An Ill Wind That Blows No Good

ALBERTO ARCIA

www.albertoarcia.com

Copyright © 2013 by Alberto Arcia

Printed in the United State of America

Smashwords Edition

This book is dedicated to my friend and adventure tour partner, Les French.

The Arcia-French Mayan Archeological Adventure Tour business would have never become a reality if it weren’t for you. You’re crazier than I am, and that is a scary thing to say. What fun we had; some of the stories managed to find their way into my novels. Especially the one about the two Norwegian girls we picked-up at the top of the Pyramid of the Jaguar, in Chichen-Itza, and the subsequent party at the motel room with no bathroom door. They spoke no English or Spanish, but we understood the name they had for us … Cheech and Chong.

In memory of my dear friend, Mike Hargis.

We were supposed to grow old together, but you cashed in early, taking with you the Pearly Gates dream. I miss your company; you were my best mate.

Every time I write about Alex, you’re somewhere in the story. We took so many trips together. The memories are abundant. Yet, the best one took place in Hamburg, at a bar, in the city’s red-light district. The lesson you taught me is still with me today. I had three mad-as-hell whores and their pimp screaming at me. Wanting to make a foolish stand, I looked behind to see if you had my back, then realized you had moved to a stool at the far end of the bar.

That bit of action brought reality into play, and saved me from getting pummeled and thrown into a German jail. And yes, you were right. There is a limit in what a good friend will do for another. Keep the light on, Miguel. I’ll be looking for you when my time comes.

Special Thanks

Thanks go to my wife, Betsy. You taught me to enjoy a calm life. I appreciate that more than you can imagine.

Thanks also go to The Woodlands Writers Guild, a bastion of writers whose dedication to the art pushes me onward.

I would like to give a measure of gratitude to several friends for giving me the inspiration to create some wonderful characters:

Roger for Ronson

Al for Alfred

Beverly for Ramona

Fred for Paco

Kurt for Kermit

And particularly to those whose characters outlived them:

Joyce for Charlene, and Mike for Miguel

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Special Thanks

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Part Two

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

About the Author

The Alex Perez Series

Rancor is good solid ground when dealing with jilted females. My name is Alex Perez, and this is my story. It starts on the outskirts of Houston, in a stolen car, and with a distressed female in my line of vision…

Chapter One

A New Beginning

The woman was standing by the side of the road next to a car with the hood up. She looked hot so I stopped to render assistance. When I approached her, I noticed she was in a foul mood. Thinking the bad temperament had to do with being stranded, I gave her a big smile; then I laid one of my best lines on her: Hey, baby, can I make your day?

She glared at me. That’s all I need today, another condescending male asshole.

The low menacing voice caught my attention. Before I could defend myself, she chastised the swagger, said all men were dicks, and rewarded my rescue effort by pulling a pistol and sticking it to my ribs. This may come as a surprise to you, cockle-doodle-dandy-boy, but this little lady is going to rain on your parade today. I hope your sense of chivalry can survive being abused by a woman. Now give me your damn car keys and cell phone or I’ll put a bullet in both your legs.

The daring look in her eyes told me she meant business. Not wanting to test her resolve, I handed them over. She smashed my phone on the pavement, and then she looked me in the eye and told me not to do anything stupid. No sweat. I had no intention of feeding whatever fire was burning in her heart.

You want me to raise my hands? I said.

No, asshole; just stay put. She climbed into the car, rolled the passenger window down and threw my backpack on the ground. Then she shot me the finger and sped off, leaving me feeling like a fool.

Normally, this sort of thing would have upset me. Getting burned while trying to help the needy is a galling matter, yet today I took the unfortunate incident in stride. Today I was armed with something that gave me comfort: I knew my soon to be ex-wife’s sense of humor, and I was willing to bet the house she had already called the cops and reported her revered Mercedes Benz stolen.

After several difficult years of trudging on the marital trail, my dear wife decided to close the book on our marriage. The words written on the final chapter were short, hurtful, and to the point: Alex, take what you came here with, and don’t be around when I get home.

Needing money and not wanting to go quietly, I sold my supped-up Chevy Impala to a friend. I gave him a price he couldn’t refuse. However, the deal came with one condition: he had to hold on to my LP record collection until I could retrieve it. It was placed into two boxes and stashed in the trunk of the Impala. I promised to keep in touch. He agreed, and dropped me off at Ramona’s house. I used my spare keys and took off with her prized 190SL Mercedes Benz convertible. I didn’t get far with it, but that wasn’t the point. If I had wanted to escape, I would have left her precious car alone and purchased a bus ticket. I just wanted to hurt the vile woman. Still, I did expect to get farther east than Anahuac.

Being slammed by life’s peccadilloes is old hat stuff for me. The benefit of being the recipient of this type of treatment is a tough skin. I had one. It takes a lot to rile me. Besides, this was not the first time I’ve been robbed at gun point or chastised by an angry woman. I put the unpleasant episode behind and moved on.

The day was hot, so was the asphalt. Perspiration began to trickle down my brow into my eyes. I needed to get back into an air conditioned car, quickly. I grabbed my backpack, stuck my thumb out, and waited for lady luck to find me. It didn’t take long to get a ride; good fortune always follows bad times. A nice looking blonde in an old sky blue Chevelle with smoking dual exhausts picked me up. She told me to put my pack in the back seat, which was full of clothes. I opened the back door, tossed it on top of the pile, and then climbed in beside her.

Hey, babe, thanks for stopping. It was getting a bit hot out there. My name is Alex Perez. Who are you?

She smiled and shook my hand. Danielle Dugart is the name, honey bunch. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.

I checked her out. Nice female specimen. She patted the bench seat and said, Come on, honey, you can sit a little closer. I won’t bite you.

I took her advice and slid closer. She giggled, peeled rubber, and we were off to the races.

During the course of the drive, Danielle felt the need to tell me her life story, culminating with the fact she was leaving an unfaithful husband behind. I complemented her story with my own marital woes. The fact that we were both spouseless helped break the ice and established a bond of camaraderie between us.

Why were you standing out there, honey pie? Don’t you have a car?

Yes, I do.

Well, where is it?

Not wanting to get involved in a long conversation to do with my car-jacking, I took the easy road. It broke down in Baytown. I had it towed to a garage.

Where are you going, honey? She said.

Well, I’m hoping to get to Beaumont. I have a friend there I haven’t seen in a while.

Is that friend male or female?

The sound of her voice told a tale of loneliness, but her words revealed an interest in me. Wanting to show gratitude for the ride, I proceeded to vocally admire the low-cut blouse she was wearing. Hey, baby, those are two nice looking puppies you have stuffed in there.

She gave me an approving smile. Thank you, they’re real.

Encouraged by the revelation, I sat closer. Our legs were now touching. She smiled at me again, and then placed her right arm over my neck and shoulder, giving me a gentle squeeze. I did the same, except I placed my left hand on her knee. She froze for a moment, not knowing what to make of my brazen attempt at flattery. She must have figured it out because right after my first squeeze, the tension left her, and she relaxed her leg. Needing to push the relationship onto higher ground and wanting to find my way to the seat of the universe, my fingers began to slowly explore the path. When they reached it, they found it to be uncovered. A smile graced both our faces; we had found love again. We drove east, talking, laughing, and working up a sexual appetite.

The Interstate 10 traffic going into Beaumont stalled and lights flashed up ahead. As we came closer, we saw the reason; the police had Ramona’s Benz surrounded. One cop was yelling and pointing a gun at the angry woman, another one was fixing to cuff her. I smiled. Revenge is sweet. For that matter, so is pleasure. My fingers were working wonders on Danielle’s fever. She was rapidly reaching a sexual crescendo. When she leaned her neck back and closed her eyes, I knew it was time to get off the road. Driving with eyes closed is a bad idea.

Baby how about we get off the highway and find us a room? I said. You’re having all the fun here.

Sure Alex. You have something particular in mind?

"How about we play a game I learned in a Panamanian brothel, it’s called ‘Esconder la Pinga’."

I’m not good with Spanish. What does that mean, honey bunch?

In English it’s called ‘Hide the Salami.’ This game comes with a lot of grunting sounds and humping movements. Sound good?

Oh, yes, grunting and gyrating works for me. In Louisiana, we have a similar game; it’s called ‘Riding the Pony’. I wonder if they’re the same.

Yes, I do believe the basic concept is the same, but in mine there’s no whipping involved.

Good, she said, as she placed her hand on John Henry, giving him several loving squeezes. I prefer painless sex games. Can I get on top?

Yes, as long as I don’t have to neigh or buck.

We booked a room at the first hotel that came into view. Unfortunately, it was the Ridgewood, an old haunt of mine. Danielle dropped me off at the front door and proceeded to park the car. I walked into the hotel and approached the counter with some apprehension. The last time I rented a room here, Mattie, an old flame, was working the front desk, and she became visibly upset when I checked in with another girl.

Mattie’s sense of humor left a lot to be desired. Last time, it didn’t take long before she began to send unwanted service to my room. She was determined to interrupt my fun. She sent a brainless bell boy to knock on the door until I opened it. Telling him to get lost didn’t help. He remained there and kept on knocking on the door. The second time I opened the door, he pushed the food cart into the room.

The floozy I was trying to bed decided she was hungry and uncovered one of the two plates. What was underneath that one caused me some concern; it was a banana with two apples at the base. The banana was sliced in half.

This must be for you, she said, while pushing the plate my way. When she removed the cover from the other one, what was underneath caused her alarm. It was a slice of papaya with all the black seeds still on it. There was also a knife-stuck in the middle. We looked at each other and decided to vacate the premises.

As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I remember thinking that I had to either stop bedding hotel employees or find new haunts. Nevertheless, that was then, and this is now. And today lady luck was on my side. The woman working the front desk was not Mattie.

I booked a room, and we practically ran into the elevator. When the door closed, I pushed Danielle against the wall. My left hand raised her skirt while my right one began to caress her passion bowl. I was ready for action, but she objected. Not here, honey bunch. Wait just a little bit longer.

Hell, I was hornier than a Texas toad during mating season. Waiting to be delivered from my present state was going to be difficult. Still, there was no coaxing her; she held fast. That door was closed for the moment.

The elevator reached its destination, the door opened and she grabbed my hand and pulled me out into the corridor. I smiled; she was feeling the heat. We ran down the hall and found the room. Before she could get the card-key into the slot, I pushed her face against the door and lifted her skirt up to her waist.

No, honey, not from behind, she pleaded. And not out here either.

Danielle turned out to be an escape artist. Somehow she managed to key the door slot, turn the handle, and open it. The door gave way and we both fell inside.

In the morning, it was hard to tell who had screwed whose eyes out, but we were lucky neither one of us woke up blind. Being a connoisseur of women, I knew I’d found a keeper.

During breakfast, while making small talk, Danielle’s interest in my company reached the point of no return. She buried her brown eyes on mine. Do you have a good reason for staying in Beaumont?

I sipped my coffee and studied her facial expression. She seemed enamored with me; the opportunity to hook up was there. All I had to do was say yes.

No, not really, I said. Like you, I’m also looking for a new beginning. There’s someone living here who will give me a leg up, if I ask.

Is this friend male or female? She asked me, again.

I don’t believe it matters at this point, Danielle. I’ve been smitten by your beauty. Can we keep the party going?

I’ve already told you, Alex, I’m going to New Orleans. Would you like to ride along with me? I have a sister living there. You can move into the guest room. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. What do you say, honey pie, can I talk you into accompanying me?

Yes, of course. It will be my pleasure to continue the adventure. Beaumont was only going to be a temporary stop.

She was ecstatic that I had accepted the invitation. She picked up my hand, turned it over and kissed it. Her giddiness was appreciated, yet it wasn’t necessary; I was practically homeless. Her invitation was a blessing, and accepting it was easy. My gut feeling told me that whatever New Orleans had in store for me was probably way better than what I was going to dig up here in Beaumont. My friend had just gotten married, and even though he would open his door if I knocked on it, my intrusion on his married life would surely feel ill-advised.

Danielle finished her morning meal with gusto. We went up to the room for one more go-round, then we checked out and left town. Once we crossed the Sabine River at the Texas-Louisiana border, she began to tell me more about her life, forcing me to share more about mine. By the time we reached Lafayette, she had worked out a plan of action for me. I was to hang out with her and her sister for a couple of months. Then, if I liked the area, she would help me find suitable employment and fix me up with a place to live. It was a sound plan, but I’m Alex Perez, a man with a reckless fire down below the belt.

In spite of the fact that all my relationships had a historical tendency to crash and burn early, getting involved with cheerful females still had a strong appeal for me, a pull I could never resist. The reason? Well, if I had to put a finger on it, I would have to say that a short attention span combined with a strong sense of optimism was at the root of the problem. On top of that was the fact women brought a semblance of order into my crazy undisciplined life.

By the time we crossed the high bridge in Baton Rouge, tiredness overpowered me and closed my eyes. I stretched my legs and succumbed to slumber. Before I drifted off, the notion whether her sister was going to be an asset or liability to live with crossed my mind.

Chapter Two

A Black Pair of Panties

We finally made it to the Crescent City. I was pleased to know we were going towards the Garden District. She found the house. It was a nice spacious one story brick building; certainly big enough for the three of us. Her sister, Laurette, came out to greet us when we pulled into the driveway. She was a pretty brunette with a nice bubbly personality. She was also in possession of a very impressive pair of long, curvy legs.

Laurette turned out to be more than just a good looking woman; she was also a football fan, therefore pleasant company. Keeping a keen eye out for opportunities that would help me catch an easier life, I tried to win the hearts of both women. Not one of my best moves. Hell, I had a bad behavioral record with willing babes, and those long legs of her’s beguiled me from the very beginning.

After we had settled in, Dani felt the need to arm me with useful information. She confided to me that her sister was a flirt. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but it felt prudent not to. Laurie was not a flirt; she was a tease, and there’s a big difference between the two. Her sister liked to walk around the house braless, wearing a t-shirt and bikini panties. She did this when Dani was either sleeping or out of the house. She also liked to swim in the nude, and there was an above ground pool in the fenced back yard. I’m an avid voyeur, amongst other things, so I spied on her from my bedroom window. The best part was that she knew I was peeping. To reward my devotion, she applied the sun tan lotion in a slow sensual manner. Obviously she thought I was playing with myself and needed the visual imagery.