Chapter 36

For Burt, winter was heaven.  On a good week, he could guide one tourist group down the Baja coast in four days, turn around and take another group back up to Los Angeles or San Diego in three days.  ‘The perfect week” he called it.  His wife knew there was only a limited number of perfect weeks to score, usually around holidays like Christmas, New Years, Washington and Lincoln’s birthday, so it was with added enthusiasm that she sent her husband off on a usually slow week to find a friend of a former client.  As she waved and he drove off in the only luxury item in their family, a bright red Aerostar with “Baja Guide Service” emblazoned on the side panel, she reminded him one last time, “Make sure you bring back her autograph!” 

“I will,” he assured her.  “I will.” 

Little did she know that Burt’s customer, a repeat customer, a strange man named Aristotle who had paid him handsomely for driving a Winnebago several months earlier, had made Burt promise, “No autographs.  No Star Gawking.”

“No problemo,” Burt had assured him over the phone.  Within 24 hours, a Federal Express package arrived with a cell phone, a check for one thousand dollars and, note and  a photocopy of a picture showing a beautiful woman standing among a smiling group of children.  Just as Ari had said over the phone, the word “home” written on the back of the photocopy told everything.  The note outlined Samantha sharing her experience with the young Mexican boy, Antonio, who sold jewelry at the Hyatt Regency at Bahia Tortugas.  Burt’s job: Scout the hotel, find the boy, talk him into letting you give him a lift to his home.  “Find the boy, you find Samantha,” Ari had told him.  Of course, it would be Burt’s job to figure out how to approach the boy and not seem like a weirdo.  His experience on the coast suggested a purchase of some of the kid’s jewelry might work… maybe.  And it would also be his job to create a believable autograph from Samantha for his wife.

***

As Burt pulled into the Hyatt Hotel, his mind flashed back to the time he and Ari had arrived in the Winnebago.  He wondered what the young man might be doing now, still snapping pictures and playing with that lap top.  For Burt, spending time with this stranger named Aristotle had been a memorable experience.  Mostly, it had been the pictures on the lap top.  And for Burt, the man voted least likely to succeed at Temeca High, realizing he saw things different after spending time with Ari, he felt more excited about his life, that making a living was only part of what it was all about.  These were changes in his thinking that took him by surprise.  It was a strange memory. He didn’t know why.  After all, he wasn’t a thinker.  He had the high school grades to prove it, and he knew when he finally graduated, he’d have a hard time.  He was a dreamer.  And although he could spend hours looking in the National Geographic and fantasizing himself in exotic places, marriage and children kept his fantasies close to home.  Even though he was a Baja Coast specialist, guiding tourists to the sights had become a somewhat boring routine… until now.

“Willy, these boys look familiar? asked Burt as he straddled the bar stool and flashed the bartender with the photo copy Ari had sent him. 

Willy, the bartender, handed him a beer and glanced at the picture.  “What you doin’ lookin’ for boys.  Not going South on me are you?”

Burt nervously half grinned, casting a quick glance toward the other customers.  “Jesus, not so loud.  You’ve known me for years.  I’m surprised you’d even think such a…”

Willy laughed, putting on his glasses and a closer look. “Just kidding.  So, why?”

Client’s paying me to find the woman in the picture.  Seems one of these boys hawk jewelry around here and…”

“From guide to detective, huh?  Well, you’re in luck today.”  Willy slipped off his glasses and pointed out the bar window.  “Down there… the kid on the beach wearin’ the John Wayne cowboy hat.”

Burt turned on his stool and gazed out the window.  “You sure?”

“He doesn’t ‘hawk’ jewelry.  Little bugger negotiates like a car salesman.”

Burt was halfway out the door, when Willy yelled after him.  “You be careful with whatever money that client of yours gave you or little ‘Wayne’ there will have you thumbin’ back to the states.”

Burt wandered up to the boy who sat before his blanket crowded with jewelry.  “Hey, kid, wanna’ make a buck?”

Antonio looked up from under the brim of his cowboy hat and said, “A buck?”

“Yeah,” said Burt, taking a roll of ones from his pocket.

Antonio grinned, “You got to be kidding?”

“Kidding?  No, I’m not kidding.  I got a buck here for the boy that can lead me to her?

“Her?”

“Oh,” said Burt, pulling the picture from his shirt pocket.  “This her.  Sorry.  This woman.”

Antonio suddenly became serious.  “Where’d you get this?”

“A friend of mine is a friend of hers.  She sent him the original.  This is just a copy.”

“I can see that.” Antonio stood up.  “Haven’t I seen you around here before?”

“Probably,” said Burt.  “I’m usually with tourists… tourists who complain about getting gouged by hawkers.”

“I’m no hawker.  I’m a salesman.”

“Right,” said Burt.  I can see that.  So, how about the buck?”

“So, how about some serious money?” said Antonio with all the seriousness of a poker player.  “If he’s a friend, how come he didn’t come himself?”

“You got to have the whole story, huh?  The whole enchilada.” quipped Burt.

“Yeah, the whole… what did you call it… enchilada?”

Burt sighed, “Okay, how much is this gonna cost me?”

“You got a lot to tell me before I take you to her, friend or no friend.”

“That sounds expensive.  Just, how much?”

“You start talking and I’ll let you know as you go.”

“God damn.  Who’d you learn that shit from?”

“Hustler’s like you.” 

“Am I supposed to say you learned good, little guy” 

“No.”

Burt sat down on the sand, eyeing the little negotiator who adjusted his cowboy hat and kneeled to tidy his jewelry.

***

Samantha wasn’t expecting to hear a car approaching as she draped some wash over the rocks to dry.  Looking toward the road, she shaded her eyes from the sun and paused to reflect on the time she and Max had driven the rutted hundred yards to the shore some six months ago.  The red late model van seemed almost as out of place as the vintage rolls had, but as it got closer, the most out of place factor was the small head barely visible over the dashboard.  “Antonio?” she muttered to herself.

The Aerostar came to a stop, keeled to one side, as its front wheel dropped into a deep rut.  Burt climbed out of the car, grumbling, “She’s gonna kill me if… oh boy, not good.  Not good.” 

As Burt knelt down to examine the layer of dust accumulated around the wheel wells, Antonio got out and strode up to him. “You got problem?” the boy grinned.  “A little dust.”

“No,” said Burt.  “Those sage bushes back up there got me here.  See?”

“Little scratches.  I polish out after…” said Antonio as he looked up to see Samantha approaching.

“Antonio, you’re home early,” said Samantha.

“Oh, this man gave me a ride.  His car faster than the bus.  This is Samantha, Burt.  Burt, Samantha.”

Burt wiped the dust from his hand and reached out to shake her hand.  “Miss Turner, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”  His smile was one of admiration and something else Samantha couldn’t quite figure out. 

“Do I know you?” she questioned.

“Well, not exactly, but…”

He reached into his pocket and produced the picture.  “…well, I know the man you sent this to.”

Samantha stared at the photo copy a long moment.  As her eyes lifted to Burt, he fumbled with his words, wanting to ask the question the right way… the way he thought Ari would ask it. “…and he, well, he’s a long way away and asked me to come here and…”

Samantha realizing there was much more to this than a stranger giving Antonio a lift, turned and started walking back to the shack.  “Care for some fresh fish while you figure it out… the reason that is.  The girls are quite the cooks, you know.”  She put her arm around Antonio as she walked, “So, was it a good day or a bad day at the beach?” 

Antonio glanced over his shoulder at Burt following.  “It was a good trade.  Good day.”  He grinned and turned back into the sun, now dropping to the horizon, giving the white caps their day’s end glow.