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Authors: Christian Fletcher
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payphone near a large plaza to the left of the marina. “Pull over someplace here,” he said.
Trey nodded and parked the Thunderbird in a space beside the curb. Mancini hopped out of the car and made his way to the payphone. He retrieved the piece of paper La Rat had handed him and dialed the number written across the bottom.
The phone rang for a full minute before a brusque voice answered the call.“Si?”
“Hector?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Somebody who has to collect some items from you,” Mancini said.
“Where are you?”
Mancini hesitated. He didn’t want to give away his location in case the situation was one big set up. “Near the marina,” he compromised. Hector , or whatever his real name was remained silent and Mancini wondered if he was still on the other end of the line. Sweat started to roll down his forehead as he felt the tension build. He turned when he heard a flapping sound and saw a huge Mexican flag fluttering in the sea breeze, at the top of a high pole.
“Hector…you still there?”
“Continue in the direction you are going. There is a bar called Botanica on the corner of Lazaro Cardenas Boulevard. I will meet you there.” The phone clicked and the connection was cut.
Mancini hung up the receiver and made his way back to the waiting Thunderbird. He checked his watch and saw it was nearing one p.m.
“So, what’s up?” Trey asked, as Mancini slumped back into his seat.
“Drive on and stop when you see a bar called Botanica .” Mancini studied his map again, looking for Lazaro Cardenas Boulevard. He saw the road was around a half mile ahead of them.
Trey pulled over at the side of the road before they reached the intersection. “I think I saw the place back there.” He angled his head behind the vehicle. “Looked like some shitty little bar. You sure we’re not going to get rolled in there?”
“Sit here, if you want but I’ve got to meet this guy,” Mancini said. “I don’t know how long it’ll be before he shows.”
“Maybe I’ll stay with the wheels. You know, somebody might try and jack it.”
“Okay, stay put but don’t call anybody and don’t get out of the car,” Mancini instructed, hauling himself out of his seat.
“Got it,” Trey said.
Mancini walked a few paces on the sidewalk then stopped, surveying the line of parked vehicles along the side of the road. No suspicious looking people remained inside the vehicles, all of them were empty. No cop types, talking into transmitters lurked around in the vicinity. The location seemed safe. He walked a few yards away from the rear of the Thunderbird and saw a sign with ‘ Botanica ’ scrawled in yellow paint, hanging above a green colored structure with two small front windows either side of the entrance door.
Mancini wiped the sweat from his forehead and took a final glance up and down the street before he approached the bar. He felt uneasy and was definitely way out of his comfort zone.
Chapter Nine
Mancini hesitated to compose himself for a brief moment, before he pushed open the bar entrance door. He could hear the music blaring before he stepped inside the place and the track was some kind of dance tune he didn’t recognize. The bar interior was dark and Mancini flipped his shades up around his forehead as he moved inside. His eyes adjusted to the change in brightness and he took in his surroundings. The lengthy wooden counter stood to his left, with a big burly guy serving beers to a couple of rough looking hombres, dressed in checked shirts and denims. All three of them stared disapprovingly at Mancini as he approached. Three scantily clad girls occupied a table opposite the counter. They seemed much friendlier and eyed Mancini with lingering glances.
“ Cerveza, por favor ,” Mancini said. Asking for a beer was one of the very few Spanish phrases he knew.
The bartender pointed between two
Trey nodded and parked the Thunderbird in a space beside the curb. Mancini hopped out of the car and made his way to the payphone. He retrieved the piece of paper La Rat had handed him and dialed the number written across the bottom.
The phone rang for a full minute before a brusque voice answered the call.“Si?”
“Hector?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Somebody who has to collect some items from you,” Mancini said.
“Where are you?”
Mancini hesitated. He didn’t want to give away his location in case the situation was one big set up. “Near the marina,” he compromised. Hector , or whatever his real name was remained silent and Mancini wondered if he was still on the other end of the line. Sweat started to roll down his forehead as he felt the tension build. He turned when he heard a flapping sound and saw a huge Mexican flag fluttering in the sea breeze, at the top of a high pole.
“Hector…you still there?”
“Continue in the direction you are going. There is a bar called Botanica on the corner of Lazaro Cardenas Boulevard. I will meet you there.” The phone clicked and the connection was cut.
Mancini hung up the receiver and made his way back to the waiting Thunderbird. He checked his watch and saw it was nearing one p.m.
“So, what’s up?” Trey asked, as Mancini slumped back into his seat.
“Drive on and stop when you see a bar called Botanica .” Mancini studied his map again, looking for Lazaro Cardenas Boulevard. He saw the road was around a half mile ahead of them.
Trey pulled over at the side of the road before they reached the intersection. “I think I saw the place back there.” He angled his head behind the vehicle. “Looked like some shitty little bar. You sure we’re not going to get rolled in there?”
“Sit here, if you want but I’ve got to meet this guy,” Mancini said. “I don’t know how long it’ll be before he shows.”
“Maybe I’ll stay with the wheels. You know, somebody might try and jack it.”
“Okay, stay put but don’t call anybody and don’t get out of the car,” Mancini instructed, hauling himself out of his seat.
“Got it,” Trey said.
Mancini walked a few paces on the sidewalk then stopped, surveying the line of parked vehicles along the side of the road. No suspicious looking people remained inside the vehicles, all of them were empty. No cop types, talking into transmitters lurked around in the vicinity. The location seemed safe. He walked a few yards away from the rear of the Thunderbird and saw a sign with ‘ Botanica ’ scrawled in yellow paint, hanging above a green colored structure with two small front windows either side of the entrance door.
Mancini wiped the sweat from his forehead and took a final glance up and down the street before he approached the bar. He felt uneasy and was definitely way out of his comfort zone.
Chapter Nine
Mancini hesitated to compose himself for a brief moment, before he pushed open the bar entrance door. He could hear the music blaring before he stepped inside the place and the track was some kind of dance tune he didn’t recognize. The bar interior was dark and Mancini flipped his shades up around his forehead as he moved inside. His eyes adjusted to the change in brightness and he took in his surroundings. The lengthy wooden counter stood to his left, with a big burly guy serving beers to a couple of rough looking hombres, dressed in checked shirts and denims. All three of them stared disapprovingly at Mancini as he approached. Three scantily clad girls occupied a table opposite the counter. They seemed much friendlier and eyed Mancini with lingering glances.
“ Cerveza, por favor ,” Mancini said. Asking for a beer was one of the very few Spanish phrases he knew.
The bartender pointed between two
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