She almost missed it. At the top of the month of May were three words: mumie, kunst, flug. Blanche was not a student of German, but she recognized mumie. It made her stomach flip. The first two words were checked off; flug was not. She racked her brain. Kunst? Flug meant flight.
Under the calendar in the drawer was a silver key. She looked around for the lock that would fit the key, and under a table near the desk was a small metal cabinet. She hesitated, about one heartbeat. She grabbed the key, shut the drawer. She listened for footsteps, beads of sweat popping down her back. López had not returned. The offices, the corridor, were quiet except for her slamming and shuffling. She needed a break, for time to stand still.
The key fit the lock. Inside were stacks of euros, American dollars, and pesos arranged side by side, and sitting on top of the money, a travel folder for a plane ticket. Blanche couldn’t resist. Her fingers burned to touch it. A round-trip flight to Frankfurt for Thursday. A note attached to the folder was written in blocky script: Arrange for large cargo.
It was as if someone hit her over the head.
She closed everything up, returned the key, and started toward the door. Blussberg would understand why she left. She’d “waited” at least ten minutes and neither Blussberg nor López had shown up. If he didn’t understand, so what? She’d gotten what she came for. Information. She took one more look around, in a corner closet, the bookcase, and all of the drawers. Nothing. But that was all right. She’d hit paydirt, at least a small hill of it.
Haasi was outside the Palacio near the steps of the cathedral waiting for Blanche. She’d sought the shade of a vendor selling windshield wiper blades, rosaries, garbage bags, and gumballs. She’d bought a rosary. “Just in case,” she said, waving the string of beads and crucifix and kissing it as Blanche hurried toward her.
Blanche’s face had that all-too-familiar look of anxiety mixed with news bulletin. She grabbed hold of Haasi, and the two of them scooted off away from the Zocalo. “Start praying.”
“What happened? Everything OK with Blussberg and company?”
“I’ll say, but more to the point, how’d it go down there in the exhibit?”
“You’d think they’d never seen a mouse before,” said Haasi. “I let those little suckers go, one at a time, right near the mummy exhibit, and they scattered. Not a single bit of teamwork among them. The screams were so piercing I thought the mummies would wake up!”
“Oh, Haas. It worked! You bought time.”
They’d been walking fast. They slipped into a café bar near Madero and prepared to fortify themselves with a couple of beers and a basket of Tacos Canasta, a chewy, delicious, steamed taco treat that had Haasi’s eyes glowing despite the talk of mice. Blanche let her do the ordering: beef in adobo and pigskin. Haasi loaded them with cilantro, lime juice, hot sauce, and salsa verde. Blanche found a table and opened her notebook. Haasi landed across from her with the tacos. They both dug in.
“You speak taco so well,” said Blanche. “How do you manage to get all that in your mouth?”
Haasi did not answer. Another taco disappeared.
Blanche drank off half her beer. “Keep eating. You’re gonna love this, and I hope it doesn’t curdle your salsa. He’s got plane tickets, Haas. Blussberg is going to Frankfurt. With a large cargo.”
Uncharacteristically, an enormous chunk of onions and peppers fell out of Haasi’s taco.
“No kidding.” She slowly lowered the beef en adobo. “Well, I wonder what he’s packing.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
LOST ART
“What do you mean…he’s ‘indisposed’?” said Sarloff Blussberg. He was back in his office after that ridiculous mouse chase all around the exhibit floor. Somehow, a visitor had smuggled mice into the Palacio, and one by one, the little critters created havoc. One of them had become so disoriented, it ran up a woman’s leg and the result was an earthquaking scream. Blussberg had been beside himself trying to find the mouse-bearing culprit, but he and the frantic staff were unlucky. They later found mounds of particles in corners, suspected of being mouse food.
Blussberg got a hold of himself. He was flummoxed he’d had to explain a number of times that the Palacio was not “vermin infested.” He had other business on his mind, and on the phone, now that the mouse incident was over. He held the receiver tightly. “I don’t care how indisposed he is, I need him.”
“He had a little accident,” said Doctor Oleantha Flórez. She declined to give the details. Blussberg didn’t know that Oleantha had tried to “teach” the little journalist a lesson, and that the plan had backfired. Oleantha had a habit of breezing over specifics when they talked. She’d never been one to dwell on missed opportunities and screw-ups, especially hers. He was grateful for the mummy she’d produced, and that’s all that concerned him at the moment. And getting on that plane out of Mexico City. Now this.
“What kind of an accident? I need him Thursday. To get that cargo out to the airport. I’ve got a flight.”
“It’s an accident that prevents him from being at your disposal, and you’ll have to handle this, Bluss.”
“Do you have someone else?”
“I’m not your shipping clerk. And neither is he. I got the girl dried up for you to switch out of that exhibit, and I packed the ancient one nice and tight with all the art objects. You figure out the rest.”
“You know how that plan turned out,” said Blussberg. “The dead girl is in custody, and I’m down one mummy. I still have to account to the Convento for the real one we got on loan. Now that you’ve packed it with the art objects.”
“Not my worry. I’ve done my end. You have to talk with El Patrón and finish the deal. Get the goods out of DF.”
“Don’t remind me. As long as he gets the money after the delivery… And, may I remind you, we are all in this together. I need help getting that cargo out to the airport.”
It was always the same with this woman: She involved herself as little as possible, and she was never inclined to share the drama on her end. She didn’t like to take orders, and she wouldn’t have anyone breathing down her neck. She kept her pretty little neck to herself. She went where the money was and got out. After all, he could hardly blame her. They all understood El Patrón’s methods. He paid, and the dealings were one-on-one. He didn’t bring everyone into the mix. He kept them off-balance, just enough to manipulate the situation, and that was to be expected. They had to deal with the territory the way it was set up.
“What am I going to do? I can’t bring any more people into this operation. I don’t trust anyone at this point.” His heavy breathing added an extra layer of disgust. “What about you, Oleantha? Will you drive me out there? I’ll get a skycap to unload the baggage…”
Oleantha’s laugh could be heard all over Mexico City. “That would be no. I’m certainly not a taxi driver. Ask that weird assistant of yours, López, to drive you.”
u
Haasi and Blanche sat with Detective Cardenal in the police cafeteria. They drew looks, but that was not surprising. The two young women stood out in the milling group of hard-looking, holster-packing cops with few women among them. They casually stopped by their table and said “hola” to the detective and didn’t listen to a thing he said while they stared at Haasi and Blanche.
Blanche seemed oblivious, except to say “hola” back. The police were gracious, and she wanted to avoid each and every one of them. Her eyes were blazing, focused on the detective. “This guy has something planned for Thursday. You need to check it out, either at the Palacio or the airport. Or both. You need to follow him.”
“Now, just one momentito. Tell me, exactly, how do you know of a plan?”
Haasi and Blanche looked at each other. A little white lie was the order of the day. “I know,” said Blanche. “Let’s just say I saw the information. Didn’t hear it. The only time I heard anything was that afternoon at the Palacio outside the restroom.”
Cardenal leaned forward, his shirtsleeves r
olled up, fingers clenched in huge fists. “You saw the information?”
Blanche sighed. “OK. I went over there to interview him. I saw it in his office. He was called away…” At that Haasi’s hand shot to her mouth. To keep from laughing out loud. “The information was right there. Written down on a calendar: mumie, kunst, flug—mummy, art, flight. He’s going to take the stuff out of the country on Thursday. Ten o’clock flight. I’m sure of it.”
Cardenal sat back, studying Blanche. “Seems you know quite a bit about Blussberg’s plans. Let me just say this: We’ve had our eye on him, and what you say fits.”
“The exhibit is scheduled to move to Paris next month. There must be some connection between his Frankfurt trip and the opening.” Blanche was insistent. She was not going to take no for an answer or be pushed aside on this one. “Between the exhibits and the art theft!”
Haasi’s voice was low and steady. “Detective, we think he’s smuggling art objects. Inside one of those mumies.”
“That’s a big leap,” he said.
But Blanche could tell he was considering it. “It’s worth looking into. We’ve been working on all the angles. In the meantime, several paintings have been stolen from the Bellas Artes. They were rolled up in storage, and boom! Gone. Seems to be happening all over DF. No one noticed it for months, but after an inventory the missing pieces were unaccounted for. Blussberg has made several trips to Europe, but all under the guise of setting up exhibits. Paris next. We’ve been watching him. He’s got all his permits and papers in order.”
“Watching is not going to do it. You need to search the place.”
“And where do you suggest we search? DF is a big place. Whoever is up to all this thievery and murder is covering his tracks. We’re having trouble putting these pieces together.”
“Did you search the Palacio?”
“¡Claro! After the Lalia Solis episode, what do you think we did? We still don’t know who did that to the poor woman. Now that we’ve at least identified her, the mother has been after us almost daily to find the criminal who made a mummy out of her daughter.” He was patting his head. “I am afraid I revealed my suspicions…”
“You told her about La Escandolera?”
“I didn’t have to. Seems the rumor mill informed her.”
“Did you check that lab? Really well?”
“Nothing. No hairs or tubes or bottles like you reported. Clean, maybe too clean. No mummy-making going on over there.”
“Well, we saw it all,” said Haasi. “The black hairs, the ledger, the cozy coffee corner. Someone was very busy in that lab. Had to be La Escandolera, the eminent Doctor Oleantha. The woman’s a menace.” Haasi was gritting her teeth, Blanche winced.
“As you say. The woman’s a suspect, but there is nothing to pin on her,” he said. “We know she’s used the lab. The university verified that, but they were vague about permission to do so, and we need to look into it. Someone looked the other way or was paid off, no doubt. It happens. In any event, we didn’t find a clue.” He stopped, his eyebrows knit together.
Blanche suppressed a smile. “What are you thinking?”
“We did search there. But only the lab section. We didn’t search storage areas and such.”
“Don’t you think you should? Where else would you store a large cargo?”
“Those museums have huge storage areas. And so, all those old buildings. Like that lab. There are closets and nooks everywhere.”
“But he wants to be ready to go. Wouldn’t you?” Blanche felt a little like she was extracting a tooth with a fork. “He’s leaving Thursday! He needs to get out of there fast. And he’s surely taking a passenger with him. One that’s fully loaded and worth its weight in gold, or euros.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
ARRIVAL
Emilio looked out the door of the clinic and saw a brand new Dodge Ram pulling in close to the plaza. It was completely out of place in the village of Santa Uriel de los Angeles de Tepequito.
He didn’t have time to wonder about it now. He had a baby to deliver.
Emilio focused on the young mother-to-be, Abaya, measuring the trouble that was coming. The arrival of that shiny truck put a new spike in his nerves.
“It’s too late now to get help.” Emilio thought briefly of the new arrival of this truck but put it out of his mind. It wasn’t anyone Abaya, or he, knew. He set his jaw in fury and in desperation. He had to focus on this, the birth of this child he was totally unprepared to handle in the dusty little clinic. Abaya was supposed to be at the hospital in Guanajuato, but her errant husband had failed her.
He glanced outside at a patch of earth and scrub where a group of children had started to gather. Maybe a game, or a chase, or kids being kids. There was very little to amuse them out there in the grubby little plaza.
Emilio went to Abaya. He carried a stack of clean linen and hurried around, sliding to a stop on the soles of his well-worn boots. He usually had an assistant, but she was gone now, and she wasn’t a medical assistant. She kept the clinic basically stocked and clean, and it was a daily battle with the dust. The shining glass doors of one cabinet held gauze and bandages, bottles of alcohol and iodine and soap. Emilio believed in soap, a simple thing but not so easy to put to use. The villagers didn’t want to waste the water. It was already too hard to collect it and purify it. Why waste it on the outside when the inside needed it desperately?
Abaya had been dozing, and now she was fully awake. “Doctor Emilio?”
Emilio smoothed her forehead. He ran his fingers over Abaya’s distended stomach. He may as well have been resting his hand on the moon. The baby was still transverse, a sort of breech, and this was not good. A foot, maybe a hand, protruded in a small bump, moving slowly, like a burrowing animal under the earth. I’m here, it said. Emilio looked with wonder, but his legs and stomach were weak. He hoped he didn’t fail Abaya. How the hell am I going to do this? He’d only had that one rotation in the maternity ward, and even with all that staff, it didn’t look easy. For anyone.
He needed a miracle.
Emilio said, “Abaya, rest for now. I’ll give you some ice to wet your lips.”
He dried his hands on a towel, bunching the linen in his fist.
He heard the yelling from a short distance away. He went to the door. A man was dropping peso notes on to a white plastic table across from the clinic. The children were running, old women were egging them on.
“¿Donde está el medico?” The man dropped a few more peso notes. He looked casually toward the clinic, but no one made a move. The man seemed to have all the time in the world. It made Emilio nervous.
Abaya screamed.
She leaned in Emilio’s direction, anything to get away from the pain. She buried her face in his chest.
The commotion outside revolved around that plastic table and the shiny new truck. The noise rose and fell, the children yelling and laughing, the adults shouting. The man with the pesos had gone to the back of his truck and removed crates of avocados, oranges, and limes. Emilio could see it all outside the window of the clinic, but he looked away.
He steeled himself to focus on Abaya. He was sweating, coaxing the child to turn.
Then he felt it. The baby was no longer transverse. The silhouette of the child was north and south now, and the baby was crowning. Abaya gave one last scream, and a push, and he caught the child.
He cleaned the nose and ears and eyes of the new resident of Tepequito. Abaya’s eyes were huge and shining as she took the baby boy in her arms. “Doctor Emilio. Gracias.”
He’d gotten a miracle. How many can I hope for?
Emilio didn’t see the man approaching the door to the clinic, a gun on his hip. The doctor was attending to the new mother. The man walked over to Emilio and took his arm. “Ven conmigo. Ahorita.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
ALL TIED UP RIGHT NOW
Haasi and Blanche were back at their hotel after their visit to Detective Cardenal at the police s
tation. Blanche was determined to follow up with the surveillance of the lab, and Cardenal promised he’d be in touch. She didn’t count on it anytime soon. In the meantime, she was plenty keyed up. For a whole bunch of reasons.
“Haasi, I can’t get hold of Emilio.”
Haasi was reviewing photos on her camera, and she looked up. “Did you call the clinic?”
“Yes, and my Spanish sucks, in case you didn’t notice. Someone finally answered who hadn’t been there all day. I got the idea that someone picked up Emilio after a delivery? Someone in a Dodge Ram?” Blanche was pacing in tighter and tighter circles.
“Dodge Ram? Why is that truck coming around again?” Haasi’s voice had a hard edge, a reminder of Blanche’s trip out of town, thanks to Doctor Oleantha.
“That’s what I want to know. That goon who grabbed me is out of action, but apparently his truck is not. Someone got hold of his keys. Or there’s a run on Dodge Rams.”
“Don’t sweat it, Bang.”
Blanche stopped circling and stood in the middle of the patio. Her eyes focused on the fierce blue of another beautiful Mexico City sky. Some days were hazy, but they had been lucky with steady cool weather on the cusp of the rainy summer. Where can he be?
Haasi studied Blanche. “Now what? Sometimes I can hear your brain cells. Sort of like firecrackers going off.”
“Blussberg is about to blow town! And now, this thing with Emilio. El Patrón knows where he is, and that’s not good. I’m worried.”
“You know that old ranchero is not going to hurt him. He wants to use him. Emilio’ll figure it out.”
Blanche flopped onto the loveseat, feeling the warmth of the sun and the memory of sitting there with Emilio. I have to do something.
“I’m gonna call El Patrón.” She jumped up. “He wants Emilio to work for him. Be a kind of gangster doc.”
Trouble Down Mexico Way Page 20
