Dave looked at the man stretched out beside him and sighed wistfully.
'Shit,' he said. 'My first time out of the States and I've got to travel with Jake La Motta.'
It was in the taxi, on the way into town from Juan Santamaria Airport, that Dave began to experience his first misgivings about the trip.
'Shit,' he complained. 'Something bit me on the leg.'
'Probably just a mosquito,' said Al.
'A mosquito?'
The idea of taking any medication for the trip hadn't occurred to him until now, and Al certainly hadn't suggested anything. But Dave turned to the Fodor's Guide to Costa Rica he had bought at Miami Airport, just to make sure. The health precautions there did nothing to reassure him.
'You dumb bastard,' he said, snapping the book shut.
'What's the problem?'
'Malaria,' he complained angrily to Al. 'This fucking place is full of it. Not to mention a whole load of other diseases.'
'So?' Al slapped a mosquito flat against his own bloodstained cheek.
'So I haven't had any shots, Al. And I don't want to get anemia, kidney failure, coma, and death.'
'Listen, who needs shots? Most of those drugs don't work anyway. I read about it in the paper. They just have what they call a placebo effect. That means that for all the good they do you might as well swallow green M&Ms. They just make you feel better in your mind about bein' around diseased spies and bugs and tropical shit. Whereas, on the other hand, the drugs that do work, do it at the expense of your system. Just look at what happened to those army motherfuckers after Desert Storm. They took all kinds of drugs and now a lot of them have got some serious fucking medical problems. So try and be cool. 'Sides, we ain't gonna be down here long enough to make any of that south of the border medication worthwhile.'
'Fuck that. As soon as I get to the hotel I'm going to find a drugstore. Jesus Christ, I can't believe you're so blase about this shit. I mean just one bite from an anopheles'll do it man.'
'There ain't no fleas in the hotel we're checking into. You can take it from me. Place is class.'
'Not fleas. Anopheles. It's a mosquito, Al. According to the book the whole country's lousy with them.'
'You read too many books.' Al delved into his flight bag. 'Relax, will ya? Naturally I brought something to keep the bugs off, just to be on the safe side.' He handed Dave a sweet-smelling tube of cream. 'There you go. Slap some of that on your chicken-shit ass.'
Dave read the label with incredulity.
'Avon Skin-so-Soft Moisturiser? This is it?'
'That'll do the job. I bring some every time I come down here, and I've never been bitten yet.'
'Al, I want to repel insects, not give them a nice smooth landing on my so fucking soft skin.'
'And you better believe that stuff'll do it. Bugs can't stand the stuff.'
'What is it they don't like? The advertising? The brand image?'
'Don't ask me why, but it works, right? Marines comin' down to these parts for jungle warfare training have been using the stuff for years. Better than DEET or any of those other insect repellents, they reckon. And I didn't read that in any fuckin' book.'
L'Ambiance was American-owned and comfortable. Formerly a colonial mansion, it was located in the Barrio Otaya district of San Jose. Dave's room, furnished with antiques, was much bigger and better than he had anticipated. His only criticism was that when he opened the french windows onto his balcony, he could hear and smell the animals in the Simon Bolivar Zoo a block to the north. To that extent it was like a home away from Homestead.
As soon as he was unpacked Dave went out and bought some mefloquine in a local pharmacy. It made him feel a little more relaxed. And later on, after a good dinner and an excellent bottle of wine, he felt sufficiently well disposed toward both the country and his travelling companion to accompany him to what Al insisted was the best bar in San Jose.
Key Largo, with its Western-style saloon, big oval bar and live music, was housed in yet another handsome colonial mansion. The place was full of gregarious gringos and a seemingly endless supply of dollar-hungry ticas, many of whom were in their teens. Al found a table, ordered a couple of bottles of guaro and left Dave to soak up the atmosphere while he went in search of some female company. He returned a couple of minutes later with not one but four of the best-looking hookers Dave had ever seen. One of them, a blonde with a tight pink cotton sweater and very large breasts, sat down next to Dave and, smiling sweetly, told him her name was Victoria. He felt his eyes climbing up to the half-timbered ceiling as a languorouslooking brunette took hold of his other arm and asked him for a cigarette. When Dave's eyes came down from the ceiling again they were met by Al's, already filled with delight.
'Whad I tell ya? Isn't this place somethin'? Every time I come here it's like I died and went to pussy heaven.'
Finding the brunette a Marlboro, Dave glanced sideways at the pink sweater and then back at Al. Grinning he said, 'Pink. I always did like pink.'
He lit the girl, whose name was Maria, and then smoked one himself. The other three girls were already helping themselves to glasses of guaro. Despite Dave's best intentions, he was beginning to enjoy himself.
Al toasted Dave with the local firewater and said, 'They all speak pretty good American, so I hope you can decipher what I'm sayin' to you now. They're fit for human consumption, if you know what I mean. Forget about the Andromeda Strain, OK? What they do is legal down here so they have to get themselves periodically checked out by the local Surgeon-General. Anyway, s'all fixed. Stock is bought and paid for, whether you take up your share option or not, my friend. That's for their benefit as much as yours. After all, they have to make a living. So it's your choice, sport. They don't mind one way or the other.' Al downed the glass of guaro in one as he saw Dave's grin persist. He added, 'You can read 'em a poem or you can show 'em your cock, it's up to you. Just be friendly, that's all.'
Dave toasted Al and then the two girls sandwiching him.
'Me? I'm Jay Leno, man. I'll sit and be friendly to any of the guests who come on tonight's show.'
Al chuckled obscenely and said, 'If I don't come on tonight's show, it won't be for want of the right encouragement.'
It was well after one when Al announced that he was taking his two tican friends back to the hotel before he was too drunk to party. Dave had enjoyed the company of Victoria and Maria. The evening had been relaxed and light-hearted and he had no desire to offend Al by an obvious display of priggishness. But in life you were either a john or you were not and a long time ago Dave had decided he was not. So he decided to go with the flow and cut the two girls loose as soon as Al had retired to the hotel's presidential suite with his two friends.
Which is what he did.
There were no recriminations, no petulant displays of rejection. The girls accepted it with as much pleasant good grace as they had accepted Al's original invitations. After they'd left in a cab, Dave took a long cold shower and tried to persuade himself that he had done the right thing. Five years of Homestead seemed like degradation enough for one lifetime. Now he wanted to feel good about himself, like he was in control of where he was going and what he was doing. And to do that you had to be strong. To command power over yourself and your desires. Being a john was way short of that.
He threw on a bathrobe and went out onto the balcony. Above the buzz of distant traffic he could hear the roar of a large cat, a lion or a tiger caged in the nearby zoo. He imagined the poor beast as it paced up and down its small cage, and for a moment he was reminded of being back in his cell in Homestead. Hearing the dreadful sound of that immobilized spirit as it gave itself up to its despairing ritual dance, to and fro, to and fro, forever pacing the cell, he realized that for the first time since being released he understood what it meant to be free.