Free Quintana Roo by Gary Brandner Page B

hugged him closer.
    “Save it,
chiquita
,” he said. “I’ll be back in two weeks. Maybe less.”
    “I got a bad feeling about this job, Hooker.”
    “I don’t want to hear any more about that.”
    “Do you have to go right this minute?”
    “I’m already late.”
    “Just a little while longer?” Her hands moved familiarly over his body.
    “Oh, what the hell,” Hooker said.
    Half an hour later, he got out of bed.

CHAPTER 11
    Connie Braithwaite stood in the dressing room of her suite at the Hotel Palacio and studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. She did not have to spend any time on her face. Connie knew she was beautiful. She had been blessed with good bones, a flawless skin, and blue eyes that could knock a man down. She appreciated these gifts and saw little reason for trying to improve on them. Well, maybe just a touch of mascara and a dusting of flesh-tone talcum powder. Rather, it was her outfit that occupied Connie’s attention. It had been purchased at Ambercrombie & Fitch before leaving New York expressly for the anticipated trek into the jungle.
    She nodded approvingly at the tailored twill jacket and the sand-colored breeches. The soft leather boots were just right, and the light blue scarf at her throat added the necessary touch of color. She tried on the pith helmet. She adjusted it at various angles before putting it aside with an impatient frown. The stupid thing made her look like Maureen O’Sullivan in that Tarzan movie before she took her clothes off.
    Her blonde hair had been cut short to make it easy to care for on the journey, but Connie was not satisfied with the set. The hair lay too close to her head and felt stiff. It was her own fault, Connie decided, for trusting the Mexican hairdresser who worked for the hotel.
    • • •
    Out in the sitting room, Earle Maples glanced without much interest through the open door at his employer’s self-examination. Vain bitch, he thought. Nothing but big blue eyes and a pair of tits, but they bought her everything she wanted. He transferred his attention out the window to the people six stories below going about their business or loitering in the park. Or maybe loitering in the park
was
their business. It did not really matter to Earle what Mexicans did as long as they kept well away from him.
    Mexico was a tedious country, he decided. Tedious and dirty. Earle had come there well supplied with medicines and had assiduously avoided drinking the water, yet he had not escaped a mild case of the ubiquitous dysentery that was known by a number of supposedly humorous names. Montezuma’s revenge, Aztec two-step, tourist trots. Disgusting. The affliction had forced Earle to change his underwear three times a day. He could not bear the thought of soiled clothing next to his skin.
    He looked again at Connie Braithwaite primping before the mirror. One would think she was going to a costume party rather than a trek into some filthy jungle. For all Earle knew, maybe that was the way she thought of this venture.
    He wondered, without really caring, whether she would sleep with the big American called Hooker. He supposed a woman might find the man attractive, but he was too scruffy and rough spoken for Earle’s taste.
    Thinking about Hooker reminded Earle of the dreadful experience with the two Mexican toughs outside the cantina. Nothing like that had happened to him since his early days at boarding school. He had been rescued that time by an understanding English teacher. He smiled at the memory of how very understanding the man had been.
    His reverie was interrupted by Connie Braithwaite, standing suddenly in the doorway.
    “How do I look?” she asked.
    “Smashing.”
    “I don’t know; I can’t seem to get the hair right. There isn’t time to have it done again, but I wanted it to look nice for starting out today.”
    Yes, Earle thought, she’s going to sleep with Hooker. “Why don’t you brush it out in the back, make it more fluffy,