Notes
Hypothetical casting:
Hugo Silva as El Manigordo.
Soundtrack suggestions:
The couple goes to the Laden Mule Inn and ends up seeing there their mysterious contact:
- Strider - Howard Shore, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (complete recordings) (Up to 02:04).
El Manigordo persuades the couple to collaborate with him:
- Wilderland - Howard Shore, The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (extended edition) (Up to 00:40)
-o-
The group was dropped off at their hotel by the Farm's minibus shortly after nightfall, and still smelling of raw meat or even carrion, they went straight up to their rooms to wash and change before going to dinner.
While Claire, who had come out of the shower not long ago, was drying her hair, someone knocked on the room's door. Ignoring if it was one of the DPG members or a hotel employee, Claire replied in Spanish:
"I'm coming."
As she just put on some new clothes, she grabbed her mask on the table, quickly put it on and opened the door. It was Sybil, the hotel co-owner.
"Excuse me for disturbing you," she said in Spanish with a smile, "but I've been asked to give you a message."
"A message? From whom?"
"He didn't say his name, but he pretended to be a friend."
Thinking it was highly suspicious that a supposed friend tried to deliver a message to them the evening of their arrival, Claire frowned in distrust.
"Was he a foreigner or a Costa Rican?" she asked.
"Hard to say, but he could pass for a fellow countryman, though I've never seen him in town. He was in his forties, dark hair, tall with a horseshoe moustache and a rather attractive face, but he looked like a vagabond in his old jeans and sweatshirt if you ask me."
"Your description doesn't remind me of anyone in particular. I'll still take this message please."
Sybil handed her the message, which was written in a single sheet folded in four.
"Thank you," Claire told her as she took it.
"If you need anything, don't hesitate. I'll leave you, I have to make sure the service is going well downstairs. You're planning on having dinner here?"
"No, we wanted to have a look in town."
"Okay. Good evening then."
"Thanks, you too."
Sybil walked away and Claire closed the door. As she took off her mask and was about to read the message, Owen came out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel around his waist.
"What happened?" he inquired
"Someone left a message for us."
She then unfolded the sheet, revealing a message handwritten in English. They read it.
Mrs. Dearing, Mr. Grady.
I heard that you arrived in town today and went to Site D. Beneath its farm and quarantine centre appearance, it seems to hide dark secrets. You see, I have information about Henry Wu that I think you would like to know. Tonight, I'll be at the Laden Mule Inn. Come and meet me there around 9 p.m.
Hoping to see you there,
El Manigordo
PS: They're announcing some heavy rain for this evening. For convenience, it would be a good idea for you to dine at the inn. The food is good there and we could even meet before the scheduled time.
"El Manigordo?" Owen said, intrigued by this name. "The Ocelot… Our friend likes code names. But who is he?"
"I don't know, but he seems to have some information about Wu, that's all I care about."
"Ok, so we're going to eat at the Laden Mule," he concluded. "I'll look where it is."
As he was getting dressed, Claire looked out the window, which faced the street. Rain had started to fall and the road was lit by streetlights and vehicle headlights.
Under an arcade across the street, a man stood, alone and wearing a hood that covered his face with shadow. While smoking a pipe, he looked up at the hotel's first floor.
Wrapped in their raincoats, the couple exited the hotel and headed for the main street, which they reached soon enough before turning west.
The heavy rain had caused most people to stay indoors or use vehicles to move across town and beyond, and thus Claire and Owen only saw a few passers-by, hooded like them and walking briskly.
As they walked like this on a rainy night in a small isolated town, heading for an inn named after an equine, where they had to meet some vagabond, Claire would have almost expected to glimpse a dishevelled Peter Jackson eating a carrot.
Amidst the downpour, they heard a song, similar to that of a whale and quite distant. The couple recognized it, because that kind of song had echoed throughout much of Isla Nublar until recently and it was that of an Apatosaurus. They turned south and while they half-expected one to appear at the end of the street, a car drove through a large puddle a few steps from them, and they stepped aside, narrowly avoiding being splashed.
Further along the main street, they reached an archway and passed under it, finally seeing the inn and its lights, filtered by thick curtains on the upper floors. Built of stone and featuring two floors, it was the oldest building in town and had a pleasant appearance from the outside, with a facade parallel to the main street and two wings that ran in the opposite direction. Above the front door, lit by a lantern, a large sign swung. It depicted a mule carrying loads on its back.
Between the arch and the building, there was a gravelled area on which a few cars and a line of motorcycles were parked. The couple crossed it and entered the inn.
They sat at a table against a wall, dined quietly, and then ordered each a tankard of beer while they waited for their mysterious contact to show himself. As he drank, Owen looked around the inn, observing the activities going on there. Opposite of him, Claire had her back turned to the bulk of the room and the hood of her sweatshirt was pulled over her head, as she didn't wanted to be noticed.
"They're really going to make the movie about the Fall," Owen announced as he looked at his phone. "It will be released exactly in two years. Filming will begin in Hawaii and New Orleans next spring."
"What? So that wasn't bullcrap?" Claire said, surprised. "Bloody hell, I wonder how they'll deal with depicting certain scenes... I would be surprised if it ends up R-rated given the necessary budget for such a project. They're going to struggle to keep their stupid PG-13. Spielberg will be behind it like for the others?"
"Only as a producer. The director will be some guy named Colin Trevorrow."
"Who's that twat? Never heard of him."
"If I'm not mistaken, he was supposed to direct one of the new Star Wars movies at some point."
"Ah yes! He was on episode nine but he got kicked out for "artistic disagreements" ", the fallen park director recalled while air quoting. "Jar Jar Abrams replaced him."
"They already revealed some of the actors involved. We were cast. You'll be portrayed by Bryce Dallas Howard, Ron Howard's daughter. You know, the one who played in the Shyamalans and in that Terminator movie with Christian Bale and the dude from Avatar…"
"Oh, I see who she is. She is often confused with Jessica Chastain. The latter is perhaps too old to portray me and too small too. She's just over five feet, she's a dwarf! How tall is that Houston Howard?"
"Bryce? Wait, I'll look on IMDb… One meter seventy," he said a moment later before passing his phone to his girlfriend so that she could look at the actress' profile.
"One or two inches shorter than me. Oh, it's alright..."
Claire looked at several photos of the actress and saw that like her, she was in her mid-thirties, with fairly long red hair and a rather angular jawline, but her slightly upturned nose made her face less intimidating than hers. She nevertheless thought that she could have passed as some secret sister of hers.
"It's true that she looks like me. We just need to see her acting... She better play me correctly."
"Why don't you just propose to her to meet you if you're worried," he suggested to his girlfriend before swallowing a sip of beer.
"If she accepts... They chose an actor for you?"
"Yup. You see the guy from Guardians of the Galaxy?"
"I don't watch Marvel movies. It's crap for retards."
"Well you see the funny fat guy in Parks and Recreations? Andy? The one who is a bit stupid and who ends up in a relationship with Aubrey Plaza's character?"
"What, Chris Pratt? Did they smoke ganja or what? You don't even look alike and outside of comedy, I don't think the guy is amazing. I bet they'll make you say lame jokes. Don't be mistaken, you sometimes have a shitty sense of humor... but it's your shitty humor, and I like it the way it is!"
"Oh you know, they have to attract fans of sups' and childish humor."
"But still. Why didn't they take Jason Momoa instead? He looks way more like you than the other clown. And I think he's much more attractive. Ah Khal Drogo, what a man...," she said dreamily. "If they Marvelize the Jurassic World incident… it's going to be a lot of fun... Either they're going to turn me into an ingénue, a Mary-Sue, or into a huge bitch. Or a mix of all that."
"Honestly, I don't give a fuck about how they'll depict me. Even though it's supposed to be some kind of serious biopic and disaster movie, a bit like Deepwater, I think I'm gonna watch it with one of my hands holding a beer, and the other in my pants."
He smirked and chuckled.
"You might think I'm pulling your leg but when I was in the navy, I knew a guy who was also called Owen Grady," he added. "It was quite funny and he actually looked like Chris Pratt. And he was in the SEALs… He also wanted to apply for the marine mammal program and you can imagine that chances of getting the position were uncertain for me then. But during the interview, he had a problem... of gastric nature let's say, which put him in deep embarrassment. He allegedly accused a woman called Helen of being behind this incident. That's kinda how I got the job."
"How was that other Owen Grady?"
"I can't really tell you, I wasn't friends with him, but from what I remember, the guy seemed straight out of an actioner and succeeded in everything he undertook… He was a bit of a hotshot and even more of a hick than me... I'm not sure you would have liked him, and you would have been too good for him."
"I'm glad to have you anyway. To that Helen, whoever she is," she toasted.
"To Helen."
As he watched the waitress weave through the customers, carrying tankards as well as a plate of Bocas (*) towards a large table where a group of bikers were seated and whose hoarse laughter echoed throughout the room, Owen noticed that one of the customers, who had recently arrived and was sitting alone at a table in the opposite side, was staring at them. Dressed like Claire in a sweatshirt and jeans, he was a Hispanic man in his early forties, tall with short dark hair, a horseshoe moustache and a dark expression on his face.
Having noticed that Owen's eyes stopped, Claire followed them and saw the man as well. Given his figure, his moustache and his rather attractive features, she knew that this had to be the man described by Sybil.
"I think it's him," she said.
Soon, with a hand gesture accompanied by a nod of the head, he invited the couple to sit down with him.
"Let's talk to that Costa Rican Strider…" Claire added.
As they approached with their tankards, the vagabond put his aside and his phone on the table. He greeted them in English:
"Good evening."
"Good evening," Owen replied. "You're the Ocelot?"
The man nodded.
"Mr. Grady, Mrs. Dearing, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said, speaking, to their astonishment, neither with a local accent, neither an American one, but a British one.
"Don't say my name, please," Claire said.
"I could shout Claire Dearing is here! Claire Dearing is here! while pointing at you, but people here wouldn't pay attention and they would even tell me to shut up," the man explained to her. "Many already know you're here, including the mayor. But nobody cares. You can therefore remove your hood if you wish..."
She kept her hood on, far from feeling comfortable under the steady gaze of his piercing eyes.
"Your message said you had information on Wu," she reminded him. "Which one?"
The man grabbed his phone, turned it on, and showed them its screen shortly after. It displayed the photo of a short Chinese-American man in his mid-fifties, dressed in a T-shirt and wearing sunglasses, casually walking down a sunny street. Henry Wu.
The man swiped his finger across the screen, in order to move to the previous photo in the gallery, which had been taken just before the one he had just shown them. In this new photo, the couple saw that the sunny street behind Wu was one of Burgo Nuevo.
"This photo is from mid-December 2017, a few days before the Larga Noche," El Manigordo explained.
"Just before the conference where we presented the Indominus," Claire concluded. "I thought he was in the United States. What was he doing here?"
He showed them a third photo of Henry Wu, taken another day. In this one, the geneticist was dressed differently, wearing a hat as if he thought it would make him incognito, and he had a different attitude. He seemed in a hurry and nervous, glancing sideways at the photographer while he joined a vehicle parked nearby and whose door had been opened from the inside. He was closely followed by a taller and stronger man, whom the couple knew was a bodyguard despite his civilian clothes.
"This one dates from January 2018," El Manigordo said. "This is the last we have of him here."
"After fleeing Nublar, Wu stayed in Costa Rica for a few weeks, guarded by Torres' goons," Owen recalled. "Had those pictures been taken in San José or on the coast, I wouldn't have been surprised, but they were taken here according to you, before and after the Fall. What was he doing? Nothing required his presence at the Farm."
"If I done my research correctly, the only recent genetic research in Site D concerned plants," the Costa Rican said.
"That's right," Claire replied.
"Then why did the director of InGen's genetics division frequently came to Burgo Nuevo back then?" he asked them. "I can accept a simple visit, but several, if not a whole stay? I don't think he was there for vacations, especially since he was working on very important projects at the time. I suspect Professor Wu of having conducted secret research in Site D, probably related to Masrani's Bane."
Claire and Owen exchanged a look, both remembering the documents on Zara's flash drive, who had broken into Wu's office to steal information for one of InGen's rivals. In one of these documents, which was about the Indominus' creation, her genomic composition as well as the applications of her abilities, there was mention of future subjects raised in a more secretive and secure place. Was that place in the Farm?
"You had access to sensitive information, didn't you?" He guessed, studying their expressions. "I would ask if there is any way you could send them to me, but I doubt you could, even if you were willing to."
"Indeed, the flash drive containing that intel was either burned with the Indominus' corpse, or buried under the sands at the bottom of Jurassic World's Lagoon," Claire told him. "Even if you found it, it would be unusable."
"But who are you?" Owen suddenly asked, suspicious. "Who says you're not a Biosyn or Grendel agent who intends to use us as pawns to access Wu's research? Between InGen's hands or theirs, the result will be the same and it won't be pleasant."
El Manigordo nodded slightly.
"You're cautious," he said, "and rightly so in this day and age, but it's in your interest to cooperate with me. I work for people in high places, concerned about the impact of InGen's activities in this country and who are waiting for the slightest misstep from it to drag it to court. As those same people wish to see the dinosaurs leave Costa Rica, they will not interfere with Operation Fallen Kingdom. Their interests and yours aren't in conflict and a collaboration is even in your interest because you see, Mrs Dearing, my employers will be in your debt if you help us in this investigation, and you might need a lot of support in the future. The Lockwood Foundation has offered to be your ally if you carry out the missions they gave you during this operation? Good, but it's better to have as many allies as possible and not just one. You never know, anything can happen in the meantime... I think I heard that you and Professor Wu were enemies. Wouldn't you like to see him behind the bars of a cell?"
"Oh believe me, I do. I really do."
"Then let's work together. What do you say?"
"If we agree to work with you, what would you expect from us?"
"I need your help to investigate. You see, I can't break into the estate, as InGen Security men would immediately arrest me and throw me to the dinosaurs!" He half joked.
"That's where we would come in," Claire deduced.
El Manigordo smiled.
"Yes. As participants in Operation Fallen Kingdom, you have access to the estate during the day. Does your schedule contain a few breaks?"
They nodded.
"I'd suggest you take advantage of these to comb the estate and search for evidence of Wu's clandestine research. The Ark's lab would be a good place to start."
"We went there today," Owen told him. "There is nothing left. Only the nursery has been used since the Fall and normal animals were born there, not hybrids. If I was him, I wouldn't have conducted sensitive research there. It's only a few doors from the veterinarian's office and that of the keepers..."
"Too close to potentially prying eyes..." El Manigordo concluded. "Then look for everything that could have housed a small laboratory: Bunker, warehouse, house, garage, cellar... I will stay in town until the departure of InGen's animals. If you ever decide to help me and find out something, don't hesitate to come and see me, I'll be here every evening at the same hour and if I'm not here, contact me at this number or this email address."
He handed them a piece of paper with his phone number and email address on it, then got up from his chair and finished his tankard.
"Have a good night," he wished them. "I hope to see you again soon."
They watched him leave, put his empty tankard on the bar's counter and disappear in a hallway, probably heading back to his room somewhere in the inn.
"Well, it seems our stay here got more interesting," Claire said before swallowing a sip of beer.
-o-
Notes
(*) Bocas: Small portions of food served alongside a drink. Their concept is very similar to that of Spanish Tapas.