Part 2
As she showered, Betty picked at fragments of their adventure of ten years before. The most vivid recollection, brought on by the bath, was the delicious feeling of their nude bodies, immersed in a tropical mountain pool, slipping and sliding against one another. Quite a sensuous and pleasant sensation, she decided.
Toweling herself dry, Betty thought of the artifacts she retained from that trip, (A perfect chance to capture a moment.) She withdrew one of three remaining crucifixes, (Not that one, the one with pearls.) Draping the chain around her neck, She adjusted the heavy cross to lie in her cleavage. Betty stood before the full-length mirror and began to rub her hair with the towel.
(Gold lasts forever, but I don’t.) she peevishly slapped at the loose skin of her upper arms, (And just look at my breasts.) Yes, a decade had passed. (Thank goodness he loves me anyway . . .)
Speak of the devil, the old bear’s reflection appeared over her shoulder at the same time his hands lay on her hips. She ceased her activity and stood quietly, watching his face in the mirror for a cue. Bill's loose jowls were smiling, "My girl is beautiful."
"But see here . . ." Betty pushed the gold aside and drew her fingers across the upper part of her chest, "This started out just looking like dry skin, like I had too much sun. Now, it’s kind of loose and you can see it."
"Hadn’t noticed." Bill's hands moved gently through the curve of her waist and across to her tummy, "Smooth and soft as a baby’s bottom."
Betty knew if she moved to encourage him, even by laying her hand over his, that the man would continue on. And the only thing left to admire was her private parts. She stood quietly as he kissed the back of her neck, (That’s nice . . . but darn it, I just took a shower.) "Bill, do you remember where we went after we found the treasure?"
"Yeah, we headed for Durango and up into the mountains."
"We had plenty of time and wanted to try the beaches on the Pacific."
"Nayarit — we never got there did we?"
. . .
(Durango) "It was super comfortable for a change, but I still think it cost too much." Bill referred to the high-class hotel they had selected in Durango.
"Tish tosh, you complain about 25 pesos ($8 U.S.) when we have something like 40,000 dollars stashed around the car?" The American tourists had decided to smuggle some of the smaller items, but all of the coin, 40 pounds of gold and silver, were safely buried elsewhere. The bulk of the colonial, household treasures were left in place in the original crate, guarded by a swarm of scorpions.
"Tish tosh? What kind of word is that? Anyway, it ain’t money yet. So far, it’s just one of those go-directly-to-jail cards — don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars."
One crucifix had been painted Day-Glo yellow with the settings left showing. Betty reached up and gave the cross, hanging from the rearview mirror, some impetus. "This is a stroke of genius, making something like this look cheap."
"I like the statue to detract attention from it." A grotesquely large figurine of the Virgin Mary stood lashed to the dash, staring placidly to the rear of the car. It had cost them 30 cents.
The little Dodge labored upward. The vegetation became more tropical as they began to drive into and out of mist. "Back home, we’d call this Apache fog. The sun should burn it off later."
"Bandits !" A blockade of men’s figures, carrying rifles, appeared across the narrow pavement.
"I hope they are cops." Before the car with New Mexico plates came to a complete stop, the soldiers in front stepped aside. A tough-looking hombre scrutinized the interior and occupants through a side window and waved them on. They barely breathed until the group behind them was engulfed in fog. "Whoosh !" came a simultaneous expulsion of breath.
"I have to pee but don’t stop here."
Ten miles farther on, a side trail appeared. Betty cranked the wheel and steered into it. "I’ll join you." and they climbed out. The sound of a helicopter passed near but unseen overhead.
"I guess the Federales have bigger fish to fry — if they only knew. You want me to drive for awhile?"
"I’m okay." Betty took the driver’s seat and started the engine. Pulling the lever into reverse, she looked back to see the way blocked by a flatbed truck. Men were scrambling out, waving guns, "Police again." she put the car into neutral.
These were not police. After some confusion in Spanish, a gaucho ratero strode forward to address them in English, "We can not let you go. You must drive ahead slowly until I tell you stop." He began to argue with one of his henchmen in Spanish.
Bill picked up enough to whisper, "He’s going to kill us! They can’t let us go and can’t afford hostages."
"You’re not serious, are you?"
"No mistake, dead serious."
"What’ll we do?" Betty asked as the Mexican yelled at them to proceed.
"Don’t ask me, you’re driving."
Their minds raced for a solution as they crept along the rough trail for, it seemed, an endless time. A helicopter materialized from the mist in front of them. "I’m going to ram it and disable it." she punched the accelerator pedal.
"No, swerve over there!" Bill pointed desperately to a depression in the earth. "Ditch the car, jump out, and run as hard as you can." Betty complied, and the car accelerated over the edge and became airborne down a gentle slope. Seeing a jumble of boulders in her path, she jammed on the brakes and slid sideways to a stop.
She threw her door open and was struggling to exit when she felt Bill pushing her butt to urge her out. "Get out on your side." she shouted.
"My door won’t open — hurry up." he cried. Betty had slid the car against an immovable object. Moving out of Bill’s way, she looked back to see him, more agile than she, disappear into the fog. He yelled over his shoulder, "Split up — keep moving."
(Bull hockey!) Betty thought and waddled, like a 63 year-old mamma bear, in the same direction he had gone. Automatic-rifle fire failed to make a difference to her composure, which was already gone. But there were no bullet strikes; the men were firing blindly into the fog. She had a little momentum built up, and it carried her stumbling down an incline where she fell on her shoulder and tumbled against Bill.
"Honey, you okay?" The chatter of machine guns, spraying the mountain top, and the angry shouts of merciless criminals continued. "We have to keep moving away. Can you walk?"
"Darn right I can . . . that way." she pointed down a narrow ravine.
Bill was breathless from exertion but had to know, "Why did you come back? We should have split up so if they found one of us . . ." The outcome was to horrible to speak.
"Either way, I don’t want to get away without you." she panted.
A hundred yards down, Bill held her back. "We ain’t in shape for this, but they don’t know that." He pointed up the side, "Let’s climb up there and lay low."
The couple cowered silently as a man scrambled down the ditch and continued out of sight. He soon returned, more slowly, cursing to himself in Spanish. Just then, a light aircraft was heard passing over, cruising above the impenetrable fog. They heard the whine of a helicopter, starting its engine.
Below their vantage point, the bad guy increased his pace, stumbled, and sprawled on his face. Betty saw his weapon fly into the brush. The man regained his footing and hurried up the arroyo without the gun. She described where the rifle had gone, and Bill sneaked down to get it. The couple sat tight for several hours. There was another helicopter passage and they waited yet longer. In mid-afternoon, they climbed out.
The scene was abandoned except for the truck and six crates, which lay scattered on the ground where they had been thrown from the aircraft to lighten its load. Bill drove the Omni up to the pad with no problem. "She doesn’t have a mark on her, except where I skinned the paint trying to open my door."
"Oh, yeah? What’s that then?" she pointed to a broken taillight lens and several bullet holes below the hatchback.
"More mementos. I guess the gas tank doesn’t leak." Bill called her attention to the discarded cargo, "That crate is broken open, they’re full of guns. Do you want some?"
"No ! Let’s get out of here." And they did . . . nearly.
As the Dodge pulled onto the highway, a black limousine careened sideways to block the road. The far doors flew open and men in business suits scampered to firing positions across the hood and trunk. "Oh jesus, not again." Bill was driving and looked to make a dash for it in reverse gear.
Betty stopped him, "They’re cops. At least, they have badges."
These were United States federal men. The tourists showed them the helicopter pad, the crates, and truck. The feds were made to suffer through their tale of fright and escape. The chief G-man told them, "We have here a saturation move by gun runners at several points, simultaneously, all over the mountains. We are short handed and can’t leave these arms here. If you were willing . . . what do you think about ferrying this truck and cargo to the border?"
"We’ll never get it across." Bill was worried about his own contraband.
"You wouldn’t have to. We can fix you up with papers to turn over the truck at . . . what border crossing do you like?"
"Las Palomas." Betty offered.
"Perfect." said the guy, "Small crossing — easy to watch. I’ll have someone meet you there to take over the truck and weapons on the Mexican side — the Mexican government has to keep them for awhile. I can issue a voucher for $1,000 for your trouble, cashable in any bank in the U.S."
"But what about our vacation?" Bill was only stalling for time while he thought.
"Okay, $2,000 for the job. That’s all I’m authorized to spend in one place. It isn’t dangerous but very important . . . in fact, the M15, there on your back seat, isn’t in the inventory. You should keep it with you."
"Hmm . . ." thought Betty aloud, "Linus’ security blanket."
"From Palomas, you can go home or continue your trip. You will have diplomatic-immunity papers that will shoot you across the border, either way, for 30 days — no hassle, questions, or search."
"Hmm . . ." pondered Bill, "Does that include our Dodge?"
"You bet. This is your chance for all the duty-free Mexican booze you can carry." he chuckled at his lighthearted joke. "You will do it for us then? Your government and Mexico will be grateful."
"How much time do we have to deliver?"
"Allow for truck breakdowns and overnight stops. Don’t loose any of that cargo — if you do, we are both in trouble." The agent prepared papers in triplicate, "Here is the invoice for the truck and guns . . . this one is a commercial Mexican license . . . here is a document to flash on any Mexican authority, federal or local, for quick passage. It will get you a nighttime guard or an escort if you want one. It also covers your personal weapon . . . this is a voucher for $2,000 . . . and" he handed the last sheet to Bill, "your diplomatic certificate — I named only Mister Franklin, so you have to stay together to get away with nude bathing." He smiled to indicate he was joking — the idea of these old people bathing together was ridiculous.
Another man came from a radio contact to tell the couple, "An agent will be in Las Palomas in two days and will wait until you show up, so take your time. Don’t trust his badge, ask to see a paper like this . . ." he displayed an example, "The name will be James Bond. Can you remember that?"
"Got it." said one teddy. "You bet." echoed the other.
"You are on your way then. ¡ Via con Dios !" and the men turned their attention to the radio.
The truck’s engine sounded fine and the tires didn’t look bad. Bill scooted into the cab and bent down to kiss his lady. "I’m going slow down hill till I get used to the truck. Will you follow me?"
"Won’t let you out of my sight. I’ll carry the papers with me. Where do you think our first stop will be?"
"Do you feel like a swim?"
"You thought of that too, huh? I think everything will fit under the hatchback deck. I love you." She hurried to the Dodge and followed him down the road.