A Game of Authors Read Online Free

It’s . . .”
    “Please call me Choco.”
    “Okay, Choco. The Hacienda Cual is really a very simple matter. It started with a love story—a man and a woman.”
    Medina raised his eyebrows. “Hell! Everything starts that way!”
    Garson laughed, glanced at his wristwatch, was surprised to find it almost seven o’clock.
    “Are you expecting someone?” asked Medina.
    “No. I’m going to eat dinner and knock off for the night. I can’t seem to get enough sleep.”
    “It’s the altitude. You’ll get used to it.”
    “Unless I’m forced to get used to a much higher altitude first.”
    This seemed to strike Medina as funnier than Garson had expected. The Mexican guffawed, attracting the attention of people at surrounding tables.
    “Maybe you don’t think writers should go to heaven,” said Garson.
    Medina wiped a tear from his right eye. “You should write humor, Mr. Garson.”
    “Perhaps I should.”
    The Mexican sobered, leaned far back in his chair. “What time will you want me in the morning?”
    “Will eight o’clock be all right?”
    “Good enough.” Medina pushed away from the table, got to his feet. “Then, if you won’t be needing me anymore tonight . . .”
    “See you in the morning,” said Garson.
    Gabriél Villazana came to Garson’s table as soon as Choco Medina was gone. “That is a very bad man,” said Villazana.
    “I suppose so,” said Garson. “But I kind of like him.”
    Villazana’s shrug seemed to say that he had done what he could, that all gringos were crazy anyway, that after all only a confirmed idiot stands in the path of fate.  
    ***

Chapter 2

    The sound of someone scrambling on the roof above his hotel room awakened Garson from a light sleep. He opened his eyes, stared into darkness. He could see a faint moonglow through the skylight. Something like the shadow of a man passed across the skylight. Again, he heard the scrambling sound. A heavy sense of menace filled Garson. He closed his eyes, tried to fight it off, blaming the highly spiced foods of his dinner.  
    A bright light flicked across his face, visible through his eyelids. The sense of menace was an imminent thing. Garson rolled off the bed.
    Something crashed through the skylight, thumped onto the bed. The springs creaked and groaned. Pieces of glass fell all around Garson.
    He lay quietly on the floor in the dark, his heart thumping.
    Good God! What was that?
    He put out a hand, felt on the bed. His fingers encountered a rough, cold surface like rock or concrete.
    Footsteps pounded on the tiles outside his door. Someone knocked. Gabriél Villazana’s voice came through the panels: “ Señor Garson? Está bien, Señor? ”
    Garson remained mute, his throat dry.
    An excited conversation in Spanish went on outside his door.
    Why don’t I say something? Garson asked himself. And part of his mind said: Because that was no accident! Right now it’s safer to play dead.
    Garson got to his feet, took his watch from the bed stand—eleven-thirty.
    Then: Somebody tried to kill me!
    Reaction set in, and Garson’s knees began to tremble.
    Again, running footsteps sounded on the tiles outside, heavier footsteps. A fist pounded the door.
    “Hey in there! Are you all right?”
    Garson recognized Choco Medina’s rumbling voice.
    “Yes. I’m all right,” Garson said. He swallowed to ease the dryness of his throat, made his way around the bed, opened the door.
    A ring of faces filled the hallway. Garson recognized Medina and Villazana.
    A sense of defenseless loneliness filled Garson.
    Medina’s evil features relaxed into a grin. “You gave us a scare,” he said. “What was all that commotion?”
    Garson found the light switch on the wall beside the door, stood aside. He didn’t trust his voice.
    Medina entered. Villazana followed, closed the door behind him.
    “Whew-eeee!” said Medina.
    “ Madre de Dios! ” said Villazana.
    A large, jagged chunk of concrete lay across his pillow, shards of glass all