Malice in Mazatlan

Reads: 57  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 05, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 05, 2019

A A A

A A A


CHAPTER ONE

 

Frothy white sea foam lapped at the inert figure mired in the sand. An incoming wave lifted the limp form and carried it up the beach. The body then rolled languidly toward the sea as if tethered to the outgoing surf.

Humming a tune he’d heard last night at Joe’s, the maintenance worker raked the sun-bleached sand in front of the Hotel Playa; preparing the beach for the swell of turistas who had come to Mazatlan to bask in the warm March sun.

He loved this time of the morning. Just him, the ocean and salty sea air. Occasionally, a beach hawker or early rising tourist threatened to disrupt his tranquility. Usually, though, he managed to maintain his fantasy; imagining he strolled his private beach below his grand hacienda overlooking the aqua blue Pacific Ocean.

“Mierda,” he swore as he marched toward the tourist lying in the sand. When would they learn? The worker had seen it before, tourists enjoying too many cervezas in the sun, followed by a night of tequila shots at Joe’s, ultimately morphing carefree vacationers into sloppy drunks.

The smokiness of last night’s tequila shots lingered on his tongue as he approached the tourist lying at the edge of the sea.

“They should know their limits,” he muttered. A glint caught his eye and he shook his head as he plucked a broken, green stemmed margarita glass from the wet sand, the jagged edge slicing his thumb.

The worker huffed an expletive as he watched the surf wash over the prone man, enhancing a dark stain ruining the cream-colored shirt clinging to his back. A flock of seagulls squawked overhead; no doubt attracted by the fetid smell of vomit drifting on the wind. Pink rivulets followed the retreating water only to be returned by a massive round of waves pounding the beach and rolling the tourist onto his back.

The maintenance worker crossed himself, and as if the man’s lifeless brown eyes pleaded for help, he reached for his walkie-talkie and whispered a prayer, “Vaya con Dios, senor.”


© Copyright 2019 Kimila Kay. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Thrillers Writing Contests