The Tourist
Sanchez el Diablo stood in the shadows off Avenida Revolución disguised as a beggar boy peddling chewing gum to the tourists. The border town’s heavy traffic afforded him the luxury of reaping ripened souls, rather than lurking in hospital corridors harvesting the weakened souls of the dying.
He targeted those arriving by cab, knowing they’d come to Tijuana to satisfy their own lust. Sanchez approached a balding, pale-skinned American who’d stepped from the El Diablo strip bar, and tugged on the man’s shirt.
“Señor, señor! You buy gum?”
The man knocked Sanchez’s hand away. “Beat it, kid.”
“Please, señor, buy some gum for my sick mother.”
“No, I said scram!”
The man weaved his way through the crowd, attempting to elude the pesky beggar boy.
“But, señor, I will find you a girl,” he said, following close behind.
The man stopped. “You’ll what?”
“Find you a girl,” Sanchez whispered. “Follow me.”
“The man smiled. “How much, little amigo?”
“For me, señor, five dollars American. For the girl, maybe twenty dollars.”
“Well then, lead on,” the American snickered. “But if you’re scamming me, I’ll cut your little heart out. Comprende?”
“Yes, señor,” Sanchez replied. “I will take you to the woman of your dreams.”
He led the American down a dirt alley. Women, old and young, fat and skinny beckoned him from darkened doorways, but the boy shooed them away. The American inhaled the stench of something rotting, and hesitated.
“Hold on there. Where are you taking me?”
The boy replied, “Do not worry, señor; it’s just a little farther. It will be better then, I promise.”
They reached a yard surrounded by a high stone wall. The boy unlatched the gate, and they stepped inside to a meticulously trimmed courtyard of deep green vegetation and flowers. The heavy scent of gardenias and jasmine relaxed the American.
“Wait here,” the boy said, disappearing into the tan stucco hacienda.
A short time later, a beautiful, dark-haired señorita, wearing a multihued skirt and a blouse gathered at her coffee-colored shoulders, stepped through the doorway.
The American stood dumbstruck as she parted her scarlet lips, and blew him a kiss.
“You have come for me, señor?” she asked in a sultry, lilting voice.
The American nodded.
“Am I what you have desired?”
“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” he said, taking her hand.
He pulled her close and nuzzled her neck, inhaling the intoxicating sweetness of her perfume. Her breasts pressed against him and he trembled. She laughed, and pulled away.
“In due time, señor. First, we must discuss terms.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, reaching for his wallet.
She pushed his hand back. “Not now, señor. I will give you all you desire, but when we are finished, I will take what I think I am worth.”
“Agreed,” he said, wondering if she really that stupid or just a naïve maiden who was new to the trade. He certainly wouldn’t pay her more than he’d paid the others.
She led him down a dark hall to a comfortable and cool candlelit bedroom. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. She turned and stroked his hair.
“Are you ready, señor?”
He could barely contain his excitement, as he said, “Take me, my Mexican goddess. I am yours.”
She pressed her lips against his. She dug her long fingernails into his back, ripping at his skin, and his passion turned to fear. He opened his eyes, horrified as she morphed from señorita to beggar boy and then Sanchez el Diablo.
Sanchez sucked the life from the American, whose lifeless body slumped to the floor. Feeling satiated, he dumped the American onto the rotting corpses replacing the gardenias and jasmine in the courtyard.
The American’s soul would keep Sanchez alive a while longer. After locking the gate, Sanchez transformed himself into a Federale, and strolled up the alley. After all, he had to keep the tourists safe from banditos.
