Spider's Web

By Michael West

This is a touching story about two teenagers leaving their homeland of Mexico to pursue their dream in America. They fall into the web of insurance scammers who want to take their lives to acquire insurance dividends of millions of dollars. The kids retaliate by killing their enemies, destroying their syndicate, and returning to their homeland to realize their dream in their own country of Mexico. A story of courage, defiance, obsession and betrayal, portrayed in a land where life has no value and death has a price.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781641387378

Michael West

Dr. Michael West is the Chief Executive Officer of AgeX Therapeutics, Inc. AgeX Therapeutics is focused on the development and commercialization of novel therapeutics targeting human aging. He received his Ph.D. from Baylor College of Medicine in 1989 concentrating on the biology of cellular aging. He has focused his academic and business career on the application of developmental biology to the age-related degenerative disease. He was the founder and first CEO of Geron Corporation of Menlo Park, California and from 1992 to 1998 he was a Director, and Vice President, where he initiated and managed programs in telomerase diagnostics, oligonucleotide-based telomerase inhibition as anti-tumor therapy, and the cloning and use of telomerase in telomerase-mediated therapy wherein telomerase is utilized to immortalize human cells.

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Chapter

1

It was the summer of 1980. Tom Brookes, a teenager of eighteen, was working at the Exxon Mobile gas station as a gas attendant in Mobile, Alabama. Graduating from high school, it was his first job.

For a while, he was happy, alternating his time at the gas pumps then taking out Susie, a seventeen-year-old blonde with sky-blue eyes that magnetized him to the cafeteria where she worked.

For a while, it was all a dream, taking Susie out to movies and dances, swinging to rock n’ roll music, or dancing in dim lights to country westerns.

For Tom, it was ecstasy, living in a spell of charm and romance, until one day he blundered out of it, falling for the idea of travelling south, where the sky was always blue and where the white powdery sand glistened in the summer sunlight.

I am buying a new car, Susie, going south over the border. You want to come along? asked Tom.

My mom won’t hear of it, going into that wild country, said Susie, her lip gloss glowing.

Well, I guess I will be going alone, said Tom.

Have a good trip, Tom, said Susie, casually wiping off the counter.

With his savings, he bought a white convertible with a four-wheel drive. His mom, hanging clothes on the line in the hot sun, looked casually over as he drove into the yard. Where are you going with that, Tom? she asked, smiling broadly at him as the summer breeze fluttered her blouse, blowing away the heat.

Following the sun, going south, Mom, said Tom.

And getting into trouble, she said, wringing out the water from the wet clothes before hanging them on the line to dry.

Oh, Mom, I am eighteen, old enough to know what is right from wrong, said Tom.

Your dad was like that, Tom, until I had to save him from himself, she said.

I will probably find a girl in the south to save me from myself, said Tom, laughing.

There are beautiful girls over here to take away your troubles. You don’t have to go across the border to find a girl, she said.

Turning off the engine, Tom walked over to his mom, hugged her around the shoulder, and kissed her on the cheek. Don’t worry, Mom. I would be gone just for three weeks, he said, making his way into their three-bedroom shingled house.

In the yard, his mom continued to hang up the tub full of clothes. She was in her thirties. Her little daughter was almost twelve, just in high school and aspired to be a devoted nurse. Susannah had tried very hard to keep the family together, keeping them happy. She was already feeling the strain of it all. Her husband, Rob, was always tired when he got home from work.

He worked in the oil field as an engineer, attending to the pumps. Coming home greasy and tired, all he wanted to do was to flop down on the settee with a can of beer and stare at the television.

How was your day, Rob? asked Sue, his beloved wife.

Same as usual, honey, always on the watch for oil leaks, said Rob, sipping beer and watching a game of baseball, the New York Mets against the Orioles. On the table, his little daughter, Candy, was doing her homework, determined as ever to become a nurse in her cute uniform, attending in the surgery.

What is that car doing in the yard, Sue? called out Rob during the commercial break.

That’s Tom’s car. He plans to travel south across the border on a three-week vacation, said Susannah.

Why is he going south, when there are so many places he can explore in the north? he asked.

He already made up his mind, honey. All we can do now is to hope for the best, said Susannah, turning off the stove.

Chapter

2

It was a Saturday morning. The traffic was congested with cars as folks tried to get out of the city to get to families and friends living in the suburbs or to escape from the congestion and summer heat of the city.

For the same reason, Tom decided to travel south, through Alabama, Louisiana, and Texas, all the way to the Mountain Bay resort, across the border in San Fernando, Mexico. The convertible cruised for a while, slipped into the express lane of Highway 69, and arrowed its way in the summer heat, leaving the familiar scenes far behind.

Tom turned on the radio. The soothing voice of Patsy Cline came streaming through. Country music had always appealed to Tom. Voices of Connie Francis, Tom Hanks, and Jim Reeves have always captured him as he waltzed around with girls up to the wee hours, dancing under chandelier lights in hotel auditoriums.

Buying the Cadillac was part of his dream to see the world before settling into family life. You are young only once. So why hurry it? was his philosophy. Enjoying his vacation in Mountain Bay with night clubs and bars on postcard beaches with blue water and glistening white sand was his dream.

The day was beautiful, wind floating over the green acres whizzed past the convertible as it decelerated into a lane leading to a Shell gas station to fill up for the uncertain journey ahead. Fill her up, he called out to a young lady at the gas pump, casting a fond look at her before taking his way to the cafeteria.

Pushing past the glass door into the cool hall, more or less like an oasis in a desert, Tom was impressed with the rotating ceiling fans and chromium-lined counter. A brunette in cherry lipstick magnetized him with a dazzling smile as he approached the counter.

Hi! What can I get you? she asked.

Cheese sandwich and iced coffee, said Tom.

With lettuce and tomatoes? asked the girl.

That will be nice, said Tom, smiling into her eyes.

Coming up, she said, leaving the counter to place his order.

In two minutes, his snack was on a tray before him. Paying for his purchase, he took his tray to a table at a corner to enjoy his snack among a refined crowd. From hidden intercoms streamed soft music, pacifying his mind for the journey ahead.

Finishing the snack, Tom walked ever to the glass door. With a final glance at the brunette, he made his exit into the fiery street. Walking over to the convertible, he got into the seat, looked at the windshield dust-free and sparkling and realized that the girl at the pump had done a wonderful job with it. Through his sunglasses, he flashed a smile at her and waved. Watching her waving back, he drifted out of the compound with a resolve to return there on his trip back home. Cruising for a while, he accelerated in the open highway, feeling a cool blast of air on his face.

Driving was always a pleasure for Tom. It gave him a feeling of relaxation and independence. He had toyed with an idea of an ocean cruise. But living in a cabin of a ship for two weeks was too confining. Socializing with strangers in that confinement could lead to constraints rather than conviviality. So he gravitated to the idea of cruising in a convertible, flashing past changing scenes in the safety of his own country, except for a trip to Mountain Bay, which he looked forward to visit, yet with some reservation.

Tom drove on, flitting across bridges and passing neon lights until he left the suburbs far behind and was very much into the open countryside.

The miles of driving had left him drowsy, and the solution for that was to leave the car and walk around for a while. Pulling over to a corner, he stopped the car and stepped out. Walking around for a while, he finally leaned against the car and lit up a cigarette.

He puffed for a while, studying the inlet of the sea forming a sheltered bay where dozens of sailboats drifted slowly over the blue surf. From the bank of the bay was a platform projecting over the water, serving as a crude dock to get to the boats. At the far end, a girl in her teens, dressed in bikini shorts, sat with her back against a wall, with a picnic basket by her side.

For a while, Tom stood there, enjoying the refreshing sea breeze, feeling its cooling effect through his linen shirt. Finishing his last puff, he stamped out the cigarette, then strolled over to the young lady seated comfortably and staring contentedly across the bay.

Hi, said Tom. She looked up casually. It’s a nice day, Tom said politely.

It surely is, she said, returning the courtesy, not sure how to react.

Tired after a long drive, said Tom, feeling his drowsy feeling ebbing away.

Where are you coming from? she asked.

From Mobile, Alabama. I am heading to Mountain Bay in Mexico. I plan to spend about two weeks before heading back home, said Tom.

That’s far way, she said reflecting for a while. Why would you want to spend time in a dope-infested country? she asked.

I have friends who were there. They said it was safe, said Tom.

I still think it’s risky. There are lots of beautiful places in America to visit and lots of beautiful women too, she said, reflecting that America is the mecca for beautiful women, not that there are not beautiful women in the rest of the world but they do not capitalize on their looks like those in America. She recalled the words of a mother to her daughter, If you don’t use eyeliner you will be an old maid for the rest of your life.

With his hand in his pockets Tom stared into the sea, turning over her advice in his mind.

Are you hungry? she asked, reaching out for the picnic basket.

Not really, I have eaten two hours ago. Thank you very much, he said.

My name is Tom. It’s been nice talking to you, he continued.

I am Jill. It’s nice talking to you too, she said.

Do you know how far a gas station is from here? he asked.

The girl studied the distance for a moment. I would say about fifty miles, she said.

Thank you very much. You have a good day, Jill, said Tom.

You too, said Jill. Drive safely, she called out.

Thank you, Jill, he said, walking back to the car.

Tom walked over to the Cadillac. Slipping into the seat, he turned on the ignition and let it roar for a while then moved into the traffic, accelerated, and disappeared in a haze of heat. A refreshing southern breeze washed over the car, leaving him relaxed.

Speeding for an hour, he decelerated, edged into a side lane, and rolled into a Shell gas station. Filling up the tank, Tom stumbled into the cafeteria. A blast of cold air from the air conditioner refreshed him instantly.

Customers, mostly sophisticated whites, with a handful of Latino, Chinese, and African-American couples were at the tables, enjoying Italian and Mexican dishes.

A blonde with a dazzling smile approached him.

Can I help you, sir? she asked.

Yes, please. Macaroni and cheese and a Coke, he requested.

Would you like some gravy and vegetables with it? asked the blonde.

That will be fine, said Tom.

A spicy aroma of freshly cooked food pervaded the dining area. Tom enjoyed his meal of macaroni garnished with vegetables and onion, so flavorful that it just increased his appetite. He wondered how they did it. It was not surprising that kids leave mom’s honest home-cooked meal and go for restaurant food, although it may be more harmful than good.

Halfway through the meal, Jill’s question invaded his mind. Why would you want to visit a drug-infested country when you could spend a happy time in the safety of your own country? He found himself conveyed back from fantasy to reality.

He recalled words from Jack London’s book, Call of the Wild, Why would a man leave the comfort of his home for the wild when he could be lord in his own country.

Dissecting a slice of tomato, he reexamined his motives, reluctant to alter his enthusiasm to visit Mountain Bay, with its glistening white sandy beaches and elaborate night clubs set in a tropical environment. If he should cancel this trip, what will he replace it with? he asked himself. Everyone wants to know how much juice he has. Now is the time to find out, he decided.

By the time Tom finished his meal, he decided to go through with his plan. Exiting the cafeteria, he made his way over to the car, turned on the ignition, and drifted to the highway. In a minute, the car accelerated, flitting over the sun-splashed highway along miles of pasture and marshland. Passing along miles of swamps where sparkling waves washed almost to the road, Tom wondered how he could turn away from that trip.

It was toward noon. The Cadillac was travelling up a steep road toward the post of the border patrol. On the side of the road were guards waving him on.

Tom slowed to a stop and, from courtesy and conformity, stepped out of the car and walked over to the guards. His passport was in his hand. An elderly guard, who could be evaluated to be a senior officer from his uniform and his demeanor, took his passport and scrutinized it.

How long will you be gone for? he asked.

Three weeks, replied Tom.

Are you sure you would be safe over there for three weeks? he asked politely. Tom wavered as his doubts returned. He wanted to fold up before the guards, the last connection to his beloved country. Instead, he put on a show of being resolute. He remained firm. The guard wrote some remarks in his passport, stamped it, and handed it back to him.

Good luck, son, said the guard. Pocketing the passport, Tom walked back to the car, started it, and drove across the border, leaving behind his homeland and those he had learned to love.

Chapter

3

Mexico was a beautiful country, arid in some, parts with miles of cactus growing on desert conditions. The roads, not as wide as those in the States, were uneven with bumps and potholes. But as the car progressed, the sceneries changed with wider roads, hedged with miles of green vegetation and farmlands of avocados and mango trees, swaying in the wind, waving him on.

Passing miles of hedges and flamboyant trees, the car swung a turn and stopped in front of the Mountain Bay International hotel.

The hotel overlooked a sky-blue sea fringed by a white sandy beach set with cozy bars and night clubs among decorative trees from which a gravel track led to the hotel.

Rolling into the parking lot, Tom collected his baggage from the convertible and walked into the lobby where American tourists like himself reclined on woven chairs and cushioned sofas.

At the reception desk, Tom requested a room for two weeks.

I have one on the sixth floor for two hundred dollars for each day, said the clerk, a beautiful brunette.

I will take it, said Tom. A girl took him over to the room overlooking the sea, equipped with a twin-sized bed, bathroom, refrigerator, television, and a kitchenette.

Enjoy your stay, said the girl, handing him the key.

After taking a shower, Tom fell into bed and slept until seven in the night. Waking up, he felt a burning sensation of hunger.

Taking the elevator, he reached the lobby and walked over to the cafeteria crowded with tourists.

Ordering a serving of flavored rice with gravy and onion, Tom took it with a cup of coffee to a secluded table where he ate, assessing the customs and behavioral patterns of the crowd against the advice of those he loved and could trust, his family and Jill, the girl by the dock.

Shelving his loneliness, he decided on a stroll over the gravel track to the night club. His mood changed as he entered the club among trees in pink decorative lights. In the club, Latino music blared as girls in skimpy dresses gyrated in a spell of alcohol.

Tom ordered a beer, took it to a table, and sipped, watching the dancers swinging to the beat of the music. A brunette, slim and very attractive, approach his table.

Hi, you mind if I join you? she asked, her lip gloss having him in a spell.

Not at all, he said, catching his breath. Please, sit down, he said, pulling out a chair.

How is it, here? she asked.

It’s nice. Very exciting, he said.

Do you come here often? she asked.

It’s my first time, he said. I just drove in from the States, he added.

I hope you enjoy your stay here, said the brunette. I am Marianne, she said, extending her hand formally.

I am Tom, he said, taking her hand.

Would you like to dance? she asked.

He led her