can a frustrated single mom and failed big city journalist save her family and salvage her career by returning to a town run by a gang of bungling thugs?


“The Resurrection of Puerto Cielo” is a novella published in serial form, 43 posts.




18


“Pump House Scam”

The headline shouted as the Zorros pedaled the streets hawking the latest Star edition.

The front page story told how big money and corrupt city officials had built a pump station that diverted water to the Palm Estates at the expense of the townspeople.

Chattering excitedly, the ladies in black gathered for their morning coffee klatch, marveling at the Star’s revelations.

Dona Consuelo folded her copy of the paper, thinking things were going to get much more interesting.

At another table, three pairs of eyes watched Mama G exit the kitchen.

Lazy, not one to miss a free lunch, had long ago figured out that this was more likely to happen at Mama G’s than sitting on the porch with the Bernie brothers. Those guys could be counted on for a beer and occasional pretzel, but that was about it.

Then Lazy noticed Sheriff Eddie always appeared at Mama’s around noon. He tagged along and discovered the sheriff didn’t mind the company and Mama didn’t mind an extra mouth to feed. With Mama’s approval, Arnold had also hopped on the gravy train.

“Here you go,” said the kindly cook, sliding a plate of fish tacos in front of Eddie. Stooping, she set two more plates of the same on the floor, ”disfruta chiquitos.”

The three hungry guys dove into their meals.

Straightening up, Gina put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. She pointed at the Star headline on the table, “What are you going to do, Eduardo?”

Eddie paused mid bite. Besides his mother, Gina was the only person who ever called him Eduardo. He looked into the soft brown eyes that had loved him since elementary school.

He swallowed, shrugged, “I don’t know, Gina.”

She squeezed his arm and returned to the kitchen. He removed his old felt hat and scratched his head. Then the familiar black SUV drove by.

He sighed. Some problems weren’t going away.

But they could wait until after lunch.

***

The Red Rooster wasn’t known for its food, which was a partial explanation for why Tibo and Roddy had the place to themselves. The fact that Tibo was often in residence also thinned out the lunch crowd. Frank’s hulking presence nearby didn’t help things either.

Savoring a sumptuous last spoonful of marisco chowder, it occurred to Ricky that there was little in Puerto Cielo that was an improvement over the city, but he had to admit the seafood here was excellent.

He wiped his neat mustache with the cloth napkin, then studied the sullen man across from him. The mayor was fondling his long empty coffee cup. Roddy had not been invited to lunch.

The Star headline blared up from the table top.

“Seems you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar, Roddy,” Tibo mocked.

“Me! I didn’t set this up. I’m not to blame.”

“But you’re the mayor, the man who’s supposed to keep these things from happening, and you certainly took your cut of the action.”

Roddy had no comeback.

***

In the center of City Park, a young mother watched her toddler splashing in the fountain as bronze porpoises leapt from the pool. Nearby, an old man shook out an empty bag of crumbs to a gathering of pigeons and walked away.

Seeking more food, a few of the beggars waddled towards a bench in the sun dappled shade of a orange flowering hibiscus tree. Sitting alone, face concealed by a broad brimmed straw hat, a lady in a long satin aquamarine dress poked at the advancing intruders with her closed parasol.

“Shoo you disgusting creatures!”

The well manicured white poodle at her feet barked menacingly, ensuring the message was clear.

The offenders lifted off to find friendlier company.

Waving down a girl on a passing bike, the lady was handed a newspaper.

Amused by the headline, she reached down to pet the dog.

“Well, Jasmine, it seems the mayor is in the hot seat. What else can we do to fan the flames?”

***