“Rather have another tequila.”
García ordered him another tequila. Based on his description, that was Roque Villegas. There’s me figuring he’d been following me since Dolores, and it turns out he came here looking for me. And now he’s not looking for me anywhere. Fucking stiff! And the other, Luciano Manrique, he knew I hung out on Dolores with the Chinamen. This is getting very complicated.
“Listen, Professor, want to do me a favor and earn a few bucks?”
“Do I have to kill anybody?”
“No, just defend a widow.”
“A do-it-yourself widow or you lent a hand?”
“Not exactly a widow. They weren’t married.”
“A mistress.”
“Yeah, they killed her lover.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. And the man was carrying fifteen-hundred dollars in his pocket, in fifty-dollar bills.”
“And you left them where they were, Cap’n?”
“The police have them. I want you to pay a visit to the woman; she still doesn’t know he’s dead. .”
“What? You think she has more of the same?”
“I don’t know. Tell her you’ll represent her, that you’ll help her get back that money that is rightfully hers.”
“That’s true. The law protects. .”
“She’s a gringa.”
“Even more reason. A woman alone, in a foreign land, her husband deceased. .”
“Save the demagoguery for her, Professor. What I want is
for you to go and tell her you can get her the money, for a commission. .”
“Fifty percent?”
“Ten. .”
“That’s low.”
“Anyway, you’re not going to get the money. That’s why I’m paying you. .”
“But she can, legally, claim that money. .”
“I don’t give a shit about that, Professor. What I want to know is where the money came from, who gave it to Villegas. .”
“Villegas, Cap’n? Would that be Roque Villegas?”
“Yeah.”
“It was in the afternoon paper. .”
“You’ll tell the woman that you have to show where the money came from in order to get it back. In other words, that she has to prove that it really belonged to Villegas. .”
“Understood.”
“I’ll arrive while you’re with her. Pretend you don’t know me, but play along. By the time I get there, I want her to know everything and be real eager to get that money back.”
“What do I get out of it, Cap’n?”
“Two hundred pesos.”
“Three hundred. I have to pay my room. .”
“Two hundred.”
“Okay. Where does she live?”
“At 208 Guerrero, apartment 9.”
“I’ll go tomorrow.”
“You’ll go now. I’ll arrive at four.”
“But. .”
“Now.”
“Give me something for the cab.”
He gave him ten pesos. The professor took the money, which vanished in his hands as if by magic.
“Okay, I’m going.”
“Those ten are on account.”
“Don’t be so hard on me, Cap’n. A man’s gotta live. .”
The professor left the cantina. Thirty of the ten thousand bills have shown up. I’d like to find myself a bundle. Could be that my friend Ivan Mikhailovich saw what a chump I am. Like Marta. And it’ll turn out there’s no ten thousand fifty-dollar bills and there’s no Marta. Fucking Marta! For all I know Liu knocked her up. And me playing the soap opera. Fucking Palmolive! If only Ramona from Chiapas could’ve seen me: “Fili darling, you’d hump a pole if it had an ass.” That’s what that bitch would say. And all because I broke in the servant at the whorehouse. Somebody had to start her off. And that other one, in Veracruz: “For you, love is jumping on top of a woman. I think for you a woman is just a hole with legs.” So, what else is a bitch for? Straight to business. Just like with the dead. Why beat around the bush? The dead in the ground and the man in the bitch. Why the prologue? Slam, bam. With bitches and with the dead. It’s the same shit. All the rest is decoration, for perverts. And now here I am with my, “You can sleep in the bedroom, dear Marta.” Maybe I can’t get it up anymore and that’s why I’m acting so paternal. Fucking Marta! Mother fucker! I’m going to talk to the gringo, then go straight home. And that’ll be the end of the soap opera, and on to the only thing that matters. You, Marta, get in bed, and me with you. But she’s not that type. Then what good is she? Maybe I’ll bring her flowers. There I go, back to the soaps! And then there was that day I brought flowers, in Parral. I wasn’t going to sleep with Jacinta Ricarte. The flowers were for her grave. I was dead drunk and Sergeant Garrido nabbed me. I didn’t have orders to kill Jacinta Ricarte. Fucking flowers! And here that gringo is about to tell me he knows everything, just like the Russian.
Graves entered the cantina flourishing his smile in style. He was carrying a black leather briefcase under his arm. When he saw García, his smile shined even more brightly. That gringo acts like he wants to sell me something real bad. For all I know he’s a faggot and he’s taken a shine to me.
“My good friend García.”
“What’s up?”
Graves sat down across from him.
“You’ve eaten?
“Yes, of course. We eat lunch at noon; it gives us a long afternoon to work.”
“Want some coffee?”
“Would they have American coffee?”
“Maybe.”
They brought him a big cup with some coffee and hot water. Graves tasted it, then didn’t touch it again.
“That’s what happens to me in Sanborns when I order coffee,” García said.
Graves smiled.
“Doesn’t matter. I ordered it to keep you company.”
“Want a cognac?”
“No, thank you. Not when I’m working. García, I know Laski has men tailing me.”
“And you’ve got men tailing him.”
“That’s routine. But there are others, I don’t think they’re Laski’s. Are they yours?”
“And there are others tailing me, too. Laski’s, yours, and others. We’re a proper procession.”
“You don’t know who those others might belong to?”
“Mr. Mao?”
“You sure?”
“No. You?”
“If they’re tailing us, we must be onto something.”
“Look, Graves, how about we cut the crap? If you and Laski would use your people for something more useful, we might be able to find out who those others are.”
Graves laughed.
“Right you are, García, my friend. But we’d have to make a deal with Laski, who is a very dangerous man. Though sometimes I think we carry our distrust a little too far.”
“Like I said.”
“For example, you didn’t mention a word about your activities last night, and if it hadn’t been because I took the precaution of putting surveillance on you from the start, I wouldn’t have known anything. That is not okay, García. We agreed to cooperate.”
“Are you sure what happened last night has something to do with our investigation?”
Graves was busy lighting a cigarette. The next time I pick up a Chinese gal, I’ll just take her to the Olympic Stadium, there’d be fewer people there. If I’d known, I would’ve sold tickets.
“The incident,” Graves said, “started in Café Canton, which you asked me to investigate.”
“So?”
“A Pontiac began to follow you from there, the same Pontiac in which, this morning, two dead bodies were found.”
“Are you sure they’re involved?”
“It adds up, unless you asked me to investigate Wang from Café Canton for some other reason?”
Graves’s voice was hard. In spite of his smile, you could tell he was not amused.
“We are dealing here with a very serious matter. The life of the president of the United States of America, and maybe even world peace, hangs in the balance. And we have very little time. .”