“What do you mean?”
“Those Chinamen are in a different business.”
“What business?”
“Drugs. For the States.”
“What, they have nothing to do with the other business?”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Do you know or not?”
“Some things don’t line up, Colonel.”
“Like what?”
“Like, for example: who is Luciano Manrique, the guy who was stabbed?”
“Didn’t you tell me he was Villegas’s partner?”
“Maybe not, Colonel.”
“By the look of it, you’re only sure about the people you kill. Maybe that’s why you like to kill them. I’m going to look at the file. Hold on.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
He held on. Fucking colonel! Telling me I’m only sure of the ones I kill. And him there all nice and cozy in his house, sleeping in his silk pajamas. And Marta sleeping in my bed and me here acting like a chump. And they killed that Chinaman right under my nose. And Marta? And who’s keeping the Chinamen informed? Fucking Chinamen!
“García.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Call me in fifteen minutes. The gentleman we’ve been dealing with wants to be briefed.”
“Okay.”
The colonel hung up. It was almost five in the morning and there were very few people in the restaurant. Laski was sitting alone, drinking a glass of milk. He didn’t do much reporting. Maybe he doesn’t have to report to anybody. And me with the colonel and that fucking del Valle.
He walked over to Laski’s table:
“Our colleague Graves had to go write up a report, or something like that.”
García realized that he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since noon.
“You want to have something to eat?”
“No, just my glass of milk. That beer upset my stomach.”
García ordered a steak and fries and sat down.
“Now, Ivan Mikhailovich, what do you say about your conspiracy?”
“I don’t know. From the beginning, we said they were only rumors.”
“The police are searching Wang’s warehouses and Café Canton. If they find a large quantity of drugs, that’ll settle it.”
“We can’t be sure of anything,” Laski repeated.
“Even so, it’s damn strange that a rumor would have reached Outer Mongolia about a gang of drug traffickers on the Mexican border. Don’t you think?”
“I do. In any case, my government believed that the rumors were persistent enough to alert your government.”
“And the Americans?”
“It was their president, or so it seemed, who was in danger.”
“Do they produce opium in Outer Mongolia?”
“Not as far as I know. It’s mostly desert. And very cold.”
“How do you think the rumor got out there?”
“I don’t know. Rumors get around.”
“The one with the machine gun wasn’t Chinese. I think he was Cuban.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, Cuban. Those two-toned shoes, only Cubans wear those anymore.”
They brought his dish. Laski sipped his milk in silence and with a certain amount of peevishness. García cut into his steak. It was too raw. I don’t like to cut my meat and have blood squirt out. I’m not a lion. Fucking meat!
He called over the waiter and asked him to cook it longer. Then he excused himself from Laski and returned to the telephone.
“Colonel, García here.”
“The gentleman you know wants to see you, in two hours. At seven.”
“That’s fine. By the way, one of the dead men was Cuban, wasn’t he?”
“We have been able to identify only one of the Chinese. He was a Cuban citizen.”
“And the one with the machine gun?”
“We still don’t know who he was. By the way, I’d like, once in a while, for you to leave someone alive, someone we can question.”
“I’ll do my best, Colonel.”
When he returned to the table, his steak was there and well cooked. Laski was eating a piece of chocolate cake. García sat down.
“In Mexico we have a saying when you get somebody else to do your dirty work, we say your using a cat’s paw to pull your chestnuts out of the fire.”
“Yes, Filiberto, many countries have similar expressions. Also in the Soviet Union. .”
Laski’s large eyes exhibited nothing but total innocence.
“What were you saying?”
“I think it’s fine to get the FBI to work for you, but I don’t like it that you get me to work for you, especially when I’m just starting something up with that gal.”
“She is very pretty, Filiberto. Looks like you have things all sewn up. Just this afternoon she kissed you on the mouth.”
“I thought you’d stopped watching me.”
“I have many men working for me. I must keep them busy doing something. Don’t you agree?”
“Why don’t you have them watching the Cubans?”
García’s voice was sharp. Laski stopped smiling. He looked concerned:
“You are upset that we saw you with the girl, Filiberto. But it doesn’t matter. We are all men and we all know how these things are.”
“I don’t like that kind of joke.”
“I’m sorry, Filiberto, but it’s all part of the game. When you get involved in these international affairs, nothing is private. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.” Laski’s voice had also gotten hard.
“I have a theory, Ivan Mikhailovich.”
“After a violent incident, I get hungry. It is interesting to observe the different ways men react. We have studied the reactions of each enemy agent, and we keep files on them all. Graves, for example, after every violent incident, feels an uncontrollable urge to report to his superiors. Perhaps it is due to a primitive need to confess a sin, or a longing — a very American longing, needless to say — to make every act legal.”
“I was about to tell you my theory, Ivan Mikhailovich.”
“On the same subject? It must be very interesting. Perhaps you’ve observed things we haven’t. The truth is, the perfect agent should have no reaction at all to violence and death — emotional reactions are completely useless, though difficult to avoid. For instance, I get hungry, and then, when I eat, I get a stomachache. I have thought it’s an inherited characteristic, perhaps a throwback to when man killed only to eat. What do you think?”
“Back to the chestnuts and the fire and the cat,” García said. “We could formulate a theory about how you Russians, there in Outer Mongolia, heard certain rumors —”
“As we always said, they are only rumors. But Mexico has friendly diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union, and we believed it would be a noble act on our part to inform you of these rumors — you don’t have any agents in Outer Mongolia.”
“No, we don’t.”
The Russian’s eyes filled with innocence and love for his fellow man.
“But you can count on us, Filiberto. Any rumor that might affect your country, we are more than willing to report it to you.”
“Like this one?”
“Yes, like this one. It is a manifestation of the Soviet Union’s sincerity and —”
“You know something, Ivan Mikhailovich? I think your reaction to violence is not to eat, but to talk, and above all, not to let anybody else talk.”
“You think so? How interesting —”
“Now, to return to my theory —”
“Your reaction, Filiberto, is curious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a case like yours. You form theories, so many theories. And if you have nothing better to do, I think it would be a good time to go get some sleep.”
“You might be right. We’re wasting our time.”
He paid and left. They said goodbye to each other at the door after making a date for twelve noon at the La Ópera cantina. Fucking Russian and his reactions! And that dead Chinaman cheerfully telling us everything about his plans. Fucking Chinaman! All about contraband morphine and the whole deal. And the Russian pretending he believed the whole damn thing. And the gringo not saying a word. Everyone believing what the Chinaman was saying, now all of them out there investigating. And now my neck hurts. Maybe that’s my reaction, as the Russian says. Fucking Russian!