Green Ice: A Deadly High (3 page)

Highway
One eventually led them out of the town, alongside the graffiti splattered, corrugated metal fenced border with the U.S. to their right. Shabby one storey dwellings and crumbling apartment blocks stood on the opposite side of the road from the high fence line. Trey and Mancini glanced over the scenery in silence, both wondering how the people who lived in the vicinity managed to get by.

As soon as they were clear of the city slums and
stuffy exhaust fumes, the area either side of Highway One opened out into a vast, sparsely populated expanse. A rocky coastline sloped from left to right towards the sea, with the road sandwiched between. Mancini gazed out towards the ocean and saw several small islands, a mile or so from the shoreline. He wondered if anybody lived out there and decided those small blobs of land would make an ideal place to retire to, away from the grinding pressures of life.

Trey stepped on the gas when the traffic became sparse on both lanes.
The radio station became crackly while a newscaster talked about a violent crime spree along the Baja California Peninsula. Mancini shoved the Surf Rock compilation CD back into the stereo and flicked through the tracks. He settled for a tune titled ‘
Ramcharger
’ by the ‘
Surfin’ Gorillas
’ and slumped back in his seat. 

A collection of fresh looking, whitewashed buildings next to the sea
, flashed by to their right and Mancini assumed the place was some kind of vacation complex. He felt slightly envious of those people moseying in and around those luxurious buildings, relaxing in the sunshine or taking a dip in the pools or in the sea. Mancini decided he was going to take a vacation himself after this job was completed. Fatigue and stress had gradually crept up on him over the last few months and he needed some downtime to unwind and chill out for a while.

“Pull over when we get to the
Real del Mar
resort,” Mancini said. “I have to meet our guy there.”

Trey nodded and kept his eyes on the road. “Are we going to stop at the resort for a while? I could do with a break.”

“It all depends,” Mancini muttered. He didn’t want to spend too much time at the resort, especially if the exchange of firearms went ahead as planned.

“On what?”

“Huh?”

“It depends on what?” Trey repeated
in frustration. “I’m busting for a piss here and I could use some breakfast and something to drink, man. We’ve been driving for like, four hours solid and we need to gas up soon, anyhow.”

Mancini sighed.
His back ached slightly from the hard seat and he wanted to stretch his legs and take a pee himself. “Okay, we’ll stop at the resort for a short time. But we’re not hanging around while you go sightseeing.”

“I just want to take a piss and grab some chow,
yo,” Trey reiterated. “We have a job to do. I get that.”

A few miles further on, they saw signposts
on the grass verge beside the road, indicating they were close to the Real del Mar resort. Trey followed the route the way the arrow pointed on the signs. They drove across a small bridge that led to the resort entrance gates. A small, peach colored security hut stood between the entry and exit points. Each road was blocked by a security barrier. Trey drove up to the barrier and stopped the car, waiting for the security guard to let them through.

A tall guy, wearing a light blue shirt and dark blue pants strolled from the security hut and approached the Thunderbird. He took his time advancing to the driver’s door, instead spending time admiring the vehicle.

“Nice car,” he said, smiling. “What is your business at Real del Mar today, sir?”

“We’ve come to see a
Mr Rata,” Mancini explained. “I’m Mr Martin and this is Mr Lewis.” He gestured to Trey. Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis were Mr Rata’s favorite movie star comedy double act and insisted on the duo’s names used as a kind of code every time he was due for a meeting.

“I will telephone his room and see if he is in residence.”
The security man nodded slightly and returned to his hut. He emerged a few seconds later as the barrier raised upwards. “He is waiting for you in the café, which is located to the right of the main entrance.” He pointed the way to the parking lot and the resort’s reception area.

Trey nodded slightly and pulled the vehicle forward into the parking lot. The resort was a little too busy for Mancini’s liking. He’d have preferred a meeting in some dingy little roadside bar rather than some luxurious resort but that was ‘
La Rat
’ for you. The guy was Oreilles’s eyes and ears in Mexico and took advantage of every situation and assignment he was brought into. No doubt he’d booked himself into the resort for a couple of days on Oreilles’s dollar, when a ten minute meeting on the roadside would have sufficed. In the past, Mancini had been tasked to collect La Rat from LAX and drive him to the
Beverly Hilton
for a couple of days stay. Mancini had later discovered La Rat was only in LA to deliver some sort of documents to Oreilles. A free weekend in the
Beverly Hilton
for five minutes work! Mancini didn’t even know La Rat’s real name and always felt slightly uneasy whenever he had any dealings with him. There was something about the guy that Mancini didn’t like. He didn’t trust him at all.      

Trey parked the Thunderbird in a vacant space a few yards from the
smoked glass fronted main entrance. A strip of manicured lawn, surrounded by beds of colorful flowers sat to the left of the reception area.

“You think the car will be okay here?” Trey glanced around the parking lot.

“Take a look around you,” Mancini grunted. “People who stay here could afford to buy ten of your shitty cars every week.”

Trey huffed and
pulled off his yellow beanie hat, revealing a mop of tousled light brown hair. He tossed the hat on the back seat and climbed out of the car. Mancini rubbed his back after he hauled himself out of his seat and made his way to the resort’s main entrance. A chrome plated reception desk stood
to the right and a small general store lined the left side of the lobby. They were greeted by a woman, wearing a smart dark blue blazer with a white shirt beneath, sitting at the reception desk. She smiled a greeting and Mancini thought she wore far too much lipstick and he could smell the overpowering scent of her perfume from a few yards away.

“We’re here to see
Mr Rata, who should be in the cafe.”

The receptionist pointed the way to the café and Mancini and Trey shuffled through the doorway.
Mancini recognized La Rat sitting at a table by the window, drinking a cup of coffee.

“Look, you better give me a minute alone with this guy,” Mancini said
in a hushed tone. “He gets nervous around people he doesn’t know.”

Trey shrugged. “Okay, that’s cool. I
gotta take a piss, anyhow. I’ll grab some chow at the store back by the reception. I’m damn sure that chick on the desk had the hots for me. I might go check her out.”

Mancini groaned. “Don’t tell anybody your name and definitely do not give out any cell phone numbers. You got some cash?”

“Sure.”

“Do not pay by credit card,” Mancini instructed. “It’s bad enough we had to come to this damn resort. They’ve probably got close circuit cameras around here. If the assignment goes to rat shit, they’ll have our
dumb assed faces and your car registration plate on camera.”

“Got it,” Trey muttered and shuffled off in search of a bathroom.

Mancini turned and headed towards La Rat’s table. The guy sat with his legs outstretched, wearing an expensive looking light gray suit, yellow shirt and pink tie. The sunlight shone through his thinning gray hair as he gazed out of the window and he turned his head when Mancini approached. His dark eyes narrowed, causing his forehead to crease as Mancini sat down opposite him. La Rat glanced over Mancini’s shoulder, checking out the café floor space.

“You came alone?” he asked
, in accented English.

“Nah, I’ve got some guy driving me,” Mancini said.

A waitress approached the table and poured Mancini a cup of coffee. He smiled and nodded in appreciation.

“So
, you got the address for our friends in Ensenada?”

La Rat picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and took out a piece of folded paper
, then slid it across the table to Mancini.

“What about the other items?”

Mancini slipped the piece of paper in his top jacket pocket.

“There is also a cell phone number and a name on that piece of paper. Call that number from a payphone when you reach Ensenada
. Somebody will come and meet you in a safe place, where he will provide you with the tools you need to complete the job, okay?” La Rat spoke quietly but clearly, gazing around the café as he talked. 

“This guy is reliable?” Mancini asked.

La Rat didn’t bother to reply. Mancini inwardly cursed himself at his dumb question. Of course the guy was dependable. If he wasn’t, he’d probably have no head before too long.

“Call the same number when you have retrieved the merchandise and the stolen cash. Arrange another meet and they will take the said items from you. The money and the product will find their way back to their rightful owner.”

Mancini nodded. He knew La Rat had devious methods of crossing the US/Mexican border with all kinds of dodgy commodities.    

“Anything else?”
La Rat asked, gazing out of the bay window.

“Nah,” Mancini said, shaking his head. “I have everything I need.” He downed the remainder of his coffee, stood up and nodded to La Rat.

Mancini left the café and headed back to the reception area. He expected to be armed with some kind of shooter by now and thought it was typical of La Rat to leave him high and dry in bandit country, without a firearm of any kind.  

Chapter Four

Mancini found Trey
Coogan in the reception area, leaning forward on the desk and talking in hushed tones with the girl who wore too much lipstick. Trey clutched a big bag of potato chips and a bottle of soda.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Mancini hissed.

Trey pointed the way to the right beyond the reception desk. Mancini finished up as quickly as he could, washing his face and hands with cold water. He took out the piece of paper from his jacket and unfolded it, just to check La Rat hadn’t sold him a dummy. There was indeed an address for a place in Ensenada, scrawled at the top of the sheet and a cell number with the name ‘
Hector
’ at the bottom of the paper. Next step of the operation, he had to call Eddie Reinbeck, who was Oreilles’s head of operations and right hand guy in LA. Mancini had to confirm he’d made contact with La Rat and was on his way to Ensenada.

Trey was still trying his best to sweet talk the receptionist when Mancini returned to the resort’s
lobby. She clearly wasn’t interested and was politely trying to give Trey the brush off without offending him. Mancini thought women like that probably got hit on at least a half dozen times per shift. She was probably waiting for a wealthy Mr Big Shot to whisk her off her feet and allow her to lead a life of luxury without having to work any longer. Mancini left Trey to it and headed through the doors to the parking lot. He made sure nobody was within earshot when he speed dialed a number on his prepaid cell phone.

“Yeah?” a gruff voice answered. Mancini knew it was Eddie.

“I’ve seen the Rat and the trap is set to go,” Mancini said and immediately rang off.

He made his way back to the reception area and grabbed Trey by the arm. “Come on, we have to go,” Mancini hissed in Trey’s ear.

Trey reluctantly followed Mancini back to the car.

“Let’s get this over and done with, then we can maybe let our hair down
for a time,” Mancini said, as they folded themselves back into the Thunderbird.

“Seriously?
I’m ready to party right now,” Trey whooped, firing up the car engine.

“Wait until we’ve got the job done.” Mancini was already regretting even hinting at
a night out.

Trey
drove out of the parking lot and they waited at the exit barricade while the security guard leisurely opened the barrier.

“K
eep heading south on Highway 1 until we get to Ensenada,” Mancini said. “We’re around fifty miles or so from the city. We should be there in an hour.”

Highway
1turned away from the coastline and ran through the center of the town of Rosarito. Several ambulances and cop cars roared across the highway at an intersection, with lights flashing and sirens wailing. The emergency vehicles all headed towards the beaches to the west. Mancini wondered what the hell was going on in the town.