Good Ol’ Me-he-co

“If I never see a damn hole again it’ll still be too damn soon!” I say to Bill as we head back to the trailer to punch the timeclock. “By this time tomorrow I’ll be in good ol’ Meh-he-co… drunk as a skunk and maybe a cute little Sen-yo-ri-ta’s on my arm if I’m lucky. Ya know what I’m sayin’?”

“Don’t drink the water,” Bill says with a hint of sarcasm. “Unless you want to end up on the shitter for your whole trip. ‘Ya know what I’m sayin?’”

Bill is one of my best friends. We’re friends from high school and worked together for almost 10 years. Like fools, we decided to take a break from education and go into the workforce after graduation. We’re the lucky guys who get to dig foundations for Wilson Brothers Contracting. I suppose things could be worse. At least we get overtime.

“See ya in 2 weeks, Bill,” I say. “Try not to have too much fun without me.”

Bill looks at me, rolls his eyes, and mimes the motions of flogging his log.

I’ll miss that guy.

The next 24 hours pass in the blink of an eye.

I’ll admit it’s probably because I’ve been pounding Jack and Cokes since I set foot past the TSA back at Newark Liberty International. It’s all good though. I hold my alcohol like a champ. I’m feelin’ good, feelin’ good when I strut out of Cancun International. Feelin’ even better about the ladies because they are clearly checking me out.

“Well hello to you too, gorgeous,” I say as this stacked little mama struts past in her tight red dress. She doesn’t respond with anything but a smirk and she continues en route to wherever it is she’s headed. There are plenty more just like her. Ripe for the pickens.

I had better get a taxi to the hotel. I can feel my buzz coming down and I gotta keep this thing rolling or I’ll end up with a headache before this party even gets started. I look around for something that looks like a taxi, but all I see is this guy standing next to a shitty green van. I submit and walk over as he waves me towards the back seat.

“Hey, could you take me to the ME hotel,” I say. “That name is confusin’ right? Take me to the ME. Like why would they name it that. Fuck with the Americans right? Ha!”

“Yes,” he says, expressionless. “In.”

You’d think for someone who does nothing but cart around tourists all day he’d talk more. I’ll never get these foreigners. They’re so damn weird. So I hop into the back of the van, he slams the door behind me, walks around to the driver’s side, and climbs behind the steering wheel. We’re leaving the airport I notice we’re heading towards the trees.

“Hey, buddy, the hotel I’m staying at is on the beach. I’m pretty sure y–,” I’m cut off as he turns quickly in the driver’s seat, slamming his fist into my temple, and everything fades to black.

As I come to I can feel that I’m on the ground, in the dirt. I open my eyes to see the ominous figure standing over me with gun in hand. We’re in the forest now, the sun is setting, and there is a certain quietness that is unsettling. He walks back to the van, reaches into the back, and grabs a shovel. He turns and tosses it at my feet.

“Dig,” he says; glock held steady and pointed at my face.

Is this really how my life my life is going to end? I can’t believe I’m going to die doing the exact thing that I took a vacation to avoid. Oh, if there is such a thing as “God” he sure does have a sense of humor. And what does this guy get out of killing people who are on vacation? If there is any chance of me surviving this I’ve got to take one more chance at talking to him.

“Come on, man. You don’t have to do this. I could wire you money once I get back to the States. I won’t even tell anyone. You have my word. I’m not even important. I’m just a damn construction worker. Come on, man. I’m only here on vacation!”

I looked straight into the man’s eyes and saw that he didn’t care. Not one bit.


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