Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [110]
“Myself and two others. Maybe three.”
“All women?”
“No, two men. Maybe another woman.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“What time?”
“I’m not sure. Late.”
He hesitated, took a joint from his coveralls pocket, and lit it. Sucked smoke down, then let it out in a long hissing breath. “Federales after you?”
“No.”
“Carrying anything?”
“Drugs? No.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Some people down here may not want us to cross, but they’ll look for us at the border controls and the airports.”
“Okay,” he said, “okay. I don’t want to know any more about that. You got transportation when we get there?”
“Someone will be waiting for us on Monument Road.”
“Abrego?”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Just so’s I don’t have to get somebody for you on that end.”
“It’s taken care of. How much?”
“Okay, here’s how I work it: I’m in charge, you do what I say. No guns, no drugs. You got that?”
“How much?”
A final once-over. “Thousand American.”
“Five hundred.”
“Seven-fifty.”
“Six hundred.”
“You got it.”
“And two of us will be armed.”
“I said no guns.”
I just looked at him.
“Okay, okay. All the money up front.”
“Half now, half if we get there.”
“I always get my clients through.”
“Nobody always gets his clients through.”
A moment’s hesitation. “Fuck it. Gimme my three hundred.”
I counted out the cash, hoping that Hy and I wouldn’t run into any unforeseen expenses. Mojas set the joint down on a corner of the bench, counted the money again, and stuffed it into his pocket.
I asked, “Do we come here?”
He shook his head. “My place. Calle Solano. On the corner of Calle Guerrero. Pink house, palm tree and a statue of the Virgin out front.”
“Good. Expect us anytime from midnight on.”
He nodded and picked up the joint.
“Something else, Al,” I said. “No dope smoking on this trip.”
He frowned, clearly offended. “I finish this J, I stop smoking and drinking till I get you through. That’s how it works.”
“Good. One other thing.”
“Jesus! What?”
“You know Luis Abrego. Do you also know a man called Marty Salazar?”
Slow reaction at first; then he stiffened. “What about him?”
“Luis Abrego’s a friend of mine. If you don’t play this straight with my companions and me, or if anything happens to us, Abrego’ll be very angry. He’s got something on Salazar; he can make him do things to people.”
“Shit, you think I’m gonna—”
“I just wanted to make it clear what might happen if anything goes wrong.”
Mojas ground the joint out on the bench, slipped it back into his pocket. “Nothing’ll happen,” he said. “I always get my clients through.”
“Good. I’ll see you later, then.” I turned and walked away, trying to look calm and confident.
* * *
Before I went back to the hotel, I had the cab driver take me past the intersection of Calles Solano and Guerrero. The pink corner house with the palm tree and the statue of the Virgin Mary in front actually existed and that, I supposed, was as much assurance of good faith on Al Mojas’s part as I was going to get.
Back at the Fiesta Americana I went straight to the room and found Hy sitting on the bed, staring at the TV with such rapt attention that he didn’t notice me come in.
A news broadcast dealing with the shooting at Fontes’s villa? I moved to where I could see the screen. Instead of a plasticperfect anchorperson, I came face-to face with a leather-attired woman menacingly waving a whip at a bare-assed man who cowered on the floor at her feet. Hy saw me and started guiltily.
“What the hell is this?”
Hastily he got up and turned the set off. “Something called Watch My Whip. I thought it was a western.”
“Sure you did.”
“Honest to God.” Hy is a western buff and will watch any film that comes along, including the ancient grade B ones.
I faced him, hands on hips. “A western, on the adult pay channel?”
“Shit, McCone, I don’t understand how these fancy cable sets work. I tuned in by mistake.”
“You don’t understand how they work? You have a satellite dish at home. You get a hundred and twenty channels.”
He shrugged sullenly.
“Besides,” I added, “even if you turned