Jack woke up in a world of pain, his head was throbbing and he could feel a numbness all over his body.
- Fuck, that last jack kicked the shit out of me...
He got up and looked across the bed to find a brief case sealed with a tag were he could read "The Venetian".
- Ahh, so I did win the game yesterday.
He's headache was getting hectic, so just before getting into the shower he poured himself a glass of jack and downed it as fast as he could.
After the revitalizing shower, the suit that had been tailored the day before was waiting for him in the wardrobe. The black suit with white thin stripes suited him perfectly. Looked at himself in the mirror and walked out the door. Across the corridor was MeXico's room. When Jack approached the door we saw the "Do Not Disturb" paper on the floor and the door was open. He walked in. MeXico was on the bed still dressed.
- Wake up scum bag!
- Oh, ahhhh fuck. Close the curtains. What time is it?
- 12:30. Time for lunch.
- OK, I'll meet you in the lobby.
- I'll be in the restaurant. Meet me there.
He walked out the room. Approached the lobby:
- Hi, I would like to pay Mr. MeXico's account:
- OK, give me a second. Yes. Well the rooms are paid for. All that is due is the supper, the parking, and the washing of the Jeep.
- The washing was not solicited, so don't even think we are paying for it.
- Sorry, it's protocol, the Venetian reputation is mandatory when it comes to the cleanliness of our customers cars.
- Don't give a shit, I didn't ask for it, so I am not paying.
- Ok sir, then it's 5000 for the suppers, 500 for the parking... Oh and the filling of the fridges is 250 dollars. Let me just calculate the total.
- It's 5750 dollars. I don't rely much on technology.
Jack reached for the briefcase and pulled out a stack of notes. Paid the bill and asked for two lunches to be credited. He thanked the receptionist and headed for the restaurant.
Paul appeared a short while after. They had a quick lunch when Paul asked:
- So, what car do you want.
- 66 Camaro. In black, with white interiors.
- I knew you wanted something of the sort. Just give me a second.
Paul picked up his mobile phone, pressed some keys and the connection was established:
- Miranda my friend, how are you? Yeah, I'm cool. And yourself? Haha. Listen, I need a car, something specific, that only you will have this far West. No, cash my friend. 66 Camaro, in black. mm hmmm. Ok, hold on a second. Jack, he's got that car in black with the white interiors, but, the paint job is all messed up with stains and it's got some shells stuck on the doors.
- That will do just fine.
- OK, Miranda I'll be picking it up in Anaheim later in the afternoon. Yes, like it was for me. Ok, thanks mate.
He put the phone away and turned to Jack.
- 75 grand. Not very cheap.
- No problem. I won enough money yesterday to buy a little third world country. How is it mechanically?
- Miranda said it had just been restored.
They exited the Venetian and waited for the valet to bring the Grand. It appeared all dirty, with dust being thrown onto all the other cars, making their owners nod their heads in disapproval. Paul grinned and full of pride stepped in. They pulled off.
Half way through the Mojave desert Mason lowered the music:
- You really hate tarmac roads, hey?
- What?
- You are always driving in these desert sand roads.
- My friend, this is a Jeep thing. Besides, the Grand and I feel much better in the desert, better these lonely roads then in the fucking hectic traffic of the tarmac. We are fugitives, so maybe avoiding busy roads is a good idea.
- You are fucking weird, man.
- Every Jeep owner has to have a loose screw, maybe one day you might understand it.
The conversation was interrupted by a squeaking sound coming from the glove compartment. Paul's face became pale, it was like all the blood gushed out of his face, his laid back expression turned into one of terror and despair in seconds. He braked as hard as he could, blocking all the tires and performing a huge skid and turning the Jeep into a forced high speed U-turn that led to a jump over the trail and onto soft desert sand.
- What the fuck are you thinking man!!?
Paul didn't even hear the question, by now he was sweating and trembling. All the dust caught up to the Grand and was now filling gushing inside. Jack came out of the suffocating car while Paul struggled to open the compartment. The noise kept ringing. Paul was coughing deeply and finally picked up the ringing object. His hands shooke while he took it the phone to his ear.
- Sim? O que aconteceu? Mas.. Ela, ela está bem? Epá, não... Não acredito.
Jack immediately understood the language, Portuguese, the accent from the North of Portugal. MeXico continued to talk with his voice now trembling. Jack approached the car to get a cigarette, and saw the glove compartment open, a photo had fallen from it. It was a wrinkled but vivid photo with two close up faces of a young couple that were smiling. Their heads together in a very peaceful stare. He recognized the guy immediately. Paul. The girl was young and beautiful, with bright hazel eyes, and an angelic smile. Behind them a lighthouse was standing out in the middle of the ocean. Jack turned the photo around and saw a string of numbers, coordinates. His photographic memory retained the numbers immediately: 51.72142, -5.67031. Paul continued shouting at the phone.
- Isto não está a acontecer. Ouve, liga ao Simon e diz-lhe que estou ai o mais rápido possível. Epá, mas como é que isto foi acontecer? Merda. OK. Sim, no Mojave. OK, vou já. Fica com ela. Diz-lhe que estou a caminho.
Mexico was now standing in front of the Grand, he kicked the car, a little green colored piece of paint fell on the blazing desert sand, he punched the front of the bonnet and dented it.
- Fuck man, fuck, fuck, fuck.
- MeXico, man, take it easy, what's the matter? I didn't know you knew Portuguese, I mean, where you born there?
Paul didn't even hear the question. He picked another mobile phone from the car, dialed the numbers and before talking to it, he turned to jack.
- Put that photo were it was, now. It's none of your fucking business.
- But who is she?
- Am I speaking Chinese?
- OK, OK calm the fuck down.
- Listen, it's the end of the line, I've got to go, now. Yes, Miranda, listen man, change of plans. Just, just shut the fuck up man. Yes, I still want the car. Bring it to the coordinates I'm gonna send by text message. I'll give you one grand extra. Come now, and quick.
He typed the message into the phone and sent it. Looked at Jack who was by now completely confused.
- Listen man, whatever is going on, I can help.
- Sorry, you can't. I... I... Look, Miranda is coming with the car to meet you here, I'll pay the extra grand. I've gotta go now, it's urgent.
- Forget the money man. Let me help you.
-Shut up. Here.
MeXico handed Jack a bottle of Jack Daniels from the Grand's trunk.
- I know this keeps you going like an adrenaline shot to an overdosed junkie.
He also gave him a GPS, a mobile phone and a CD.
- GPS's are open to the public now, not only the army uses them, so you should be able to get around it. The mobile phone is if you get into shit. 911 is still the emergency number. And this CD is the best I've got, so, you now, don't fuck it up, there is some good music on it. Miranda knows I like music so he's applying a CD player on the car along with some juicy speakers.
- Yeah, I'm really gonna call 911 because I'm not a fugitive or anything. Listen man, I've been trained, I can help.
- No time man. It was nice spending these few days with you.
Mason realized that his effort was in vain, so he let MeXico leave.
- OK man, whatever, take it easy. Thanks for everything.
Just before he closed the door he stuck 5000 dollars under the seat.
- Jack, man, I'll be seeing you. Good luck in the new world.
Before Mason had time to reply, MeXico skidded the wheels, releasing a huge amount of dust and sand into the air while turning the car in the opposite direction and accelerating it to the maximum. Jack stood there staring at the car leaving.
Now that he was alone, Paul dropped a stubborn tear that fell on his suit pants. He was punching the wheel with his fist. After a few miles in despair, he dominated himself, because losing control would not improve his situation. So he lit a cigarette and put the sound in maximum volume:
Jack stayed behind. Laughed at his situation. Sat down for a while looking at the sky.
- Soon.
He laid for a few minutes, just gazing. Turned over. Picked up the Jack. Han a small sip, lit a cigarette. The stinging liquid ran down his throat. Some hours ago he was in a billion dollar hotel, and now, alone in the Mojave desert.
- When you think the variables of life's equation are controlled, the equation is turned inside out. Fuck!
He stood up after a while and glimpsed the horizon. Paul was but a small portion of dust on a desert road.
- That guy has some huge issues...
He put all the objects under a cactus and laid back, preparing for what was going to be a long wait. Placed the earphones and just dozed off staring again at the sky, with the bottle in his hand.
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