“They won’t do anything to you, Yuan.”
“You think?”
“But you have to tell me the truth. Mexico has welcomed you, and here you have found the peace you were looking for.”
“Very true, very true.”
“That’s why you have to give a little, too. Mexico doesn’t want any rebellions, or any trouble like that here. And I don’t think you people do, either.”
“No, we no want. . We want peace, Mr. García, much peace.”
“So, have you got anything to tell me?”
At the table, Santiago was shuffling the cards absentmindedly. Chen Po was staring silently into space, but García was sure they were both paying close attention, trying to hear their words and watch their movements in case they revealed what they were talking about. Yuan moved closer to García:
“There’s a restaurant on Donceles Street, a place called Café Canton,” he said, almost in a whisper.
“And?”
“I know nothing, nothing for sure. . only rumor, always
rumor. .”
“What rumors?”
“People arrived. . Chinese people, and from a different country. .”
“From Hong Kong?”
“No know, but some hear rumor and say much money there. . and before no money there.”
“Thank you, Yuan.”
“What they going to do to us?”
“Nothing.”
“You want drink?”
“No, thank you. Good night to all of you.”
There was deep, thousand-year-old anguish in the eyes of the Chinamen as they watched him leave. I should have told them not to worry, not to be afraid. They aren’t going to sleep tonight. To hell with them — fucking Chinamen! And their “very terrible” things. What terrible things could they have seen that I haven’t seen? What I’d like to see are Marta’s legs. I should buy her a pretty dress. Broads always like that. Fucking broads! All that chasing after them for a little bit of a good time, and then they get boring as hell. Fucking Marta! Always wearing that same dress. I should take her to the Alameda Cinema and then to eat some tacos, just so we can get to know each other a little. But I’ve never done it with a Chinese gal. Maybe it would be better if I arranged things through Liu. They don’t care. Plus, they’re scared and they like money. And that fucking Pole. Maybe I should tail him, but I don’t want to spook him. Better to make him think he’s the one tailing me. That way, we’ll be running into each other real soon. Fucking Pole!
A woman’s voice called out to him from a darkened doorway.
“Filiberto, Mr. Filiberto. .”
García stopped in the shadows, away from the light of the street lamp. Instinctively, he placed his hand on the butt of his gun. Marta walked into the cone of light. She was wearing a small woolen shawl over her head. García walked toward her:
“Marta.”
Not a single twitch of his face betrayed the least surprise, if he felt any. Marta walked up to him and began to cry. She made no sound, but under her shawl her shoulders were shaking with sobs. García placed his hand on her arm:
“Marta, what’s the matter?”
“I wanted. . I wanted to talk to you. Please. . I have to talk to you. .”
“Whenever you want, Marta. I always want to talk to you, but you act like you never even notice me. .”
“Please, Filiberto, this is serious.”
“We shouldn’t talk here, Marta. People know you, and me, too. What do you say we go to. . to my. .?”
“Wherever you want, but please. .”
As she said this, she touched his hand that was on her arm. Her hand was freezing.
“Marta, you’re cold. Let’s go somewhere you can get something hot to drink. Come on, we’ll take a cab. .”
They stopped a taxi on the corner. Marta got in first. García paused for a moment, as if he was having a problem with the door. About thirty feet ahead, a car that was parked sped off. Could be a coincidence, but that car sure looked like it was waiting for me. Fucking Pole!
“Donceles Street,” he told the driver, “Café Canton.”
Marta didn’t say anything. She tried to wrap the shawl completely around herself, as if she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. García took her hand very gently, so as not to scare her. She didn’t pull it away.
“Calm down, Marta.”
The girl had stopped crying, but her hand was cold and clammy.
“I have to talk to you. .”
“Soon, Marta.”
García had sat down very close to the girl. He felt her young, firm body and her leg trembling against his. He should put his arm around her, but maybe not, not yet. With these gals, if you take it slow, everything works out fine. They’re like wild mares, you’ve got to tame them little by little, with soft words and soothing caresses, always acting like you could take them or leave them. Fucking wild mares! And then there’s that car. I think it’s a Ford, it was following us with its lights low. But now I don’t see it. For all I know it was just a coincidence. Fucking coincidences! I smell a rat, and now I’m starting to see its tail. And this Marta, who’s so fine, for all I know she’s part of that stinking rat. There’s already too many coincidences. For all I know she told them: “I’ll get the old man where you want him, so you can give him a goodbye party. He’s sweet on me, I can lead him wherever you want him.” For all I know, all the way to Outer Mongolia. Fucking Outer Mongolia! That’s what that bitch did to General Marchena. It’s true he was asking for it, up to his elbows in shit. And me there at his beck and calclass="underline" clean my shoes; brush my uniform; bring me a bitch; go the fuck to hell; and I brought him the bitch and the bitch put him right where they wanted him. Fucking bitch! For all I know they’re doing the same to me. But Marta’s much hotter than that bitch.
“This is it, sir.”
“Come on, Marta.”
Before going in, he checked the street. The Ford wasn’t there. They went in and sat down at a booth.
“Have a cup of tea, Marta. It’ll do you good.”
“Thank you, Filiberto.”
García had sat down across from the girl, facing the door, as always. I should’ve sat next to her. I’m turning into a chump, a real chump. Right here in this corner I should make a move, but pretend I’m just comforting her, of course.
It was eleven at night, and the place was still pretty full. He ordered a tea for her and a beer for himself. The waitress gave him a dirty look. A man appeared at the door and sat down at a table near the window and facing the street. He also looks like a foreigner, kind of like a gringo. Or by now I’m just imagining things. They must’ve slipped me something — I’m seeing foreigners crawling out of the woodwork!
“Cheers, Marta.”
Marta smiled over the lip of her tea cup. She still had tears in her eyes. García pulled his black silk handkerchief out of his jacket pocket, leaned over the table, and dried her tears.
“You shouldn’t be crying, not with such pretty eyes, my lovely.”
“Thank you.”
Marta took the handkerchief and finished wiping away her tears herself. Then she blew her nose, her little Chinese nose running like a leaky faucet. But now there are two guys at that table. I didn’t see the second one come in. I think he didn’t, I think he was already here. Fucking tears! But this way they’ll think, when they make their move, that I haven’t seen anything. They’re definitely watching me. Is it because of Marta, or something else?
“Have some more tea, Marta. It’ll do you good.”
He held her hand that was on the table. She didn’t pull it away. She has some mighty soft skin, just like the peaches back home. And those two guys are making a big effort not to look at me, but they aren’t missing a thing.
“Mr. Filiberto. .”
“Just plain Filiberto, Marta.”