Cry Me a Murder (Part Two) : The Shoe that Fits
#2 of Cry Me a Murder
I stomped towards the exit of the Oakfort police station with a plane ticket to Mexico in my pocket and the taste of sour bile in my mouth. "Damn you, Quinn" I cursed. I had a feeling the inspector had somehow manipulated me into going on this trip. Like an overenthusiastic sales agent, Quinn had sold me the idea of heading off to Mexico. If for nothing else, then for a spontaneous, relaxing vacation. A chance to unwind by the pool. On the surface it seemed completely innocent, and I'd been the complete push-over.
- Oh, and investigate if the hotel has been attacked by a creature from the "other" side, now you're there.
This was the second agenda, and the one that was now making me physically sick. I leaned against an ionic replica pillar in the hallway and heaved for fresh air. Alice the receptionist eyed me over. "You look pale," she said. "How about a nice cup of tea before you go?"
"I don't drink tea," I rasped and hoped not to puke in front of her.
"You should always settle your stomach with a cup of tea before you travel." Alice poured hot water from an electric heater and dunked an Earl Gr __e_ y_ tea bag into a clay mug, adorned with the picture of a white kitten with blue eyes. "Hang loose," meowed the grinning feline in a large speech bubble. I couldn't stop staring at the white string that connected the label to the tea-bag. It seemed to move on its own accord, wiggling and struggling to escape the confinements of the mug. Its feeble movements brought back memories of the pale, snake-like creature from Fernando's drawing. Remembrance of the creature and the sensation of touching its hide; cold and pockmarked like diseased skin and its horrid stench got to me quick. I made a desperate dash for the nearest restroom, where I dropped to my knees and puked violently into the toilet, overcome with nausea and bad memories.
"I can't do this," I thought. "I can't face the abyss again."
But if I was scared, Fernando would be even worse off. Apart from myself, he was the only living person who had seen and fought a creature escaping the abyss. Reluctantly, I accepted I needed to meet with him. Maybe we shared some common symptom of a mental condition. Maybe high-fiving writhing intestines floating around in a dark void was nothing more than a common hallucination. Something well documented by Oliver Sachs or written down in the DSM-V. Something tangible, one could hope. Like the sensation of floating through a tunnel during a near-death experience, or the flashing aura of a migraine. Maybe Fernando and I were simply over-stressed, overworked and underpaid, and our world was perfectly safe. Maybe, we weren't on a collision course with an other-dimensional nightmare, infested with living intestines.
"Oh God!" I sighed and spat out half dissolved breakfast and bile before the next wave of sick washed over me.
I'll go, I decided_. I'll go to San Blas and... _
"You're in danger!" Said a voice behind me. I knew the voice well, for he has been my companion since I was seventeen. Ellen Campbell, my therapist tells me the disembodied voice of a middle aged male I call_The General_ exists only in my brain, but he talks to me as clearly as any living person in the room.
"Go away!" I grunted. "Can't you see I'm busy throwing up?"
"He's in here with you, the murderer!" Now it was a woman's voice. Like the General, Karen exists only in my head, but she could just as well have been an invisible woman standing next to me.
"Bullshit!" I argued. "The door is locked."
"Someone opened the door and now he means to kill you," said t_he General._ "He's right behind you."
The voices were right. I clearly felt a malevolent presence in the room with me, and the awareness tingled down my back like a frozen glove. Someone was after me and looking over my shoulder, while I was on my knees and at my most vulnerable.
Son of a BITCH! I cursed and spun around, to face my would-be killer. I found only my own reflection in the bathroom mirror.
A legendary people known as the Nahuales once occupied Mexico. At least, that's what the legends say. They were shape shifters, half man, half beast. The nomadic tribes of these beast-men were drawn to San Blas by the sun and the sea, and I sure didn't blame them. The moment my airplane touched ground, the sun took me into a warm embrace. Not scorching or stinging, but soothing and inviting. I'd never been to this part of Mexico before. In fact I've hardly been anywhere outside Oakfort. But within minutes I'd forgiven Inspector Quinn for duping me into going.
"-and pack light," Quinn advised. "It's warm down there". I never stray from my standard outfit of T-shirt, denim jacket and jeans anyway, but standard choice fit the weather of San Blas. I also hoped it made me stand out less like a tourist.
The Nahuales supposedly died out thousands of years ago, and are kept alive only in stories. But Quinn brings them up every time I question his claims of being a werewolf. "The Meso-American branch of Nahuales may be extinct, but my people are not." He always stands straight when says "my people", but I argue if there was any shred of evidence of the Nahuales ever having existed, the locals would find a way to milk it, selling man-beast souvenirs to the tourists for a few pesos. I rested against a whitewashed stone wall and drank the sun through closed eyelids. A week of this and I could throw away my medication. I was still a mile away from the hotel, but the little seaside town was perfect for a leisurely stroll. The blooming vegetation carried a scent of vanilla and pineapple, and their yellow flowers stood out in technicolor contrast against the blue backdrop. I bought myself a_Piña Colada_ from a nearby cabana bar, put down my backpack and my guitar, and plopped down on the beach. I folded the change pesos into my wallet, when Fernando's crumbled drawing, now sandwiched in between my passport and return ticket fell out, as if to remind me why I was here. I sighed and forced my attention back to drinking and watching the tourists. Down by the seashore, a middle aged woman was taking diving lessons from a muscular surfer with golden hair. She was in her forties, he mid-twenties like myself, but I got the impression he was giving her more than just scuba lessons for her money.
"Gotta hold it like this, Darleen" he said and adjusted the buckles to her air tank. The woman giggled and whispered something in his ear.
"Gotta go," she said, checking her watch. "I've a meeting with Mr. Tejón." She gathered her clothes and walked towards the stony path that led up mount Urduk to the hotel. She turned on the first step and blew a kiss at the diving instructor, who returned it before heading back to the Cabana bar. He ordered two cans of Beach Lager, which he paid for with a hundred Dollar note. The bartender sent him a sour look and held it to the light to check if it was genuine.
The diving instructor sat down in the sand next to me and handed me a chilled can of beer. "Staying at the hotel?" He asked.
"Not yet," I replied. "I'm too comfortable to check in."
The stranger laughed and shook my hand. "Paul Slater", he said. "Diving instructor and professional beach bum."
"Kent," I replied. "Gabriel Kent. Guitarist and..."
I paused. I wasn't exactly sure what else to say. That I was here to investigate mysterious tentacles erupting from hell? I lied about my name, but going incognito made me feel more like a private investigator -and less like a tourist.
"And?"
I leaned back into the sand, resting on my elbows. "-and tourist for the week."
Slater laughed. He was about my height, but unlike me, he was muscular and handsome, and he sported a tan the color of bronze. I got the feeling I knew him from somewhere.
"Have we met?" I asked.
"Never been to Oakfort." Slater took a swig of his beer and squinted into the sun. "I like to stay in the sun. Here, or back in San Diego." He pronounced it Sandy Ego, with emphasis on the word sand.
"How did you know I'm an Oakforter?"
"Dude! All you Oakies look like sticks of sickly asparagus." Slater grinned and finished his beer. He rose to his feet and walked leisurely towards the water. Before diving into the waves, he turned and winked at me.
"Don't worry," he said. "By the end of the week, you'll be a changed man."
A long flight of granite steps, crudely carved into the rocky hillside led the last half mile towards Hotel Kisanti. Halfway up the trail, I passed a fellow traveler, who was on his way down the stairs. He was in his late thirties and wearing a two piece suit, much too warm for the climate and he carried a brown leather suitcase. He stopped his descent to wipe sweat off his forehead with a paper towel, the moment we passed one another.
"Going up?" He asked.
I nodded. The answer seemed obvious, but maybe it was just his way to strike up a conversation.
"Archie Phelps," he introduced himself. "From Sacramento."
"Daniel Kent" I replied, momentarily forgetting I'd given myself an alternate name only minutes earlier.
"It's one hell of a trek up this side of the mountain," Phelps said. "But there's a real road on the other side." He made a motion with one finger, as if drawing a road in the air that snaked it's way up the hill. "That's how they got the wheelchair up there."
"Wheelchair?"
"One of the guests is in a wheelchair."
Archie Phelps looked at my cheap sneakers and frowned. "You need better shoes if you plan on trekking around in these parts."
I didn't know what to answer. I'd brought the only pair of shoes I owned, and I knew they were worn out. Still, I saw no reason for Phelps to point it out. He broke into a laugh.
"Apologies," he said. "I'm a sales representative for Tejas Leather Co. The shoe that lasts longer than you."
He looked at my feet again.
"You're a size... eight?"
"About right," I replied. Phelps opened his suitcase and took out a pair of black leather shoes that would look good on a well paid lawyer.
"Here," he urged. "Try these on."
"Listen," I replied. "I'm not really looking to buy shoes."
"If the shoe fits, you can have it for nothing." It wasn't a sales pitch I'd heard too many times.
"You won't be making much of a profit if you give away your merchandise for free," I said.
Phelps laughed, and whispered. "They are company samples for handing out."
I shrugged and tried on his shoes. To my surprise they were a perfect fit. It was as if the shoes had been designed specifically to fit my feet.
"Not bad!"
"Then keep them," Phelps said, smiling. "Remember. T_ejas Leather is the shoe that lasts longer than you_." He repeated his unusual sales pitch.
"What... does that even mean?" I asked.
Phelps scratched his left eyebrow.
"Dunno," he replied. "It's just something that rhymes, I guess."
We nodded our goodbyes and went on in separate directions. Once I reached the hotel parking lot, I took the time to look around. The view from up here was breathtaking, overlooking the Pacific, and the small fishing village below. Most of the hotel windows faced either this way, or to the east where the guests had a view over a small but well-kept garden.
I was taking in the view, when I noticed something flashing in the sunlight, like a crimson leaf falling off its branch. The flash came from a large water basin behind a tall wire fence on the west-side of the hotel. A tan caretaker in a white shirt was throwing fish fodder into the basin by the handful, while the fish made ripples in the water by his feet. All the while, he spoke to them softly in Spanish.
"Hola!" he said, when he saw me looking at him. "You must be Daniel from Oakfort."
"What gave me away?"
"You don't have a tan." The caretaker grinned and wiped his hands in his pants. "Fernando said you'd arrive today." He left the enclosure through a solid metal gate and locked it behind him. "I'm Miguel. Hotel gardener and trout-farmer."
"Do they bite?" I asked, when I noticed a smear of blood leaking through his white shirt.
Miguel examined his sleeve. "Must have cut myself on a rose bush," he grunted. "Catalina wants me to put fresh flowers in every room, and she won't leave my prize lilies alone."
"Catalina is the girl who was... attacked?"
"She waved at me from a window," said Miguel, "then she fainted."
"Fernando mentioned some kind of creature?"
"If you worked as hard as we do, you'd see creatures too." Miguel was clearly uncomfortable talking about the subject. He turned his back to me and shook the metal door, making sure it was locked.
"They won't leave my fish alone," he whispered.