Chapter 8
“See you at the Christmas party tonight,” Scott said to the others as he got off the boat.
With a few hours to kill, he decided to wander over to Oceania, the hotel’s open-air restaurant that overlooked Acapulco Bay.
Built on stilts and jutting out over the water, waves washed up against the volcanic rocks surrounding the thatched roof restaurant.
Over and over the rocks turned from dark brown to white as the sea foam washed over them and retreated, washed over them and retreated.
Scott remembered sitting in the restaurant with his father when it began to rain. Surrounded by ocean the rain fell all around them. His dad had said, “Feels like we’re in a waterfall, huh, kiddo?”
The late afternoon sun filtered into the restaurant, casting a champagne-colored hue over everything. Chairs with seats of woven straw surrounded tables made of blonde beach wood. Workers were beginning to string lights from the banners in preparation for tonight’s Christmas party.
The bartender, a portly man with a beard, nodded as Scott took a seat at the bamboo bar.
Scott looked at his reflection in the mirror and noticed the healthy glow of his complexion.
His hair was lighter and beginning to shine from all the salt in the air.
He felt more relaxed too. It was good to get out of New York.
The tables were empty except for one, where a woman in a large sun hat sat staring out to sea. The glass of white wine in front of her hadn’t been touched. Scott moved closer. Sure enough, it was Contessa, the hotel’s owner.
As if sensing his presence, she turned and lowered her sunglasses.
She had dark, reddish hair, and thick eyebrows.
Her long, elegant face gave her the look of Spanish royalty, like a duchess in a Francisco Goya painting.
But her sense of fashion was decidedly modern.
She wore a polka dot dress, a black wide-brimmed hat, and shiny white nail polish.
The scene could’ve been cut from the pages of Vogue Italia.
However, her pensiveness was out of character. Normally, Contessa was a hands-on person who would be walking around the restaurant giving orders, especially the day of the Christmas party. Something was bothering her.
“Anpara told me you were here, Scott,” she said. “And I’m so glad you are. It’s good to be around old friends.” She kissed him on both cheeks, then offered her condolences for his father, and invited him to join her for lunch.
Contessa ordered for both of them: spaghetti with olive oil, garlic, and scallops in a white wine sauce; calamari; Greek salad with black olives; and a bottle of pinot grigio.
“Is everything ok, Contessa?” Scott asked.
An expression like a dark cloud crossed her face. “Yes, it’s just that I have a lot on my mind. We can talk about that later. But first, tell me, what brings you to Las Olas Hotel?”
“Believe it or not, I’m here to see you.”
“Me? I’m flattered but I would think a young, handsome man like yourself would be after younger women,” she said, teasing him. “But really, why did you come to see me?”
“I work for an advertising firm in New York, and I wanted to talk to you about the hotel. I heard you may be selling, and I think we could help you keep it.”
“Not another sales pitch, Scott.” She crossed her arms.
“No, not another sales pitch, Contessa, an opportunity, and it comes with no strings attached. My firm will help you promote Las Olas Hotel all over the internet. We’ll use influencers and social media advertising.
We’ll even get you featured on podcasts.
We know how to make things go viral, especially on TikTok.
In short, we’ll get this hotel in front of millions of people all over the world, and if we don’t help you become profitable, you don’t have to pay us a thing. ”
Smooth Operator began playing on the restaurant speakers as Contessa produced a cigarette from her purse, which she lit with a silver lighter engraved with the letter C. The red cherry between her fingers glowed as she inhaled and blew a puff of smoke out to sea.
“You know, Scott, I haven’t spared any expense with this place,” she began. “I never fired anybody, nor cut expenses. Things are just like they were when my father owned this hotel.” She closed her eyes and took another puff. Wisps of smoke danced in the air then vaporized.
“This place is really important to the families who come here every year,” she continued.
“I never excluded families like some of the other hotels. I always wanted children running around here, just like you did when you were a kid. But the problem this hotel is facing is not due to a lack of money. No, our problem is bigger than that.”
“What then?” Scott said.
She gestured to the hill that rose above the restaurant where the hotel suites were built in cascading tiers like a wedding cake. At the top of the hill was the penthouse.
“The penthouse,” she said, pointing, “is occupied by the head of the Acapulco cartel, Carlos Monta?a, or as most people call him, La Hyena. His foot soldiers, who they call the Dogs, live in the tiers below. Only the rooms on the lower half of the hill are occupied by my regular guests. So, as you can see, my problem isn’t a lack of reservations, but rather an infestation. ”
“Are they paying you?”
“Sure, Carlos pays me but his dogs do whatever the hell they want, act like they own the place. They scare away the regulars, get drunk by the pool, and harass the staff. Many of my longtime guests are too afraid to come here now. Technically, I’m not losing money.
Every vacant room gets taken by the Dogs.
But I’m basically running a cartel hotel at this point.
Eventually, they’ll take over the hotel.
“But I can’t do it anymore.” Her jaw went tight. “Soon I will be so wrapped up in their business, I will be part of the cartel myself. One of my guests will get hurt, or killed, and I won’t be able to live with myself.”
She gestured toward a group sitting at the end of the bar.
The man Scott saw earlier at the pool wearing a cowboy hat with a gun on his belt was sitting at the bar shirtless with two thin girls in black bikinis.
A bottle of tequila sat alongside his gun, which rested on the bar table.
He poured shots for himself and the girls, one of whom couldn’t stop laughing.
The man grabbed the bottle from the counter and pretended to hit the bartender, who flinched. Both girls laughed crazily, clearly high on something.
The cartel member left for the pool, only to return moments later, realizing he’d left his gun on the bar.
“See what I mean?” Contessa said. “Stuff like this happens every day. They do whatever they want. I have no choice. I have to sell.”
“To whom?”
“Unfortunately, I’m only allowed to sell to Carlos, the Hyena, who plans to turn the hotel into his headquarters. What difference does it make? It practically already is.” She took a drink of wine. “Getting rid of me and taking the hotel was probably his plan all along.”
“They are the cocaine cowboys of Acapulco,” she went on. “They don’t like being told ‘no.’ So, as you can see, there’s nothing you can do to help me. Even if I don’t sell, he’ll eventually take the hotel away from me. It’s only a matter of time.”
Scott wanted to say something but he understood her predicament. Selling was her only way out. “Have a good time at the Christmas party tonight,” she said, her voice cracking. “It will be our last.”
She stood up, put her hand on his shoulder and slowly walked out, leaving Scott staring out at the bay in silence.