Iguaran makes a slight shrug. “At this moment in the Park’s history, having the ability to process graffiti is handier than having a fax machine. But that will change. Please,” he says, gesturing to the couch, “have a seat.”
Hannah looks at the projectionist and says, “Thanks, but I’ll stand.”
Iguaran nods. “However you feel comfortable. Would you like a drink?”
She gestures to the IV flow. “Thanks, but chemo isn’t on my diet these days.”
“Platelets and washed cells,” Iguaran says with a huge grin as if he’s just shown her snapshots of his children. “From the wombs of newborn lambs. Or is it the uterus? Imported from Switzerland. They breed them on a compound outside of Guarda. Costs me a fortune. And then there are the courier charges. Your FDA can be so provincial.”
“I’m sure.”
“But I must say I’ve never felt better. I’ve got the reflexes of a twenty-year-old. Though I do get chills when I pass by angora.”
Hannah can’t suppress a smile and says, “Well, there are side effects to every cocktail.”
Iguaran takes some air in through a clogged nose and says, “Forgive my rudeness.” He extends a hand to the woman and says, “This is Ursula, my administrative assistant. And this,” turning his head to look at the projectionist, “is my son, Nabo.”
Hannah nods to both of them without saying a word and they respond in kind. There’s some awkward silence, then Hannah makes an exaggerated turn from side to side and says, “So the abattoir is your place now.”
“We passed papers a month ago. Still haven’t completely moved in.”
“I thought you just liked a primitive look.”
Iguaran slaps his leg, too hard. “I was hoping you’d have a sense of humor. You haven’t disappointed me. Wonderful. Very good.” He looks up toward the ceiling and says, “I bought it for the space. Plenty of room to move around here. Very spacious for a starter home—”
“Meaning you’re already planning another move?” Hannah interrupts. “To the Hotel Penumbra, maybe?”
Iguaran juts out his jaw and gives a slow-motion headshake that says no. “You Yankees,” he says, “always so anxious to get straight to business.”
“I’m not a Yankee,” Hannah says, quietly but definitively.
Iguaran shrugs again and mumbles, “Have it your way,” then picks his voice up and continues. “I have no interest in acquiring the Penumbra. For me, it will always hold the spirit of Cortez. A man has to put his own character onto a building. You wait two years, maybe eighteen months. Then come back to the abattoir. It will be the country of Iguaran. Besides, the word is the Loftus boys are looking at the Penumbra.”
Now Hannah shakes her head, “I don’t think so. Where’s the Irish margin? Their population base in the Park is minimal except for the Castlebar Road Boys. And they’re real uneasy about that connection. Old man Loftus is too legitimate to step back into the Park. And the kids are too eccentric. They don’t want the crudities enough. They don’t revel in it. They’re media-heads—”
Iguaran smiles like a smug lawyer or chess player and cuts her off. “I would agree.” He pauses, his mouth still open, clear that there’s more to come, stopping just for effect until it seems like the silence of the huge building will take shape, metamorphose into some jungle monster from the collective imagination of the whole third world, and come at this white woman who holds a badge and a gun. Finally, Iguaran says, “So you see I’m the logical choice to fill the vacuum.”
This is what Hannah expected but still feared to hear. She says, “Uncle Chak would disagree with that conclusion.”
“Please,” Iguaran says, mock-offended, “let’s not turn this conversation into a farce. The Cambodian is totally regressive. Chak is a tribal mentality in a global net. He’s encouraging his men to speak Khmer, for God’s sake. Tell me something, Detective. If Dr. Cheng himself were forced to choose between me and Chak, racial allegiances standing, who do you think he’d pick?”
Hannah lifts her eyebrows, adamant. “I think the point is, Iguaran, Dr. Cheng is still very much in the picture.”
“If you truly believe that, you’re not fit to walk Lenore’s streets, are you?”
Hannah hesitates at the mention of the name, then comes back with, “They’re not Lenore’s streets anymore, are they?”
Iguaran slaps his thigh again as if he’s scored a point. “Exactly, Detective Shaw. My point exactly. They’re open streets at the moment. The Park is wide open. There’s a window right now. A time frame when moves can be made, the system retooled. Cortez was one player in a vast and constantly evolving machine. He had his skills, a very distinct style, but in crucial ways he was ill equipped.”
“My reading,” Hannah interrupts, “is that Cortez left the Park of his own volition.”
Iguaran waves a hand, concedes the point. “Whatever. He is gone. I am here—”
“Along with Dr. Cheng and Uncle Chak and Sylvain the Haitian and Peker the Turk and—”
Iguaran comes forward on the couch, clearly annoyed. “But I know the market. I understand the mind of the customer. The product, the service, they’re immaterial. The customer wants the bells and the whistles to be continually louder and longer-lasting. And he wants delivery now. Always now. Immediately is not soon enough. I understand distribution, division of territories, the commission incentive. I understand management. The fragility of the carrot and the stick. When to prune and weed and when to overlook the marbling of fat. I understand the nuances of postindustrial commerce, Detective. I understand the polysystem itself. Do you know why, Detective?”
“I think I’m about to be told.”
Iguaran settles back down and starts to tap lightly at the plastic tubing running into his arm. “Because I know, to the core of my brain I know, that there is an animal in the human heart. In every single throbbing heart on this planet, there is a perpetually hungry creature that’s motivated by the most primal of instincts. And that beast, Detective, is never satiated.”
There’s a second of silence and then Hannah says, “You’re a real visionary, Iggy.”
Iguaran crosses his legs. “The coming months will show you the truth.”
“I’m always looking to be educated.”
Hannah can tell he’s not completely sure how to play her. He wants an ally, but he needs a certain level of respect at this crucial stage. He’s calculating how much to push and how much to take. He’s instinctive, like Cortez and like Dr. Cheng. Like all the neighborhood mayors. But he’s also rabidly ambitious. If Cortez didn’t want to rule the Park enough, it’s possible Iguaran wants it too much.
He runs a tongue around his lips, then says, “You mock me, Detective Shaw. But we’re already hooking into our resources. We’re tying into monetary funds and banking networks that transcend ideas of history. Of ideology. There is no more good versus evil, Detective. There is only the connected versus the unconnected. And this is why I’ll never understand you or your predecessor. You jokingly call me a visionary. But you appear to be a blind woman. You are a mystery, Detective. You are intelligent. You are strong. You appear to be realistic. Why do you willfully choose to remain on the losing side? It simply makes no sense.”
Hannah approaches and sits down next to Iguaran on the couch, clearly annoying Ursula, who glares and tugs down on the hem of the leather bra.
“I’m kind of a genetic mutant,” Hannah says. “Just one of those freaks that screw up all the stats.”
Iguaran gives a small laugh that echoes lightly, then he turns his attention to the movie as if some alarm has sounded and ended their meeting.
“But I’m not really the issue here, am I?” Hannah says, and stops for a long pause to show her change of tone and attitude. The introductions are over and it’s time to get down to some understanding. “Let’s assume I’ve looked over the recent events in Bangkok and let’s assume that basically, you and I concur on most of the major conclusions. Cortez is not coming home. Dr. Cheng does not have the leash on his people the way he once did. The Irish and the Jews and the Italians have gentrified themselves so they’ve all got at least one foot in the mainstream. And the rest, the newcomers, the Jamaicans and the Haitians and the Turks and the rest — they don’t yet have the numbers or the experience or the organization.”