The Bona Fide Fraud - Chapter 3 Three Oclock In The Afternoon

Larry, was a local guy and he was also the poolside bartender. He was heavily-built but soft. Long hair that was always up in a man-bun. Given to winking at the clientele. He spoke English with the accent particular to Baja and knew Gemma’s beverage: a Coke with a shot of vanilla syrup.

Some afternoons, when she sat at the bar, Larry asked Gemma about growing up in London. Gemma practiced her Spanish. They’d watch movies on the screen above the bar as theytalked.

Today, at three in the afternoon, Gemma was seated on the corner barstool, still wearing her grey swimsuit and makeup. Larry wore a Sofitel Legend white blazer and T-shirt. Stubble was growing on his jaw. “What’s the movie?” she asked him, looking up at the flatscreen.

“Hulk.”

“Which Hulk?”

“I don’t know.”

“You put the DVD in. How can you not know?”

“I don’t even know there’s two Hulks.”

“There’s three Hulks. Wait, I take that back. Multiple Hulks. If you count TV, cartoons, all that.”

“I don’t know which Hulk it is, Ms. Wilder.”

The movie went on for a bit. Larry rinsed glasses and wiped the counter. He made a scotch and soda for a woman who took it off to the other end of the pool area.

“It’s the second-best Hulk,” said Gemma, when she had his attention again. “What’s the word for Scotch in Spanish?”

“Escocs.”

“Escocs. What’s a good kind to get?”

“You never drink.”

“But if I did.”

“Maker’s Mark,” Larry said, shrugging. “I’ll pour you some samples and you tell me which one you like.” He filled five shot glasses with different brands of highend Scotch. He explained about Scotches and whiskeys and why you’d order one and not the other. Gemma tasted each but didn’t drink much.

Gemma made a funny face. “This one smells like armpit,” she told him.

“You’re crazy.” he says laughing.

“And this one smells like lighter fluid.”

He bent over the glass to smell it. “Maybe.”

She pointed to the third. “Cat piss, like from a really angry cat.”

Donovan laughed. “What do the others smell like?” he asked.

“Dried blood,” Gemma said. “And that powder you use to clean the carpet. Carpet cleaner.”

“Which one d’you like the best?”

“The dried blood,” she said, picking up the glass and tasting it again. “Tell me what it’s called again.”

“That’s the Maker’s Mark.” Larry cleared the glasses.

“Oh, and I forgot to mention: a woman was asking about you earlier. Or maybe not you. She might have been confused.”

“What woman?”

“A Mexican lady. Speaking Spanish. She asked about a white American girl with short blond hair, traveling alone,” said Larry. “She said freckles.” He touched his face. “On each side of the face.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I said it’s a big resort. Lots of Americans. I don’t know who’s staying alone and who’s not.”

“I’m not American,” said Gemma.

“I know. So I told her I hadn’t seen anyone like that at the resort.”

“That’s what you said?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s exactly what you said?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“But you still thought of me.”

He looked at Gemma for a long minute. “I did think of you,” he said finally. “I’m not stupid, Ms. Williams.”