Parking Lot on the Edge of Freedom by Jon Wesick

Parking Lot on the Edge of Freedom by Jon Wesick

“To ease traffic in the capital, government employees will work staggered shifts starting immediately,” President Santos said over the radio. “Employees of the Ministry of Justice Departments L, Q, and S and Ministry of the Interior Departments M through V return to your homes and await further instructions.”

Agustin Flores locked his file cabinet, left the office, and crossed the street to the parking garage. His footsteps echoed as he trudged up the unpainted concrete stairwell while resting a hand on the steel handrail. The prospect of watching TV in his airconditioned living room with the curtains closed dampened his worry about the future. He loosened his tie.

 “Hey, Agustin! So, you’re part of the exodus, too.” Diego Ruiz slapped Flores on the back. The son of a rich family, Ruiz’s brown hair hung in his eyes and his lips curved in a perpetual smirk as if he were playing a prank on the universe. 

“Nice to see you,” Agustin said. “Guess I’ll be on my way.”

“What’s your hurry? The traffic will be terrible. We might as well take our time. I have a bottle of rum in the trunk and a good view of all the stupidity below. Why don’t you join me?”

They climbed to the top floor.

“What are you going to do with your time off?” Diego retrieved the bottle from his white Coupe DeVille and passed it to Agustin.

“Sleep late. Do my laundry.” Agustin uncapped the bottle and took a swig.

“If our furlough lasts, you should see the world. Take a trip to Rio, ski in Bariloche, or see Iguazu Falls.”

“I went to the ocean once,” Agustin said. “Didn’t have much money so I took a five-hour bus ride and stayed in a cheap hotel. Every morning, I went swimming.”

& & &

Agustin caught his breath at the buoy and swam back to the shore. As he walked to the showers, he spotted a woman in loose-fitting clothes setting up a beach umbrella. Her chestnut hair formed a widow’s peak and her face was round with a small chin. After he showered and changed, he saw that she had set up an easel and was painting. Agustin hurried back to his hotel so he didn’t miss the complimentary breakfast of coffee and toast.

That night, he bought a chorizo sandwich from a food stand before heading to a bar for a pisco. The woman he’d seen that morning was drinking a rich Malbec from a glass. Agustin approached.

“I saw you this morning. What were you painting?”

“Landscapes, local color. The Detweiller Foundation gave me a grant to travel for six months and paint.” She had a North American accent. “I’m Ruth.”

“Agustin.” He shook her hand. “It must be dangerous for a woman to travel alone.”

“I can take care of myself.” Ruth opened her purse to give Agustin a view of the switchblade inside. “Any hidden sights here that only locals know about?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’m from the capital.”

“I was thinking of going to the capital.”

“Don’t bother,” Agustin said. “There’s nothing but traffic, dirty air, and slums.”

“I’ve seen enough of that back home.” Ruth gestured toward the bottle and motioned to the bartender to bring another glass. “Care to join me?”

“Where is home?” Augustin asked.

“Detroit.”

The Malbec tasted of plums and cocoa. Ruth complained about how galleries treated female artists and about a lover who left her as soon as his career took off. After they finished the bottle, she brushed an eyelash off his cheek. “You have cheek bones like a jaguar’s. Would you let me paint you?”

“No one wants to look at me.”

“Nonsense! I’m staying at El Palacio. See you tomorrow at two.” Ruth scribbled her room number on a slip of paper and handed it to him.

The next day, while expecting to be thrown out at any minute, Agustin passed the doorman, crossed the marbled lobby, and took the elevator to Ruth’s room on the seventeenth floor. She opened the door on the second knock.

“Care for a drink?” Ruth gestured to a bottle of Malbec. “You can hang your clothes in the bathroom.”

 “My clothes?”

“You don’t want to hide your beautiful body from those lusty art patrons. Do you?”

It took two drinks for Agustin to work up his courage. Ruth positioned him on the bed with firm but gentle hands. The concentration on her face as she sketched was perhaps the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. She worked until Agustin’s back cramped.

“Enough for today.” Ruth brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “See you tomorrow.”

Ruth worked in oils the following day. When she finished, Agustin said, “It’s not fair. You’ve seen me naked but I haven’t seen you.”

“When the painting’s finished.” She kissed Agustin on the forehead. “See you tomorrow.”

After modeling the next day, Agustin asked, “Can I see what you’ve painted?” but he was more interested in seeing Ruth naked.

“When it’s finished.” She turned the canvas toward the wall.

On the fourth day, Ruth said, “It’ll be done, tomorrow.”

“Then I can see you?” Agustin asked.

She nodded.

Agustin’s heart beat with anticipation as he rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor the next day. He knocked on Ruth’s door but there was no answer. The desk clerk said she’d checked out hours ago.

& & &

“When I went back, she wasn’t there,” Agustin said. “She sold that painting for thousands of dollars and it’s hanging in a museum in Chicago.”

“All that money for a picture of your pecker!” Diego laughed. “Did she pay you anything?”

“Not a centavo.”

A Ford Falcon pulled into a space and the driver got out carrying a paper bag.

“Hey, Mateo!” Diego called. “What’s in the bag?”

“I thought I’d bring Mr. Salazar a snack,” Mateo Cruz held up the bag. He was tall, clean cut with broad shoulders, short hair, and the beginnings of a paunch around his middle. “He’s probably too busy to go out for lunch since he’s in charge now.”

“Look at the social climber,“ Diego said. “Why are you hustling so hard?”

“I need to make a good impression for when I return to work. Luisa’s expecting.”

“Congratulations.” Agustin shook Mateo’s hand.

“I want a son so I can teach him baseball,” Mateo said.

“I’d better look at those.” Diego opened Mateo’s bag and ate one of the arancini.

“Hey! Those are for Mr. Salazar!” Mateo said.

“Relax and have a drink! Salazar’s allergic to dairy.” Diego passed Mateo the bottle and waved to two women in summer dresses below. “Oyez, chicas! Join us for a drink?”

The women looked at the sidewalk and hurried away.

“Were you any good?” Agustin asked Mateo.

“I was shortstop on the college team. Excuse me, I’ve got to take a piss.” Mateo left to find a bathroom.

“Is it really true that Salazar is allergic to dairy?” Agustin asked.

“How should I know?” Diego held out the bag to Agustin.

“Rumor has it, you’re rich.” Agustin took a rice ball. “Why are you working in civil service?”

“To repay our great nation.”

“Really?”

“Of course not.” Diego smirked. “Having ears close to the seat of power can alert my father to certain business opportunities.”

& & &

Diego pretended to tie his shoe as the Swede stepped out of President Santos’ office. With his blond hair and tan from the tropical sun, the peace negotiator resembled a photographic negative.

“I’ll relay your offer to President Diaz.” The Swede shook Santos’s hand. “I think he’ll accept.”

Diego found a payphone and dialed.

“The pickled herring is on its way to the airport.” Diego hung up.

He took a long lunch, had steak with two glasses of wine, and bought some medialunas for his coworkers before returning to the office.

The next day El Periódico’s headline read, “Peace Envoy’s Plane Missing.”

& & &

“You shot down the Swede’s plane?” Agustin asked.

“Of course, not! We’re not barbarians. We paid the pilot to fake an emergency landing in Miraflores where it took a week to get repair parts.”

“But you started a war for no reason!”

“There was a reason,” Diego explained. “Father owns shoe companies. If there were no war, soldiers wouldn’t need boots and he would have lost a fortune.”

“Unbelievable!”

Mateo returned.

“Hey, the ballplayer’s back!” Diego turned on his car radio. “Maybe we can get the game between the Tigres and the Gigantes.”

“Our brave soldiers captured Enrique Jimenez as he tried to flee the capital. The deaths of the two he shot will be added to his list of crimes against the nation. Traitors will not escape justice.”

“Wasn’t Jimenez your boss at the Ministry of the Interior, Mateo?” Diego turned off the radio. “What about you, Agustin? What were they investigating at the Ministry of Justice?”

“Price fixing at Amazonia Copper.”

“You mean the company President Santos’ brother-in-law owns?” Diego opened his trunk and took out another bottle. “Face it friends, we’re now enemies of the state and this parking lot is the last island of democracy in our great nation.”

“You knew this all along?” Agustin said.

“I had my suspicions,” Diego replied.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Didn’t want to ruin the party,” Diego took a drink and passed the bottle.

“I’ve got to get back to Luisa.” Mateo made for the stairwell.

“You’ll never make it past the roadblocks.” Diego grabbed him by the shoulders.

“What about you, Diego?” Agustin asked. “Why is the Ruiz family on the president’s hit list?”

“Patronizing the vice president seemed like a great way to buy influence.” Diego sat on a concrete parking bumper. “Until he and Santos had a falling out.”

“But the vice president died of a heart attack,” Mateo said.

Diego shook his head.

“They can’t be interested in me,” Agustin said. “I’m just a junior clerk.”

“If I can just talk with Mr. Salazar, I’m sure we can work this out. I’m a patriot!” Mateo said. “I even helped the police.”

“You’re an informant!” Agustin set the bottle down. “How many did you send to prison to save your skin?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Mateo said.

& & &

“You wanted to see me, professor?”

“Ah, Mateo. This is Colonel Ramirez from the security services. He would like to have a word.” The professor left the two alone in his office.

“Some disturbing information has come to our attention. It would be a shame for an athlete and a scholar, like you, to ruin his future.” The colonel touched his neatly trimmed mustache. He wore civilian clothes and Mateo could see the bulge the pistol made under his suit jacket.

“But I’ve always been loyal.”

“It’s not you but the company you keep.” The colonel laid a photo of Luisa standing with a group of striking dockworkers. “This is your girlfriend, Luisa Alverez, isn’t it?”

Mateo nodded.

“She has unsavory friends.” The colonel showed another photo of Luisa and others surrounding a bearded man. “This is Fernando Ortiz, a Cuban here to subvert our government.” He pointed out other Marxists in more photos of Luisa.

“Marxists?” Mateo said. “I didn’t know.”

“Your woman’s stay in prison would not be pretty.” The colonel paced back and forth before turning to Mateo. “I suppose she’s simply a romantic who made a foolish mistake. I could use my influence to keep her out of trouble but I need something from you to convince my superiors.”

“What?”

“It would be simple. Just go to some meetings and tell me who attends and what they talk about.” The colonel touched his mustache. “And, of course, we could provide money to cover your expenses. After all, it’s in our great nation’s interest for young men like yourself to become the leaders of tomorrow.”

& & &

“Our great nation!” Diego spat. “Just a con game with the winners fighting over the spoils.”

“Why haven’t they come for us?” Agustin asked.

“The death squads are too busy eliminating the victims the president sent home,” Diego said.

“And Luisa?” Mateo asked.

“They won’t kill your Luisa,” Diego said. “She was probably a security-service plant all along. That’s right, Mateo. She and the colonel tricked you into betraying dozens.”

“You son of a bitch!” Mateo rushed Diego but Agustin held him back.

“Calm down.”

“I was just trying to reassure Mateo about his wife’s safety,” Diego said. “If she really is a Marxist, it’s too late for her, anyway.”

“Those bastards!” Mateo threw an empty bottle against the concrete. “I did everything for them. I sacrificed, I betrayed, I obeyed, and this is how they repay me!”

“They won’t take me.” Diego removed a nickel-plated pistol from his shoulder holster. “I’ll end it all after finishing the last bottle. You may use my pistol after I’m gone.”

“Don’t do it. There’s got to be a way to sneak past the roadblocks.” Agustin took hold of Diego’s forearm. “You’ve got money. We can bribe the soldiers. If we make it out of the city, we’ll swap cars and cross the border.”

“Can we pick up Luisa on our way?” Mateo asked.

“Too dangerous,” Agustin said. “They could be watching your house. Better to send for her once we’re out.”

 “But I can’t leave her behind,” Mateo said.

“Agustin’s right.” Diego holstered his pistol. “You can’t return home.”

“But you have enough money to bribe the guards. Don’t you?” Mateo asked.

“Sure, I can bribe the guards.”

“Where will we go?” Agustin asked.

“My family has money in the Caymans,” Diego said. “I’ll buy a beach resort at Punta Cana and we can spend our days in the sun drinking Margaritas out of coconuts. We’ll have a great time. White sand, clear water, and the girls are fine.”

“I’ll revive my baseball career,” Mateo said, “and buy a home in North America with room for Luisa and our six kids. I’ll send you tickets to watch me play for the Yankees.”

“Speaking of baseball, let’s see if we can hear the game.” Diego turned on the car radio.

“Citizens, this Commandante Delgado of the May Fifth Brigade proclaiming the overthrow of the coward Santos by our forces. Stay off the streets until order is restored.” The radio repeated the recorded message.

“We’re saved,” Agustin said.

“Thank God!” Mateo sighed and ran hand through his hair.

“But we’re too drunk to drive.” Diego passed the bottle. “I never wanted to go to Punta Cana, anyway.”

“And I’m too old to play professional ball.” Mateo took a drink and passed the bottle to Agustin.

An explosion in the distance shook the ground. “Citizens, stay in your homes. The forces of order have crushed the rebellion by Delgado and his Communist allies,” a new voice said over the radio. “Rest assured! The forces of justice will root out his traitorous allies and eliminate them!”

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Jon Wesick 2024