store four blocks away.
He wasn’t gonna let a couple of dimes slip through his hands. Smokes were $0.19 a pack back then. Kinda made the prospect of cancer tolerable.
The next few days were going by too slow, and I was consumed with an angst about my upcoming trip to see my friends south of the border. That day couldn’t come soon enough.
My father brought up a subject that I had almost forgotten, given the heaven I had been exposed to the previous few days. He said, “You know, that is where I went to the dance hall and saw the mysterious man those many years ago.”
I felt a quick chill as he instructed me not to explore any curiosity I might have about the old mansion on the hill. Dad made me promise not to inquire about or ask to go to the location. Perplexed by his request, I assured him that I would not broach the subject at all once I was down in Hermosillo.
Chapter 9
Inside the Dance Hall
The day before I had to leave was spent with my buddies riding our bikes down at the brick pits. We didn’t have a care in the world that day until we ended up on the riverbank, looking across at the dance hall.
I can’t say what came over us, but we now found ourselves riding over to the street and across the bridge. We were now in front of the main padlocked entry doors to the hall. The cars were whizzing by as each of us had a try on tugging on the chain. Just then, two well-dressed men approached our group and asked us what we were doing there. They told us not to be fooling around the property and also asked if we had broken any of the windows around the side. I spoke up and said we only knew of one broken window last time we saw.
The man informed us that all the windows were broken and that he was going to have the law come over and take our names as likely suspects. We were surprised by this information because that building had been part of our lives for years, and we knew for a fact that the windows were intact.
If they were broken now, it had to have been in the last few days. I was adamant with telling the man that we had absolutely nothing to do with the broken windows. I even insisted that we all walk around to see this damage he was referring to.
As we made our way around to the side of the building, my buddies all acted horrified to see that all the windows were broken out. We knew it wasn’t us but couldn’t relate that we had been in the dance hall a few days prior and that there was only one broken window that day. I think the men started to believe us because their tone softened toward us. We asked them who they were and if they owned the building.
The informed us that they were attorneys who represented a Las Vegas group that considered purchasing the property for a future hotel site.
I struck up a conversation with them and made it clear that we were local boys who always had a curiosity about the inside of the place. It was then that the man who was now known to us as Mr. Kinsey and his partner Mr. Jamison said that they were going inside to give it the once-over visually.
“You boys wanna come in and see?” he asked.
I spoke up quickly with a “Yes, we would, sir.” I knew I’d better respond quickly before one of my mates showed any sign of resignation due to fear. We had to act curious and not close to peeing our pants. Besides, there were grown-ups with us, so nothing to fear, right?
Mr. Kinsey pulled out a ring of keys and fumbled through a couple of tries before he got the right key. The chain was off now as the door slowly creaked open, revealing all the trash and dust we had seen a few days before. My fellas and I didn’t want to take the liberty of snooping around with these men in the building; we had to act amazed as if it were all new to us. They didn’t take too long of a look and started making their way to the front doors. I asked them why they had no interest in the rest of the place.
“It will all be torn down to make way for a new hotel, son,” Kinsey said. “No need to waste more time than necessary here.”
Out we all went, and the chain and lock were placed on the door. On my way out, though, my eyes were staring intently on the corner of the room where I felt that the slamming noise might have come from. Somehow, I felt a sinister presence, but I couldn’t explain why. My neck hair had a slight sensation, and I felt that old someone or something was watching me feeling.
The men walked off to their car while the fellas and I headed home for dinner. I said goodbye to my friends and informed them I’d be back in a few days.
“Don’t get in too much trouble,” I said as I pedaled off on my bike.
Chapter 10
Flying South
A new day was starting, and not soon enough. I would be flying in a private plane down to Mexico. Those were two things I had never done before, and I couldn’t have been more excited.
When we arrived at the private airstrip, the pilot, whose name was Red Turner, was warming up the plane. It was a Super 18 Beechcraft, and it kinda looked like the last plane Amelia Earhart was seen flying in, so you can get an idea. By the way, you may take a guess as to why his name was Red.
Also boarding were Uncle Jorge’s brother Alberto and two of his friends making the trip.
Alberto was what I would call a prissy type, somewhat effeminate, but given the beautiful wife and six kids, I doubt he was of the funny nature. And I don’t mean the ha-ha funny nature. He was manicured and bathed in cologne and dressed in a very expensive suit. I liked him okay, but he was bossy and let his new money, which the brothers had amassed, go to his head.
Red was a real cool dude, and I guess he was hired right after the Korean conflict, where I’ll bet he kicked some major ass in his Sabrejet. He had me ride up front and let me hold the steering wheel. I was the king of the world.
It had to happen though. Murphy’s law just had to rear its head. It was not going to let me enjoy one of the highlights of my life. First, it started with what I would call a little toot, but one that could peel paint. There was no hiding the noxious odor, and I had no response to Red’s semismile. Jet pilots go through this all the time, so I was not shocking him in the least.
He merely cracked his little side window. But, O Lord, here comes that unmistakable feeling that knows no control. I was pinching my butt cheeks so hard I could have cracked a walnut.
I could not sit up front any longer; the mess would have caused an air disaster of epic proportions. I unbuckled my seat harness and flew down the aisle to the rear of the plane, passing the men playing cards as they sipped good scotch. I recalled a tube in the small luggage closet, which I gathered was only meant for tinkling. I was praying that this tube, under a certain set of circumstances, could accommodate some other type of liquid if absolutely necessary. Alberto finally caught a whiff of the noxious, repulsive odor of what was going on, and I’ve gotta say, he was not pleased at all. I got to hear what some official down-home cussing in the King’s Spanish was like. I was desperate and in pain from holding in what was pounding at the gates of Troy to bust out.
I reached for the handle of the door and was going to moon it and probably give the plane a fresh coat of paint when Alberto shrieked and stopped me before I had a chance to be sucked out into space. Later, I learned that only planes with pressurized cabins would have you sucked out if you opened a door. Whew, anyway.
Alberto found a big brown paper bag that would
