Slippery Finn - Escape Artist for Hire (Part III)

Diary Entry. Finn Edwards.

Monday July 6th, 1925

Boy, does it feel good to be home.

Only got back from Mexico yesterday, but sitting here in O’ Connel’s, back in the murmur of chatter, the swirls of cigarette smoke, the lilting piano, I find myself starting to wonder: Did any of that really happen at all?

O’ Connel’s hasn’t changed a jot since I left: Every bottle still in its place, every coaster unmoved. Heck, even the balls on the billiards table seem to be frozen in time.

The levels in the bottles are a damn sight lower though. Matter of fact, old O’ Connel himself damn near shook my hand off when I first walked into the bar yesterday evening.

“Mr Edwards! Mr Edwards!” he cried. “Oh, Mr Edwards, we all thought you was gone for good. Ah. I was so worried…”

Like hell he was worried; worried about his business interests. Without me around to keep the bottles full, he’d be out on the street, and both of us knows it.

Still, it feels damn good to be home. The horrors we saw back in the jungle are already starting to fade. Matter of fact, I keep having to remind myself it wasn’t all just a dream. The bite marks in my ankles help with that.

Thinking about the jungle gets me thinking about old Anderson and Mateo. They say don't judge a book by its cover. Well, I ain't ever been much of one for reading, but I sure misjudged both of them, and no mistake...

We were all stood together, the three of us, gathered inside the entranceway to the ruined temple. The dim sunlight from outside was barely enough to see each other by, and the corridors that led deeper within were pitch black. The Padre was just finishing his usual ritual of praying and crossing himself. Anderson was shining his flashlight about, trying to figure out where we should go next.

“You gentlemen stay here,” Mateo urged. “I will explore”.

Before either of us could protest, he walked off down one of the darkened passageways. Straight into a trap.

“Aii!” screamed the priest.

“Padre! Are you OK?” we called into the darkness.

“Yes, yes.” came the reply. “Just a small spike trap. No problem.”

There followed a few grunts of pain. Then Mateo’s voice rang out, clear and resonant around the temple chambers.

“Do not fear brothers! The righteous will prevail! I will find the right path eventua – Aii!!”

Still, he sure did find us the right path, and me and Leo hardly had to do any exploring at all that day, thank heavens.

Yes, something had changed in our priest friend. A transformation. Whether it was through prayer and fasting (and, heaven knows, we’d all been fasting…) or sheer divine intervention, Mateo just seemed to be … in control. His face glowed with the radiance of a man who knows his path is assured, who knows his plans cannot fail.

The same could not be said of Leo. Ever since the mess with old Ted, his police friends had abandoned him, and the poor man seemed quite out of sorts. His unshaven face was even more grizzled than usual, and his grimace seemed to be permanently chiselled on, as deeply ingrained as the ancient markings on the walls of the temple itself.

I always saw Leo as Mr Reliable. A real “Stick by your side through thick and thin” kind of fella’.

Boy, was I wrong. You see, something had changed inside Anderson too.

I told him not to touch the trinket we found. I told him!

“C’mon Leo, let’s scarper!”

Louder and louder we could hear the hissing of the serpents and snake-men as they approached our chamber.

But Anderson wasn’t for leaving. He strode right up to the plinth and hunched over the ancient relic, his nose almost touching it, his grinning face lit by its golden glow. He was entranced.

“Leo!” I cried, shaking him by the shoulders. “This ain’t time for linin’ our pockets. We gots to run!”

“GET your hands OFF me!” he shouted in my face, shoving me, sending me sprawling to the floor.

There was a deep rumbling noise. The walls were beginning to shake. Dust was falling from the ceiling. The hissing louder now.

“Leo, for God’s sake! Leave it behind!”

“Over my dead body,” he said, placing both hands on the mysterious golden object. Then, barely audible, in a maniac's whisper. “It’s mine now.”

His obsessed grin shone yellow as he lifted the beautiful relic off of its pedestal, his black eyes gleaming with greed.

Well that - in my most humble of opinions - was where it all started to go wrong.

With an almighty heave, the whole building started to tilt and collapse. Rooms revolved around rooms, with a deafening rumbling. Distances that had once been within arm's reach began to stretch away into oblivion, as - to our horror - the entire temple rearranged itself into one long, writhing snake.

I fell to the floor. When I looked up, I was abandoned. Anderson had gone.

Yessir! God only knows what happened to Anderson in that temple.

The Padre tried to explain it to me afterwards. “All of us are in a battle with our sinful nature. Senor Anderson is no different.”

Well, sin or no sin – Anderson just seemed different. Quieter. Shiftier somehow. Maybe it was the poison in his veins. Who knows.

Even still, I have to confess I felt a little, ahem, conflicted as I delicately picked the relic off of his prone body on my way out of the temple.

I think the Padre was glad that I’d managed to relieve “Senor Anderson” of his little gold toy. Mateo said it wasn't stealing, exactly. Said that the good Lord would understand, and I was "just using my skills to good effect”. Well, I decided to leave the old relic with Mateo for safe keeping – a man of the cloth ought to be able to be trusted with something like that.

Anyway, like I say, the memories are already starting to fade…

Matter of fact, the only thing I remember real clear is that nice Aztec lady. Phew-ee! Damn shame I never had a chance to see her before we left. Wish I’d thought about asking her address so’s we could write to each other. But – hell! – what would I have put on the envelope? “Cursed Temple, Godforsaken Jungle, Mexico Somewhere”?

Still, we sure had a connection, alright. Somehow, I don’t think I’ve seen the last of her…