“Freedom suited her well. She looked radiant,” Pro Bono told Rose in hushed tones, as they remained parked in front of the Blue Oasis, as if they had nowhere to go. Rose still didn’t get the point of the story, the obnoxious old man suddenly confessing all his secrets to Rose like he was his old high-school pal. Didn’t they have somewhere to go? To begin their investigation, like in The Wire? There was a girl who was going to die because of the clamp inside her body. Pro Bono behaved as if there were nothing better to do than confess his sins inside the car, like he had set up shop there.
After she was released, María Paz religiously kept her appointments with the parole officer and then went to see her lawyer, always carrying her little dog in a handbag. Miraculously, she had been able to get him back: Hero had been given to an animal care organization and she found him there, alive and well, waiting for her. Since the thing couldn’t walk, she was hesitant to leave him alone again, given that she might not return and he would be abandoned again.
Pro Bono was not only representing her, but he kept his promise of accompanying her to buy new clothes so she would look like a princess in front of the judge and jury. He assured her that appearance was crucial in these types of trials. They got tired of listening to evidence and made their decisions based on a look, or even a smell. Pro Bono took her to Saks Fifth Avenue, but María Paz was not really sure. She thought that the store was too expensive and the clothes not really for younger women, and a little too upper class. “That’s what you have to appear as,” Pro Bono tried to tell her, “like a lady, a pretty, well-dressed lady. Specifically, an innocent lady; judges tend to believe innocent ladies wear expensive clothes.”
He finally managed to convince her, and he bought her an outfit made from a fine dark fabric, a white blouse, shoes with moderate heels, and a Gucci handbag that cost a pretty penny. According to him, the girl looked great. When she looked at herself in the mirror, front and sides, she said that since she was not going to a funeral, they should add a little color. “I can’t show up there like this,” she told Pro Bono, “look how I’m dressed, as if in mourning, as if we were going from the courthouse to the gallows.”
Pro Bono got a lump in his throat at hearing this.
“It wasn’t an easy case,” he told Rose. “It wasn’t a sure winner at all. I never said anything, bought her a pretty Ferragamo scarf. Guess the color.”
“Not a clue. Is it important?”
“The most important part of the whole story. It was a pink scarf. French pink, to be exact. She wrapped it around herself and looked gorgeous. Her skin was soft and dark against the light-colored silk, and her black hair was resplendent. She had been right, that little touch of color made a huge difference.”
Before they parted, Pro Bono gave María Paz enough money to get her hair done up in a bun at a nice hairdresser, because loose hair could be downright counterproductive. “Too showy,” he explained. He advised her not to put on too much makeup, not to wear red lipstick or nail polish, nothing. “Discretion is the better part,” he told her. “It’s not enough just to be innocent, you have to look it.
“But enough with these stories,” Pro Bono said suddenly, sitting up in his seat and looking at his watch, as if to regain the sense of time and shake himself out of his reverie.
“I agree wholeheartedly,” said Rose, “but get to the point, where is María Paz now?”
“I have to tell you something, Rose. I hope you won’t take it badly. You see, what happens, my friend Rose, is that in these two weeks coming up I’m not going to be in New York.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have to go to Paris.”
“Paris? To Paris, now? What?”
“It… it’s our honeymoon.”
“Whose honeymoon?” Rose could not believe what he was hearing. “What are you talking about?”
“Actually, my second honeymoon. I’m going with Gunnora, my wife. It’s not my doing, believe me. She is set on this, wants me to take her to Paris for a second honeymoon.”
“This is a joke, right?”
“No, sadly it’s not.”
“Don’t we have to look for María Paz?”
“You’re going to have to do it, Rose. For the first two weeks. Just these two weeks. As soon as I return, I’ll come rejoin you. Don’t worry, I’ve set it up nicely, one of my people will be with you at all times, someone I trust to the death.”
“I’m sorry, I’m still not sure I’m getting this. You lure me right into this mess, and then you just leave me hanging? And you think I’ll just agree to it? Fuck you, my friend. Now I understand why you got in touch with me, now I get it. There’s no suspended driver’s license; that was a lie, you needed some jerk to fill in for you, so you could wash your hands and take off for Paris. I fell from the sky, didn’t I? I was just the idiot you needed. Fuck you, Pro Bono; I will not get more entangled in your trap.”
Rose was so outraged that he could feel the anger hammering in his chest and his veins throbbing at his temples. He tried to say more but tripped on his words. So he turned from the old man and glared out the window. He had to cool down, get a hand on this mess he had walked into. He had to think, think, but clear thoughts evaded him. Pro Bono’s words continued to do cartwheels in his head, enraging him even more.
“Believe me, going to Paris is the last thing I want to do right now,” Pro Bono said. “I care about María Paz. You see that, don’t you, Rose? I’m terrified about what may happen to her. But it’s only two weeks. Two weeks, that’s all I’m asking, then we can continue together. Please calm down. You’re right. I should have told you from the start. I apologize. I am very fond of María Paz. I respect her and have supported her without fail all this time. When everything seemed lost, I was the one there by her side. You’re new to this whole situation, Rose, but I’ve been there. I’ve risked a lot for that girl. And all I’m asking now is for a short two-week vacation.”
“Are you denying that the only reason you called me was because you needed a replacement? Knowing that I would get stuck with this?”
“Two weeks, Rose. Chances are María Paz won’t show up so soon. I think it will take a month or more to find her, if we do. But for the moment, I need to attend to my wife. I’ve been putting off doing this for her for two years. Two years is too long for a woman as old as me to wait. Gunnora has lived for this these past years. We have the plane tickets, hotel reservations in Paris, tickets one night for La nozze di Figaro, her favorite opera, she—”
“Is guilt eating you up that badly when it comes to your wife? What sins are you atoning for, sir? That night in the motel with María Paz? Or were there other nights like that one? What’s the story? Are you in love with María Paz? Is that it? Is that the reason for this trip to Paris?”
“Stop, Rose, you’re being absurd. You’re very upset, so it’s understandable. I wasn’t expecting any different. But it’s two weeks, that’s all I need.” Pro Bono left his cell phone number on a business card that he stashed on the dashboard. “Call me whenever you need to, day or night, I’ll be looking for it. And look, you won’t be alone. I leave you in the best of hands. William Guillermo White, the best investigator in my office, has been instructed to follow you twenty-four/seven.”
“Why do I have to be involved then? Why can’t this great investigator just do his thing on his own?”
“Because you’re the only one with certain information that can lead us to her.”
“Me? What do I know about María Paz?”
“You, nothing. But your son knew.”
Right at that moment, Rose heard the noise of a car engine and turned to look. There it was, like a hallucination. Powerful, sleek, and gleaming jet-black like his dog Dix: a sports car that had pulled up and parked right next to them. A Lamborghini. Was it Pro Bono’s? Another cold calculation by the fucking old man? A tall, overweight man got out of the Lamborghini. He was thirty or thirty-five, with appealing features, a five o’clock shadow at noon, unkempt hair down to his shoulders, and wires coming out of his ears that were connected to something in his pocket. He was a wearing a conventional business suit made of a fine dark cloth, no tie, a Nirvana T-shirt under an unbuttoned white shirt, and, half-hidden under the hem of his pants, a pair of thick-soled sneakers that put a bounce to his step and added a couple of inches to his height.