Matthew came to Puerto Viejo with a different intent to many other westerners in the village, who he judged were fugitives from one thing or another.

The way their tanned legs arrogantly strutted along dusty roads in khaki shorts betrayed the shame and guilt that dragged them here. The poise of the local white men told nothing of the times when they were cuckolded or retrenched and sent south. When they spoke their American twang encased thicker Caribbean vowels, and their children were wide'shouldered and broad in the calves with less conspicuous foreheads and closer eyes than might be expected from the early years of an inbred generation.

Vern approached Matthew nervously as one of the crowd of touts offering guest rooms, bush buds and cocaine in Spanglish. He spoke fluent and polite English, which cut through the din, and won Matthew's attention.

The place he suggested was the right price and when Matthew inspected the room he was surprised by its size and delighted with the modern amenities, simple wooden furnishings, and deep verandah. He thanked Vern, paid the landlady for ten days board and lay down on the large bed to sleep.

Vern was glad he had not overplayed his hand with Matthew. He suspected the plucky Briton was wealthy, but had not taken him to more expensive accommodation to attract a higher commission and he had not broached the subject of drugs, despite his debts to Louis.

Matthew awoke later to a knock on the door. He was ambushed by two barefooted madmen and a vicious mutt, who closed the door and perched themselves on the modest furnishings that his lodgings offered. Ageing maniac, Pat McGee, told a tale of his involvement in Zero, a surfing safari film made in the 1970's where his cut of the royalties landed in the pockets of two Australian Long board Champions. At the same time the other character ranted at the dog, named Joflas. He was an imposing black man dressed in sawn'off camouflage pants. Each utterance began and ended with what Matthew concluded was the man's name. "Jungal Mon sayis, Joflas! Seet down beech, Jungal Mon"

It became clear to Matthew as he nodded in false sympathy to Pat's story that the purpose of their visit was to sell him something. How many times had this team, the desperate white man and his stand'over animals, scared tourists into buying their wares? As Pat digressed into a tirade about social welfare in the United States, Matthew mustered the courage to cut him off and lie unashamedly.

"I'm awfully sorry, but whilst your story is one I feel that I sympathise with, I am not in the least intimidated by you both, and do not wish to buy anything. I'm perfectly happy"

"I ain't payin' my taxes just 'cause some lumberjack can't keep his cock in his pants," Pat continued before realising Matthew had spoken. "Man, wouldya just buy a little grass from me? I just gotta sell a little grass. You don't want grass. I got some books. Wanna book? You read? I got some good ones." Pat protested, drawing a few weather'beaten paperbacks from a plastic bag.

"Sorry, but I am perfectly happy," he lied again.

But Matthew was quietly regretting he had decided to follow Vern earlier that day, rather than the less desirable Spanglish'speaking touts. Vern had not mentioned drugs, and he was sure that the others would have satisfied his desires. But since he did not want these two returning in the next ten days, he had to lie.

After seeing the two madmen and hound off into the settling afternoon, Matthew climbed into a large fabric hammock on the verandah and dozed.

An excited party of six tourists waked him for the second time that afternoon: two Australians, a busty Canadian girl in denim shorts, a Norwegian girl with shiny brown calves, and two awkward young Brits. Vern had led the group from the afternoon bus and they found lodgings in the adjacent rooms. Vern said hello to Matthew, checked that the new party was comfortable, and excused himself politely.

It was not long before Matthew became a part of the group. The Tourists discovered the local firewater, Aguadiente that they mixed with Cola and fresh limejuice, and the afternoon air descended upon them like a warm bath.

At the same time, Vern was thinking about h

is bloodied toes in a shopping bag, as Louis had promised. The commission from the guesthouse had only fuelled the anger of the Spaniard, who drew his reaction from Hollywood.

"Your life is worth far less than this to me, worm. You come and see me with this? How dare you? Bring the money tomorrow. En todo" Louis had told him that afternoon.

He would have to approach the tourists today.

Vern awoke and walked into the street. He could see a plume of dust rising above the tree line to the north, and if he moved quickly he would meet the bus.

Maybe there would be some more tourists and a little more commission, a little more of his debt repaid. On his way past the guesthouse he was surprised to see the Tourists out on the veranda. Matthew shouted and waved at him. Vern nodded and kept walking, assuming Matthew was giving him a morning greeting, but Matthew wanted Vern to come over to find out how he could buy cocaine.

There were only locals on the bus so Vern headed back to the guesthouse. On the veranda the Norwegian girl was rolling in hammock laughter, wrapped in the smell of dead Marijuana smoke. Matthew sat on a tree stump cutting arcs into the sand below with curled toes. The others had disappeared.

"You two havin' a good time, huh?" he asked with a smile.

"Vern," Matthew said as casually as he could, "Do you know where we could get a little of the local ... specialty?"

Vern's smile melted into a frown.

"You think we're all like that, selling dope and cocaine? We're not, you know. Maybe some, but not all. I cannot help you get what you want, but I help with this advice. Be careful here. You have money, nobody cares who you are, where you are coming from, if you're nice, or if you're bad. Be careful or somebody will take your money.

Vern pulled his lips together, tightened his eyes and flared his nostrils. He then turned and hurried away, ignoring an attempted apology. Once he was out of their sight, he smiled nervously.

Matthew spent the afternoon trying to forget what had happened with the help of Aguadiente and his companions and when the large bottle was empty the group swayed off to the beachfront for a meal. The Tourists barged into the first restaurant they could find, claiming the longest wooden table in the centre of the room despite a scowl of disapproval from the hostess. Chairs collided and beer bottles tinkled above the drunken conversation that bounced around the table. Customers eating by themselves were invited to join the party for a drink, and soon all the others dragged their chairs across the sand floor and rearranged tables to join the ruckus.

Late in the night Matthew found himself sitting beside a beautiful negress, who would clutch at his wrist and laugh with brilliant teeth and a moist pink mouth each time he spoke. He hadn't completely forgotten the incident with Vern, but she didn't seem like the type to be offended, so he asked her where he could buy some cocaine. Without speaking, she took his hand and led him out of the restaurant.

He was surprised to find Vern blocking their path in the street outside. Vern feigned surprise when he saw Matthew, as he had been waiting for some time. He asked where they were going. The girl said something sharp in mui rapido Spanish, spat at Vern, grabbed Matthew's arm and began to drag him away.

"You shouldn't go with her. They'll see how much you have, and make you pay everything. They'll take any money you have," Vern called out after them.

Matthew stopped, and turned to face Vern. His eyes were large and his hands hung open'palmed by his sides.

"How much money do you have?" Vern asked stepping closer.

Matthew produced his wallet and was surprised at the thick wad of folded paper banknotes nestled inside. It was everything he had brought with him to the town. Vern quickly estimated the amount and thought that it might almost be enough.

"If you don't want to lose it, give it to me now. Take just enough for what you need, nothing more. I'll keep it safe for you. I'll stop by tomorrow. Go and have your fun. Go on."

"I'm sorry I offended you today, Vern. I came here to try some things..." he trailed off.

"I know. It's OK."

Vern smiled and vanished into a future with ten toes.

This short story was first published in the January and February editions of the 2004 Cud.