He totally loved his job! If only I got to do it more often. But he'd had some successes, which he attributed to following his mail-order lessons assiduously.
Now the jobs trickled in. Okay, maybe trickled was an overstatement. Still, he was just starting out, as his mother was constantly telling him. And he was employed now.
The call had been unexpected, and his boss had been surly about calling him to the phone. Surely the man realized that Marco wasn't going to be a dishwasher all of his life.
It had been a woman. Cassetti was certain that she was a cool, leggy blonde—the type you knew were trouble the moment you set eyes on them. She'd hired him to check up on an Austrian immigrant named Dieter von Rossbach.
According to his description in his immigration records, the guy was enormous, over six feet tall, over two hundred pounds. But he was boring. A rancher, honest businessman, liked by people who dealt with him. He raised good beef, or should, because he'd purchased a first-rate herd. And he got along with the people who worked for him. Boring. But that's what his client got for being so cagey, flat refusing to paint in the background for him.
If she complained he'd say, Hey, doll, I don't know what you know. But I know more than I did. And what I know is this Dieter is a stand-up guy. So what's your beef with him?
Actually he wouldn't say anything like that. It would be unprofessional. Fun, but unprofessional.
In his imagination he saw himself as a lone wolf who had to scrounge for his living, blessed with a bighearted secretary who was more than half in love with him and willing to wait for her paycheck. In reality he lived with his parents and worked full-time as a dishwasher for a friend of his uncle's. If he played tough guy with his clients that would be his life.
So if she was disappointed he would ask her for more direction. Because he'd gone as far as he could in Asuncion, and he wasn't prepared to borrow a car and go to Villa Hayes with nothing more concrete to go on than "find out whatever you can about Dieter von Rossbach."
He sighed. The truth was he was sometimes disappointed by his jobs; they were often more sordid than exciting. But he told himself that was to be expected; novel after novel confirmed that this was a corrupt world full of self-serving, low-life creeps. Which explained all that world-weary cynicism he admired. He sighed again. It was much better admired from a distance.
At least this job wasn't totally routine; it had a little mystery about it. Marco hoisted the trench coat a little higher on his shoulders and made his way across the plaza, ignoring the curious glances of more appropriately dressed citizens in shorts and T-shirts.
Tonight he would speak to his client… and maybe find out what this case was all about.
VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT
"Come in," Dieter said to the knock on his office door.
Marieta entered wearing the expression of a woman who smelled something very, very bad. "You have two visitors, senor" she said in clipped tones. "I know one of them," she continued. "He's no good." Marieta stood with her two hands clasped over her apron and looked deliberately over his head.
Dieter tapped his pen on the desk and studied her affronted countenance. "Did they say what they wanted?"
She gave a little shrug. "To speak to you, they said." She sniffed. "Shall I tell them you are busy, senor?"
"Did they say anything else?" he asked.
Marietta hesitated. Then she sniffed and said, "They said something about a Senor Ferarri. I really did not pay that much attention."
"Perhaps I had better see them, then," von Rossbach said. "I do know a man named Ferarri. If he's sent them I wouldn't want to offend him." Ferrari was one of Jeff Goldberg's aliases. I wonder what this is all about, he thought.
"Very well, senor" she said, sounding like a nun about to usher in a whole herd of loose women.
When the men entered, Dieter immediately knew that one of them was from the Sector: the blond man dressed anonymously in good-quality dark clothing, he was of medium height and very fit. Central European of some sort. The other was definitely a local, and a small time sleazebag. Dieter could see why his housekeeper wouldn't want the man on her furniture. He was short, unshaven, and slightly overweight, with collar-length hair he apparently hadn't bothered to
wash for weeks. Nor the rest of him, from the smell. His small, close-set eyes darted around the room as though he expected an ambush, and his suit was baggy and sweat-stained.
The agent from the Sector met von Rossbach's eyes and with a subtle tilt of his head indicated that Marieta should leave. Dieter agreed with a narrowing of his eyes.
"Thank you, Marieta," he said aloud. "We won't be needing refreshments, so you can get back to whatever you were doing now."
Her dark eyes widened in surprise. He rarely spoke to her as though she were a servant, and despite her own insistence on formality it was clear she didn't quite know how to react.
Dieter nodded to her and gave her a little smile.
"Oh! Si, senior," the housekeeper said. She backed out the door, ducking her head back in once to send a glare to the man she knew, then closed the door behind her.
Dieter and the agent studied each other while the third man watched them nervously and chewed on a ragged thumbnail.
"Why don't you say something?" he finally blurted out.
Dieter snapped a finger at him. "Who are you?" he demanded.
The man's lips jerked into an ingratiating smile.
"But we have done business, senor. Over five years since we saw one another, si, but business." Von Rossbach continued to stare at him coldly. " Much business."
He nodded encouragingly.
"You have a name?" von Rossbach asked, giving the agent a look.
"Ah! Si!" The man touched his brow and grinned. "I am Victor Griego."
Dieter nodded.
"Senor Ferarri thought that this one might be able to help you identify someone,"
the agent said. "Senor Griego has extensive underworld contacts, going back many years."
" Si," Victor agreed, nodding eagerly. "I was told you wished to identify Sarah Connor. I knew her, did business with her. One of her lovers was a good friend of mine," he said with a leer. A muscle jumped in Dieter's jaw at that. "I mean no offense, senor."
"Of course you didn't." Dieter turned a disgusted shoulder to the man and addressed the agent. "I already told Ferarri that the woman was too short," he said. "I am sorry to have wasted your time. And yours." He nodded to Victor.
"It is all right, senor. I will be paid for my time." Griego smirked and one hand turned over in a not too subtle signal of expectation. "But since I am here, perhaps you should get some value for your coin."
Dieter glanced at the agent, who shrugged.
"Best to make absolutely certain, eh?" Griego said.
"It might be best," the agent agreed indifferently.
Intellectually Dieter couldn't blame his friend for siccing these two on him. His dismissal of the information Jeff had sent him was lame and, obviously, unconvincing. As well, the reward was enormous. The Sector didn't believe in binding the mouths of the oxen who trod out the corn— although they were extremely reluctant to let anyone quit the organization.
Emotionally he was very annoyed. Partly with Jeff, who might have trusted him to handle this in his own way. Partially with himself, because after his dinner with Suzanne and her son he found that he really liked them.