Santa Cruz Huatulco and Lou's Bar

still no batteries
Santa Huatulco Marina




We walk into the little city of Santa Cruz Huatulco. It is really nice. Totally off the beaten trail, but still has tourists. I can’t believe it. When we reach the town square we see the tour busses. There are six of them, most of them taking passengers from one small town to the next. They must leave Barra de la Cruz off that map.
Jerry grabs my arm and we change direction. Down a long alley between some businesses, and then we are in the neighborhoods. Not a white face among them, just us and the gold, and my camera. I don’t have much to lose, but I don’t want to lose my camera. I have been chronicling my journeys with this camera.
We make another turn and there is an open air market and a lot of locals shopping for food, goats, tools, you name it. It is like a flea market with pets you can eat. A kid shoves an iguana in my face and I jump. No, I am not afraid of iguanas, just didn’t expect it.
“Over here.” Jerry points to a Cantina at the end of the street. This is the end of this part of town and beyond is the jungle.
Outside this Cantina are some rough looking guys who don’t take their collective eyes off of us the whole time we are approaching them. When we step inside, they follow.
Inside, it is pretty bare. There is a nice looking bar, but the rest of the place would be better set on fire and left for ash. This would be a shit hole in Barra de la Cruz. There are quite a few customers inside, though. More of the same that were outside.
I get the distinct feeling we are not welcome here. All of the hushed conversations come to a screeching halt and now all eyes were on us.
“Ellos están bien chicos.” A distinctively American accent calls from a doorway back behind the bar. Out of the room in back comes a man with graying hair and a neatly trimmed Fu Manchu moustache. He is about 5’ 7’’ and fit, carrying a case of Budweiser.
“I hate this monkey piss, but these guys think its great.” He nods to the customers as he sets the case down behind the bar. “Jerry, how in the hell are you?”
We take a seat at the bar and the man reaches across and gives Jerry a hearty handshake.
“Lou, I want you meet my friend Jake.”
I get a steel grip handshake from Lou. He looks right at me for split second that tells me that the evaluation is over and I am a safe bet. I am with Jerry and that means something.
“You boys want a beer?” He sees my eyes glance at the case of Bud.
“Not that shit.” He says kicking the case on the floor. “I have Caguamos Tecate.” Lou reports as he pulls two of them out of a cooler and takes the tops off with an opener. He grabs a lime and wipes the tops then wipes the bottles off with a clean bar rag. “Gotta watch the tops of these things. They don’t do a very good job of sterilizing the bottles. The acid in the lime kills the shit.”
He cracks one for himself and then leans over on the bar. “So, what can I do for you boys.”
Jerry leans in and tells him about the gold transaction. Lou nods and smiles. Finally a conversation in English.
“When is the last time you checked the spot market on gold, Jerry?” Lou grabs a rag and wipes the bar, then throws a couple of cardboard coasters under our beers. I laugh, and he cuts to me with a hard stare. “Something funny?”
“Uh… no, I just think the coasters are a nice touch.” Shit this guy startled me.
“I paid two thousand bucks to have this bar shipped from Ireland… fucking Ireland. You don’t think I am going to let it get fucked up just because you don’t want a coaster under your beer.”
I smile, say nothing, and look at Jerry. He takes the heat off of me.
“I haven’t looked at a newspaper or heard anything for weeks. What is happening with the gold market?” Jerry pulls his duffle up toward him and pulls three cigars from it without Lou seeing. He hands them to me and I get his drift.
“Cigar, Lou?” I pull the three up to the bar and hold one out to him. He takes it and gives it a look, a long smell, and then rolls it between his fingers.
“Now that is a fine cigar. Thanks Jake.” He pulls a cigar cutter up from the shelf on the bar, along with an ashtray and a lighter. Before long, we are all at ease puffing on Jerry’s Cubans and opening up a few beers.
According to Lou, the price of gold on the open market had almost doubled. “Let me see what you got.”
Jerry reaches in and pulls out the small bag and Lou takes it down to the shelf behind the bar. A second later he tells Jerry he has a little more than four ounces.
“No shit. I thought it was only two or at the most three.” He looks at me, like I had any fucking clue. I shrug.
“Can you convert it, Lou?”
“No… not at these prices. Part of it maybe, but that won’t do you any good.”
“Its going to have to. We don’t have any cash at all.” Jerry socked down his beer and another was on the bar to replace it.
“I’ll tell you what, boys. I need to make a run to Mexico City. I have been cashing in some locals that have claims inland. They have been bringing me this shit for the last year. I am just about tapped out.”
“Your killing me, Lou.” Jerry takes a drink, “How much do you have, cash that is?”
“I only have about a grand, and that isn’t enough to cash you out to begin with, and I still need to go to the big city to cash the rest.” Lou reaches down below the bar with out taking his eyes away from the conversation, and up comes the tequila… I think.
“Yep, it’s tequila. My wife’s family has made this shit for a hundred years. She won’t tell me what’s in it, like a fucking prize winning meatloaf recipe or something.”
Three small glasses come up and he pours a double or so in each one. The liquid has a blue tint to it.
“I have an idea, Jerry, but its on you.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“You fly me to the big city, and I will cash you out triple the market rate.” Lou holds his glass up and we do the same, “Viajes seguros.”
Here we go again.
“Safe journeys.” Lou translates, and we toast and shoot.
“That is the smoothest tequila I have ever tasted.”
“No shit.” Jerry adds. We set our glasses down and Lou tops them off again.
“Can your man in Mexico City take all you have and more?” Jerry asks. Lou nods.
“These are regular business men. They deal in large quantities. If I didn’t want the hassle of reporting the income, I could get market price for it. These guys pay me seventy five cents on the dollar. One of them is a buddy of mine from Nam. He won’t fuck us.”
We shoot the next round and Jerry looks at me with a shit eating grin. “We should make a stop at Nester’s and take what he has to this guy. He only gets thirty or forty percent when he cashes in.”
Lou nods, “That’ll work.” He pours one more round, almost as a dare because the first two are kicking my ass right now. “So what do you think, we stop at Jerry’s and then up the big city?”
Jerry lifts his glass, Lou’s is up, and I pick mine up warily. I think there is voodoo at work in this blue shit.
“A la gran ciudad.” He says.
“To the big city,” Lou translates.
Oh screw it, “Allah grand crawdad.” The rest of the day will be nothing more than a blur.