Chapter Six #2
“No, but maybe we should glue some pretty gemstones to your teeth. It might help you with the ladies, too.”
Quint shook his head. “Didn’t I tell you last week to give up your career aspirations for standup comedy?”
“You did, but my daughter will tell you that I’m old and ornery and march to my own drummer.
” He swatted at the fly again, which had meandered back their way.
“Maybe KuTu hasn’t seen a ‘big-time photojournalist’ this close before.
You’re like a rare bird stopping by on its migration north for the summer. ”
“Maybe.” That seemed like a reach, though.
“Certainly not such a pretty bird like yourself who shares a hammock with a Mexican red rump tarantula,” Juan added, chuckling.
Quint lightly whacked the smartass with his notebook. “It’s all fun and games until someone ends up with a scorpion in his hammock.”
Juan pointed the palm at him. “Scorpions are no joke. I don’t know what scared that poor little spider more this morning, you shaking it out of its new home or the high-pitched screaming that followed.”
“I was not screaming. I was shouting orders.”
“You were panicking.”
“And it wasn’t a ‘little’ spider. That sucker could palm a baseball.”
“Spiders don’t have palms.”
“That is certainly not the kind of excitement that I prefer to wake up to in my bed.” Juan’s daughter was much more fun, with fewer legs and eyes, and not so bristly.
“Unlike what Raul said about that kind of tarantula at breakfast, it sure didn’t act ‘friendly,’ with the way it went up on its haunches and wiggled those furry spider arms at me. ”
Juan laughed and swatted again.
Damned big hairy spider!
Somehow, the red-rumped arachnid had slipped inside their tent overnight, mistaking Quint’s boot for a potential burrow.
This morning, when he’d sat up in his hammock, grabbed his boot from the floor, and tipped it upside down to check for critters, the tarantula had come crawling out and leapt down onto his bare thigh.
His shout of surprise had woken up Juan, who’d watched wide-eyed as Quint tried to shake the spider off his leg.
Instead of falling to the floor, the tarantula had bounced off his thigh into the folds of his hammock.
Cursing with great gusto, Quint had struggled to hurry out of his hammock only to twist around in it and end up flat on his back on the floor.
The spider fell after him, landing on his bare chest, all eight eyes glaring right at him.
He’d shouted several colorful words loud enough to entertain the howler monkeys nearby, who’d joined in with deafening roars that made Quint’s heart pound even faster.
The tarantula took offense at all the ruckus, reared up with a raised head and front legs, and threatened Quint with an impressive set of long, curved fangs.
“Don’t move!” Juan had warned.
“I wasn’t planning on it!”
“Its abdomen is covered with urticating hairs.”
“I’m more worried about those fangs.” He gulped. “What in the hell are urticating hairs?”
Zzzziiiippppp.
The spider shifted slightly, facing off with the intruder.
“What is going on in here?” Angélica asked, joining them inside the tent. She looked fresh as a daisy in her pale yellow cotton shirt and clean khaki pants that María had hand-washed for her yesterday. Not a spider in sight on her clothes, dammit.
“Quint has a new girlfriend,” Juan joked.
“Not funny, old man!”
“Hold still, Parker,” she said.
“Do I look like I’m itching to go anywhere?”
“You will be if it decides to rub those hairs into your chest,” Juan said. “Urticating hairs itch and sting like nettles. Even worse if you are allergic to them.”
“Dad, you’re not helping here.” Angélica eased closer. “Hand me that leather bag.”
“That’s my shaving kit, gatita.”
“Just empty it out and give me the dang thing before Parker gets bit.” She kneeled next to Quint.
The spider turned even more in her direction, its front legs wiggling at her.
“I’m not going to hurt you, little buddy.
” She slowly brought the leather bag around from behind it.
“We just need to get you away from this big loud man.”
“I wasn’t that loud,” Quint whispered.
“You positively shrieked,” Juan said, chuckling.
“It’s called a shout of surprise.”
Angélica swooped in and scooped up the spider in Juan’s shaving bag, carefully zipping it mostly closed. “Got you.” She smiled down at Quint, her green eyes sparkling almost as much as her father’s. “You really riled it up.”
“It riled me up first.”
Juan laughed harder. “You should have seen Junior Mint spinning in his hammock. He looked like he was trying out for the circus.” He stood, offering Quint a hand up.
Quint took it, brushing off his chest where the tarantula had sat with a torn shirt he was using as a rag, just in case there were any of those prickly hairs left behind. “I’m glad you found my distress so amusing. I’ll be sure to return the favor if a scorpion wanders past.”
Angélica patted his bare chest, her hand lingering. “You’re safe now, Prince Charming. I’ve captured the big, burly spider, and I’ll give him a firm talking-to about staying away from your hammock.”
He scowled down at her. “This is going to be hard on my reputation, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry, your big muscles still make my heart pitter-patter.” She held up the shaving kit. “I’m going to take this to Raul. He’ll know where to set it free so it can find a new home in a less hostile environment.”
After she left with the spider, Quint turned to Juan. “The joke is on her—there is no ‘less hostile’ place around for a hundred miles.”
“That there is a solid truth, Red Rumpy.”
Raul set the tarantula free somewhere outside of camp.
Quint didn’t care where, so long as it was far from his boots.
Unfortunately, the damage to his reputation had been done—at least when it came to Juan and his love of nicknames like “Red Rumpy.” Angélica promised to kiss his chest better the next time they were alone, so not all was lost.
Bronko told him later, while he was taking a break from clearing an area for the latrine, that it could have been worse. Quint had been hesitant to ask how, but his curiosity had won out.
“The spider could have been a baby snake, which is often more venomous than a big one,” the sicario had answered.
Christ, could this place grow any more hellish? Quint hated to even think about that question, let alone give voice to it.
“So, how much longer until Pedro and Mr. Moneybags get here?” Juan asked, bringing Quint back to the here and now.
“And Daisy, too,” he added, glancing at Juan out of the corner of his eye, watching for a reaction.
Juan smiled up at the sky. “It will be nice to hear her laughter again.”
Daisy Walker was a middle-aged grad student whose uncanny ability to find lost things with ease had given her an almost supernatural power at the last dig site.
Considering that she’d also acted as a channel for Angélica’s mother’s ghost, he could probably get rid of that “almost” qualification when it came to the supernatural.
Making things more interesting, Juan had developed a soft spot for Daisy, who also seemed keen on him.
Angélica had told Quint she was more than happy to find someone to keep her dad company for the rest of his years, especially someone as fun and friendly as Daisy.
Her being a fellow Mesoamerican archaeology fanatic didn’t hurt either.
Although Quint had to wonder how things would go for the two of them if Marianne were still hanging around Daisy.
What was a love triangle called if one of the three was wispy all of the time?
“So, you’re saying that my laughter isn’t enough music to your ears?” Quint teased.
“The entertainment you provide is more visual.” Juan grinned. “I wish I could have been recording your spider spin for Pedro. He would have laughed until he cried.”
Quint shook his head. “This jungle is going to be the death of me yet, I swear.” He stole the palm frond from Juan and started fanning himself. “To answer your question, Angélica said they should be flying in around two.”
At least that was what Pedro had told her when she’d called him this morning. He’d been doing some pre-flight checking at the time at the airfield outside of Cancun, waiting for Dr. Fernel to arrive.
When Angélica had said she was going to call in reinforcements, that had included the financial kind.
Dr. Fernel wasn’t only able to provide LIDAR maps that would save her time and manpower money when it came to picking where to start digging at Site 5, but his monetary promise also gave her the budget to bring in Pedro and his helicopter for a couple of weeks.
As for Site 5, Quint had a feeling that the real work was yet to come after they scaled that wall.
All of this hacking and slashing to build a camp was the easy stuff, since they didn’t have to take much care when swinging away.
On the other side of that wall, they would need to be more careful, move at a snail’s pace rather than in leaps and bounds.
They’d gone back to Site 5 a couple of times in the midst of all of their other clearing work, widening the path further along the old sacbe leading to the wall, removing more vegetation around that outer, rubble-surrounded platform.
They’d even cut away some of the jungle from the wall, farther beyond the pile of skulls, trying to find a gate to make it easier for everyone to enter the site.
Unfortunately, the last people to leave Site 5 long, long ago seemed to have walled the entrance, leaving the only option to go over the top.