Confrontation Ch. 06: Mercedes Ride

Sometime late in the night, there's noise in the cell block and I wake up with a start. An awful stench fills my nostrils. I'm sharing my lockup with a drunk who has been sick in the cell and all over himself too. It smells so bad that I start to wretch dry heaves. Damn, I hope my bodyguards Alphonse and Arturo show up early in the morning to get me out of here!

Then I see two passed out drunks being dragged to the holding cell next to mine. They're sick and moaning miserably. The light comes on in their cell and I recognize them- my two guys, my bodyguards!

I wanted the cops to let them know I'm in jail so they could get the room and rental car keys. But it didn't happen, and the stupid asses drank themselves half to death, probably blowing all their money on girls at the bar. Now we all have a new home tonight. I fall back to sleep on a rough bench wondering about tomorrow.

In the morning, a cop comes rattling big keys to let them out. They're free to go, so I give them the motel key and tell them to bring the car while I stay for some questioning. The duty cop sits across a small table from me with a pen and a pad of paper.

"So, why were you out by those trucks behind the bar last night?"

"I told the guys who brought me in that I had to piss."

"You can do better than that! Come on, or we'll be here all day. I'll get paid but you won't."

"OK. OK. I'm Wesley Bruce Arundel, Head of Acquisitions at the Peruvian National Museum of Archaeology in Lima. Here's my card."

"Really! Be serious. You look more like a truck driver to me."

"It's just a disguise..."

"Then why were you sneaking around the parking lot of a rough bar, Mr. Arundel?"

"Ancient artifacts are brought into Brazil and sold to international collectors. I think truckers are somehow getting them out of Peru, and I came here to see if my hunch is right."

"Hmm....You should have said that last night instead of sleeping in here."

"I didn't get a chance. Not with a pistol stuck in my back."

"We can't take any chances over there. It's a mean area. Anyway, you're free to go now, but don't go back there. Clear out of Rio Branco. Go back to Peru and let the police look after your problem."

"Yes, we'll go this morning. I'll wait here 'til my buddies come back with the car."

He's curious about the artifact smuggling, so we talk over a coffee. As I tell him more about my trip up to the Peru-Brazil border region, it's clear that he doesn't know anything about the problem. Drugs and human trafficking, yes, but the illegal trade in cultural pieces, no. I leave him with my contact information in case anything turns up.

Eventually Alphonse and Arturo are back. We drive over to the motel room we never slept in, and use it to shower, change our clothes, and eat some breakfast. My bodyguards are badly hung over, so they load up on juice and headache pills. We finish up with black coffee, load our things into the car and leave. There's nothing more to do in Rio Branco.

"We going back home now, right Jag?" Arturo asks hopefully.

I don't reply at first, so Alphonse speaks up.

"You're going the wrong way, boss!"

"We're on our way to the last stop, Porto Velho."

"Hey... where's that?"

"In Brazil."

"How far?"

"About eight hours following the bus route."

"Shit, man! We'll die before we even get there! My head is pounding."

"Just don't puke in the car. We'll stop every few hours and get there tonight."

"Come on, Jag. Give us a break!"

I look straight ahead and don't say anything, so they slump back trying to fall asleep. Soon they're out like a light and stay that way while I drive through increasingly tropical terrain on the paved road to our last stop in Brazil. We can't get there soon enough

After a few hours I pull into a small town for gas and the brothers wake up. A stretch, a drink, and we're on our way again with Arturo driving. I'd like to catch some sleep, but my body guards are feeling better, and start to brag about their escapades the night before.

"Mine was so hot! She was like a rabbit- every way possible!"

"Nita, she was more a vacuum cleaner. I never had one like her, and she couldn't get enough of me!"

"Maria was an awesome lay. And I gave it to her so good that she's probably hoping I'll be back tonight for some more!"

"Mine told me nobody was better, that my dick was amazing. I turned her inside out with it, man!"

It's hard to listen to this.

"So, do you private room studs have any money left, or did these girls get it all?"

"I still have some," one of them claims while the other one just looks away.

"How much?"

"Enough for a few beers, maybe."

"And you?"

"Can you lend me some until we get back, Jag?"

I have to laugh at them. They're burning through money fast, but having the time of their lives. I just hope they aren't bringing home some disease picked up from all these hookers.

All their bragging passes the time until we take another break. Stepping outside the car, we can feel the oppressive heat and humidity of late afternoon. A heavy rainstorm should be coming soon. Alphonse takes over driving and I climb onto the back seat to sleep after the rough night I spent on a hard bench in jail. I drop off quickly and wake later to driving rain pelting down on the roof.

"Hey! Pull over, Alphonse! I can hardly see the road," I order and he finds an area where there's some space. A minute later a line of three big transports barrels by, driving much too fast. They might have run right over top of us if we were still on the road. We're unnerved and wait until the peak of the storm has passed before starting out again.

The sun is setting when we begin to see some farms and plantations, a sign we're nearing Porto Velho. An hour later we're looking for a cheap motel for the night. We've been on the road so much that I've already decided to get a plane out of here, leaving the rental car behind. The brothers are delighted.

There's no surveillance and no more bars that first night- instead we fall into bed and don't move until the morning sun streams through the threadbare curtains. There's a coffee place nearby and we've still got some food left. Life is good this morning, far better than at this time yesterday.

Porto Velho is pretty much the end of the line for good road transportation in this region of Brazil. Much traffic is loaded onto several long, three-level ferries which ply the Madeira River, a large western tributary that feeds the Amazon. Four or five days ferry travel downriver leads toward Manaus, where many central Brazilian routes converge.

I want to find out more about the transfer of people and goods between land and water transport at Porto Velho, a city of a half a million. Many people here live in the sullen neighbourhoods that surround the wealthier central city. That's how it is all through Latin America, where ramshackle homes often form a grimy ring around a upscale city core. It's a place ripe for petty crime. I wonder if it supports major smuggling activity and human trafficking?

In the morning we arrive at the ferry terminal, and split up to get a sense of how the whole transfer operation takes place here. I want Alphonse and Arturo to watch opposite ends of the terminal, while I go inside to ask questions. It's the same approach we used at the Puerto Moldonado Customs impound terminal in Peru.

I quickly learn that staff at the ferry dock are focused on efficiency. They don't like too many questions.

"Tell me where I get a ticket to Manaus."

"Over there."

"Its for a transport truck. Can I go on board with a big vehicle?"

"Just in the centre lane."

"Is there cargo inspection?"

"No dangerous loads are allowed."

"How much does it cost?"

"Depends on length and weight."

"Will I have to wait long to go on?"

"Sometimes, but later today works."

I continue like this for a few more questions before she loses patience with me and tells me to go to the ticket office if I need any more information.

A few minutes later, I meet up with my bodyguards and they report seeing Intercontinental Freight trucks at the terminal, one of them being unloaded at present. We go over to the area to casually observe what is coming out of the trailer. Is it us, or do these people seem suspicious, taking great pains to ensure that no-one can see what is being taken out?

Now they're eyeing us watching them, and somebody comes to tell us to "shove off!" We stand our ground, then a couple more come over so that we're three on three. A few more drift in, outnumbering us now, and threatening to move us if we won't move ourselves. One big guy picks up a tire iron and wields it in a threatening way.

"Have you got something to hide?" I retort.

"Mind your own business!" And another guy comes right up in my face. I take a step backwards as Alphonse moves between us, and they stand jaw to jaw.

"Back off!" my bodyguard snarls and Arturo crowds up closer too.

The brothers are both tough Peruvian Army vets and I know they won't back down from a fight, even if we're outnumbered. They're like junkyard dogs straining at the ends of their chains.

I need to diffuse this and fast!

"Let's go over to the passenger area to see if we can get some tickets," I say, and when we've moved away from the truck being unloaded, I tell them, "I'll memorize the plate number. You guys each save two more Intercontinental Freight truck plates and put them into your phone. Then we'll compare them to the ones recorded at Inapari to see if they're the same ones?"

We find three matches. This could mean that some of the company trucks are engaged in smuggling of some kind, maybe ancient artifacts. But short of actually seeing it take place- and that isn't likely to happen here- we won't find out this way.

So, we venture out again, this time to watch passenger traffic, especially bus riders entering and exiting the boat. There are several young women, some with distinctive Indigenous features, and they carry baggage. Are there artifacts in there? We can't tell, and it's frustrating. There has to be some way to test my theory that bar girls are moving precious Peruvian artifacts down to Manaus.

Nothing else comes to light- a small amount of information gleaned after a great deal of driving. I'm tired and fed up with not being able to actually see what we know is being taken out of Peru. This kind of surveillance seems to have come to a dead end.

As soon as possible I arrange a charter flight in a small plane over the mountains into Peru. It's expensive, but we can go tomorrow if conditions are right. Besides, the National Museum will pay for it because this investigation is important to the country's heritage.

The nearest airport is back in Rio Branco. The Andes Mountains run north-south between Branco and Cuzco airports, so the pilot cautions that we may be in for a rough ride if there is upper air turbulence.

"Drafts sweep up from the mountains. They cause a lot of turbulence, and a little plane like mine is at their mercy. I'll try to stay above them, but it depends on the clouds. I never know quite what to expect."

We've been warned, and we hope that what he described doesn't come to pass. Unfortunately, it does, giving us a ride like a carnival roller-coaster. The sky is a menacing blue-black, and our little plane is tossed around like a cork in the sea. The pilot tries to find calm air without much success. All too often we can see mountain peaks close by, almost like we're threading between them.

It is terrifying and I see that my bodyguards have lost all composure. Their eyes are wide with fear. This constant shaking and rolling continues for at least a half hour, with no sign of stopping. We need help fast, and I remember the jaguar spirit.

I jam my eyes shut to focus on the stone face of the Jaguar god in the Old Temple at Chavin de Huantar, the spirit fed by the blood of sacrificial victims locked in the chamber above. My prayers have been heard many times before. I need them answered now! So I begin to chant softly in a rising and falling rhythm, while Arturo and Alphonse wonder what the Hell I'm doing.

"Dejanos vivir.... [Let us live] Dejanos vivir.... Dejanos vivir.... Dejanos vivir.... Dejanos...."

This continues unbroken for some minutes, as long as I can hold the stone image in my mind. Then it's gone, but I feel at peace, ready to accept how the spirit will deal with us. All at once, the plane begins to level out, and the turbulence is diminished.

"Jeez, Jag! You were praying, weren't you? And it worked! Look... it worked!" Alphonse exclaims.

Arturo joins in. "We're going to make it. We're saved!"

I wonder if it was my prayer or simply good luck, but I'm not going to dismiss what just happened. After all, back in the days when I was guiding tours, I'd asked the jaguar spirit to make Marina stay with me instead of returning to America. She did. [Background: Andean Experience Ch.02: Marina's Choice in Non-Erotic.]

There is a good hotel near the centre of Cuzco. I always used it at the end of the two and three week tours which I led through Peru with my old company, Andean Experience. I phone to reserve two rooms, then we take a cab from the airport. There's a familiar face working the front desk when we check in.

"Mr. Arundel. Ohh... Jaguar. Hi. Remember me?"

I recognize the attractive brunette, but I haven't been here in two years. So, I glance at her name tag, hoping she won't notice.

"Mercedes! Sure... I used to stay here a lot with my tour groups."

"Nice to see you again. Are you travelling with someone else? You reserved two rooms."

"These two guys are with me. Make it a room for me and one for them."

"OK. How would a double be for them- two beds- and a single room for you, one wide bed?"

"Sure. That's fine."

"We're quite full, so they'd be on different floors...."

"No problem, Mercedes."

She smiles and looks right into my eyes when she says that mine is just down the hall, while theirs is two levels up. Only later do I find out the real reason for this. While we're having supper at the hotel restaurant off the front lobby, I notice Mercedes watching me from time to time. Afterwards, we go to our rooms for a quiet evening after a harrowing flight. I'm ready to turn in early when there's a soft knock on my door. I go with a towel wrapped around my waist.

"Room service," I hear a soft female voice speak.

"But I didn't...."

"Its me, Mercedes," she says. "I brought you something, on the house."

When I open the door, she walks in with a tray, a bottle of Pisco, and two glasses. She's still wearing her hotel attire.

"Close the door, Jaguar. Where should I put this tray?"

Then she answers her own question.

"That night table by the bed will do," and she carefully sets it down.

I'm still confused by what is going on.

"Is there some kind of mistake, Mercedes?"

"Not at all. I'm finished my shift, and we have lots to catch up on. I'll pour us a couple of drinks. There's a chair for you. Pull it over. I'll have to sit on the bed, I guess."

She wants to visit and I begin to understand there might be more than friendliness involved here. So I explain.

"I was just going down for the night, so let me put on some trousers."

I grab a pair and go into the bathroom. When I return, wearing nothing but the slacks, Mercedes has removed her hotel jacket and kicked off her shoes. She sits at the end of my bed, those long legs curled up beneath her. I suddenly remember them wrapped around my waist during strenuous sex after drinking too much or smoking up.

Mercedes is about thirty now and still very appealing to me. Her large, dark eyes are as intense as her lovemaking, and those full breasts still push firmly against her blouse. Now she takes a few pins from her shiny black hair and it cascades down her back and shoulders. Her inviting smile is warming me up as much as the first mouthful of strong alcohol.

"To good times we had in the past, Jaguar," she proposes, and we both drain our shot glasses before she reaches to pour us each another one.

Now I'm sure what's happening here, but I seem powerless to stop it. Instead, we enjoy a second shot while I tell her why I'm in Cusco with these two bodyguards. I talk about tracking down the Peruvian treasures disappearing into Brazil and beyond. She only pretends to be listening, but her eyes often flick between my bare chest and my face. Mercedes licks her full red lips.

Another shot later this sexy woman is telling me how dull her routine life has become. She's between boyfriends, "craving"- her word- some excitement. As the booze heats up Mercedes, she loosens first one button, then another, and soon a third. With her sitting a bit sideways to me like this, I can see plenty of mocha skin. I want to see more.

I pour a fourth shot and her fingers touch mine as I pass it to her. She leans toward me- more blouse buttons came undone when I wasn't looking. Then Mercedes looks into my eyes and whispers.

"I need you tonight, Jag. Don't make me ask."

Crunch time! I'm a married man now, with a loving wife many miles away. This sexy woman wants me to bang her, and from past experience I know just how good it will be. Should I do it? Marina will never know.

"You're a beautiful woman, Mercedes. Lets drink to that."

I haven't committed one way or the other, I'm just stalling, buying time. Besides, the anticipation will only make it better if we do end up in bed. But there's a problem, a big problem- my cock has a mind of its own! Mercedes looks at my trousers and comments.

"I know you want me too, don't you? Why pretend?"

She reaches forward and presses firmly against my rod. The woman is a little drunk now and I'm feeling very vulnerable.

"Take it out, Jag," she urges, and I comply almost automatically.

When I do, she quickly swings down off the bed and kneels in front of my chair, before tugging at my trousers.

"Take them off. Now."

Moments later I'm in her mouth, her tongue licking me and strong cheek muscles sucking. I instinctively arch my back to tilt up against her face. She responds by looking submissively into my eyes, all the while stroking with one hand while the other cradles my balls. Memories of Mercedes' skills come flooding back. I've got to stop myself. Fast!

"Let me undress you now," I gasp, mere seconds away from eruption.

She stands up so I can finish unbuttoning her blouse and that bra while she drops her skirt and panties. Now we press together tightly. She wants to kiss, but there's no love here, just a good time. I turn my head so her lips miss mine and land on my cheek- my weak concession to marital loyalty. I know I shouldn't be doing this but I cant stop a lust-laden freight train.

A minute later Mercedes is on her back, with her arms pulling me tight as I push deep into her. It's warm and tight, clenching me as I start to withdraw then push back down. She's clutching and moaning into my ear as I move more firmly against her. I can feel those big, full tits against my chest. This is so good, but it's so wrong.

Mercedes is hot beneath me and breathing hard, so I withdraw and have her go on all fours. She does even better, dropping her face to the sheets and provocatively pushing her raised ass back toward me. I have to take it. Can't resist. I pound into her hard, while she whimpers, leaning back with every stroke.

I don't want this to end yet, so I sit up on the side of the bed. Mercedes straddles me and comes down on my stiff cock. I sample her erect nipples with my mouth while thrusting up into her wetness. Then I lay back so she can kneel, spread wide across me while I push up into her. Mercedes seeps all over me as she lifts and powerfully slams back down.

We're both getting close now. She's almost out of control, calling out, her eyes closed tightly as she drives herself along the length of my throbbing organ. Faster, harder, deeper! I'm gonna come...NOW! Its all automatic: one, two, three, four blasts into her clenching channel, and then another. Fantastic!