The San Isidro Mysteries 02: The Chinaman in the Well

She threw her head back, closing her eyes and bit her lower lip, savoring the intense contact, her full firm breasts bouncing gently as she ground her hips against his hardness. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw the agonized passion in his face as he fought to control his desire.

Porcia moved first, pushing her body against his hips. Andrés gave a low hiss and lunged up, thrusting himself harder and harder inside her; she groaned and grasped at his arms as she met each stroke with equal passion, their two bodies now forged into one, bucking and surging to a rhythm that was solely their own.

They came at the same time, their cries of fulfillment and release filling the tiny bedroom which had become the whole world to them. They fell exhausted onto the bed, still joined, their bodies gently moving as their hips milked the shared rapture to its last delicious sensation.

Across the street, a lone figure put out his cigarillo and turned away from the house as dawn broke.

Sargento dela Paz looked up at the clock above the señor capitán's desk. It was almost nine in the morning and the jefe still had not arrived. Since taking on the post as San Isidro's police chief, Andrés Gonzales had never been this late for work; there was the incident with the two cucheros a few months past, but even then the capitán had managed to be at his desk before eight.

The sargento considered going to the jefe's apartment, his hand was on the office door when he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the steps. He quickly made his way back to his own desk and sat down - only to stand up again when the capitán opened the door.

"Buenos días, Sargento," the jefe greeted before dela Paz could speak.

"Buenos días, Jefe."

Theseñor capitán headed straight for the large set of drawers behind his desk. He had never felt such reluctance to attend to his duties before, but Porcia was right: they both had responsibilities and San Isidro was a small town; knowing tongues would start wagging if the jefe and the young seamstress both did not go to work the day after being seen together the night before.

He drew out the topmost compartment, took out the folder which contained the names of the people they had rounded up at Francisco Chua's warehouse and sat down. He opened the file and read through the names for what must have been the hundredth time that week.

For several minutes, nothing but the shuffling of the sheets in the folder was heard.

"Have you looked at these names, dela Paz?"

The sargento felt a little guilty; he had looked through the file, but certainly not as many times as the jefe.

"I...erm, glanced over them a few times," he said.

The capitán turned a few more sheets over.

"What strikes me as odd are the gender and age of these people. The ladies all have diverse ages; the oldest, Señora Remedios Silva, is well into her seventies, while the youngest, a Señorita Pacita Ylescupidez, is barely nineteen."

"Well, yes, Jefe," dela Paz interjected, "As you said, an addiction is not limited by the user's gender and no one is too young or too old to become an addict."

"Hmm? Oh yes, exactly, dela Paz, so why is there a great disparity in the ages of the women and none in the men? All eight of them are about the same age."

The sargento crossed the room. He took the folder and looked through the names.

"There is one other thing," Capitán Gonzales continued, "the residences of the four women are scattered all over San Isidro, but these men all live in the same two streets and are all bricklayers."

-----

Porcia was surprised when she saw Abel at his work table. She herself was late getting in that morning - but believing that her friend had a party to attend the night before - she had counted on getting to the Trajes long before he did, but here he was, carefully cutting the white cotton twill which was the suit material that most gentlemen of leisure in San Isidro preferred.

"You're early," she said as she walked into the workroom, "I suppose last night's birthday party did not involve cervezas."

"It was a - quiet celebration - besides, I promised you I'd be on time today, so I left right after supper. Now," Abel placed his scissors on the table, "you can tell me why you are late."

He looked up at Porcia, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.

The young seamstress could feel the heat in her cheeks and quickly turned away.

"I overslept," she muttered as she bent down under her worktable to stow her purse under it.

Abel remained quiet, he saw how quickly she had blushed. He knew that Porcia was growing fond of the señor capitán and the jefe himself was certainly attracted to his dear friend - why else would he escort her home every afternoon? - which made this business of spying on them even more difficult.

He was almost certain that the capitán had no idea how deeply entrenched the society was in San Isidro, but the discovery of Francisco Chua's opium trade and then his body, had caused the jefe and his men to start nosing about - who knew where a thoughtless answer to their queries would lead to?

Abel picked up his scissors again and started cutting the twill once more. He would never hurt Porcia, but more important things hung in the balance, he had to tread carefully.

"Well, Porcia, I know how that feels," he said softly.

Porcia gave her friend a sheepish smile, she went to where Abel was sitting and ruffled his hair.

"Yes, you are the expert in that," she said, and turned to sit behind the counter.

She took out the thick store ledger from under the counter, opened it and reached for the black pen on the counter, intent on tallying the store's earnings from the new orders they had received. Porcia was sure the numbers in the ledger would show a clear profit for the Trajes de Hombre, but instead, she found herself thinking about the previous night.

Andrés had been gentle and patient at first; Porcia knew that nothing beyond that first tentative kiss would have happened if she had ended it on the balcony, but when they drew apart after the second kiss - which she had more than encouraged - she took his hand and had led him to her small bedroom. His lovemaking turned powerful and she had answered with equal passion; she supposed her friends would call her shameless, yet she could not summon up an ounce of guilt or regret at what she and Andrés had shared.

The sound of the shop door opening interrupted her thoughts and she looked up; a man, slightly older than Abel, stood in front of her. He looked vaguely familiar, but she could not remember just when and where she had seen him.

"Señorita Fuentes, I wonder if I could speak with Abel Medina?"

The young seamstress nodded and called out to her friend. Abel came out and stopped short, Maximo de Leon was standing on the other side of the counter.

It was clear to Porcia that the two men had something private to discuss.

"It seems I'm running short of pins this time. Abel, can you run over to the ciudad and purchase a box?"

"Of course, Porcia, I think I'll take Maximo here along to save time."

Porcia watched the two men leave; she was sure she had heard the name Maximo before.

"I need you to cover for me, Medina. Kidlat thought it best for me to go along with you when you follow Porcia and the jefe tomorrow night, but something came up," Maximo said as he and Abel crossed the street.

"It's just a small matter, compadre," Maximo continued, "it's my wedding anniversary and the wife wants me to stay at home, just say you and I were together should Kidlat ask, that's all."

After a moment's hesitation, Abel agreed.

"Good," Maximo thumped the tailor's assistant on the back, "I'll leave you to get those pins for Porcia. You know, Abel, now that I've seen her up close, your friend is pretty, very pretty, indeed. No wonder our new jefe's been spending an inordinate amount of time at her house," he said, winking at Abel before heading alone onto the street.

-----

Andrés Gonzales closed Francisco Chua's folder; he had not found anything new in it. He knew that the Chinaman was killed in the office of his store, they had found the room thrashed and bloodied the day after the raid. Chua had also been stabbed six times before he was thrown into the old well. And, unfortunately, not one of the dozen people on the upper floor of the huge warehouse could remember seeing or hearing anything amiss.

The señor capitán rubbed his eyes, it was almost five in the afternoon, he did not want to keep Porcia waiting; he slid the file into his desk drawer and stood up.

"Who is scheduled to stay the night, dela Paz?" he asked as he passed the sargento's table.

"The two cabos, Capitan, Murillo and Ponce."

Andrés nodded.

"You and I will be leaving early tomorrow, Sargento. I think it's time we visited Rodrigo Chua inside the Distrito de Chino. Tell Julio and Illuminado we shall be needing them tomorrow," he said as he stepped out the door.

"I don't think we'll need Illuminado, Capitán."

Andrés turned back.

"Dela Paz, despite their constant bickering, those two cucheros are inseparable; where one goes, the other is sure to follow. Besides, having them both around will keep one from envying the other."

The sargento smiled and nodded.

Alberto Fuentes carefully opened the door of the small private room where Elisa was convalescing. He was pleasantly surprised to find her sitting up in bed, reading the devocionario which the hospital priest had given her the night before.

Elisa looked up and smiled tentatively at her husband. She closed the book, placed it on the adjoining table and held out her arms to Alberto. He dropped to his knees beside the bed and clasped her to him.

"I have missed you so much, querida," he whispered.

"And I you, lindo," she answered, "I have given you and Porcia so much suffering, can...can you ever forgive me?"

"Always, Elisa," Alberto answered, "always."

He did not see the look of painful resolve in her eyes as he gathered her once again in his arms.

-----

Rodolfo Chua's house was a spacious villa in the very heart of the Chinese district;

a large single-story structure in the middle of a wide courtyard, a feature carried over from his family's original birthplace of Hutong. Everything about it cried wealth, but the sprawling lay-out was more for practical purposes: being confined to a wheelchair, Francisco's brother needed every room to be at one level; climbing up another floor would have been extremely difficult.

Gonzales, dela Paz and the two cucheros were greeted by Loleng, Rodolfo's main care-giver, she had started as the Chua brothers amah, having been with the Chinese family from the age of seventeen. Even after marrying, Loleng had stayed on to care for Francisco's brother. Well past sixty, she now lived almost entirely in his house, going home only on the weekends, when a nurse, Estefania, took over.

The four men were led to an opulent salon, in the middle of which stood a large and intricately carved Chinese altar-table of dark teak. On it was a collection of porcelain cups, plates and very fine crystal bowls. In the very middle of the table were two tall glass holders, each one containing a long stick of incense, a box of expensive matches between them.

"Please have a seat, gentlemen, while I fetch the señor," Loleng excused herself.

They all sat down on a large mahogany couch.

"The cups, bowls and plates are for food offerings," Julio whispered to Illuminado, who was eyeing the altar with suspicion.

"And who do they offer the food to?" the older cuchero whispered back, "I thought they didn't believe in God."

"They do believe in a divine being, Illuminado," the jefe said, "and it is only slightly different from the one we worship."

"We don't offer bananas and coconuts during mass, Jefe," the older cuchero answered.

"Well, what do you think will please God more, compadre?" Julio said, "Bananas or our sins and all our wrongdoings, which is what the padres tell us to offer? If I were God, I'd be happier with the fruit."

"And it shows, compadre," Illuminado said, looking at Julio's large tummy.

Both Andrés and the sargento were finding it difficult not to laugh; fortunately, Rodolfo Chua entered the salon at that moment.

He was a fair, slender man, a long queue of black hair went down his back and ended past his waist. He was dressed in the traditional long white shirt and loose trousers favored by the Chinos, his legs and feet were thin, due, no doubt, to the illness that had rendered them useless.

The capitán was surprised that he could manipulate the wheelchair without any assistance; he glided across the salon floor quite easily and swerved the chair gracefully in front of their couch before stopping.

"Good day, gentlemen," his voice was gentle, almost melodious.

"Good day to you, too, Señor Chua," the jefe said, "First, allow me to offer my sympathies for the death of Francisco and secondly, please accept my apology for the inconvenience this visit has brought on you, but perhaps you can shed some light on your brother's death."

"Please," their host said, gesturing for them to sit, "What do you want to know?"

"Were you aware, Señor, of any problems Francisco may have had, with his business or with someone who may have wished him ill?" Gonzales said, "I know that you had very little to do with the store; but perhaps he said something to you?"

"No, Capitán, he said nothing to me at all."

"I do apologize for having to ask this, but did you know about the other...business...he ran in his store?'"

"Jefe, if you are referring to the opium trade and the den he operated, then yes, but as to how lucrative it had become - the answer is no - I only found out about those after ditse's death, I find...profiting from another man's weakness abhorrent...but Francisco took after our father, they were both - ruthless - when it came to making money. Are you here to arrest me for knowing?"

The capitán shook his head.

"As odd as it sounds, Señor, there is no real crime in operating an opium den, only in not paying the proper taxes. What about the clothing business, do you intend to continue with it?"

"I still have not made up my mind about that, Jefe. My interests are vastly different from those of Francisco. If I were to continue with it, I would need the help of someone more knowledgeable, like Estanislao Javier."

Suddenly, he turned to Loleng who had re-entered the room.

"Amah, you have been remiss, I'm sure these fine gentlemen are parched from traveling out to us. I'm sure some cold tea would be very welcome," he chided gently.

Loleng patted Rodrigo's hand and turned to go, but Andrés quickly stopped her.

"Please don't bother, Manang, we will not be staying long."

"I noticed that you are quite mobile in the wheelchair, Señor, but how does Manang Loleng manage when you need to be lifted?" dela Paz asked.

"I can manage well enough, years of propelling myself in this chair have strengthened my arms," he said, "and Loleng's husband, Sisto, is an accomplished hilot, he comes in three times a week to keep these," he patted his slender thighs, "from atrophying."

"I admire your determination, Señor, I am told that you have been without the use of your legs since birth," Andrés said.

Rodrigo Chua's smile was a little sad.

"Thank you, I was born with a spinal aberration. This was a great shame to my parents, but that shame was doubled when they realized that my legs were not just unsightly, but useless as well. My people place great value on physical perfection."

Andrés Gonzales nodded.

"I understand. Well, thank you for your time, Señor."

Rodrigo held out a hand as Andrés stood up. After a moment's hesitation, Andrés shook the outstretched hand in a firm grip. He turned to go but stopped.

"I almost forgot," he said as he reached into his coat pocket and drew out a small leather pouch, "These are the objects we retrieved from your brother's body."

Rodrigo accepted the bag.

"Thank you, again, Jefe, for pursuing my brother's case, not every member of the Guardia Civil would have done the same...for a Chino."

-----

Maximo was sitting on one of the crates inside the Chua compound; he'd been waiting there since sunset, but this time he had come prepared; once the evening sky darkened, he had started on the large pan de sal he had brought with him.

Once sated, he lit a cigarillo and contemplated the night sky, wondering what 'task' he was going to be asked to do. The note he received earlier that day was brief:

Meet me alone at Chua's warehouse tonight.

Maximo was sure it entailed another chore, a chore he would be paid handsomely for again. The menial, not to mention occasional, job opportunities that came his way, digging ditches and cleaning horse manure off the streets, paid pittance.

The money he had earned a few weeks before was gone, of course, he had lost it drinking, gambling and frequenting the whorehouses outside San Isidro.

Easy come, easy go, he muttered to himself. He took a long deep drag from the cigarette; this time was different, of course, this time he was alone - he wouldn't have to share the payment with anyone.

He stood up when he heard the soft whinny of a pony, an expectant smile on his face.

-----

Abel lit his third cigarette, he was not a heavy smoker, but his nerves were on edge after what Maximo had revealed.

He had followed the jefe when Andrés left the station to fetch Porcia from the Trajes. He tailed the pair and was now outside the Fuentes' home where he had been waiting for over three hours.

Despite what Maximo said, Abel was no innocent, and he knew what was likely happening inside the house, between the jefe and his best friend; after all, a man would not stay that long in a young lady's house unaccompanied unless...the tailor's assistant shook his head, it was best not to think such thoughts. Porcia was a grown woman and, unlike most young ladies in San Isidro, had a mind of her own, and did not much care for the conventional social niceties. He could only hope her daring would not lead her to danger.

He put out the cigarette when he saw the flame of a gasera being lit. The light came from Porcia's room on the upper floor; after several minutes it was carried out and reappeared on the lower floor of the small villa.

He crouched down behind the flower shrubs across the street. The door opened and he saw Porcia and Andrés kiss long and passionately before the jefe donned his hat and left.

After making sure his friend had gone back up the stairs, Abel made up his mind, he had to see the supremo.

-----

The dark figure pulled the shutters of the rusty window; they creaked but refused to budge. He tried twice more - to no avail. He cursed the stingy Francisco for refusing to replace the ancient windows of his bodega.

He looked around in the dark for a tool of some sort to use, and saw an old axe resting on the wall on which he stood. He stooped and grabbed the implement and tried prying the shutters open but to no avail.