García let go of his tie. The receptionist fell back against the wall. He looked over at the door with despair in his eyes, as if hoping somebody would show up.
“Thank you, my friend. And next time, be a little faster with your information. Or are you the type who likes it a little rough?”
“No, sir, no. And that. . you have no right. .”
“You’re right, my friend, I have no right. Who else comes to visit him?”
“The other man, he’s short, thin, always wears a trench coat.”
“What about women?”
“We don’t allow. .”
“Women?”
The receptionist was getting more and more nervous. His eyes were filling with tears. García’s hand was again reaching out for him.
“He’s got a woman in room 311.”
“Let’s go pay her a visit.”
“But no, sir. . I can’t leave my post. My assistant went to eat and won’t be back till —”
“Let’s go. Bring your master key.”
The receptionist looked from side to side, hoping for somebody to rescue him, but there was nobody. He took a key attached to a chain with a large plastic bar out from under the counter and walked into the hallway. García grabbed him by the arm and could feel he was shaking. Fucking faggot! He’s more afraid than a rabbit in a fox hole. But nicely perfumed.
They stopped in front of room 311.
“Open it.”
“Shouldn’t we knock first? The lady might be. . She might not be fully dressed.”
The pressure on his arm increased.
“I don’t see why a naked woman would bother you any, my friend. Open it.”
He opened the door. A female voice called out from inside the room:
“Who’s there? Oh, it’s you, Mauricio! You should knock before entering. .”
She fell silent when she saw García following Mauricio into the room. The woman was lying in bed, half her body covered by the sheet, the other half, naked. Her hair was a mess and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. When she saw García, she quickly pulled the sheet up to cover her firm, heavy breasts. She must have been about thirty, with fine features, large blue eyes, and an aquiline nose. Her face didn’t match the heaviness of her breasts.
“Who’s that man?” she asked.
“Don’t be afraid, honey.”
“I can’t receive anybody. Mauricio, how dare you bring that man in here? You know I can’t receive anybody. .”
García came up right to the edge of the bed, then stopped and stared at her. His eyes were hard, emotionless. The woman had to lift her eyes to look him in the face, which made her look like she was begging.
“I’m telling you, I can’t —”
“Shut up!”
“But it’s just that —”
“I told you to shut up.”
“It’s just. . I think there’s been a mistake. I can’t attend to you. Edmund might come at any moment and —”
“What do you know about that gringo?”
“Edmund?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s my friend. Is that a crime?”
“What’s he doing here in Mexico?”
“He’s a tourist, sightseeing. And he’s got the money for it.”
“What else is he doing?”
“What do I know? And you, who the hell are you? I’m going to tell Edmund when he comes —”
With his left hand, García pushed her back against the pillow and with his right he grabbed her breast and started to squeeze and twist it. The woman wanted to shout, but he covered her mouth with his hand.
“What’s the gringo doing in Mexico?”
Tears rolled down the woman’s cheeks. García kept squeezing her breast, harder and harder. He took his hand away from her mouth. Mauricio’s eyes were popping out of his head, and saliva was dribbling out of his open mouth.
“What’s the gringo doing here?”
“Let me go, please let go. I didn’t know him before, I swear, I’d never met him. He hired me to keep him company. . Please, let go, you’re hurting me. . Damn gringo. I don’t know why he wants me here. He’s never here. . Please, sir, let me go. .”
García let go. The woman covered her breasts. She took quick, shallow breaths, like she was aroused. She tried to smile.
“Thank you,” she said.
She didn’t rub her hurt breast. She stared at García.
“Where does he go when he goes out?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell Mauricio to leave? Three’s a crowd —”
“Does he go out with his friends?”
“Yeah. With that guy they call the Toad and another one. . Sometimes he comes back very late, but he’s never drunk. Tell Mauricio —”
“Do you go out with him?”
“I did once. He took me for a ride in his car. I wanted to go to Chapultepec, or El Pedregal. . But instead he took me to that plaza where they’re putting up the Statue of Friendship. I don’t know what he wanted to see there, but he kept driving around and around and around, without saying a word. Please, tell Mauricio. .”
Now she was rubbing her hurt breast, not to relieve the pain but rather unconsciously, sensually.
“Tell Mauricio, please. Three’s a crowd. .”
“Just the two of you were in the car?”
“Tell Mauricio —”
“Just you two alone?”
“Listen, after all, who do you think you are, you bastard? Get the hell out of here before. .”
García leaned over her and pulled the sheet up over her breasts. Then he turned to the receptionist.
“Let’s go, Mauricio.”
They left, closing the door behind them. The woman started crying. In the hallway, Mauricio dared open his mouth. His hands were shaking:
“Mr. Browning is going to get very angry and Doris will probably tell him everything.”
“Did you get Doris for him?”
“No!”
“You got her, didn’t you?” García’s hand was squeezing his arm hard, pressing his skin against the bone.
“I. . I introduced them.”
“He asked for a woman?”
“He told me. . that he wanted to meet someone. So I introduced him to Doris. .”
They went down in the elevator. Mauricio ran to take refuge behind the counter. García walked up to him:
“I think, my friend, that it would be better not to tell the gringo anything. He’s not going to be here for long.”
“Yes, sir. .”
He went out and found a public telephone.
“García here, Colonel.”
“More dead?”
“No. I have to see you. I think I’ve come across something important.”
“Come here.”
“Maybe it would be better not to meet in your office, Colonel. You’ll soon understand why.”
“Where are you?”
“On Mina Street, Hotel Magallanes.”
“That’s almost at the corner of Guerrero. Wait for me on the corner. I’ll come in my car, the Mercedes.”
“Very well, Colonel.”
He walked to the corner. It was two thirty in the afternoon. Not even twenty-four hours left, but now we’re seeing the whole stinking rat. Fucking Outer Mongolia! I think I’m being followed. I’ve seen that guy twice already. Fucking Russian! Thought he was going to play me for a chump with his team and his technology and his Outer Mongolia. And them leading us around by the nose with their Chinks and their dollars from Hong Kong. This is what they call a smoke screen in war. Fucking smoke screen! And behind the screen the clever ones are getting away with murder. Absolutely sure they’ve already seen our backsides. With their rifles with telescopic sights. They think they’re in Dallas. But they don’t know what it takes to kill a president. Here, if you want to do that, you’ve got to be right on the spot, right where he is. And then you have to die there, too. That guy is definitely tailing me, and seeing as how I’m not going anywhere, he’s fucked, he doesn’t know what to do. Let him tail me. I’m done with this mess. I’ll just turn it over to the colonel and take myself home. To Marta, to take a look at what she’s bought. Maybe I’ll even buy something for her. Because now we’re finally done with the daytime soap. Now we’re going to get serious, and we’ll do it because we both want to do it. Like things should be done and not like I’ve always done them before. And that’s why I’m going to bring Marta something. A brooch, or maybe a watch. She doesn’t have a watch. Fucking Chink Liu! And maybe before going home, I’ll go around to Dolores Street, have a look at where they’ve stashed the dough. Then I’ll go back at night. Fucking Doris! If I hadn’t been in such a hurry, who knows. And if it hadn’t been for Marta. But she was a looker. And it seemed like she even liked my touch. Those sick bitches! I was liking it, too. Why not admit it? But now, when I get home, I’ll be with Marta and then I’ll take her out to dinner before going for the dough. I’ll take her out in the car. To Las Lomas. And tomorrow, Cuautla, and maybe even Acapulco. She must look smoking hot in a bathing suit. And she’ll love it. I don’t think she’s ever been sightseeing. Fucking Chink Liu! And that del Valle, telling me this is only for experts. He’s right. What he doesn’t know is that the real expert is me, his minion, that motherfucker. Because Outer Mongolia, it moves me as much as a gust of wind did that statue of Juárez: not one fucking inch.