The Five Arrows. Chase Allan

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СКАЧАТЬ He did not laugh. "God! I'm the loneliest sonofabitch in the whole world."

      The girl smiled again. "I have half a mind to believe you," she said. "Shall we get started back?"

      "O.K. It's getting late. Have dinner with me?"

      "I don't know, yet. Would you call the hotel and ask if there are any messages for me?"

      "There's a phone in the souvenir stand."

      The girl bought a batch of picture sets while Hall was on the phone. "Do we eat?" she asked when he came out of the booth.

      "No. They want you in the Marti Memorial Lab at the University at seven."

      "Shucks."

      "I phoned for a driver to meet us at the bottom in twenty minutes. We still have time for a drive around the nicer parts of New San Hermano."

      They went to the terminal to wait for their car. The ticket agent glanced at Jerry and then he reached under his counter and brought up a large envelope. "Señor," he said, "the painter left this for the lady." It was the sketch of Jerry, wide-eyed and happy as the car climbed Monte Azul. In the lower right-hand corner was an inscription Hall translated for her. "To a charming visitor—a memento of her visit to our free city. Horacio."

      "It was sweet of the old man," Jerry said. "Tell the guy to thank him for me, will you?"

      "I already did. But this is fantastic. An original Horacio water color is worth a baby fortune. This sketch is valuable, Jerry."

      "Didn't you recognize him?"

      "Never saw him before in my life."

      Big Pepe was waiting for them with his LaSalle when they reached the bottom of Monte Azul. "How good are you with tourists?" Hall asked. "I want to show the señorita New San Hermano."

      "I can drive you with my eyes closed," Pepe said.

      Hall laughed. "Keep your eyes open. And your four wheels on the pavement," he said. "Or I'll kill you with your own gun."

      "I have no fears of you," Pepe said. "Get in."

      Hall held onto Jerry's hand as he described the sights that rolled by their window. Big Pepe handled the car like a model tourists' chauffeur. It rolled along smoothly, not too quickly, and when Hall tapped him on the shoulder he would stop, the motor running softly while Hall made his explanations to Jerry.

      At six, Hall and Jerry agreed to have one last drink before parting for the night. "Let's ask the driver, too," he suggested. "He's a nice guy."

      "Sure. So are you."

      "Pepe, how about joining us for a drink at that bar near the Libro del Mundo?"

      Pepe turned around and grinned at them. "With many thanks," he said. "I will join you."

      "If we don't all join our ancestors first. Watch the road, you Asturian murderer!"

      "I take it," Jerry laughed, "you were telling him to keep his eyes on the wheel."

      "You're learning the language, muchachita."

      They found an empty table on the sidewalk. Hall and Jerry had Scotch and sodas. Big Pepe ordered coffee. He was very happy to be with them. He beamed continuously at the girl, and to Hall he swore that never had he seen a more magnificent woman. "Of course," he purred, "she could stand more meat, but for a gringo, she is most magnificent."

      "He says you're a sight for sore eyes," Hall translated.

      "Then tell him to look at my face."

      "The woman thanks you," Hall said.

      Jerry pointed to the bar. "There's the little Dutchman," she said.

      Androtten was standing alone at the bar, a wine glass in his hand.

      "I'll call him over. He's a lonesome bastard too."

      The Dutchman was delighted to see Hall. "This is indeed a damn surprise," he said. "Join you at the table? Happy as hell to join you, Mr. Hall. Ah, the nurse of the great doctor. Tell me, nurse, do you think the doctor could cure my rheumatism?" This, he made clear by his gesture of holding his side in mock agony and groaning, was meant to be a joke.

      Hall translated the joke for Pepe.

      The driver nodded. "I understood most of it," he admitted. "One doesn't drive American tourists for a century and learn nothing."

      "Aha," Hall said. "Pepe knows a few words of English, it develops."

      Jerry turned to the driver, smiled sweetly at him. "Tell me," she said, "did you ever have your eyes scratched out?"

      Pepe grinned, shrugged his huge shoulders. "Did the señorita say I have nice eyes?" he asked Hall.

      "No, Pepe. She said your eyes can bring you trouble."

      The Asturiano closed his eyes and drew his finger across his throat, making the appropriate sounds. "I understand perfectly," he said.

      "Let's sit down one of these days," Androtten said to Hall. "I am willing as hell to give you the damn story of what the Japanese did to me in Java, if you are still damn willing to listen."

      "Oh, I am. Anxious as hell, Mr. Androtten." He explained to Big Pepe what had happened to the little man. Pepe's face instantly reflected his deep sorrow.

      "I hate to break up this nice party," Jerry said, "but I have to go to work."

      "Can we take you back to the Bolivar, Mr. Androtten?"

      "Not just yet. I have a damn appointment here at seven."

      Hall put some money on the table and followed Jerry to the car. "I forgot to tell you," he said. "There'll be a government car waiting to pick you up at ten to seven."

      "The poor man," Pepe sighed. "The cruel Japanese!"

      "It's been a wonderful day, Matt."

      "When do we repeat it?"

      "Can't tell. I'll leave a message for you tonight when I get back."

      Hall ate alone after Jerry went to the laboratory, and then wandered around the dark streets of the waterfront, thinking how he could organize his work. That was the damned job, always. Planning your moves. Deciding exactly what it is you're after and then organizing a method of getting it. The letter to Santiago. That was a good start. With luck, there would be an answer in a week. But was a week too far away? How sick was Tabio, and could he hold out for another week? And anyway, was Ansaldo a fascist?

      The face of Varela Ansaldo would not leave Hall's mind. Maybe Fielding could find out something, anything. At this moment, Fielding was probably eating a little crow with his dinner at the British Embassy. But would they tell Fielding anything? Did they know anything? And who the hell was Fielding and how in hell did he get the dope in his reports? No, my fine impertinent friend, I am not a British agent. СКАЧАТЬ