Chapter II The Man in Black
One week to the day after Carlos and Pepe had disposed of the body,
Teresa was again holding court on a Saturday night at the cantina. She had been
in a good mood at the beginning of the evening, but it was well past 10:00 now
and for some reason she was feeling a little edgy. The air outside had been
heavy all day, the sky dark and threatening. Hector had been complaining all
evening that his missing leg was giving him mucho dolor -- a sure sign that a
storm was brewing.
A sprinkling of regulars were scattered around the little tavern, mostly
discussing how this autumn storm might affect what remained of the harvest.
Oddly, thought Teresa, there was another stranger in the cantina tonight.
Another American.
But where the one last weekend had been a grinning little twerp of a
man, no taller than Teresa's 5' 6", tonight it was an unsmiling giant who sat at
the corner of the bar. He had to be at least 6' 4", Teresa thought to herself,
and he looked as threatening as the sky outside. Just to keep busy, she picked
up a decrepit broom and began to sweep the dusty cantina floor.
The big man took a swig from the bottle of tequila that he had told
Teresa to leave, his eyes returning her stare for a moment and then descending
to her alluring young figure. Which he studied as frankly as if it belonged to
him. Teresa was wearing a sexy black satin bolero top with six shiny metal
buttons -- the top three of which were unfastened, leaving her generous breasts
half-revealed. Several inches of golden-bronze midriff, indented with a
kissable little navel, separated the bolero from the white skirt which hugged
her hips. He watched with interest as the gentle motion of her sweeping caused
her full breasts to bobble appetizingly beneath the black satin.
The stranger looked to be in his mid-thirties and was dressed in black
from his big, coal-colored stetson down to his long black boots. His dark shirt
and denims were dusty from the trail; his black attire was interrupted only by a
large silver 'J' on the buckle of his shiny, two-inch-wide black belt. It
struck Teresa that the belt looked newer, and better cared for, than the rest of
his garb. The stranger's worn stetson was pulled down shadowing a pair of
fierce-looking beetle brows and sinister dark eyes. Acrid smoke curled up from a
foul cigar that smoldered in the ash tray.
Teresa could almost feel the heat from his eyes on her breasts -- his
eyes had rarely left her body in the hour since he had come in and ordered the
bottle. Teresa was used to being admired; usually she enjoyed it. But,
somehow this man reminded her of a giant bird of prey, eyeing his quarry from a
distance. Hairy wrists and hands protruded from his dark cuffs. Although his
facial features were not unattractive, he seemed all arms and legs -- like a
hairy black spider. He sported a bristly angry-looking mustache, and his cheeks
and chin were covered with a three-day old growth of beard. There was something
about his small unblinking black eyes that reminded her of a ... what? Un
reptil, that was it! A snake. The man in black had the cold dead eyes of a
snake.
Somehow the weather and the stranger had cast a pall over the room; the
customers were listless, and the tips had hardly been worth counting. She had
danced one sensuous habanera for the customers, but her heart hadn't been in it.
Maybe because the big American had stared at her shapely figure as if he were a
huge black spider and she were a tasty young fly trapped in his web. Hector,
sensing her lack of involvement, had bade her good night and limped out into the
darkness half an hour ago.
It was going on 11:00 now, and the locals were beginning to file out,
looking up and gesturing at the dark sky as they stood in the doorway before
heading out into the night. But the tall stranger made no move to leave, even
though Teresa had told him a quarter of an hour earlier that the cantina would
be closing soon.
Teresa wondered if she should ask Montoya or one of the others to stick
around, but then decided it was just nerves. And besides -- Carlos and Pepe
would be coming soon. They invariably stopped by before 11:00 to make sure
everything was locked up securely.
"Closing now, Senor," she called to El Reptil nervously. She couldn't
believe that he had drunk nearly half a bottle of her strongest tequila in
little more than an hour.
"I ain't finished yet," the sinister figure in black snarled. "I ordered
this bottle and I'm gonna drink it!"
Outside a long, slow rumble of thunder began, growing, as the seconds
passed, into a tremendous thunder-clap, punctuated in its closing split-second
by a dazzling lightning bolt that illumined the sky. Teresa had moved toward
the window when the thunder began; she jumped back slightly when the thunder
peaked and the lightning flashed illuminating the deserted mission across the
street, and the somehow sinister headstones in the adjoining cemetery. She
didn't like storms. And she didn't like being alone with this forbidding
stranger.
"What's the matter? You scared of a little thunderstorm?" the man in
black asked mockingly. "Let me tell you, chiquita, there's lots a worse things
in the world than a thunderstorm. A thunderstorm ain't gonna hurt you --
'ceptin' by accident." The tall stranger took another long pull at the tequila,
as she turned back toward him, and he gave her another long slow visual
once-over, his black eyes lingering on the deep cleft between her succulent
breasts, before meeting hers.
"Senor, I must close up now." Teresa's voice was quavery. "You will
have to go."
"I told you," the man in black hissed through clenched teeth, "I ain't
leavin' 'til I've finished my bottle. Tell you what, honey, why don't you come
sit beside me -- it'll help pass the time." The big man gave her a toothy smile
that, Teresa felt, betokened lust more than amiability.
Another deafening thunderclap rumbled through the heavens. Sheets of
rain had begun to fall outside, partially obscuring the intermittent flashes of
lightning. Teresa couldn't remember such a frightening storm -- especially at
this time of year.
The clock read 11:10 now. Where WERE her brothers?
And then she heard someone pulling at the door. "Carlos! Pepe! Is that
you?" cried Teresa, as she ran across to the door, exclaiming as she opened it,
"Thank God, you're here."
But when she opened the door wide there was no one there. Through the
driving rain she could barely make out the dark silhouette of the deserted
mission and the eerie upright headstones on the other side of the now muddy
street. But she could see little else in the darkness save for the cascades of
rain pouring down from the heavens. Nearby, a river of rainwater was running
off the roof, and pouring down the gutter and collecting in a large metal tub a
few feet to her right.
A gust of wind blew some of the rain toward her; she felt a cool fine
mist on the front of her body for a moment. Just then a great crackle of
lightning lit up the sky, and in that brief flash of light she thought she saw a
ghostly figure in the darkness.
Shaking her head at her foolish fancies, Teresa turned to go back
inside. But as she did so something cold and clammy touched her hand as she
tried to pull the door shut.
Teresa jumped in terror and turned to confront whatever had touched her.
And what she saw made her blanche with fear.
For standing in the doorway, rivulets of rain pouring off of his filthy
hat, was the ghastly, gruesome visage of a small, rat-faced man, carrying a
familiar navy knapsack.
"Howdy, darlin'," the stranger from the prior Saturday night whispered
softly, a malicious grin on his face. "I'm back from the dead. Trick or Treat?"
