Bell laughed from the back seat. "What did your parents say?"
Perry shook his head. Foam drolled down his chin. "They were more pissed over the insurance company dumping them because of my third regen than the fact that I spent a week in the county jail."
"Figures," Bells said. "Mine had to switch policies twice because of my regens." He tilted his own bottle up to his mouth.
Karn, seated next to Bell, was puzzled. He didn't know his friends were so accident prone. He was still an original. As Perry went into gory detail about life in jail, Karn tuned him out and stared through the smudged window of the cab. Sipping his beer, he watched as the dilapidated buildings of the city they had just landed in passed by in a dreary parade. Why would anybody want to go on spring break in such a run-down city? It looked like one big third world slum. Eventually they emerged from the shabby downtown section and emerged into a more modern area. The taxi stopped on a street filled with young people.
"Here we are!" Perry screamed as he piled out of the cab. Bell followed and joined his friend in an impromptu dance upon the sidewalk, forcing the passing throng to part on either side of the pair. Karn paid the driver and then stood off a little ways from his friends, hands in his pockets. People were staring. He could see the ocean through a gap between two high-rise hotels. The sea had turned red from the glare of the setting sun and matched the banners and flags hanging from nearly every surface. The street they were on was lined with bars and clubs. So this was the famous Havana Strip.
Perry leaned back, spread his arms and hollered inarticulately. Bell followed suit, pounding his chest with his fists as he did. Karn shuffled his feet and tried to blend in to the crowd.
Perry finished his ear-splitting roar and grabbed Bell by both shoulders. "Are you ready to get wasted?" he yelled.
"Yeah!" Bell pumped a fist into the air.
"Laid low!"
"Bring it on, baby!"
"So loaded, it will shrivel your balls?"
"Show me the way!"
"Are you searching for the ultimate fry!"
Bell began to pummel Perry's chest. "You say it, I crave it!"
"Then, let's get it in gear!" Perry spun around and ran into the nearest bar, Bell on his heels. Karn smiled at the onlookers, shrugged and followed them into Che's Place.
Six beers later, he wanted to go back home to Iowa. Or at least to the dorm at State U. Better yet, he should have gone on that camping expedition to Alaska with his sports fraternity, as he originally planned. Karn made circles in the condensation on the bar with the bottom of his mug. He had known he was going to regret letting those two party-animals talk him into going on spring break with them. After all, Perry and Bell had only befriended him a few months ago because he was the second string tight-end and modestly popular with the girls on the football crazy campus.
Neither of the pair was attractive to women. Perry was fat, with stringy, shoulder-length hair and bulging eyes. Bell was concentration-camp gaunt with skin the color and texture of a lava flow. He wore his hair long to hide the large, oozing zits on the back of his neck. Hanging around a good-looking football player was just what the ugly duo needed as a come-on for the chicks.
Karn stared at his square, midwestern face in the mirror behind the bar. He was quite aware that his friends' bait was as clumsy around girls as the two were homely. Despite a string of dates, Karn knew he was no lady-killer. He was just a simple farm boy from the sticks. Most girls were too fast for him. After two or three dates, they became bored and drifted away. Overnighters were a rarity. But Perry and Bell seemed satisfied with the occasional football groupie who came his way and would put out for a friend of a player. And spring break promised to bring brighter prospects for all of them.
Perry claimed his older brother had filled him in on all the best places to go in Havana from his own college days. Bell pointed out that the city was supposed to be even more notorious and wide-open than Tijuana, a place he and Perry had visited frequently in the past. It all sounded like fun to a guy who used to spend Saturday nights dancing with stout, moon-faced farmer's daughters in the National Guard Armory. Besides, a jock was supposed to be able to out-party anybody.
So, there he was. Karn burped and stopped playing with his mug. He couldn't finish the beer. Six was his normal limit, even during frat-nights. But those were long, drawn-out affairs. He had just downed half-a-dozen beers in almost as many minutes. He hadn't done anything like that since his pledge days. Karn's stomach was boiling and his eyes wouldn't focus. It was hard to stay perched upright on the bar stool. He was about to fumble the ball right after kick-off. Karn swiveled around so he could lean against the counter. He idly surveyed the interior of the packed club while his stomach and vision returned to normal.
Bell was gyrating on the dance floor with a half-naked girl. His emaciated frame was performing crude, sexual moves in contrast to his partner's slow, sensual style. Karn tried to conjure up some interest in the sight, but he felt numb all over. The deafening music and flashlng lights only made matters worse.
"Don't wimp out on us so soon, man," Perry appeared out of nowhere and snatched the abandoned beer and chugged it. When he had drained the mug, Perry slammed it down hard enough to attract the bartender. The latter was a dark, beefy man with a long pony-tail. A red star hung off of one earlobe. His tank-top bore a grizzled portrait of Karl Marx. Both glared at Perry's corpulent frame in disgust. "Don't abuse the peoples' cantina, amigo," the bartender said. "That would make me mad."
Perry, apparently unconcerned by the threat, slid the mug down the bar. "Three more rounds!" he said. "No wait!" He turned and punched Karn in the shoulder. "It's time to get heavy!" Perry faced the bartender. "Make that three Scotches, straight up." He spread three fingers of one hand to emphasize his selection.
The bartender casually tossed the mug into a large pan full of soapy water. It landed with an annoying clink against several other mugs. Suds ran over the sides of the pan. "Scotch is served neat," he said. "Bourbon is served straight up. But you better stick to the house rum, chico." The bartender smiled. He had a gold tooth. "If you don't like it, gordo, there's the door."
The statement seemed to confuse Perry. He bowed his head and scratched an ear. "Uh..." His face turned red. People at the bar laughed.
"Man, that bitch let some surfer cut in on me." Bell said, returning from the dance floor. "Look at that muscle-head." His former dance partner was now grinding her pelvis into the crotch of a well-tanned, blonde youth with arms the size of most peoples' legs.
"You know that guy swallows Muscle-Grow like candy," Bell said. "Screw her! I'm allergic to the crap or I'd--."
"I don't touch that stuff," Karn said, wanting something to brag about to deflect attention from his condition. He flexed a bicep. "I pump real iron."
Perry snorted. "So do I. But all I care about is keeping the gut down." He patted his large belly and gave the bartender a dirty look. "I take hits to feel good, not look good. That's for phonies."
"Yeah." Bell shrugged. "C'mon, this place is lame," he said. Let's leave."
"Excellent idea!" Perry raised an arm to attract the bartender. "Tab!" He gestured to Bell and Karn. "We're together. I'm paying." Perry looked smug and cracked his knuckles for the benefit of the other customers. "And another round for the house, on me." That raised a cheer from those close enough to hear him.
The bartender frowned and pointed to a small screen recessed in the counter. Karn stared at it. He tried to figure out how much each beer cost them when the total was one-hundred and eighty-nine American dollars for seven beers apiece. Then the total increased to nearly two thousand dollars. Karn involuntarily recoiled. Perry snickered and ran his left hand over the screen. The display cleared.
"Ay!" the bartender said. "Papa's credit is very good,
Perry stuck his chin out, spun on his heels and marched towards the door, colliding with several irate customers on the way. Bell waded through the crowd behind him, using his elbows to make a path.
Karn struggled to slide from his stool without collapsing. His head did not appear to be connected to his body. Hanging on to the bar in support of his wobbly legs, Karn realized that he was going to have to stick it out and play the entire game, injury or not. This was no less a test of manhood than the inside drill at practice. It was time to reach down deep inside of himself and see what he was made of. He couldn't limp to the sidelines in the first quarter!
Karn took a deep breath, released his hold on the bar and headed for the exit. After some difficulty in clearing a path through the jammed club, he finally emerged into the humid, night air and rejoined his friends. They were urinating in a side alley.
Two bars, and uncounted beers later, the three walked along the garishly-lit strip seemingly unaffected by their binge. A haphazard collection of pills Perry had purchased from a street vendor had overcome the immediate effects of the alcohol. The pills were not the only thing they had purchased on the strip. Karn sported a de-rigor, olive-drab military jacket. Bell wore the same jacket and a starched cap, backwards. Perry, however, was in full regalia; jacket, cap, phony beard, sunglasses and cigar. Most in the crowd they wandered through were dressed in some variety of souvenir clothing. A T-shirt bearing a red fist rising from a map of Cuba under the words, "Viva la revolución!" was very popular.
"Here it is," Perry said, pointing to a seedy-looking club with his cigar. "Fidel's Hideaway. My brother particularly recommended this spot." They entered a club that was as dark and quiet as the others had been bright and noisy. Its customers did not have much to do with each other. They stayed mute and inert at their tables. Not that there was any reason to dance. The soft background music was not Salsa or Merengue. It was remote and bizarre, full of flutes, chants and tom-toms. Karn excused himself and bolted for the bathroom right after they came in. He had to take a leak. Again!
"We've been waiting for you, man," Perry said after Karn rejoined his friends. Perry picked up a small tumbler of green liquid. An identical tumbler was in front of Karn's seat. "We ordered, all ready. Drink up." Bell was stirring his own with a swizzle-stick topped by a hammer and sickle.
"What is it?" The colored drink didn't look healthy to Karn.
"I told you before, it's time for the heavy stuff," Perry said. "Well, this is it. Niner."
"Huh?" Karn picked up the tumbler and smelled the contents. It was bitter. "Nine what?"
"Non-Interfaced Neural Enhancer," Bell said. "It's the latest rage. All the VR equipment makers are screaming bloody murder about it. This will put them out of business."
"What does it do?" Karn was suspicious. He loved visiting a VR parlour, even if it was expensive. Hard drugs were another thing entirely, though.
Perry couldn't stop grinning. "Think of something you like real bad and then knock the stuff down. You'll see."
"But--" Perry and Bell gulped their drinks in unison before Karn could finish. He watched as they stiffened and shivered for several moments before slouching in their seats. The two became glassy-eyed and resembled everybody else in the club.
Karn was sick to his stomach. He was certain that more alcohol would only make him puke, despite the pills. But he didn't want his friends to think he had crapped out on them. They thought he was enough of a rube as it was. His come-ons to girls in the last few clubs had all been country-boy versus urban street-sister. Perry and Bell had split their guts laughing at his hayseed pick-up attempts. At least they hadn't done any better. Karn sighed and resigned himself to enduring a rough second quarter. He took a moment to conjure up his favorite day-dream. Then he swallowed the evil-smelling liquid. It tasted like licorice.
The ball was snapped. Karn dropped from his position on the end of the line and blocked a blitzing safety. After knocking the defender down, he rambled across the line of scrimmage and faked an outside move. Abruptly, he pivoted and streaked across the middle. He caught the pass right in his chest. Shaking off a ferocious hit from a linebacker, Karn turned up-field. He side stepped another safety and began to pump his legs as fast as they would move. He was headed for the far goal posts. The endzone was sixty yards away. There was only one corner-man to beat. Karn exhorted even more speed out of his burning thighs.
The other player had the angle on him, though. Karn had to edge towards the sideline to hold him off as long as possible. It would be a foot race all the way to the goal. The burn quickly spread from his thighs to his calves. A sharp, stabbing pain seared his gut. A giant belt began to compress his chest, cutting off his breath.
Everything was happening in slow motion. The pounding of his feet upon the turf, the swinging of his arms, the approach of the corner-man like a charging leopard, all registered in Karn's mind like a dream being played at half-speed. The roar of the crowd was a distant rumble, as if it was crashing surf heard from far inland.
Now he was headed straight up the sideline. The pace began to quicken as the end zone neared. The cheerleaders flashed by. Karn saw a brief image of Mary Sue Johnson jumping up and down, waving her pom-poms. She was shouting his name. Then the corner was almost upon him.
Karn used his last reserve of strength to launch himself horizontally through the air. His arms held the ball straight out in front of him. The impact of the opposing player crumpled his body like a tissue. But before Karn blacked out, he saw the ball, still in his hands, cross the plain of the goal line. The referee raised his arms. The crowd screamed. The gun sounded. Victory made even the agony of cracked ribs bearable. He faded out with a smile.
Through a fog, Karn felt himself being swept up in someone's arms. Was it an ecstatic teammate? His coach? Or perhaps, even Mary Sue herself? He opened his eyes. It was Perry.
"Whoa!" his friend said. "You were really freaking, man! Was I right about Niner, or what?"
Karn rubbed his sore ribs. He was gasplng for air and covered with sweat. And lying on the floor. Perry helped him to his seat. Bell was laughing.
"Fill us in," he said. "You must have had one hell of a trip!"
Karn rubbed his face, feeling sick. He knew they would only laugh at his football star fantasy. "Yeah," he said. "I was with a girl." Well, it wasn't a complete lie.
Bell laughed again. "Me, too! It was that bitch from the first club. After I did her, I slapped her around some to rearrange her 'tude. She got smart, so I had to cut her." He whipped an imaginary knife through the air. "I guess I got carried away." His laughter turned to convulsions.
Perry slapped Bell on the back to ease his spasms. "You know what I did?" he asked. "I got into a knock-down, drag-out fight with that Commie bartender from the same place. Kicked his ass, too. I had him on his knees begging to blow me before it was over. But I kicked his gold tooth in, rather than whip it out." Perry scowled. "The stuff wore off before I could finish him, though."
Karn thought maybe he hadn't heard them correctly or that they were bragging. Nausea drove him back into the bathroom.
Afterwards, Karn felt a little better. He washed his mouth out with water from the dirty sink and swallowed another pill. But his ribs still hurt and he felt a nasty headache coming on. His vision was also blurry. Karn decided he would just have to gut it out. If those two could take it, so could he. He was a hard-ass football player, after all. But he could sure use a halftime break. Karn gingerly walked back to the table, feeling his ribs ignite with every step.
"Have a beer, man!" Perry greeted him. "You look terrible." He took a swig of his own.
Karn sat down and picked up the bottle before him. He peered down the neck. The contents didn't appear green.
"It's okay," Bell said. "This is just a chaser. We're getting ready to move on." He inhaled the rest of his beer.
Karn tasted his own carefully and set it down. It didn't seem to be laced. He was slightly disappointed. He half-wanted to do Niner again. But this time, he would dream of Mary Sue surrendering to him after a game. Karn massaged his sore ribs. The experience had been more realistic than any VR episode!
"That stuff," he asked. "is it legal?"
Perry snickered. "This ain't Iowa, man! Everything's legal here."
"Could we, um, have some more?" Karn couldn't bring himself to look the other two in the eyes.
Bell grabbed Karn's neglected beer and took a large swallow before passing the remainder to Perry. "We're going to do better than that, Stud. We're going to do it for real. That was just the warm up. Niner is for losers lower than VR heads. Look at 'em!" He swept an arm around to indicate the stupefied patrons of Fidel's Hideaway.
"Remember, we're working on the ultimate fry," Perry said.
"What's that?" The others stood up when Karn asked his question.
"Just follow us." Bell headed for the door while Perry detoured long enough to settle their bill with another wave of his hand. Karn trailed after them holding his side. His ribs were killing him.
He lost track of the number of clubs they visited over the next several hours. Or the amount of alcohol they consumed. Perry had started to order them nothing but rum--straight and in a variety of exotic concoctions--a few places back. At least the heavy drinking had eased the pain in his ribs. But Karn was forced to pop pills continuously just to stay conscious. The live sex-show in the last club had been quite an eye-opener, however. Particularly the final act, with the children and the animals. But then he had tried to pick up a cute bar girl in the place who turned out to be a guy in drag, much to the amusement of Perry and Bell. Karn staggered as he walked and bumped into Bell. He rudely pushed him upright with a curse. His friends were dropping the ball when it came to girls, also.
Perry began to extol the wonders of the red-light district as they walked along the strip considering their next move. His brother had told him that was where the easy local girls were. Perry had discarded his beard and cigar somewhere and was now kneading his starched cap into a more acceptable shape.
Karn wasn't interested in girls anymore, though. He was just wondering when his friends would call it a night. Was there someplace around here they could crash? Perry could probably get them a room in one of those big-- An amplified voice interrupted his revery.
"Comrade students," it said, "the present administration of Cuba has betrayed the revolution on the eve of its fiftieth anniversary! What would the heroic-martyr, Castro, say if he was alive to see how his heirs have allowed greed and selfishness to poison the caring society he created? Do your socialist duty and go home! Boycott the reactionaries who only lust after your money! Capitalist rot must not be allowed to spoil the last--"
Karn turned around just in time to see the police haul away an unkept girl wielding a bullhorn. She wore a jacket from an ivy-league university. Perry ignored the scene and hailed a passing cab, the misshapen cap sitting on his head like a clown's rumpled derby. Karn asked Bell if he had any more pills. He bought them all a round of café cubano from a restaurant order window, instead.
So much for halftime. Karn braced himself for a blistering third quarter.
"Have you caballeros selected from the menu, yet?" Karn ogled the woman who glided into the richly-appointed sitting room in a cloud of perfume. She was tall and lean, with large breasts. A sheer dress clung to every curve. It was very short, revealing long and well-shaped legs. Her complexion was flawless and her skin was the color of honey. Green eyes and blonde hair betrayed her European blood. The woman's face made Karn want to cry. He was certain he was looking at a goddess. Mary Sue was a chunky fireplug compared to the vision that was standing before him. He was in love.
But Bell spoke up first. "Are you available?"
Their hostess smiled. It was impossible for teeth to be so white. "Of course, for the right price."
Perry, sprawled across a plush couch, waved an arm. "Price is no object," he said. "These are my guests."
"Very well." The woman bowed to Perry and then turned to Bell. She clasped two graceful hands together. She had slender fingers with long, well-manicured nails. "What is your desire, sir." Her voice was a melody.
Bell grinned. "I want a combo. Marquis-de-Sade and Jack the-Ripper."
She didn't flinch. "I believe I can accommodate that."
"I want you natural, though," Bell added. "Not doped."
"If you wish." The woman paused. "However, I do have to point out that not only is it less expensive, but the experience would also last longer if I was 'doped', as you say. Believe me, I can make you think I'm feeling anything you wish." Her smile bathed them in radiance.
"Straight!" Bell was adamant.
"If you insist." She turned to Perry. "And you sir?"
"A gladiator fight. Give me a big muscle-boy. I don't want him doped, either. I want his screams to be real."
Karn squirmed upon his intricately carved chair as the discussion continued. What kind of bawdy-house was this? Not that he had ever been to one, of course. What was it that Bell and the statuesque woman were going to do together? And what had Perry requested? Some kind of fight? That didn't make any sense. Didn't he come here to get a girl? Was this a whorehouse or not? Karn vowed to swear off drinking. And pills. And titanic doses of caffeine. They all made it hard to concentrate. Then the woman looked at him.
"And this gentlemen?" she asked. Karn's mind went blank. He couldn't speak in the face of such beauty.
Perry spoke in his place. "He's a newby. Give him a beginner's trick. But make sure she's a natural, too. It's always better that way."
The woman's smile made Karn want to fall at her feet. "I'll give him Concepción. She's good with virgins."
"I'm not a virgin!" Karn blurted out.
Perry snorted. "Cows and sheep don't count, farm-boy!" Then he dissolved into laughter. So did Bell. Karn wanted to run away, but the sight of the woman paralyzed him. He blushed, instead.
"Concepción it is," she said, when her other two clients regained their composure. "Concepción and a straight-razor."
A straight-razor? Karn felt like somebody had upended the sideline water cooler over him.
"You think Niner is good, Stud?" Bell said, getting up. "It's as stone-age as VR compared to this."
"Have fun," the woman called after him, as an attendant guided Karn down a hall to a small room.
Concepción turned out to be young, thin and shy. She had very short hair and was small-busted. Her eyes were large and dark. Karn could see reflections in them from the single lamp in the room. He was nervous at first, but calmed down enough to perform the expected act when she disrobed and beckoned him to bed.
Karn was gentle and held her tenderly when they were through. Neither had spoken, except for a brief "Hola," at the beginning. But the girl murmured to herself as he caressed her and clung tightly to him.
Karn had not lied to the others. He was not a virgin. But none of his other experiences had been as wonderful as this. He realized Concepción was the type of girl he needed. That Madam was obviously out of his league, but the girl in his arms seemed just right. She was more exotic than Mary Sue, but lacked the bitchy attitude of most of the other girls he had known. Karn felt waves of warmth wash over him. This was true love! Or too much alcohol. Karn dismissed the thought. He was certain Concepción would agree to see him again in a better place the next day. Maybe she would even... He felt tears coming.
The girl pushed away from him and sat up when she felt his tears upon her shoulder. She stared down at him for a moment and then retrieved something from under the pillow.
It was a straight-razor. She opened it and handed it to him.
Karn sat up with a start. "I don't want that!"
Concepción shrugged. "Usted pagó, Señor. Mucho dinero."
"Not me! A friend did! I didn't know! I mean, even if I did--" Karn leaped out of the bed. "I won't do it!" He punched a well-scrubbed wall. What was Bell doing to that poor woman, even now? What kind of sick place was this?
"No se gusta mujeres, Señor? Quiere usted un hombre o un muchacho?"
"No! I don't want to hurt anybody!" Karn retreated into a corner.
"Porqué no? Estoy en las últimas. Ya fabrican mi pronto-clone." The girl brought her legs up under her and sat cross-legged upon the bed, hands in her lap. She fondled the blade.
"No van a tener dos Concepciónes. Comprende? Es la ley."
Karn extended his hands to the girl. "Please, I don't want to..." He couldn't say it. He made a gesture across his throat.
"No! Never!"
"Bebé!" She was pouting.
"I'm not a baby!" Karn lurched towards the bed, but tripped over his discarded shoes. He landed on his face.
The girl giggled. "No es un pisaverde, tampoco!"
Karn stood up and approached her. "Don't laugh at me."
"Que hombre!" The girl held out the straight-razor to him. "Ahora mismo."
He slapped it out of her hand. "You're crazy! How can you let people do that to you?" He felt like knocking some sense into the stupid girl.
She shrugged. "No me gusto cultivar la caña de azúcar. Es arduo y tedioso." Concepción retrieved the razor. "Me gusto estar sufriendo. Asi es la vida en Cuba."
Karn tried to grab her hand, meaning to throw the straight-razor out of her reach, but the girl rolled to the far side of the bed. Rising to her knees, she brandished the razor for effect and then placed it on one side of her upper chest.
"Mira!" she said. Her hand slowly moved across her body and a deep gash appeared just above her breasts. Blood ran down in sheets from the wound. The girl dropped her arms to her sides to display her maimed torso.
Karn cried out and stumbled backwards. He turned around and buried his face in his hands. How dark blood was! He could smell it, too. His stomach felt like it was in a plummeting elevator. He had to get out of there before he became ill. Or crazy! That girl was insane. The whole place was!
"Es muy fácil, Señor. Si usted es un hombre." There wasn't a tremor in her voice.
Karn snatched up his clothes and began to pull them on. Concepción lost her poise when she saw what he was doing. She started screaming at him in rapid-fire Spanish. Karn jerked his pants all the way up before he noticed that they were on backwards. Cursing, he kicked them off and struggled into them again.
Suddenly, the girl was on her knees in front of him, wrapped in a bloody sheet. She grabbed the waistband of his pants with one hand and held up the straight-razor with another.
"Amigo, por favor!" Tears streamed down her face. "Estoy con un pie en la sepultura, pero no tengo donde caerse muerto! Todaviá me tienes vivito y coleando!"
Karn raised his arms to keep from touching the bleeding girl. "I don't know what you're saying!" He was crying, too.
"Si no me matas, van a me dar los perros salvajes para deporte! Y van a terminar mi pronto-clone, también. Porqué soy defectuoso. Comprende? Soy a morir, porqué tu me rehusas!"
"I understand," Karn said, his voice breaking. "But I can't! I just can't!" Karn leaned back and looked up, his hands groping the sides of his head. He saw dark splotches scattered in random patterns across the ceiling. It was not as clean as the walls.
"Hermano, por favor! Madre de dios, por favor!"
Karn looked down. The girl's eyes pleaded with him. He saw his face mirrored in the tears welling up out of them. His own dropped upon her forehead. Concepción silently mouthed something and tilted her head to one side, exposing her neck. He lowered his arms to push her away. She resisted until he relented.
Concepción put the straight-razor in his hand.
Karn took it. He watched a vein throb in the girl's neck. Time had expired. The ball was in the air and coming towards him as he waited in a corner of the end zone. Victory or defeat depended on his next move. Karn knew the moment that he jumped up and caught the ball, two converging linebackers would crash into him. But he had to make the catch. For her.
"Que Dios te bendiga," Concepción said, crossing herself. Karn wiped his eyes, raised the straight-razor and took aim.
He was glad Perry had promised that they were at the last stop of the night. Dawn was near. The game was almost over. There was time for only one more play. Then they could all hit the showers. Karn didn't care who won. It was enough that he was still standing at the end. Alcohol, pills and exhaustion blanked out everything which had occurred on the field. Almost everything.
Karn was curled up in a chair in another sitting room. Perry had guided him there and said that it was finally time to experience the ultimate fry. He and Bell were talking to somebody, but Karn only picked up snatches of the conversation.
"--three to one. I waste the first two, but the last one gets me. Make sure he does it nice and--"
"--si, Señor--"
"--I want to go out doing it with the best lay you've got. Give her a dagger and tell her to wait until--"
"--si, Señor. And your friend?"
"--something simple--"
"--no problema, Señor--"
"--down load our memories first and wire us up with a neuro-recorder."
"--of course, Señor. Just sign this release--"
Somebody grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet. "There's a first time for everybody, Stud." Karn thought it was Bell. "Hang tight. See you on campus."
The old man in the theatrical uniform shuffled towards the limp body strapped securely to the pole. The echoes of six rifles faded away. The squad returned to order arms. The back wall of the small courtyard was pockmarked with hundreds of bullet holes.
The viejo--a pensioner supplementing his meager stipend--used his sword to probe the body from a distance. Sometimes they squirted blood. His efforts drew a moan. He sheathed the sword and drew a pistol to administer the coup-degrace.
The gringo muchacho had valiantly refused the blindfold, but graciously accepted a cigarette. It was still clamped between his teeth. The old man admired such machismo and wanted to honor his charge with a well-placed shot. He stepped closer. Then he paused. A critical point had been reached in the soccer match he was listening to on an earphone radio. The match was on the continent, between Cuba and Germany.
Several anxious moments later, the old man raised both arms. "Goal!" he shouted and reflexively discharged his gun overhead.
The End
"I am an avionics technician living in Miami, Florida. I have been a fan of sf ever since discovering Heinlein's Juvenile Novels in my junior-high library. I have always been an avid reader and journal-keeper and began writing fiction in my late thirties after I discovered that I had a novel inside of me. I'm forty-four now, and the novel is only half-completed because I set it aside to hone my skills on short stories. I have yet to be published after years of effort, but I still have many more stories to tell, and no editor is safe from my work. The only other vitals about my life are that I am a former Marine and a diehard bachelor. (And damn proud of both attributes!)"
E-mail: mark_stanley_g@hotmail.com
URL: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Shuttle/7881
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