The Wine Cellar
Evans and Martina were escorted to the kitchen at the back of the hacienda. A narrow doorway opened on a steeply descending flight of stairs. At the bottom of the stairs was another door and behind that the basement wine cellar. It was not nearly as lavishly appointed as the upper floor. A few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling illuminated the dank room. Rows and rows of wooden racks held bottle after bottle of wines from all over the world.
There was no discussion about the matter, the pair was simply pushed into the basement and the inner door slammed behind them. Moments later they heard the door at the top of the stairs close and they were alone in the ensuing silence. Neither spoke as Evans slowly surveyed the scene. Martina stood with her back to the door listening to Billy's steps echoing off the flagstone flooring.
Evans finally spoke, "Well, this sucks big time."
'"David will be back and get us out of here." Martina said confidently.
“Davey’s mom still picks out his clothes for him. Davey believes Nixon is going to win us peace with honor. Davey thinks we are all going to be warping around the galaxy like Star Trek by the year 2000. He couldn't pull off a heist like this if the guys from Mission Impossible planned the thing for him. In case you haven't noticed, the hero type he isn't."
“You don't have a very high opinion of him, do you?"
“I try to have a realistic opinion. I love the guy like a brother. I respect his strengths but I acknowledge weakness where I see it. David is a great guy. He'd give you the shirt off his back. But unless his mom buys him the shirt to begin with, Surfer is going to be strutting his stuff in the nude. Evans answered with a sigh of regret. "I hope he comes through, but... Let's get real, okay'?"
“All right, breaking into a house and cracking a safe may be beyond him. But he has Chichi with him and she seems to be a lady of remarkable talent and remarkably well acquainted with the Mexican Police. So, they don't try to steal the treasure. Surely David will go to the police. We will be rescued.”
“Can I have some of whatever you've been smoking?" Evans replied? "You actually believe Davie is going to the cops? Let me get this straight? He's going to drive into police headquarters and explain how we came down here for a load of booze, got arrested, headed to this ranch for a load of pot to pay for the booze the other police stole from us that we were planning to sell to pay off our debts to the mafia for stolen auto parts… And all of this when he doesn’t speak a word of Spanish."
“He has Chichi to translate."
“Having a whore speak up for us speaks well, does it? Wipe the fairy dust out of your eyes, princess. We are stuck like chuck. You might as well face the reality of it."
“So, what do you plan to do, Billy? Nothing? Are you just going to stand there and do nothing?'
“No, I’m going to make peace with the Universe. And since I'm trapped in a cellar full of El Tigre’s prize wines, I’m going to inflict as much expense on the bastard as possible. I don't know if I can drink the place dry, but I’m sure as Hell going to try. I maybe a prisoner of my fate, but I have the freedom choice in facing it sober or shit-faced."
At this remark Marina charged up to Evans confronting him, "Your solution is to get drunk? That’s it? Down all the alcohol you can and keep on trucking into the next life? That's how youplan to get back at our captors? You are going to drink him into poverty by consuming his best vintage? Billy, you poor bastard, you wouldn't know a good bottle of wine if El Tigre hit you with it. Where are you going to start?"
Evans turned and began to study the bottles in the racks. Lifting a likely candidate from its resting place he slowly turned the bottle in his hands examining it from all sides. "Okay, you have a point there. But I figure if I can’t read the language on the label the wine has to be expensive. That’s good enough for me.” He replaced that bottle and removed another, set that one back in the rack and chose a third.
''What's the matter. Billy? I thought foreign was good enough regardless."
“I can’t screw the tops off any of these."
“Doomed to sobriety, poor baby. My kingdom for a corkscrew... Is
that the gist of it, Evans; defeated by a cork in the bottle?”
“A what screw? What the hell are you talking about?"
“For God’s sake, Billy, a corkscrew… You actually don’t know what a corkscrew is? It’s like a metal pigtail. Everybody knows what a corkscrew is.””
“At my house you open a bottle with a bottle opener or you unscrew the top. That’s life. Maybe you find Hawaiians uncouth. Maybe I’m below your social standing. So, screw you, Bitch. Free men, not a bunch of limey criminals, settled my island. So, I guess heritage is on my side. Christ, Davey gets to run around Mexico with a hooker and I get locked up with a snob. Where’s the justice in all of this. I should be running the undercover operation and the surfer ought to be stuck here with you. Then we might have a chance. I could pull the thing off. And Davey wouldn’t mind being stuck here with you. At least he’d get sex out of the deal. The way things are I can’t even get drunk.”
At that Martina burst into tears and sank to the floor against the door. Evans awkwardly set the bottle he had been holding back in the rack and walked to the sobbing girl sitting in the dust. Sitting himself next to her he tentatively reached to touch her shoulder. Her first response was to knock his hand away, but his next attempt to console her resulted in her leaning up against his massive shoulder. He put his arms around her and she sank into his chest sobbing.
“Look,” he finally said, “maybe Surf will pull this thing off. Or maybe he and Chichi will go to the police. I don’t know. But maybe we ought to plan on them not doing that, or not succeeding. So, getting out of here is going to be up to us. I believe in fate, destiny, and all that shit. But I figure we must have some options. We get to choose what path we take to that ultimate destiny. Let’s choose a path out of here. Are you with me? All that bullshit before; well, I’m kinda scared.”
Martine sniffled back another sob and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Evans used the bottom of his t-shirt to dry her face. “If Surfer and Chichi are going to be gone for two days minimum, well, El Tigre is going to have to feed us. That might give us an opportunity. The way his men looked at you the whole time, we might be able to use that to our advantage,” he said.
Sitting up Martine forced a smile, “You think anyone would want this face? I must look a sight.”
Evans looked at her. She tried to hold the smile, but if flickered with a perceptible tremble. Still, a determined fire lit up her eyes as she raised her head and shook back her hair. Evans smiled at her and said, “I can see what Davey sees. You’re ready to fight, aren’t you?”
“Aussies are tough, Mate. You line ‘em up, and I’ll knock ‘em down. So, what’s the plan?”
They spent the next few hours scouting out their confines. The wooden wine racks were bolted securely to the floor. The bottles they held might be used as weapons. A heavy wine bottle wielded as a club could do significant damage; or thrown as a missile the projectile might be lethal. But there was little else to aid the two in an escape attempt. In the end they chose obscurity over direct confrontation, seduction over brute force.
The rattle of a key in the lock announced dinner’s arrival. The door opened and a single guard pushed a covered tray into the room with his foot while he kept an ancient Colt revolver trained on the room. His gaze quickly locked on Martina, naked to the waist, leaning back against the wine racks. The guard flashed a lascivious grin as the young girl waved a come-hither finger in his direction. He spoke to her. Not understanding, she chose to ignore his conversation. She slowly slid the index finger she had used to beckon him between her lips. The in and out motion was an unmistakable invitation and the man took it. As he walked toward Martina she slipped to her knees and reached toward the man’s belt buckle. As she tugged on the leather the guard reached to the rack to steady himself and place his revolver on the shelf so he might run both hands through the head of silky auburn hair before him. Her hands quickly freed the dirty dungarees from his waist and pulled them to his knees in one quick forceful jerk. Just as quickly Evans sprang from his hiding place between the wine racks. A bottle of Chateau Lafitte Rothschild 1962 crashed down catching the unsuspecting jailor just above the right ear and sending him sprawling into the dust.
Martina sprang to her feet and whipped the shirt tied at her waist up over her head as she ran for the doorway. Evans made sure the guard was out and then quickly followed. They dashed out of the cellar and headed for the stairs at the end of the hallway. As they reached the foot of the staircase the door above them opened and a man with a machine gun called down, “Juan, hurry up. The boss wants us. Hey, what’s going on? Hold it, you two.” Face to face with a Thompson .45 caliber machine gun the great escape came to an abrupt halt.
With the barrel of the machine gun unwaveringly trained the guard forced the daring duo back down the stairs and into the wine cellar. Two more thugs who followed him began to pound Evans unmercifully. The original guard had regained consciousness and felt because of the ungracious treatment afforded him he had earned the right to take liberties with an unsuccessful female escapee. Moments into the violent ordeal El Tigre himself arrived.
"Stop immediately," he ordered. "You will leave my guests in peace."
"But boss, look what they did to Pepe when they tried to escape. They have to be taught a lesson," the man with the Thompson protested.
"While it is true they are my prisoners, they are also my guests and will be treated like guests until I say otherwise. Besides, it is a prisoner's duty to try to escape. I appreciate the initiative they have shown. If they try it again, I will allow you to shoot them. Perhaps I will even allow the men to have a little recreation first. But for now, you will not harm these two. Their creativity demonstrates intelligence and a desire to succeed. I desire clever partners. Clever partners will find ways to make money and increase my profits."
To Bill and Martina, El Tigre added, "I am a fair man, no? You see this and appreciate the fact that I will make a good partner for you too. But you will not attempt to escape again. Once shows intelligence. Twice would only show disrespect for me as your host. I would be forced to punish such foolishness. Comprende? Now, back you go and you will behave. I am sure your friends will show the same cleverness and return shortly. We will all just have to wait for them and hope for their success, no?"
The heavy wooden door closed and the lock clicked shut. Evans and Martina listened as the footstep receded and the door at the top of the steps slammed shut. Without a word Evans walked across the room, picked a bottle from the rack, broke the top off against the wooden upright and poured a gulp of burgundy down his throat.
"You shouldn't do that," Martina warned. "You'll wind up swallowing glass and cutting the inside of your throat to pieces."
"That's worse than having those bastards cut my throat? I don't think so. I can choose the time of my own death or get so drunk I don't know what they're doing. What do you think they are going to do to you? Is participating in their little party going to get your rocks off? Are you up for a gangbang? Do you want to face that stone cold sober? No? Maybe you'd like a little hemlock too," Evans answered after a swallow.
"Maybe we could try instead of just giving up," Martina challenged. "I never thought of you as a quitter."
"I'm a realist."
"You are a coward. I don't want to think about what those men might do, but I refuse to sit here and accept it as the only possibility. If they come back, I'll spit in their faces. I'll claw out their eyes. I'll make them pay for anything they do to me and I'll make sure there isn't any pleasure in it. Come on, Billy, there has to be something we can do, something we can use in here to defend ourselves. Help me find it."
"Tell you what; I won't stand in your way. And if you come up with something, I'll be glad to help out. But I don't see it happening. You know what I see? I see this experiment from Psychology 101 where we put a white rat in a maze. This poor rat starts running around trying to get from the starting point to the end of this maze to find a tiny morsel of cheese. So, he runs the maze and finally gets the cheese. You put him in the maze a hundred more times to find a solution to the cheese. Then you put him in the maze, but you don't put any cheese in. And he still runs the maze because he thinks there is cheese at the end. He goes this way and that way and gets stuck and turns around and you can practically see the frustration in his tiny beady red eyes. He's learned that if he looks hard enough and solves the puzzle there will be a reward at the end."
"And this has something to do with our situation?" Martina asked in exasperation.
"Look around you," Evans replied motioning with a grand sweep of his right arm, "the wine racks are a classic maze. And you are the lab-rat dumped in at the start. You don't have a clue where to go. You don't know what you might find. It just seems like you ought to move because there's nothing you want here and there will be a reward if you get to the end. You've been conditioned by our society to believe that motion will generate a reward."
"And you believe sitting there on your grand ass will get us somewhere?"
"I believe the start of this maze is just the same as the end. I've found something I want right here. Why should I move just for the sake of movement? That's my choice. See, I have that power. The lab-rat doesn't. So, if you want to move, then move. Check it out. If you find anything worth noting let me know. You know where I'll be."
Martina started to reply but thought better of it. Evans was too big and too stubborn for her to move him by force or by logic. Everyone deals with fear in his or her own way. Martina's choice was to move if for no other reason than she was too anxious to sit still. And up to this point they really hadn't explored the farther reaches of their maze. She knew Billy well enough to know that given a plan he would act. He wasn't really a coward; he was just overwhelmed by circumstance. Still, she couldn't resist flipping him the bird as she strode past and made her way down the central corridor.
There were a dozen rows of wooden racks stretching off both sides of the aisle. El Tigre's wine cellar easily held a thousand bottles. But nothing in the racks was going to help with an escape. Reaching the back wall of the cellar Martina turned to her right and walked the length of the row. At its end she found a small alcove with an office separated from the main room by a chicken wire fence and a wooden framed gate. She could see a large ornate wooden desk in the center of the small room. In the back were several tall five drawer metal filing cabinets.
"Billy, get back here. I've found something."
"So, check it out. Hey, what's a leibfraumilch?"
"Billy, there's an office back here with a desk and who knows what might be inside that; keys maybe? But there is a locked gate and I need you to help me get inside. Please, Billy, come help me."
Moments passed in silence and just as Martina started to yell again Evans arrived.
"It has a nun in a blue outfit on the label," he said holding out the bottle so Martina could see it. "A nun peddling wine, who could figure?"
"Yes, it's called Blue Nun. It is a German wine, a very fruity white that goes well with fish or cheese. Oh, for God's sake, will you put that down and help me. Can you open the door?"
"Wood frame, wire, padlock, no problemo," Evans answered as he set the bottle on the floor. He stretched up to the top of the doorway, grabbed the wire and with a jerk ripped it away from the wooden frame. "I'll take the desk. You search the filing cabinets and those cardboard boxes in the back."
Martina stepped through the opening in the fence and began to rummage in the files. The first cabinet was packed with papers written in Spanish; ledgers, bank statements, legal documents, invoices for ranch operations. Nothing in the cabinet was going to aid in an escape.
“Did you find anything,” Evans whispered from the desk?
“Billy, we are locked in a dungeon. I don’t think we have to whisper. And no, I haven’t found anything promising. Did you?”
“Stapler, letter opener, a box of paper clips, and an address book,” Evans replied. The letter opener isn’t long enough or sharp enough to use as a knife.”
“What’s in the address book,” Martina asked hurrying to him?
“It’s in Spanish,” Evans said in disgust, “and I don’t read Spanish.”
“Names are names, Billy. Let me see.”
Evans handed her the small leather book and she slowly turned the pages. “Billy, look at this. I recognize some of these names from the newspaper. These are all government officials. See, here is the name, and this is the office, and then there is this number with a dollar sign. Billy, these are people El Tigre is bribing so he can run his operation without legal or political interference. This could be quite valuable as leverage.”
“Hon, leverage is when we are one place, the book is someplace else, and we can have it sent to the cops if he doesn’t cooperate. When the tiger has both the book and your cute little butt in his grubby paws, well, that ain’t leverage. That’s just stupid. Stupid we’ve done. Stupid isn’t going to get us out of here.”
Putting the book in her jeans back pocket Martina said firmly, “Well, I’ll just hold on to this stupid little book and we shall see, Mr. Evans. We shall see.
“Did you hear something? Billy, I think someone is coming.”