" Josephina asked.
"It shouldn't be too bad a drive. We are maybe thirty minutes away from the pass up and over to the east side of the mountains. It's a long downhill from there all the way to the coast. Maybe six or seven hours."
"Shall we go then?" Josephina asked.
"In a little while. First lets go back to our room and rest a bit more."
"Rest, Ricardo?" she smiled slyly.
"Yes. A little nap," he said. She laughed.
"Ricardo. Do you think I don't know what it is you are wanting?" He laughed in response. She stood and reached out her hand. "Come my little boy. I will give you what you need."

CHAPTER TWO

THE WAY STONES FEEL

Violet crossed her legs and leaned back, watching the men on the boat moving about and eying her. She sipped her drink, pretending not to notice their constant glances. At her legs. At her breasts. Her hair, a shaggy sun-bleached unbrushed mop. Her skin the color of wet sand. Her lips, a parched and cracked reddish brown. She was skinny almost to an anorexic fault. She gazed out at the sea in a dreamy way, but all the while knowing they all wanted to fuck her. She was in the company of dangerous men. But she had a good grip on it. Men and their dicks are no match for her.

In her hand bag were the essentials. Lipstick, a couple of condoms, a passport, a chrome-plated revolver, and an envelope full of money. She was ready to pull any of these from her purse, whatever the situation required. Balthazaar had thought of everything. Still her pulse was rapid. The adrenaline of knowing this is the real deal.

He sat down next to her.
"A sweet air mixed with salt, eh?" he said, inhaling the sea air. Violet turned to look at his pretentious face.
"Do you have something for me, or not?" she said, in a seductive voice. He placed a hand lightly on her knee and began to slide it up under her dress. She brushed it aside. "I am talking about business here, not pleasure."
"You drive a hard bargain, Miss....?"
"Miss Nobody to you." she said boldly, her hand already dipping into her purse for better or worse.
"Yes, of course, I am a man of my word." he said, fumbling in his pocket. Violet's fingers curled around the gun in her purse as she watched him. He produced a small cloth bag and emptied it into his palm. "Is this what you are looking for, perhaps?" The snarl on his lips as he said it, made her want to kill him on the spot. Instead, she just nodded. She let go of the gun and fumbled for the envelope of cash He poured the stones into her slender hand. She closed her fingers around them. She handed him the envelope. Now, it was just a matter of getting home alive.

DONE AND UNDONE

Violet sat on her berth below deck with the door locked, and patiently sewed the stones one at a time into her clothing. Three small ones were stitched meticulously into the hem of her skirt. One more into the waistband. One in each cuff of her jacket. She placed the remaining four larger stones into plastic capsules and inserted them into her rectum. She then laid back across the bed with an exhausted sense of accomplishment.
These stones, if moved as planned, would create a small fortune. She and Balthazaar could live care free. Her mother too, and Ricardo. In her sleep she felt as though a cold hand was moving over her body. It felt pleasant at first, but then more insistent. Squeezing. Tugging at her. She awoke abruptly to find a man on top of her, pulling down his pants. She screamed and yanked his thick and greasy hair with both hands. His fist came up, it was the last thing she remembered.

THE PREGNANT PAUSE

Balthazaar paced nervously around the motel room smoking cigarettes. He stopped now and then at the window to peer down onto the streets of Tampico.
"Something has gone wrong," he thought to himself. "She should have been back hours ago." He picked up his binoculars and looked out to the docks where he had watched her board the boat.

From his room at the old hotel he had watched the several men talking to her on the pier. They appeared to be cordial and polite. Kissing her hand in greeting - gesturing grandly to their boat where the deal would go down. But, in this trade, it is the middle-men you have to worry about. Between the source of any high dollar commodity and its destination they are the necessary ones who move the item, be it diamonds, guns, drugs, women, or children. And they can be cut-throat and hungry and always looking for ways to play both sides. Coyotes in tailored suits can never be taken for granted. There was a sense of panic as he had watched them help her onto the boat. They would be gone for several hours.

He had watched the boat grow smaller and smaller out there on the waters of the gulf. He had watched until he couldn't see them anymore. He pulled a chair up next to the window and lit a cigarette, looking nervously at his watch. He thought about that day when the Americans in their space ship had circled around and disappeared on the dark side of the moon. There was no communication after that, and the world had held its breath. There was no turning back now. And Violet had disappeared somewhere out there on the dark side of the moon. He picked up his binoculars and scanned along the horizon of the empty sea.

THE VERY IDEA

Balthazaar thought back about that night when they had all sat around Josephina's table mapping out the plan. He and Violet had fantasized the notion of pulling off a deal of some kind. It was a joke at first, over wine. How to make a quick buck. A one time move that would make life easy. Josephina was talking about a major jade deposit that had been discovered in central South America, and how it quickly disappeared when an earthquake had created a lake in the valley beneath which the jade vein had been found. It was said to be a lost fortune. They had so many laughs imagining ways to be rich. Violet thought they should get a small printing outfit and figure out how to counterfeit money. But, it was Ricardo who took it all to another place.

Ricardo had a very organized mind. He was like an engineer, in ways. So he began to map out an idea. A plan. The whole mood of the conversation got more serious when he mentioned a contact he had in South Africa. An old friend from school days. His friend had been sent down there to consult with a firm that was specializing in precious metals and stones.
"So basically, my friend realized he might find his own niche in working with these people," Ricardo said. "To help them move such materials to the marketplace most effectively. He was keen on marketing. He knew how to make them more money. After awhile, he was doing quite well. In fact, over liquor one night he told me he had figured out ways to move some diamonds himself, independent of this firm he worked for.
"Are you still in touch with your friend?" Balthazaar remembered asking him. Ricardo nodded. They had all looked back and forth at each other that night. And they had agreed that it just might be possible to do it. It didn't seem all that scary at the time. But that was then, and this is now.

GOING SOUTH

Balthazaar drove away from Tampico knowing something was wrong. Violet had not returned as planned. He cursed himself for allowing her to board that boat. Ricardo had thought she would be perfect for the job. He had agreed. They all had agreed. Violet could hypnotize men with a simple glance.

He headed south along the coast stopping at one port after another looking for that boat she had left on. He felt increasingly desperate. He stopped to rest in Tuxpan. At a bar he sat nursing beers. His mind was overflowing with both the memories of his love, and the questions of where she was now. It is maddening when things go wrong and you don't know why. A young man sat down next to him. A mestizo. He said his name was Pablo, but you never know who anyone really is in places such as this. He was on the road, he said. Headed north.
"Would you do me this favor?" Balthazaar asked. "I need to send a dear friend a message. Are you going through Cerro Azul by any chance?"
The young man shrugged.
"I hadn't planned to, but I could, I suppose." Balthazaar smiled.
"Where are you headed?" he asked the adventurous boy.
"America," he replied with a big toothy grin. Balthazaar smiled again.
"It's possible, if you know the right people. I have a friend in Cerro Azul. Her name is Dona Ana Villalobos. If you would give my message to her, she would know what to do with it - where it must go next. And she would know who might help you with where you want to go."

Balthazaar sat there at the bar and penned his note to Ricardo.

From Balthazaar...

08, July

"I squat somewhere in the clutter of crumpled papers on the floor in this room somewhere in the back of my mind....."

REALITY CHECK

Violet opened her eyes to a blurry stream of light pouring in from a window high above. She was captured for a moment by the particles of dust floating about in those rays like gnats on a sticky summer day. Her second thought was,
"Where am I?" She looked around quite confused at the strangeness she had awakened to. She wondered if she was still dreaming. It was so barren. Some place of abandonment. Some remnant of a bygone factory cold and dead. She fell back to the floor and passed out again.

When she woke up again, it was the same as before. Except more real. She was naked on the floor. A few feet away her clothes sat in a heap. She could tell by their tattered condition that the diamonds were gone. She pushed herself up on one elbow, and felt an overwhelming pain throughout her body. She fell back and passed out again. Her dreams were of many men between her legs. Dicking her. Hurting her. Holding her down. She awoke in a sweat and sat painfully up. Her body was bruised. Her arms were like lead. Her skin here and there encrusted with the dried scum of men getting off. She brushed it off feeling both disgust and some sense of strange shame come over her. There were empty needles on the floor. She counted them mechanically, wondering how many had raped her. Laying back down she ran her hand over her buttocks and felt for the capsules with her finger. She could feel two capsules. The other two, she would have to shit out if she lived to be that lucky. She passed out again.

ESCAPE TO WHAT?

Violet pulled herself slowly up from the concrete floor and nervously dressed, her body wracked with pain. The numerous reddish purple blotches on the inside of her arms told her she had been shot up repeatedly with who knows what, and who knows over how many days? Her sudden awareness of her own coherence sent chills throughout her body. They could return at any time. She needed to get out. She descended the dark stairs cautiously and still hugging her clothes about her body. she stopped to listen for any sounds every few steps, and peered down over the railing. She could see a glass door one story below to the world outside. And where was she exactly? She had no idea.

She stood to one side of the glass door taking timid peeks up and down the street and sidewalk. It all seemed deadly quiet. She opened the door and stepped out. The building was on a corner in a shoddy neighborhood. The sidewalks were crumbling and overgrown here and there with weeds. She looked up at the street sign noting the address, and walked hurriedly down the street toward a sign on the next block hanging out over the sidewalk. Supermercado Veracruz. It was a grocery store, and she was in Veracruz. She walked slowly into the store and up to a matronly woman behind the cash register. "Could I please use your phone? I need to report a crime. I need to call the police." The woman's eyes got big as she took in Violet's ragged appearance, her matted hair, and the dark and purple bruise on one side of her face. She pushed the phone across the counter and walked quickly to the back of the store in fear for her own safety. She went into a back room and locked the door behind her.

Violet dialed the police. "I want to report a crime in progress. I just saw a woman being dragged into a building by several men. She was screaming for help. And now, I can hear screaming inside the building. They must be beating her up or raping her......Yes. There were three men. Please send someone...Hurry....What?...The building on the corner of Porto Carrero and Remes...Yes, that's right.....Please hurry!" Violet hung up and walked quickly to the back of the store. She knocked loudly on the locked door. "Please tell no one you saw me. Do not remember what I look like!"
"Ok, ok," The woman said from the other side. "Please go away. Hurry." Violet walked back up the aisle picking up whatever food she could stuff into her jacket pockets. She stopped at the cutlery display and picked up a small butcher knife and stuck it into the waistband of her dress, and covered it with her jacket. She could hear sirens in the distance getting louder. She left the store and hurried down the alley behind it.

She knew the police would find no one there upon arriving at the building. But, they would see the blood on the floor in the corner, and the empty needles, and things the men had dumped out of her purse. That would be enough to make the newspapers, and perhaps the tv news. Maybe Balthazaar would learn of this and know she had been there. Maybe he would find her. For the time being she needed to hide and to eat something. She was feeling suddenly weak. She stepped in through the backdoor of an apartment building and collapsed against the wall in the foyer there at the foot of the stairs.

CONTEMPLATIONS

Josephina and Ricardo walked the beach along Tampico holding hands.
"Do you think Balthazaar was here, Ricardo?" Josephina said.
"Yes, of course," he replied. "We had agreed the deal would go down here. He gazed out at the sea. "It would have taken place out there beyond the bay. Violet would have returned with the stones. But she didn't."
"I feel I should try to call Graciano and tell him," Josephina said.
"What could you tell him? That Violet isn't dead? We don't know that. Balthazaar thinks she isn't, but he is in love with her. Love makes one hope beyond reason, sometimes."
"But Graciano is her father, Ricardo. Do you not think he should know that perhaps there is some hope?"
"And what would you tell him?" Ricardo replied. "That we were trying to smuggle diamonds and something went wrong?"
"If necessary, yes," Josephina said. "Do you not remember he was foremost in the effort to supply the Sandinistas in Nicaragua with guns? Graciano is no stranger to the black market."
"Yes, of course," Ricardo answered. "But that was for a cause. Our screwed up plan was about selfish greed." Josphina turned to Ricardo and took his hands in hers.
"Ricardo. Graciano loves his daughter more than life itself. As do I. He simply must know. Yes, our selfishness has taken us to this place now. But, I know him. Where Violet's happiness is concerned, he would overlook all of that, and only want her back."
"Call him, then," Ricardo said, his eyes filling with tears. "I can't believe we have fucked this up. I am so sorry."
"We are all running scared, my love," Josephina said, caressing his face. "But, there is no time to wallow in our regrets. There is a chance Violet is alive. We must find her. It is the only redemption we can hope for." They made their way slowly back up the beach toward the hotel.
Ricardo thought back on Balthazaar's letter. 'Remember the games we played?' that was what he wrote.
"Balthazaar and I used to play a mind game," he said to Josephina. "It was a silly game we called "What Went Wrong?"
"Tell me," Josephina replied.
"One would describe a predicament. Like, I was supposed to have scrambled eggs for breakfast, but instead got oatmeal. What went wrong? The other would have to figure out why."
"Because the fox ate the chickens? Because the hens decided to eat their own eggs? Because you were a bad boy, and didn't deserve eggs?" It went like that. We would keep score of how many guesses it would take to come up with the right answer."
"What other questions do you remember?" Josephina asked.
"Umm, I don't know. It was long ago. Oh, I remember another. A little boy got out of bed one morning to go to school. He went to put on his shoes but could only find one. I thought I would get Balthazaar on this one, but he got it on the first guess."
"What was his answer?" Josephina asked.
"The little boy, being sleepy, forgot he only had one leg."

POZA RICO AND POINTS BEYOND

One thing anyone passing through the coastal town of Poza Rico just north of Veracruz knows, is that the air there is one you will long remember. Here, the sea breezes blow in from the gulf and mix and blend with the smoke billowing up from the tall brick chimneys of the bean factories along the hillside. The salty air of Poza Rico is perfumed with vanilla. One can taste it in one's mouth in the mists of early morning. Balthazaar stood beside his car and stretched. He stared out at the sea tinted red by a glowing sun just rising. He glanced over to the harbor where boats bobbed lazily in the sloshing of the tide.

He strolled down to the rows of wooden piers and studied the boats of many kinds and colors anchored there. It was Sweet Jane he was looking for. That was the name of the small yacht into which Violet had disappeared back in Tampico three days ago. He walked toward a small and weathered wooden shanty where the harbor master's boat was moored.

A man sat behind a desk chewing on the soggy stub of a cigar, and leafing through a newspaper. He glanced up over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles as Balthazaar stepped in.
"Hello," Balthazaar smiled. "I was to meet a party here in Poza Rico, but don't know if I have arrived too early or too late since I don't see their boat anywhere in the harbor."
"What was the name of your party?" the harbor master asked.
"Just several business associates, really," Balthazaar answered. "We were to go fishing together, and I was planning to meet them here. They had left Tampico several days ago on a yacht by the name of Sweet Jane." The harbor master set his newspaper aside and opened up his log book. He ran his finger studiously down several hand written pages.
"Ah, here we are," he said. "The Sweet Jane. I'm afraid you are a bit late, my friend. The Sweet Jane was logged in the day before yesterday at 11 am, and then logged out again at 2:15pm that same day."
"Did you board the ship, by any chance?" Balthazaar asked.
"There was no need to," the man replied. "Their papers were in order. They were stopping to pick up provisions and fuel, and were then on their way."
"Well," Balthazaar said. "I guess I missed the boat then. Was there a woman in the party?"
"Not that I recall. Just three men. Why do you ask?"
"I was just wondering. A friend of mine had told me that she might come along on the trip, but she wasn't sure. I guess she decided against it." The man shrugged. Balthazaar turned to leave. "And you say they were heading further south?" He said, looking back. The harbor master nodded.
"Most likely down around Veracruz. The fishing is good there this time of year. You might catch up with them there perhaps."
"Yes," Balthazaar replied. "Perhaps, they are waiting for me there."

Balthazaar sat in a small cafe near the water's edge. He sipped a cup of coffee while thinking about his options. He wondered where Josephina and Ricardo might be, and what they might be thinking. He guessed by now they were on the road. Maybe already in Tampico looking for him. He briefly contemplated driving back up that way to find them. But some sense of urgency inside him told him that time was precious. He stared out the window at the sea.
"Where are you, baby?" He murmured to himself.
The waitress fiddled with the rabbit-ear antenna atop a small black and white television on a table in the corner trying to get the picture to stablize. The news came on. A reporter stands on some dock in Veracruz talking to some fat Port Authority representative about the heavy commercial traffic of tankers and cargo ships. He is asking important questions about the ecological impact of such traffic on the waters in the Bay of Compeche. The so-called authority sounds like a blubbering fool. A commercial comes on for some kind of local sausage. Balthazaar stared back out the window. The sky was getting dark.

THE NIGHTLY NEWS CONTINUES

"And now this curious story," the Anchorman said. "Police responded today to an anonymous call that a woman was being brutally attacked in a west-side neighborhood. We go now to Anita Gomez for a live report."
"Yes, Jose," Anita said, into the mike brushing back her hair as she stood on some street corner. "Police today are puzzled by what might have happened here in this building behind me. When police arrived, they found an empty building. But as it turns out, while searching the building they discovered evidence that some foul play may have occurred here on the second floor. The camera cuts to hypodermic needles on the floor and what appeared to be blood. Balthazaar asked the waitress to turn up the volume and walked over to the tv. The camera panned numerous items on the floor. There was a tube of lipstick. A small red hair brush. A round brass-plated compact with a broken mirror. A white silk neck scarf with pink rosebuds on it. The hair on the back of Balthazaar's neck bristled. He dropped the coffee cup he was clutching as he hurried out to the street and began running toward his car.

BASIRA, PANAMA

Graciano picked up the telephone from the table next to his bed.
"Graciano?"
"Josephina?" He answered.
"Yes, it is I," she said.
"What is wrong?" he said, sitting up abruptly. Josephina would not call him unless something bad had happened.
"It's Violet," Josephina said haltingly.
"Is she ok?" Graciano asked, as he glanced to the picture of his daughter on the dresser.
"I don't know, Graciano," Josephine answered, her voice trembling.
"What do you mean you don't know? Where is she?" Graciano said.
"I'm afraid to tell you," Josephina replied.
"Where is she, Josephina? Tell me."
"We don't know. We don't know where she is," Josephina said, beginning to cry now.
"Has she run away?" Graciano said, pacing the room.
"No....Someone took her," Josephina cried into the phone.
"When?! Where did this happen?!" Graciano asked.
"Balthazaar last saw her in Tampico, leaving on a boat with three men," Josephina answered. "We fear for her life, Graciano."
"Where are you now, Josephina?"
"We are in Tampico, and traveling south in search of Balthazaar. He is trying frantically to find her."
"On the Federal Highway?" Graciano asked. "180?"
"Yes. We think Balthazaar is further south."
"Look for me along the highway, Josephina," Graciano said. "I am leaving now." He cupped the phone between his chin and shoulder and laid a map open across the bed.
"How will we find you?" Josephina asked.
"I will go up to Vera Cruz, and wait for you at the Hotel Dilgencia," he replied, as he hung up the phone.

A DESPERATE AWAKENING

Violet opened her eyes with a frightened cry as she stared up at the face of a strange woman bent over her, two children at her side.
"Don't be afraid," the woman said softly as she wiped Violet's brow with a warm wet cloth.
"Where am I?" Violet asked weakly.
"You are safe," the woman smiled. The children, a young boy and a small girl, nodded in agreement with big toothy smiles on their faces.
"We found you downstairs," the boy said.
"You were asleep on the floor," the little girl added. Violet suddenly felt a chill come over her and pulled the blankets up around herself.
"You have been delirious," the woman said. "Withdrawal, I would think. What drugs were you doing?"
"I wasn't doing drugs," Violet answered. "I was drugged, and.." Her voice trailed off realizing she did not want to mention the rape and brutality in front of the children.
"The police have been looking around the neighborhood for you," the woman said. I didn't tell them you were here, because I was afraid for you at the time. Sometimes the police are not the police here in Veracruz."
"Did they know my name?" Violet asked.
"No," the woman answered. "But then two men came to my door saying they were detectives. They asked for 'Violet'. And they described you." Violet sat up in the bed.
"Oh god," she said. "They are looking for me. They will kill me."
"We will keep you safe," the boy said.
"Do you know about the murder in the grocery store? the little girl asked.
"What murder?" Violet said, with a frightened look.
"The poor lady who worked at the grocery store," the woman answered. "The police had already questioned her, but then some men went there later and killed her. Police are looking for them, too."
"Where are my clothes?" Violet asked, looking around the room. "I must leave."
"Child, you are in no shape to go anywhere," the woman objected.
"I have to go," Violet said. "If they find me, they will kill me. And they would likely kill you as well."
"Then let my son show you how to leave this neighborhood," the woman said. "And let me feed you some soup first. I made some chicken soup for you."

THE CHASE CONTINUES

Ricardo and Josephina drove south on Highway 180 toward the town of Poza Rico looking for any sign of Balthazaar.
"Why didn't you tell Graciano the whole story, Josephina?" Ricardo said, glancing over to her.
"I was afraid to tell him everything," Josephina answered.
"Afraid of what?" Ricardo asked.
"Afraid that if anything has happened to Violet, Graciano would hold it against me forever," she answered.
"He will have to know sooner or later," Ricardo replied.
"I know," Josephina said. "But maybe we will find Violet before then. All would be forgiven if only she is safe."

CHAPTER THREE

LABYRINTH

Violet held the young boy's hand tightly as he led her along a dark alley.
"Where are you taking me?" Violet said, slinging the burlap sack the boy's mother had given her over her shoulder.
"Somewhere safe," Diego replied. "But, it is best if we stay off the streets. Don't worry Miss Violet. We have friends. They already know we are coming. This way...," he said, pulling her through a rusty gate and into a narrow corridor between tall dark adobe walls. "Our friends will have food for you, and a bed. They will keep you from harm." They exited into another alley.
"How old are you Diego?" Violet asked, trying to keep up with his brisk pace.
"Fourteen."
"You are very brave for such a young man," Violet said.
"In Vera Cruz," he replied, "You have two choices. Be brave or be dead. It is a hard city, Miss Violet. Here, let me take your sack."
"Some day I will return, Diego, to reward you and your family for helping me," Violet said.
"Our reward is in heaven," Diego said. "We are doing the right thing, and God is watching us. That is reward enough." Tears streamed down Violet's face as she stumbled trying to keep up with him. She thought about the capsules of diamonds somewhere up her ass, and how stupid it was now, in the light of things.

THE BABY AND THE BATH WATER

Ricardo and Josephina checked into an old hotel in central Poza Rico. Josephina showed a few family photos to the woman at the front desk, as though bragging on her family.
"And this is my precious little Violet. My daughter. And here is her handsome boy friend, Balthazaar," she said. She kept glancing up at the woman behind the desk for any sign of recognition. The woman mostly smiled and nodded politely, and gave her the key to their room.

They stepped out onto the small balcony overlooking the town. The sea was only slightly discernible beyond the maze of of clay-tiled rooftops, chimneys, and swooping swallows. Josephina held onto the iron railing inhaling the air.
"We must buy some vanilla beans while we are here, Ricardo," she said.
"Yes, they would be much cheaper here. We could make a wonderful vanilla liqueur out of our local mezcal," Ricardo replied.
"The desk clerk did not seem to recognize them in the pictures I showed her," Josephina said.
"I am not surprised," Ricardo answered. "I think Balthazaar would likely have stayed closer to the water looking for Violet. I doubt Violet was here at all. I think they are both further south by now. Tomorrow, let's visit the harbor and look around before leaving."
"And so now?" Josephina said, turning to him.
"So now, I think we should take our bottle of wine and run a nice hot bath."
"Together?" Josephina smiled.
"Yes, of course," he answered. "It is more efficient if we share the water."
"I love it when you talk so ecologically, Ricardo," she laughed.
"It's the least we can do to help save the world," he smiled, taking her hand.
"Yes then, my dear Ricardo," she said with a childlike giggle, "Let us retire to the bath and save the world."

GEARING UP

Graciano packed his bags. One bag of clothing. One bag of guns. Someone had grabbed his sweet Violet. He sat by the window nursing a cigar as he honed several knives with the large stone on his knee. He squinted and bit into his cigar with his teeth as he examined the knife's edge in the sunlight. When Graciano honed a blade there were only two possible reasons. He was about to gut a fish, or perhaps a young goat. Or, he was about to lop the hand off of anyone who would lay a hand on those he loved. He grabbed his passport and the photo of his daughter off the dresser as he left his apartment and departed for Vera Cruz.

FIRE AND ICE

Balthazaar felt a certain tension in his body as he pulled into Vera Cruz. A certain pounding in his heart. A certain electricity in his spine. His hands on the steering wheel were sweaty. He wiped them on his pants. He felt close. He lit a cigarette and smoked it nervously. Pulling big deep drags to relieve the ache he felt.
"She is here," he muttered. "Somewhere in this city Violet is either hiding, or she lying in a cooler at the morgue." The thought filled him with renewed anxiousness. He felt an overwhelming exhaustion. He needed to sleep. But, he knew he couldn't sleep not knowing. He circled the central plaza and pulled in at a police station to ask for directions to the morgue. They asked him too many questions.
"Who are you looking for? What is your name? Where do you live?" He lied in each case. There was no telling who was to be trusted.
"My name is Cesar. I live in Poza Rico. I am worried about my uncle since he not written nor has he called in several months." He gave a fictitious name for his uncle hoping they would not doubt his ruse. They gave him the address for the morgue. They said there were four unidentified bodies there. Maybe one was his uncle. He drove to the morgue, his heart beating faster for fear of finding her where he did not want to find her.

THE LOW LANDS

Violet leaned back in the tub of warm water in the home of the Gomez family Diego had led her to. They were very nice. They assured her she was safe, and they would help her get wherever she needed to go next. She soaped herself between her legs and thought of Balthazaar. She wondered where he was. And her mother and Ricardo. Where are they? She felt ashamed to have screwed things up somehow. Even more ashamed to have thought it a good idea in the first place. It was so humiliating now to massage her anus and to stick her finger up inside to feel for the capsules. There were two that she could feel. She pulled her knees up and strained. Bubbles surfaced on the water and the capsules spilled out amidst a brown mucous. She felt like throwing up as she groped about to find them in the tub. She sat on the toilet crying, and waiting for the other two to come out. It was a new low to kneel there in front of the toilet, her hands down in the water reducing her feces to mush to find the other two. She clutched them in her hand as she threw up violently into the bowl and then ran a fresh tub of water. She eased her body back into the tub to try to clean herself of a kind of filth she knew her mind could never erase, and clutching the capsules in her other hand.

JOSEPHINA'S WAYS

Balthazaar and Josephina strolled through the marketplace down by the harbor, walking about through the stands and wooden boxes of ice displaying the colorful array of the morning's first catch. They stopped to look down into a box heaped with live crabs crawling in, out, and over one another, going nowhere.
"It is a picture so typical of all of life, is it not?" Ricardo mused. Josephina nodded as she glanced furtively around at the many faces bustling about buying and selling, hoping for the impossible to cross her eye. A glimpse of Balthazaar, or of Violet.

It occurred to Josephina to show a few people here a photograph of Balthazaar.
"I will simply asked them if they have seen my cousin or where he might be fishing today," she said to Ricardo.
"But you mustn't give rise to suspicion, Josephina," he replied. She smiled at him as she brushed her hair back, and unbuttoned the two top buttons of her blouse.
"I think I can handle this, Ricardo," she said. He watched her as she strolled on down the pier brushing her skirt with her hands. Adjusting herself. Getting ready to apply her inherent charm. She had her ways.

She smiled at the balding grey-haired man sitting in the sun on a bench in front of the harbor master's shanty. "May I sit down here for a few minutes?" she asked. He patted the bench next to him. "Are you waiting to go out fishing?" he asked. "No," she answered. "I am just waiting for my cousin. And for the harbor master," she added. "That would be me," he smiled, glancing down at her dark brown freckled cleavage.
"Oh, then," Josephina said, fidgeting with her purse. "Perhaps you have seen my cousin?" She pulled out a snapshot and handed it to him. "I was supposed to meet him here, but I may have got the day wrong." The man adjusted his spectacles and looked at the picture.
"Yes, yes," he said handing the photo back to her. "I have seen him. Not today, however."
"Oh," Josephina said. "I must have misunderstood him. I am terrible about writing things down."
I, myself, am trained in the art of taking notes," he answered. "Come with me inside. And let me check my logs." She stood watching as he turned back a page and then another. "Oh yes, I recall now because he was asking about The Sweet Jane just yesterday morning. Unfortunately, he too was too late. The Sweet Jane had already departed. In fact, he was as confused as you. As I remember he said he was looking for a woman who was to meet him. I presume that must have been you."
"Oh dear," Josephina said in a pretended dismay. "I have really messed up. I was so looking forward to going fishing with him."
"I am afraid he has gone on to Vera Cruz hoping to catch up with the party there," the harbor master said.
"Oh well, Josephina shrugged. "Perhaps there will be another time."

THE FRAGILE GRAPEVINE

"I think I should try to call Graciano again," Josephina said, as she and Ricardo laid on the bed in their hotel room. "I can at least call the Hotel Diligencia in Vera Cruz and see if he has registered there." Ricardo nodded agreement.
She sat on the side of the bed and picked up the phone. The clerk there said that he had, in fact, checked in. And he would ring the room. Josephina waited.
"Hello?"
"It is I, Graciano," Josephina said.
"Where are you calling from?" he asked.
"We are in Poza Rico," she answered. "Balthazaar may be in Vera Cruz by now looking for Violet or the boat she disappeared in. We will be there tomorrow."
"What else can you remember Josephina? I need something to go on."
"We have learned the name of the boat," she said. "It is a small yacht named The Sweet Jane. Perhaps you could check the harbor."
"Yes, of course I will," Graciano answered. "And perhaps I will find Balthazaar there as well."

THE DEVIL'S MANY FACES

Graciano hung up the phone and stared off to the sea. His had been a life of fighting against the forces of oppression. A struggle to aid the people, the oppressed ones, to rise up against the tyrants dotted here and there throughout Latin America and down into South America. Over time he had become more reflective about such efforts - whether anything really was accomplished. He had seen dictators overthrown only to watch those who grabbed the power then become only another version of the tyranny they had been fighting. He wondered if progress was but an illusion. A thing that rose and fell and rose and fell again like the cycle of the tides. Has there ever been a revolution wherein the devil was not still lurking and waiting for its next opportunity to corrupt and defile? He removed a Barrister-Molina semi-automatic pistol from his bag. He had taken it from the dead body of an Argentinian soldier a few years ago that he unfortunately had to kill. He slid it beneath his belt and into the back of his pants, and picked up his jacket. It was time to look around a bit.

VIOLET SEARCHES HER SOUL

Violet liked the young couple Diego had led her to. Juan and Cindy were about the same as she, and they seemed so in love. They were concerned about what had happened to her. Their small apartment was humbly furnished and small, with but one bedroom. One other small room served both as the living room and the kitchen. There was an old stuffed couch and a matching chair. A small wooden dining table. Juan and Cindy were just starting out their life together. Violet was envious. It made her want Balthazaar even more. And never had he seemed so far away as now. Her heart felt burdened by sadness and fear. Sad that she had allowed greed and degradation overcome her. Something within her had seemed to age beyond her given years. She stared up at the picture of Jesus on the wall that seemed to glow in the yellow flickering of the candles. Her lips moved ever so slightly as she whispered "I'm sorry." She looked over at Juan and Cindy working together at the kitchen counter preparing a simple meal. She ached for Balthazaar and for redemption.

Cindy helped her dye her drab brown hair to a reddish dark auburn. She sat there in the chair as Cindy tied it back in a long traditional braid. Something about this made her briefly feel some little girl still inside her. A little girl wanting to grow up, and holding on for dear life. She could not bear to tell Juan and Cindy the whole truth of what had happened. How she had put herself in harm's way by giving in to selfish longings.

Her mind shifted to the diamonds, and what to do with them now. Where to hide them. It was too hard to hold them in her hand for all they now represented. They seemed as beautiful as the stars, but it was a cold and distant loveliness. It was as though the devil was hiding inside them. She wanted to lock them away in a steel box where they could not get to her again.

CONVERGENCE

Balthazaar sat in a cafe in the shopping district of Vera Cruz sipping a coffee by the window. He stared idly out at the street as he played the 'what went wrong' game over in his mind. Ricardo trusted his friend in Africa who had offered up the stones and arranged for their transport. But the package probably traded hands along its route to the gulf coast. The smuggling of most things occurs in a pony express of relay runners. Stone runners, gun runners, drug runners, people runners. Somewhere along the way the stones fell into the hands of some ruthless cut-throats bent on making off with the money and the stones.

Graciano strolled idly down the Avenida las Vistas, a gradual downhill to the harbor and the sea. He would nose around. Maybe rent a boat himself. The Sweet Jane would not likely be found in the busy harbor among the other boats, but perhaps anchored somewhere just north or south. He had played this kind of chess with enemies before. Thinking about the kind of move they might likely make, developing counter strategies.

Ricardo and Josephina cruised slowly into the ramshackle outskirts of Vera Cruz. Joesphina peered out at the local folks walking along the streets as though by some miracle she might suddenly see Violet walking along among them. She traced a city map on her lap with her finger, steering Balthazaar to downtown Vera Cruz and to the hotel where Graciano said he was staying.

FEAR AND TREMBLING

Violet felt quite timid to step out onto the streets of Vera Cruz. She paused several times to glance at her reflection in the store windows, as though to assure herself she didn't look like who she was - that she looked local and belonged here. She stopped at a news stand and bought a local paper and a magazine, then turned the corner. The bank was two blocks down.

At the officer's desk at the Banco de Mexico the man had few questions. She wanted a small lock box. The smallest they had. He gave her a page to fill out and she paid a small deposit and then followed him into a room, three walls of which were lined with boxes arranged according to size. He turned a key in a lock of box 707 and then handed her a personal key to open the second lock. As he left he pointed to several doors to private booths in which one could do their business. She carried her box into one of the small rooms and closed the door behind her. She turned the deadlock on the door and felt a sudden sense of relief. She felt safe, if only for a few moments. She was locked in a small windowless room at the back of the vault of a bank. Her knees felt weak as she sat down before the small table and set the box in front of her. She sat there for a few moments feeling the toll of the past few days on her body. She felt suddenly very tired. She wondered where Balthazaar could possibly be, and her mother Josephina, and Ricardo. Are they frantic? Do they have any idea of her whereabouts? She thought about her father, but he was so far away in Panama and probably doesn't even know what trouble she had brought on herself. It was probably better that way. She would not know how to tell him. It would be so humiliating. He was such a man of honor and integrity. A freedom fighter. And she had let him down.

She hurriedly opened the box. The stones clattered like loaded dice as she tossed them in. Her life seemed a crap shoot in a dark alley. Her soul but a stack of chips laid out on a table on some number against the odds. A shudder ran through her. Her hands trembled as she closed the box. She left the security of the bank and walked quickly back to Juan and Cindy's place feeling her vulnerability once again. Glancing over her shoulder.

DANZON

Balthazaar walked down the street in the approaching darkness feeling lured by some distant music and laughter down on the plaza. He followed those sounds wanting to drown his loneliness amidst the gathering crowd. In the middle of the ancient brick plaza stood a covered stage of sorts. An old gazebo of weathered wood and peeling white paint. A small band was playing an infectious music made for dancing. A Danzone. And people were dancing as though there were no cares. Little children too. He laughed almost hysterically with the joyousness of the moment. A relief from the heaviness of his heart. He strolled along the sidewalk around the large square. Those lucky enough to live in one of the old buildings leaned out their windows waving, clapping, talking to one another, or simply watching the nightly show from their perch. Vendors and peddlers were strewn about along the sidewalk. One could find most anything there. There were ashtrays of low-fired red clay embedded with pieces of abalone shell pressed in. Stuffed iguanas in various poses. Coral necklaces and ear danglers. Shark's teeth and endless sea shells. The sea's bounty was at the heart of Vera Cruz. The danzon was the endless celebration of the harvest. He paused amidst the crowd to watch the dancers.

For many of the young lovers, the danzon was a kind of foreplay for what they might later do. The rhythm of the music itself seemed about passionate fucking. It provoked sensual movements. It was up close and personal. It was all in the hips. Balthazaar smiled as he saw a young girl stomp away from a boy who was too amorous in groping her ass. The boy was following her through the crowd wanting to undress her perhaps in the alley. He looked around at those who gathered to watch the dancers and hear the relentless music. His eyes suddenly did a double take at three people on the opposite side of the plaza. A man and two women. Of the two women there was one his eyes got stuck on. She didn't look like Violet, but there was something in the way she stood. Even the way she turned her head here and there to look around. Her shoulders. Her hips. He knew those shoulders. He knew those hips. He knew those ways she turned her head. His heart began to pound. He hurried through the crowd pissing off more than one at his rude manner on such a night.

CHAPTER FOUR

LOST, FOUND, AND LOST.

Violet was sheltered protectively by Juan and Cindy as they stood along the plaza watching the dancers. She wanted to be home. She wanted to be a little girl again and dance happily on the plaza. Would Balthazaar even want her again now that she had been so defiled? Her fingers idly caressed the small silver medallion dangling from her neck. The Virgin Mary. She whispered to herself.
"Hail Mary, full of grace.
Our Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of..." Her plea for intercession was interrupted by some scuffle in the crowd. Her eyes turned toward the sounds and the shoving.
"Balthazaar?!" She saw a glimpse of his eyes and his outreached hand. "Balthazaar!" She began walking hurriedly through the crowd. And suddenly, unbelievably, she was in his arms. "Oh Balthazaar," she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. His hand caressed her head briefly, then...
"Hurry Violet," he said, grabbing her hand. He led her back through the crowd. She ran along behind him clinging to his hand as they ran up the street toward his car.

ALMOST

"Get in," he said. They embraced again in the front seat. There was the sound of a sharp metallic click behind them.
"Don't move," a man's voice said. "Start the car." Violet glanced over her shoulder nervously. It was one them.
"I don't have the stones," she blurted out.
"I don't care," he replied. He tapped his gun on the side of Balthazaar's head.
"Drive." Balthazaar pulled away from the curb.
"Look," he said, glancing into the rear-view mirror. "You've got the money. We don't know what became of the stones."
"Shut up," the man replied. "Turn left here." They turned into an alley. "Pull up behind that truck," he said. "Now get out."
"What do you want with us?" Balthazaar said. The man smacked his pistol roughly against Balthazaar's temple.
"Get out of the fucking car." The back doors of the truck swung open. "Get in." A second man pulled them on in, pushing them to the floor.
"Tie them up and blind-fold them," he said. They closed and locked the back door of the truck and then torched Balthazaar's car.

SWEET JANE

Graciano sat on a bench along the boardwalk looking out at the harbor. His eyes carefully scanned the boats anchored there. He told himself that these men were likely gone by now. And perhaps Violet with them. Or perhaps they dumped Violet here in the city somewhere. And perhaps the Sweet Jane was lurking somewhere just out of sight. He walked on down to the water looking for a fishing boat to rent. He found a small outboard. Not a boat one would take onto the deep sea, but ideal for fishing close along the coast line. He purchased some fishing gear and bait then turned the boat out of the harbor. If The Sweet Jane was anywhere near Vera Cruz, he would find her. He scanned the curving coastline headed north. Palms, palmettos, and grasses. Little piers here and there and beyond them, well-worn beach houses or local shacks not yet bought off. He thought about Violet his darling daughter. And Josephina. Back then he thought he was doing the right thing leaving them to fight for the freedom of Latinos to live without fear in their homelands. To live free of power hungry dictators, or pirates disguised as revolutionaries. How many had he killed along the way? And where had it got him? It all came to a head as he rounded a point, and there sat The Sweet Jane. It sat tied off at a rickety pier, and back in a palmetto grove he could glimpse a humble beach house on stilts. Why would someone with a small yacht be here of all places? He cut the motor, and pulled out his fishing gear and took a seat.

HOTEL DILIGENCIAS

The old hotel, once a grand structure, now seemed a bit in disrepair. Like some woman fallen from grace, or an old movie star whose pancake make-up was cracking in the wrinkles of her face. But upon walking into the large and ornate lobby, it still had a by-gone charm and even a sense of pride in its shabbiness.

Ricardo and Josephina sat on one of the plush brown cowhide couches looking about at the people coming and going. They were waiting for Graciano to appear. He had said he would meet them there, and the desk clerk told them he had arrived, but was not in his room.
"Will you be happy to see him again?" Ricardo asked.
"You are my lover now," she answered obliquely. "He is Violet's father. I will always care about him. We have to tell him what has happened. I am most worried about that."
"That he would think us reckless?" Ricardo asked.
"Worse," Josephina said. "He would think us selfish."
"Yes," Ricardo replied. "And that we were. How I wish we could turn back time."
"And Graciano would laugh and sneer at such a futile way of thinking," Josephina said. "He would be focused on the future, now that done is done. He would think it not a time for self pity."

Ricardo had never met the man. But he knew of his renown as a freedom fighter. People would boast of having fought with him, or of knowing someone who was at his side at one coup or another. He was legendary for insisting he was only human, but everyone considered him as though a god. A redeemer.

THE CONFESSION

Graciano was mostly expressionless when he saw them. But he gave Josephina a warm hug sensing her sadness. And he hugged Ricardo as well, as though they were old friends. He led them up the stairs to his room.

The bed was cluttered with newspapers, maps, and written notes. He scooped them up and set them aside. Not as a courtesy so much, but as though it would be better for them not to know too much about his current enterprises. It was a familiar scene to Josephina. Graciano's secrets; his dealings in the shadowy world of smuggled weapons. They sat down around a small table.
"I have found The Sweet Jane," he said flatly. "It originated in Venezuela. It had been bought there, or perhaps pirated off the coast."
"How did you find this out?" Josephina asked.
"I have my ways," he replied. "And now I need to know just what the fuck has happened." Josephina grimaced and wrung her hands.
"Graciano, I am so sorry. So sorry."
"Is she dead?" Graciano asked.
"We are not sure," Ricardo answered. "We are hoping she is here somewhere in this city."
"Out with it then," Graciano said. "I need to know everything that has transpired. Everything."
"You will hate me," Josephina sobbed.
"I will never hate you," Graciano replied. "Tell me now. Time is precious when a life is in jeopardy." Josephina began blurting out the story amidst sobs. The silly idea. To find a way to live a better life by making a deal. It was mostly wine talking at the time, but then it got serious. Graciano reached across the table and took her hand.
"Josephina. You are talking in circles, yet telling me little."
"I have a friend in South Africa," Ricardo said. "He told me he could get some diamonds to us, and we could take them north and make a lot of money. He had his own profit figured in. All we had to do was to receive the stones, and take them to the next place. Across the border."
"To the states?" Graciano said. Ricardo nodded.
"The plan was to cross the Rio in Texas. The border patrol there is not looking for stones. They are busy with drug traffic, and coyotes moving illegals."
"Laredo?" Graciano asked.
"How did you know?"
"Don't ask," Graciano replied. "And Violet? How did she play in?"
"She wanted to be the liaison," Josephina answered. "She wanted to be the one to meet with the intermediaries. She convinced us she could do it." Graciano broke into a sudden burst of laughter that took Ricardo and Josephina by surprise.
"Oh, Violet!" he laughed. "She always had some romance with danger, even as a little girl."
"She grew to be like you, Graciano," Josephina said. Graciano nodded.
"Yes, perhaps. But for the wrong reasons. I must shoulder some of this blame. I was not there to guide her to the things that really matter. To teach her what it is that is worth fighting for." Josephina began to cry again.
"I am so sorry Graciano. I have let you down."
"Dry your eyes Josephina. What we must do is focus now. When all is said and done, there will be time for laughing or crying perhaps. But now, we must act to find Violet, or if she is dead, exact revenge."

NUMBERS

In the beach house, Balthazaar and Violet sat on the floor, hands tied behind their backs and gagged with adhesive tape. Both were wide-eyed with fear. They glanced furtively at one another and at the men pacing the room. Sometimes, the men screamed at them, sometimes they talked quietly among themselves.

A man they called Yosue put his face down and stared at Violet. His lips barely moved.
"Such pretty eyes," he said quietly. "Where are the stones?" Violet shook her head from side to side and whined in anguish. There was no way to say anything. There was no way to move her lips. His breath smelled like licorice. Jaibar moved over her and pulled the tape away as Yosue stepped back. He cupped her face softly in his hands.
"You don't have to die," he whispered. Violet pleaded with her eyes.
"The stones are safe," she said weakly. Jaibar caressed her, running his fingers through her hair.
"Good," he whispered. "So, they are safe. It's simple isn't it, Violet? When you tell the truth, your troubles melt away. So, now we need to go get them."
"I don't remember the number," Violet cried.
"What number?" Jaibar asked, still caressing her bruised face.
"It's...something...5," Violet said, her head beginning to spin.
"Something 5?" Jaibar repeated, standing up and looking at her.

Adan, who had stood back watching, approached Balthazaar.
"Perhaps you can help her remember?" he said, through gritted teeth.
"I don't know about the number," Balthazaar stammered.
"Maybe it is a number you knew once, but have forgotten?" Adan said, as he turned to look at Jaibar. "How many times have I paced the house, Jaibar, looking for the keys to my Maserati?"
"Too many times," Jaibar answered. Adan stared into Balthazaar's eyes.
"But, somehow, I always find my keys, and am on my way. So, what is the number, Balthazaar?"

Balthazaar shook his head. He glanced to Violet. He knew nothing of a number. Adan looked at his watch.
"It's getting late." He put his hands on Balthazaar's shoulders. He smiled kindly down at him. "Balthazaar, my friend. It is so easy. It is just a number. I forget things all the time myself. But in the urgency of the moment, I miraculously remember. So now, here is the urgency. The urgency you find yourself in." He pulled a knife from his pocket, and opened it. He ran his thumb across the blade. "One is about to have his balls cut off, and there is no anesthesia. The blood pools onto the floor. One gets faint. And the last thing one sees is his lover being force-fed warm testicles. In an urgent moment such as that, one remembers things long forgotten." Adan turned to Yosue and Jaibar. "Pull his pants down."
"It's three!" Violet screamed frantically. "The number is three!"

CHAPTER FOUR

LOST, FOUND, AND LOST.

Violet was sheltered protectively by Juan and Cindy as they stood along the plaza watching the dancers. She wanted to be home. She wanted to be a little girl again and dance happily on the plaza. Would Balthazaar even want her again now that she had been so defiled? Her fingers idly caressed the small silver medallion dangling from her neck. The Virgin Mary. She whispered to herself.
"Hail Mary, full of grace.
Our Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of..." Her plea for intercession was interrupted by some scuffle in the crowd. Her eyes turned toward the sounds and the shoving.
"Balthazaar?!" She saw a glimpse of his eyes and his outreached hand. "Balthazaar!" She began walking hurriedly through the crowd. And suddenly, unbelievably, she was in his arms. "Oh Balthazaar," she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. His hand caressed her head briefly, then...
"Hurry Violet," he said, grabbing her hand. He led her back through the crowd. She ran along behind him clinging to his hand as they ran up the street toward his car.

ALMOST

"Get in," he said. They embraced again in the front seat. There was the sound of a sharp metallic click behind them.
"Don't move," a man's voice said. "Start the car." Violet glanced over her shoulder nervously. It was one them.
"I don't have the stones," she blurted out.
"I don't care," he replied. He tapped his gun on the side of Balthazaar's head.
"Drive." Balthazaar pulled away from the curb.
"Look," he said, glancing into the rear-view mirror. "You've got the money. We don't know what became of the stones."
"Shut up," the man replied. "Turn left here." They turned into an alley. "Pull up behind that truck," he said. "Now get out."
"What do you want with us?" Balthazaar said. The man smacked his pistol roughly against Balthazaar's temple.
"Get out of the fucking car." The back doors of the truck swung open. "Get in." A second man pulled them on in, pushing them to the floor.
"Tie them up and blind-fold them," he said. They closed and locked the back door of the truck and then torched Balthazaar's car.

SWEET JANE

Graciano sat on a bench along the boardwalk looking out at the harbor. His eyes carefully scanned the boats anchored there. He told himself that these men were likely gone by now. And perhaps Violet with them. Or perhaps they dumped Violet here in the city somewhere. And perhaps the Sweet Jane was lurking somewhere just out of sight. He walked on down to the water looking for a fishing boat to rent. He found a small outboard. Not a boat one would take onto the deep sea, but ideal for fishing close along the coast line. He purchased some fishing gear and bait then turned the boat out of the harbor. If The Sweet Jane was anywhere near Vera Cruz, he would find her. He scanned the curving coastline headed north. Palms, palmettos, and grasses. Little piers here and there and beyond them, well-worn beach houses or local shacks not yet bought off. He thought about Violet his darling daughter. And Josephina. Back then he thought he was doing the right thing leaving them to fight for the freedom of Latinos to live without fear in their homelands. To live free of power hungry dictators, or pirates disguised as revolutionaries. How many had he killed along the way? And where had it got him? It all came to a head as he rounded a point, and there sat The Sweet Jane. It sat tied off at a rickety pier, and back in a palmetto grove he could glimpse a humble beach house on stilts. Why would someone with a small yacht be here of all places? He cut the motor, and pulled out his fishing gear and took a seat.

HOTEL DILIGENCIAS

The old hotel, once a grand structure, now seemed a bit in disrepair. Like some woman fallen from grace, or an old movie star whose pancake make-up was cracking in the wrinkles of her face. But upon walking into the large and ornate lobby, it still had a by-gone charm and even a sense of pride in its shabbiness.

Ricardo and Josephina sat on one of the plush brown cowhide couches looking about at the people coming and going. They were waiting for Graciano to appear. He had said he would meet them there, and the desk clerk told them he had arrived, but was not in his room.
"Will you be happy to see him again?" Ricardo asked.
"You are my lover now," she answered obliquely. "He is Violet's father. I will always care about him. We have to tell him what has happened. I am most worried about that."
"That he would think us reckless?" Ricardo asked.
"Worse," Josephina said. "He would think us selfish."
"Yes," Ricardo replied. "And that we were. How I wish we could turn back time."
"And Graciano would laugh and sneer at such a futile way of thinking," Josephina said. "He would be focused on the future, now that done is done. He would think it not a time for self pity."

Ricardo had never met the man. But he knew of his renown as a freedom fighter. People would boast of having fought with him, or of knowing someone who was at his side at one coup or another. He was legendary for insisting he was only human, but everyone considered him as though a god. A redeemer.

THE CONFESSION

Graciano was mostly expressionless when he saw them. But he gave Josephina a warm hug sensing her sadness. And he hugged Ricardo as well, as though they were old friends. He led them up the stairs to his room.

The bed was cluttered with newspapers, maps, and written notes. He scooped them up and set them aside. Not as a courtesy so much, but as though it would be better for them not to know too much about his current enterprises. It was a familiar scene to Josephina. Graciano's secrets; his dealings in the shadowy world of smuggled weapons. They sat down around a small table.
"I have found The Sweet Jane," he said flatly. "It originated in Venezuela. It had been bought there, or perhaps pirated off the coast."
"How did you find this out?" Josephina asked.
"I have my ways," he replied. "And now I need to know just what the fuck has happened." Josephina grimaced and wrung her hands.
"Graciano, I am so sorry. So sorry."
"Is she dead?" Graciano asked.
"We are not sure," Ricardo answered. "We are hoping she is here somewhere in this city."
"Out with it then," Graciano said. "I need to know everything that has transpired. Everything."
"You will hate me," Josephina sobbed.
"I will never hate you," Graciano replied. "Tell me now. Time is precious when a life is in jeopardy." Josephina began blurting out the story amidst sobs. The silly idea. To find a way to live a better life by making a deal. It was mostly wine talking at the time, but then it got serious. Graciano reached across the table and took her hand.
"Josephina. You are talking in circles, yet telling me little."
"I have a friend in South Africa," Ricardo said. "He told me he could get some diamonds to us, and we could take them north and make a lot of money. He had his own profit figured in. All we had to do was to receive the stones, and take them to the next place. Across the border."
"To the states?" Graciano said. Ricardo nodded.
"The plan was to cross the Rio in Texas. The border patrol there is not looking for stones. They are busy with drug traffic, and coyotes moving illegals."
"Laredo?" Graciano asked.
"How did you know?"
"Don't ask," Graciano replied. "And Violet? How did she play in?"
"She wanted to be the liaison," Josephina answered. "She wanted to be the one to meet with the intermediaries. She convinced us she could do it." Graciano broke into a sudden burst of laughter that took Ricardo and Josephina by surprise.
"Oh, Violet!" he laughed. "She always had some romance with danger, even as a little girl."
"She grew to be like you, Graciano," Josephina said. Graciano nodded.
"Yes, perhaps. But for the wrong reasons. I must shoulder some of this blame. I was not there to guide her to the things that really matter. To teach her what it is that is worth fighting for." Josephina began to cry again.
"I am so sorry Graciano. I have let you down."
"Dry your eyes Josephina. What we must do is focus now. When all is said and done, there will be time for laughing or crying perhaps. But now, we must act to find Violet, or if she is dead, exact revenge."

NUMBERS

In the beach house, Balthazaar and Violet sat on the floor, hands tied behind their backs and gagged with adhesive tape. Both were wide-eyed with fear. They glanced furtively at one another and at the men pacing the room. Sometimes, the men screamed at them, sometimes they talked quietly among themselves.

A man they called Yosue put his face down and stared at Violet. His lips barely moved.
"Such pretty eyes," he said quietly. "Where are the stones?" Violet shook her head from side to side and whined in anguish. There was no way to say anything. There was no way to move her lips. His breath smelled like licorice. Jaibar moved over her and pulled the tape away as Yosue stepped back. He cupped her face softly in his hands.
"You don't have to die," he whispered. Violet pleaded with her eyes.
"The stones are safe," she said weakly. Jaibar caressed her, running his fingers through her hair.
"Good," he whispered. "So, they are safe. It's simple isn't it, Violet? When you tell the truth, your troubles melt away. So, now we need to go get them."
"I don't remember the number," Violet cried.
"What number?" Jaibar asked, still caressing her bruised face.
"It's...something...5," Violet said, her head beginning to spin.
"Something 5?" Jaibar repeated, standing up and looking at her.

Adan, who had stood back watching, approached Balthazaar.
"Perhaps you can help her remember?" he said, through gritted teeth.
"I don't know about the number," Balthazaar stammered.
"Maybe it is a number you knew once, but have forgotten?" Adan said, as he turned to look at Jaibar. "How many times have I paced the house, Jaibar, looking for the keys to my Maserati?"
"Too many times," Jaibar answered. Adan stared into Balthazaar's eyes.
"But, somehow, I always find my keys, and am on my way. So, what is the number, Balthazaar?"

Balthazaar shook his head. He glanced to Violet. He knew nothing of a number. Adan looked at his watch.
"It's getting late." He put his hands on Balthazaar's shoulders. He smiled kindly down at him. "Balthazaar, my friend. It is so easy. It is just a number. I forget things all the time myself. But in the urgency of the moment, I miraculously remember. So now, here is the urgency. The urgency you find yourself in." He pulled a knife from his pocket, and opened it. He ran his thumb across the blade. "One is about to have his balls cut off, and there is no anesthesia. The blood pools onto the floor. One gets faint. And the last thing one sees is his lover being force-fed warm testicles. In an urgent moment such as that, one remembers things long forgotten." Adan turned to Yosue and Jaibar. "Pull his pants down."
"It's three!" Violet screamed frantically. "The number is three!"

WHAT TO DO NOW

Ricardo and Josephina sat there in the hotel room as Graciano paced about. He stopped by the window and stared out toward the distant harbor. The room was silent for a minute or so. It felt like the calm before the storm.
"We need not talk any further about what has happened before, but only about what to do now," he said. He turned and sat down in a chair next to them, clasping his hands together and looking down at them.
"We must move now into a calculated plan of action," he said, looking up at Ricardo and Josephina, his lips a thin emotionless line across his face. "It will call for a silent but deadly coup." Ricardo seemed to stiffen into full attention as Graciano's words raised the hair on his arms. He was only beginning to know why Graciano was a legend. "It will be as though it never really happened," Graciano continued. "There will be only an empty beach house in the end. A dormant boat moored to the pier as though no one had ever been there. We will leave Vera Cruz with Violet and Balthazaar at our sides, or we will simply be taking their remains home to properly bury them." He stood and began pacing the room again. Josephina watched him intently as though drawn into what she had loved about him for so long. His charisma, his passion, his resolve.

Graciano paused by the window again. "We will need a small cabin cruiser," he said, as he turned to look at Ricardo. "Nothing fancy. It should look local. Walk the harbor, Ricardo. See what you can come up with." Ricardo nodded. "A local fishing boat with a cabin," Graciano said. "Tomorrow we will go fishing then, and study the terrain around the beach house and the Lady Jane." He fished into his jacket pocket and handed Ricardo a roll of bills. "Pay what you must," he said. He raised his hand and counted off the agenda with his fingers as though thinking to himself. "Subterfuge, arsenal, ambush. Like an owl swooping silently through the night
snatching up a rodent or a snake...a sniper set-up with a silencer." He turned to look at Josephina. "If you would please, go down to the hotel lobby and be a tourist. Talk to the concierge. Ask for any maps of sights to see, and street or highway maps. Be discreet, Josephina." Josephina smiled. Graciano had taught her the art of discretion long ago.

Graciano walked over to the table by the bed and picked up a bottle of wine. "We must drink now," he said. "A toast to the liberation." He poured their glasses and his own. "Here is to freedom," he said, raising his glass.
"Here is to Violet and Balthazaar," Ricardo said. Josephina raised her glass.
"Here is to love."

UNSPOKEN AGREEMENT

Balthazaar looked over at Violet as their captors began to talk among themselves. Tears rolled down her cheeks and over the tape that sealed her mouth.
"It's ok," he tried to say as he looked into her eyes. Their eyes embraced as though to be together in some way should it be the case they might die then and there. Violet nodded her understanding. Balthazaar nodded back.