“Fine by me, Ivan Mikhailovich, now that we’ve shared all our secrets and established such a close friendship, where do you propose we start?”
“It’s your call, Filiberto.”
“Of all the issues we’ve discussed, the only sure thing is that the two guys from last night are dead. We could start there.”
“Okay. Let’s find out if they were involved.”
“I’ll do that.”
“As will we, Filiberto, as will we. I imagine our friend Graves is also interested, because by now he must know something about what happened last night.”
“Good. And now for that beautiful question that has so far remained unanswered.”
The expression on Laski’s face was very serious.
“My government has certain differences of criteria with the government of the People’s Republic of China. My government also wishes to maintain the current status of its relationship with the United States. Moreover, my government would not be upset if the relationship between the United States and the Chinese Republic deteriorated even further. As you can see, we are not now interested in the death of the president of the United States. .”
“But you are interested in the Chinese taking the blame for anything that might happen.”
“You are distrustful, Filiberto.”
“I have to be, Ivan Mikhailovich.”
“Where do you want to meet at seven this evening?”
“Café Canton.”
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“We’ve got to shake things up, Laski. We’ve got to see how those Chinamen react.”
“Perhaps you are right. We’ll meet there, Filiberto. I will bring those who are following me and you will bring those who are following you. By the way, do you know if your government has ordered that I be watched?”
García smiled.
“See you later, Ivan Mikhailovich.”
The Russian started walking toward El Caballito. A man sitting on a bench and reading a newspaper a little ways away stood up and started walking toward El Caballito. García turned toward Cinco de Mayo and a man was soon tailing him from a distance. It would be easy to lose him, but what’s the point. That fucking Russian knows everything. Like the gringo. Even Marta’s name. How did he find out? For all I know Marta is working for him.
He stopped at a tobacconist and made a phone calclass="underline"
“Marta?”
“Is that you, Filiberto? I read your note and. . thank you, thank you so much, but I can’t stay here. .”
“It’s your home, Marta. I offer it to you with all my heart.”
“Thank you. You’ve been so good to me that. . that I want to cry like a fool.”
“Has anybody called, Marta?”
“No.”
“I’m going to try to stop by this afternoon so we can talk. See you then, Marta, and in the meantime, behave yourself. . almost.”
Before hanging up he could hear Marta giggling. Just hearing her laugh gives me knots in my stomach. That damn Marta, she’s so fine. And that fucking Russian! Who’s he playing for a fool? Am I really behaving like a snot-nosed kid with my first girlfriend? And Marta looking at my mug, my stupid mug, while I say: “Consider this your home, Marta.” “You sleep in the bed, I’ll sleep here in the living room.” And her in the bed, looking so virginal. For all I know that Chinaman Liu already had the pleasure. And all I got was a peck on the cheek. With such pretty lips. And to think, I’ve never done it with a Chinese gal. So, what if I am a chump. Fuck that Russian and his goddamned gossip! Maybe he’s right and I should investigate her. I’d do better to investigate between her legs. Word about me and Marta must’ve already reached Outer Mongolia. Fucking Outer Mongolia!
He dialed another number:
“García here, Colonel.”
“Killed somebody else?”
“I made the contacts. Can you tell me if Roque Villegas had any dollars on him?”
“He did.”
“In fifty-dollar bills?”
“Yes. Thirty bills. That is, if the ambulance people didn’t pocket a few.”
“All fifties?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I think we’re starting to get somewhere. Do you have Villegas’s address, Colonel?”
“He lived with a woman he brought here from Tijuana, a gringa. At 208 Guerrero, apartment 9.”
“Did you already talk to her?”
“No, I haven’t wanted her to know anything yet. I want to see what she’ll do.”
“I’m going to go see her.”
“I don’t want that gringa ending up dead, García.”
“I’ll do my best, Colonel.”
He hung up the phone, then made his way to La Ópera cantina. He went all the way to the booths in the back, where bold and veiled women used to sit in the old days; now, there are only men seeking even more solitude than what they carry around with them. He sat down and ordered some tacos de ubre and a beer. Fucking colonel! He doesn’t want the gringa ending up dead. I don’t give a damn if she’s dead or alive. What do I care about any of it. Outer Mongolia and the Russians and the gringo president. What the fuck do I care about it! And all that crap about my loyalty to the government — what has the government ever done for me? Fucking salary they pay me! And if you don’t stay on your toes, with the government or without it, you’ll be down on your knees, with your loyalty or without it. A lot of fifty-dollar bills are floating around out there. Ten thousand of them.
“What’s up, Cap’n?”
“How’s it going, Professor? Won’t you have a tequila?”
The professor sat down across from him, the marble of the table top between them. His age, like the color of his suit, was indefinite. The few shy and yellowed teeth he still had appeared every once in a while behind his smile, which was also shy. A tie, also of indefinite color, hung from his thin neck. His shirt was old and dirty. His hands, when he brought the glass of tequila to his lips, were trembling.
“You didn’t come last night, Cap’n. We needed one more for dominoes.”
“No. I didn’t come.”
“Work or pleasure?”
“To your health, Professor.”
“A fellow came around looking for you.”
“You don’t say.”
“Said he was a friend. He stood me two drinks, there, at the bar.”
“Really!”
“I didn’t know him, Cap’n, but he didn’t fool me. I told him you always drank tequila and he said, yeah, that you were quite the tequila drinker.”
The professor emptied his glass. García ordered him another. Those guys came all the way here looking for me?
“What time was that?”
“Around nine.”
They brought the tequila and the tacos de ubre.
“You don’t want any?”
“No thanks, Cap’n. I eat lunch later. . when I eat at all. Cheers.”
He emptied his glass. Or maybe the professor is telling me tales so he can mooch more tequilas. Fucking professor!
“So, then what happened?”
“Look, Cap’n, when someone comes in here asking for a man like you and says he’s a friend, a bosom buddy, and he doesn’t even know that you never drink tequila, there’s something fishy going on. Could it be the cops?”
“Anybody’s guess.”
“When he left, I followed him a little, but then I lost him on Donceles. That is, I ran into Ibarrita and he bought me a tequila. .”
“Was he Mexican?”
“Yeah. Dressed like a pocho, but definitely Mexican. About my height, more Indian looking. And he was carrying a gun under his armpit.”
“Sure you don’t want some tacos, Professor?”