“I’m wrong” Cat said. “This boat’s newer, too. The Santa Maria was seedier.”
“You’re sure?” Bluey asked.
“I’m sure. Sorry for the false alarm.”
“That’s okay. Shows you’re on your toes. You were half asleep when that boat hove into view.”
Cat lay his head back as Bluey drove away. He was tired from being up all night on the airplane, and now the adrenaline charge from seeing the boat was draining away, leaving him feeling washed out. He dozed.
Bluey woke him on the outskirts of Riohacha; he pulled over and shrugged out of his shoulder holster. “Time to put these under the jacket,” he said.
Cat sleepily followed his instructions, pulling a light bush jacket on, covering the pistol. He looked around Mm. The shacks on the outskirts of town gave way to real buildings of stucco with tile roofs. The shops were opening, and traffic, what passed for rush hour in Riohacha, was on the move.
Bluey drove into the center of town, which somehow combined being sleepy with being busy, and pulled up in front of the Excelsior Hotel, which did not live up to its name.
Cat was annoyed to see Bluey slip a hundred-dollar bill to the boy who took the car away, and another to the boy who brought in the bags.
“You’re going to have to trust me on this, sport,” Bluey said, noting his expression. “These people are not going to render a hell of a lot of service for the money, but unless we’re generous, we’ll come back and find the car stripped and the bellhop looking the other way.”
Shortly, they were ensconced in a large room at a corner of the hotel overlooking the sea. The place had a certain seedy elegance about it, and Cat did not doubt that it had once been grander. At least the hot water worked, and a soak in the tub cleansed away the Guajira dust and soothed his cramped muscles. They had been in the airplane and car for more than twelve hours. Totally drained, Cat made it to the bed before losing consciousness.
It was dark when Bluey shook him. “Come on, mate, it’s dinnertime.”
Cat got his feet onto the floor, but his head felt better in his hands. “What time is it?”
“Going on nine. Our table’s in five minutes.”
Cat struggled into some clothes. “Listen, I could have slept straight through until morning. I think I’ll pass on dinner.”
Bluey shook his head. “Dinner’s important. We’ll get our first look at Florio.”
Cat followed Bluey downstairs to the Excelsior dining room, which also carried hints of former glory. The head-waiter’s dinner jacket was a little small, but he was not short on dignity. Bluey ordered roast meats and a bottle of Chilean wine. The food was better than Cat had expected, and he ate hungrily.
In the middle of their dinner, Bluey nudged him under the table. Cat looked up to see a party of eight entering the dining room. At the obvious center of the group was a carefully barbered Latino in a cream-colored suit, wearing a great deal of gold jewelry.
“Florio,” Bluey said under his breath.
The party settled at a large table in the corner of the dining room and began looking at menus. Florio’s three male companions were lesser versions of him, and the women were dark and flashily dressed.
Cat tried not to stare, but he had never seen a big-time drug dealer before, if he didn’t count his son. The man was the center of attention and enjoying it, the headwaiter and his staff fawning over him.
“You finished?” Bluey asked.
Cat nodded. “I don’t think I could handle dessert.”
Bluey waved the headwaiter over. “You got some Dom Pérignon?”
“Of course, señor. Always.”
“Send two bottles over to Florio’s table with my compliments.”
The man scurried away.
“That’ll be our calling card,” Bluey said to Cat. “Now, let’s turn in.”
They were having breakfast in their room the next morning when there was a knock on the door. Bluey answered it, and there was a brief conversation in Spanish. He returned to the table. “We have an appointment with Florio in half an hour,” he said, buttering some toast. “Don’t wear a gun, and let me do the talking.”
They presented themselves at Florio’s suite at the appointed time and were thoroughly searched by a stone-faced man who had been at the table the evening before. When he was sure they were wearing no weapons, he ushered them into a sitting room and waved them to a chair. It was obvious that Florio had furnished the place himself. The furniture was heavy, overstuffed, and covered in various bright shades of synthetic velvet. One wall was dominated by a large and awful painting of a bullfighter, done in iridescent acrylics. Shortly, Florio entered the room, wearing a red silk dressing gown. He arranged himself on a sofa before them and stroked his thin Pancho Villa moustache. His face was puffy and paler than it had seemed the night before, and Cat wondered if he had been wearing makeup.
“Ah, Mr. Holland,” Florio said, smoothing the gown and not looking directly at them, “I had understood we were not in quite the same business.” His English was heavily accented but quite good.
“I’ve recently changed businesses,” Bluey replied.
“Oh?” Florio said, lifting his eyes to gaze languidly at the Australian. “How can I be of assistance?”
“I’m not at all sure that you can,” Bluey replied. “I’m in the market for two hundred kilos of the purest.”
All expression left Florio’s face, and Cat could not tell if he was stunned or if his mind were racing.
“The market price is twenty-one thousand a kilo these days,” Florio said finally.
Bluey shook his head. “I don’t expect to pay that for quantity,” he said. “I might go to thirteen thousand.”
Cat was calculating rapidly in his head. Two hundred kilos at thirteen thousand dollars a kilo was two million, six hundred thousand dollars, which they didn’t have. Was Bluey trying to get them killed?
Florio was silent for another long moment. “One assumes you have the money readily available.”
“Of course not,” Bluey said. “I can arrange it on forty-eight hours’ notice, though, to be exchanged for the merchandise in an agreed fashion.”
Florio was quiet again. A slight expression of distress crossed his face, and finally he shrugged. “Señor, I am afraid that I cannot be of assistance to you. The market is, well, difficult at the moment. I could manage only a small part of what you wish.”
Bluey nodded. “Thank you for being frank with me.”
“Is there any other way in which I might assist you?”
Bluey was about to rise, but stopped. “Perhaps,” he said, pausing on the edge of his seat. “I understand there are people from whom a beautiful young woman night be purchased.”
Cat resisted the impulse to lean forward. Instead, he watched Florio’s face carefully.
Florio laughed aloud. “But of course, señor, such people are on every street corner in Riohacha, or the bellman could assist you. But why do you ask this of me?”
Bluey shook his head. “I beg your pardon, I have not made myself clear. I am not interested in a local prostitute, but in a more permanent purchase. An Anglo, perhaps.”
Again, Cat watched the man’s face closely.
Florio looked at them blankly. “I am most sorry,” he shrugged, “but you ask me something of which I have no knowledge. I deal in quite a different commodity.”
“Of course,” Bluey said, rising, “I wished merely to ask your advice.”
Florio rose with him. “I am flattered that you would ask me, and I am sorry that I cannot help. I hope we might at some future date do business, when the market is better, but at the moment I am afraid you are talking about Anaconda Pure, something that does not come my way.”