“Jesus Christ!” he shouted, throwing open the door and leaping out. The light changed and the boy on the scooter accelerated and turned right. Cat sprinted after him shouting, “Hey, stop! I want to talk to you! Hold it!” He could hear Bluey shouting behind him, and the chorus of horns that said he was blocking an intersection.
The boy looked back and saw Cat gaining on him. He revved the engine, and sprayed sand and gravel in Cat’s face.
“Hold it! I just want to talk!” But the scooter was half a block ahead of him and gaining.
Bluey pulled up in the Bronco. “What the hell are you doing, Cat?”
“Catch that kid on the scooter up there,” Cat shouted at him. He looked down the block, but the scooter was gone. The boy must have turned into a side street. “Come on, Bluey, move it! That boy was wearing my Rolex wristwatch, we’ve got to find him!”
Bluey got the car in gear, and they began methodically cruising every side street, passing a strange mixture of hovels and mansions.
“Listen, Cat,” Bluey said, shifting gears, “you’re getting too excited about this. So the kid had a Rolex. He stole it, and he stole the scooter, too, probably, but half the drug runners in Colombia have Rolexes; they’re a big fad down here.”
Cat knew what Bluey was thinking. First he had seen the wrong boat, then the wrong girl, now the wrong watch. “You don’t understand, Bluey,” he said, swiveling his neck to peer down an alley. “Most of the Rolexes you see are the old self-winding, mechanical models. Mine is a newer type, a quartz movement. They look different, and there aren’t that many of them around. I’ll bet that’s the only one in Colombia. All I want to do is look at it. There’s some engraving on the back of mine.”
Bluey sighed and kept on driving. They turned another corner, and a block ahead of them they saw a small crowd of kids on a corner. A woman with some sort of movie camera was taking their picture. Bluey slowed so they could check out the group, but the boy on the scooter was not there.
Cat suddenly realized that the woman with the camera was the one he had seen on the beach that morning. “Stop the car,” Cat said. He rolled down the window. “Excuse me, señorita, do you speak English?”
“Well, yeah, a little,” she said.
Cat winced. The woman was American.
“We’re looking for a boy of eleven or twelve on a motor scooter. Could you ask these kids if they’ve seen him?”
The woman looked amused. She turned to the children and spoke to them in excellent Spanish. Their faces went blank, and they shook their heads gravely in unison. “Sorry,” she said to Cat. “Nobody’s seen him.”
Cat looked at her closely. He felt there was some sort of conspiracy between the woman and these children, some silent secret. He thanked her, and they drove on, searching vainly for a boy, a motor scooter, and a Rolex wristwatch.
After an hour of this, when it was getting dark, Cat turned to Bluey. “Listen,” he said, “I’ve had enough of this for one day. Why don’t we start again tomorrow? The boy will still be around.”
“Yeah, I know you must be bushed, Cat. Listen, I had a nap this afternoon when you were swimming, so I’m okay. Why don’t you take a cab back to El Rodadero and have a drink? I’ll keep at it for a bit, ask some questions around the cantinas. Maybe somebody knows the kid.”
Cat nodded. “Okay, if you’re game.”
Bluey drove him to a taxi stand and left him. Cat got into a cab and gave the driver the name of the hotel. Suddenly he had the odd feeling that he would not see Bluey again. He looked over his shoulder in time to see the Bronco turn a corner and disappear. It was the first time they had been separated since they had arrived in Colombia. Cat had come to trust the Australian, but some tiny corner of his mind still seemed to fear abandonment. Cat chased the thought from his head.
14
Back at the beach, Cat showered and changed into cool cotton clothes. The evening was warm, and he didn’t bother with a jacket. He strolled down to the pool bar and ordered a piña colada. He loved the drink, and he made a point of never ordering it unless he was in some tropical place. He had taken only a sip when someone sat down on the adjacent barstool.
“Pardon me,” she said.
He turned and looked at her. She had changed into a strapless flowered cotton sheath, and instead of speaking, he simply enjoyed looking at her for a moment.
“Why did you want the boy?” she asked.
“I had the feeling this afternoon that you knew him,” Cat replied.
“I know a lot of the gamines,” she said.
“The who?”
“Street children. Most of them have no family. They live any way they can. I’m doing a film about them. Why did you want the boy?”
Cat looked closely at the woman. Her dark hair was still wet from the shower, and her tan glowed against the bright yellow of the dress. There didn’t seem any reason not to tell her. Maybe she would know something. “I had a wristwatch stolen some time back. The boy was wearing a watch this afternoon that looked like mine.”
“So you wanted to catch him and take it back?”
“If it was mine, I was willing—”
“Señor,” the bartender interrupted. “You are Señor Ellis?”
“Yes.”
The bartender set a telephone on the bar. Cat picked it up. “Hello?”
“It’s Bluey. I’m at a bar on the beach just off the square called Rosita’s. The boy comes here every evening selling stolen goods, keeps a pretty regular schedule, the bartender says. He’s due here any minute.”
“I’m leaving right now,” Cat said and hung up. He turned to the woman. “Please excuse me. I have to leave.”
She caught his arm. “Is this about the boy?”
He was about to tell her it was none of her business, but she anticipated him.
“I know him,” she said. “His name is Rodrigo. I may be able to help.”
“Come with me then.”
They got a taxi at the front of the hotel. Cat’s mind was racing. Finally, a link to Denny and Pedro, something concrete.
“My name is Meg Garcia,” the woman said.
“Bob Ellis,” Cat replied. “Tell me about this kid.”
She shrugged. “He’s one of the bunch I’ve been filming. They’re lost, these children. They’ve no families, no schooling. They hardly know the name of the country they live in. They’re like a pack of little animals, except that they take care of their own. It’s quite touching, really. But, like animals, they can be very mean in packs or when cornered. Has your friend found Rodrigo?”
“He’s at a bar called Rosita’s. Apparently, the boy comes there regularly selling stuff.”
“I know the place. Look, if we see the boy, let me talk to him. It’s important that you don’t try to take the watch from him. He won’t let you have it without a fight. He’s very proud of it.”
“Do you think he might sell it?”
“Maybe. I’ll talk to him about it. How will you know if it’s yours?”
“There’s engraving on the back. I have to know exactly how he got it. I’m looking for the people who stole it from me.”
The cab pulled up in front of Rosita’s, and they got out. It seemed an ordinary enough place. There were some sparsely populated tables along the sidewalk, and inside, more tables and a bar. Bluey was nowhere to be seen.
Cat turned to the woman. “Will you ask the bartender where my friend is? He’s a big, heavy fellow, an Anglo.”
She spoke briefly to the bartender, then turned and ran from the place. She stopped and whipped off her high heels as Cat caught up with her. “He chased Rodrigo this way.” She started running down the street.