Death Mask of the Jaguar

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Murder in La Paz

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Murder in La Paz

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Death Mask of the Jaguar

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     There was no moon and no visible star. The high clouds reflecting Tijuana's halide streetlights made the landscape look like another world. Maria Twillingham felt alienated, as if the airplane landing lights roaring toward them out of the amber sky were something ominous.
     "Here comes another one," she said anxiously.
     "Yeah, I see it," her husband Peter answered.
     "Peter, I don't know how Pedro can sleep through this. Maybe you should go back and check on him. He might be scared."
     "Nah. The kid can sleep through anything. Besides, he can talk to us through the camper’s back window here if he needs us. Relax."
     "Relax? How could I possibly? You've got us parked out here in a dirt field off the end of the airport runway, waiting for some stranger who probably won't even show up. And you tell me to relax?"
     "Maria, he's not some stranger, like I met him on the street or something. I found him on the Internet. He's an expert on antiquities. He deals in artifacts and he can read those Mayan hieroglyphs I copied off the map. He'll show up because I promised to give him and the guy at that shop first crack at the Mask when we find it."
     "If we find it."
     "We'll find it. Think positive. Think of it as an adventure. It's going to make a great story for our friends when we're rich and famous."
     "Right now I wish we were at home, safe in bed."
     "Maria, you should have gone into the mask shop with Pedro and me and seen the look on that guy’s face after I mentioned the lost Death Mask of the Jaguar. When I told him I was the one who found the map in an old book, he got right on the phone and called the expert. He was so excited.”
     "Peter, I know all that - you've told me at least ten times now. But I don't think you should have gone around telling people about the map. And I don't trust anyone who wants you to meet him way out here in some dirt field."
     "Don't be so paranoid, Maria. It's not a dirt field; it's a soccer stadium. Look, there's the grandstand... there's one of the goals down there - don't be negative. Maybe he's a little eccentric, but guys like that have to be secretive. Even those art dealers who handle the paintings of the great masters - they all act like secret agents. That's what makes it so exciting." Peter lit another cigarette.
     "I'm glad you think so. I'm just scared. And if you weren't scared you wouldn't be smoking so much. I can hardly breathe in here."
     "Well if you'd let me roll down the windows... anyway, I'm not scared, I'm excited."
     "Okay Peter, maybe you're right. I'm sorry but I can't help being a little nervous out here. Go ahead and roll down your window if...”
     Maria's voice trailed off as the lights in the sky grew brighter and the roar of the engines increased. She'd have to shout over the scream of the engines, and Peter never listened to her anyway. At least not since he'd found his crazy treasure map and dragged them off on this wild goose chase, closing the bookstore and packing them up in this camper like migrant workers. She wanted a better life than that for her son. Hadn't she escaped this kind of life once? And didn't -
       Her thoughts were erased as she closed her eyes to avoid looking at the huge machine swooping down at them. "Jesus, Mary," formed like spoken words in her mind as Aero-Mexico Flight 180 from La Paz blasted overhead so close you could throw a hat up and hit it. The shock waves rocked their camper pickup, and then it was gone, the noise of the actual landing almost inaudible in comparison.
     Her hand hurt, and she realized she was clutching the cross hanging from the chain around her neck. "Peter, please, how much longer are we going to wait here?"
     "Maria, relax. We were way early. I didn't want to take a chance on not being able to find this place, remember? So he's a little late...look, there're some headlights. That's probably him."
     Sure enough, the headlights turning into the stadium stopped moving. They flashed on and off twice, and Peter flashed his headlights on and off three times in response, like they'd agreed.
     The headlights approached to within a hundred feet, parking at an angle in front and a little to the left of them, blinding them now. Annoyed, Peter thought about turning his own headlights back on to see how they liked it.
     "Boy this guy is really paranoid," Peter said. He was feeling a lot that way himself but didn't want to show it. As Maria whispered, "Peter, be careful," he opened his door and got out, shielding his eyes from the glare. Then he walked toward the other car.
     "Stop right where you are Mr. Twillingham," a voice commanded. Then two men stepped into view, one on each side of the glaring lights. Peter's stomach twisted. They were holding guns. Automatic weapons, like in movies and on the six o'clock news.
     "Where is the map, Mr. Twillingham?" The voice was more threatening now and didn't belong to either of the two men holding the guns. It came from behind them.
     "But-but," Peter stammered, "y-you were just supposed to translate something for -"
     "Shut up, stupid. That Mask is priceless. I want the map and I want it now."
     "But...but, my family is here. I -"
     "That's your fault I'm afraid. Tell your wife to get out of the pickup and join you."
     "No, please, no. She doesn't -"
     Fire flashed from the gun on the left.
     “Ahhh,” Peter screamed, as at least one of several bullets hit his right leg, exploding the kneecap, and he fell, writhing on the ground. "You shot me."
     "Peter! Oh Peter," Maria sobbed, opening her door and rushing to his side.
     Shock overcame Peter, and along with fear it allowed him to be brave, forgetting the pain. "Please, please don't hurt us," he begged as he writhed in the dirt, holding his smashed leg. "I'll give you the map -"
     "For the last time Mr. Twillingham," the voice growled, "where is it?"
     "Please wait... it... it's sewn into our son's shirt... we didn't think anybody would... please... Maria can get it for you... just... just let us go... please..."
     Maria was crying and trying to stop the blood with her blouse. And she was sobbing, "Oh Peter-Peter-Jesus-Mary" –
     Time slowed for Peter… thinking…Maria is ruining her blouse…how stupid he’d been…he hoped Pedro didn’t wake up…his leg would heal and they certainly wouldn’t kill them if they got-
     Both weapons erupted fire as Maria threw herself across him, bullets spraying as they lay there jerking and dying, the dry earth sucking in their blood. Maria lay still finally, clutching her bloodied cross.
      "Thank you anyway Mr. Twillingham," the voice in the shadows said. "I think we can get the map ourselves now." In perfect Spanish, he said, "Check the camper and bring me the kid."