"Some day," said Meyer, "kindly tell me what happened. Memory stopped. Travis, you are not limping as much."
"They stuck something in there that works like novocaine."
The girl posted her chart and started taking his pulse, moving her lips as she watched the sweep second on the gold watch pinned to her uniform.
"Meyer," I said, "it now appears that they do not have to open your skull and examine the contents."
His eyes went wide. "They were thinking of it?"
"All day long."
"Too bad," he said, "to deprive them of the chance. Better luck next time."
"Now we're going to the Victoria and celebrate. We'll order drinks for you too and take turns drinking yours."
"Salud, and happy days."
Margarita, however, was not going. She had pulled a chair close to the far side of the bed. The squatty student nurse made querulous objection. Margarita blazed up and exploded several packages of Spanish firecrackers around the girl's head. It backed her up and shut her up, and she soon resumed her testing.
Margarita looked content as a cat on a warm hearth. She held Meyer's hand, and with her free hand, she gave that odd little Mexican good-by wave, which looks more like a summoning than a dismissal.
Meyer gave us an inordinately fatuous smile. I told him I'd be back in the morning. He told me not to put myself out. Elena was waiting in the Falcon. She did not seem at all surprised that her sister had stayed with Meyer. I got the feeling it would have astonished her if Margarita had not stayed. Enelio followed us back to the Victoria. I left Elena off at the main building and told her to wait for me in the lounge. I parked the car there, and concealed the weapon once more, and walked down to the cottage with Enelio. Inside the cottage, with the blinds and draperies closed, Enelio stood and held the handle and let the stone ball swing from side to side, then swung it a few times, cautiously.
"Hey, one hell of a thing. I have seen the autenticos, in collections. Very much the same thing. Any weapon, they keep changing it, changing it, until it is as dangerous as they can make it. I think you better throw this thing away, my friend."
"I have that feeling about it too."
"By God, they were a bloody people. A thing like this, there's no halfway. What it does is kill."
I took it and put it in the closet on a shelf. I got out a bottle of genuine bottled-in-Guadalajara House of Lords gin, and phoned up for ice for both of us, and some mix for Senor Fuentes.
"What about the camper?"
"Fonny thing. One of our pilots saw something shiny in that arroyo and reported it to the Federales. Maybe they went out today. Maybe in the morning. No talk about it yet. I tell you, Martinez and Tielma are getting damn sick and tired of dead American tourists. Telephone calls come from Mexico City. 'What are you trying to do down there, you estupidos! Ruin business?' But I think the little fat man is no problem. Mexico is full of pyramids and temples and they are all of stone, and Mexico is full of tourists, and some of them are feeble and some are careless and some are dronk, and some have bad hearts, and faint and fall, so it is not something special, one more little. man with a sack full of pieces of pots, eh?"
"If anybody else had shown up, it would have been a different ball game."
"Not so many go to Yagul. Some days probably nobody. Maybe two or three days, nobody."
The ice and mix came. We fixed our own. He gave a little lift of his glass and gave that Spanish toast that covers everything there is. "Health, money, love, and time to enjoy them." I've never been able to think of anything it doesn't cover.
"So," said Enelio, "your friend will be all right, and now it is finished, and now you go home and you tell nice pretty little lies to the father, eh?"
"Is it finished? All day I've been worrying about Meyer with half my mind and using the other half to list the questions I would have asked Wally McLeen but didn't get a chance to."
"What do you need to know from some fat little madman?"
"I wanted to know who crazed him. Somebody had to give him enough sordid and factual information to actually arm him like a bomb, to turn him into a deadly weapon."
"You told me he talked to that Rocko?"
"Yes. Apparently on the first night he was here. So he came here knowing who to look for. So I think it's fair to say that somewhere along the line Minda dropped him a letter or a postcard, telling who she was with and their destination. Otherwise, he and Rockland got together too fast. Too big a coincidence. I can see how Rocko would see it as a way to come up with some quick money. That would be his style, to sell a man his own daughter. But there wouldn't be any point in Rocko talking about what shape the girl was in, or talking about what kind of a trip they'd had, or telling him his daughter was hooked on speed."
"Speed?"
"Stimulants. Amphetamines. Dexedrine. People develop a physical tolerance but not a mental tolerance, so they hit it heavier and heavier and they can get pretty nervous and erratic. If they get so dead for sleep they try to balance it off with barbiturates, then the real trouble starts. Look, Enelio, Wally McLeen came here to find his daughter. He went looking for Rockland and found him. So Rockland said that, for a fee, he might be able to produce her. He knew the girls were guests of Eva Vitrier, and we can assume he knew her place is like a fortress. What he would have to do is get to Minda, con her into writing a note to her father, peddle the note for half the money with the balance on delivery of the girl. But according to what Mrs. Vitrier told the police when she identified the body of the Bowie girl, Minda and Bix had quarreled, and Minda had gone to Mexico City a few days earlier. So Rockland went back to Bruce Bundy's house and tried to leave in the middle of the night, but Bundy had different ideas. So he didn't get to leave until Saturday, a little past noon. That leaves the rest of Thursday evening, and all day Friday, and half of Saturday, for Wally McLeen to find out where his daughter might be. I think he could have managed it. I think he could have gotten to the Vitrier estate without any help from Rockland. That's as far as I can take it. It's a point of focus, for Wally McLeen, Minda, Rockland and Bix. So the Frenchwoman must know something that will make sense out of it. What's the name of that little lawyer again, on the crutches?"
"Alfredo Gaona y Navares."
"And I can't get past him to locate Eva Vitrier. Can you?"
"I would think no."
"But he does communicate important things to her."
'Maybe not direct. Anyway, I have told you-I don't want to play very much of these games of yours, McGee."
"What if he can communicate with her directly? Is there anything that anybody could tell him that he'd think important enough to bother her with?"
Enelio got up and fixed a new drink. He shrugged. "I suppose he is responsible for the house here, and the staff. It must always be ready for her at any moment, I understand. I cannot think of any problem of the house he could not take care of without bothering her. Unless it is totally destroyed. You want me to burn it down, no thanks!"
"There must be some way."
"He is a tough old man and he is being paid not to bother her, Travis."
"And he is a very sharp-minded old man."
"Very. "
He roamed the room, scowling, pausing to sip his drink. He stopped in front of me. "One small idea. No good, maybe. From everywhere in the world it is possible to telephone to Oaxaca. I say possible. Our great larga distancia service makes grown men cry. But if he can be in touch with her, he would follow instructions if there was an order from her to him to phone her at once. Then, if somehow you could learn to where the call is placed.... But how can we do that? Hide under his desk? Damn!"
"Suppose the message came to him by phone, Enelio."
He looked blank. "So?"
"Long distance connections are frequently bad, aren't they?"
"Bad? They are unspeakable sometimes."
"And local lines are out of order sometimes?"
"If it is only once a week, it is a very good week."
"So what if that old lawyer thought he was talking to the long distance operator."
"I think I begin to see..."
"And she said she had an urgent call for him from Senora Vitrier, person to person, but when she tried to get through his line was not working, and then the long distance call faded before she could get the place of origin of the call and the number. Perhaps, if he had the number, she could try to put the call through to the lady."
A slow smile spread across his face. "Senor McGee, you have a great talent. Of course, you have one loathsome disease, which is the need to know everything. But it is a beautiful talent. I have the correct little girl for this improvisation. Very bright, very lovely, very, very naughty. And to be trusted.... Why am I, Enelio Fuentes, helping you with this nonsense?"
"Because the disease is contagious."
"And it is also a very Mexican disease, you may have noticed."
So we agreed that I would come to the agency at ten-thirty Friday morning and he would have the girl briefed, and we would see what happened.
In the morning I went to the hospital first. Meyer was sitting up, eating a large bowl of hot oatmeal. The compress had dwindled to a small bandage, and the swelling was down. But his bright blue eyes peered out through two slits in puffed flesh of deep purple and cobalt blue. It made him look less simian-and more like a hairy, dissipated owl. The girls had stopped checking his condition on a continuous basis. He had a dull headache. He said he felt as if he had been rolled downhill in a barrel. He said everyone was being very nice to him. He said that everybody seemed to have the idea that if they were not nice enough to him, the sefiorita from Guadalajara would say a few little things that would make their hair smoke. She had gone off to the center of town to buy some things for him which she said would make him more comfortable. He had little idea what they might be.
He asked about Elena, and Enelio, and Lita, and I said that last night we had celebrated his thick skull by stopping at Enelio's bachelor penthouse apartment and picking up Lita and a hamper of cheese and fruit and wine, and the four of us had picnicked in the moonlight at the ruins at Monte Alban, and had toasted his health frequently, invented new lyrics to old songs, and identified the constellations. Now, Elena and Lita were resting, having vowed to slay anyone who woke them before noon. He said wistfully he was glad everybody was having such a nice time. Then he wanted to hear about Wally. He still was blacked out by a traumatic amnesia covering that period. I told him he wasn't ready yet. He should rest.
When I got to Enelio's office he was ready and impatient to get started. He closed and locked the office door. The chosen girl was named Amparo. She wore a pink mini-dress, had cropped hair and huge dark eyes and an amused, mocking mouth.
She was not the least bit nervous about the chore. She used Enelio's private line, which did not go through the switchboard.
Though her Spanish was faster than I could follow, she had adopted, for the occasion, that flat, impartial, decorous tone of long distance operators the world over, and the overly careful enunciation of all numerals.
She spoke, listened, spoke again, wrote on the pad beside the phone, said something else, then sat for several moments with her palm over the mouthpiece. She then said something which ended in momentito, thanked him, and hung up.
Enelio went over and ripped the top sheet off the pad. He bent over the girl and kissed her heartily. She beamed and bridled and went switching out, giving Enelio a solemn wink after she had unlocked the door.
"She is close," Enelio said. "Mexico City. Hotel Camino Real. Extension F.D."
We shook hands. Successful conspiracy warms the blood. He told me that the girl had pretended to place the call, and had told him the circuits were busy and she would try again in a little while. So, when Alfredo Gaona did not hear, he would try again, and it would go through normal channels, and there would be a certain amount of confusion and apology.
He checked the schedules and discovered that if I could get to the airport in fifteen minutes, I could be in Mexico City at twenty after twelve. He said he would explain to Elena. I was not dressed for the trip. He ran me back into the suite of bedroom, dressing room, and bath off his office, grabbed some clothes, and jammed them into a small suitcase.
I gave him my car keys and told him where I was parked. He said he would inform Meyer and have the car taken up to, the hotel and the keys left at the desk. I changed to his shirt in the car on the wild ride out, and finished putting the necktie on as we got there. I knew the jacket was going to be uncomfortably snug. They were so close to departure they would not have waited for me. But they were all pleasantly glad to do a favor for Senor Fuentes. He slipped a tip into the hand of the stewardess, patted her on her behind, said he would sign inside for my ticket. We got on, and the stairs came up, and she spun the lock, and I got the belt buckled as the aircraft reached the end of the runway and turned for final check and takeoff.
I checked into the Camino Real at five after one on Friday afternoon. No reservation. A single. Any single. Yes sir, of course sir, thank you, sir. Twelve twenty-eight for the gentlemen. Enjoy your stay with us, Senor McGee.
I unpacked the assorted garments. I sat on the bed and read the instructions on how to dial other rooms in the hotel. But there was no clue as to how to dial FD. I tried the operator. With hardly a pause she said, 'I am ver' sorreeee, but I am ask to put no calls to that number, Senor."
Hmmm.
Sat at the desk and used the elegant stationery and elegant envelope. Am very anxious to speak to you on a matter of the greatest importance. Name and room number. Sealed it. Senora Eva Vitrier.
Took it down to the desk. The man checked the indexed list of guests. Handed it back.
"I am sorry, sir. We have no one of that name in the hotel. Perhaps if you check the reservation desk they might know if she is coming in." Thank you very much.
Hmmm.
So I went down to the shop near the coffee shop and bought razor, toothbrush, and the other essentials. Went into the coffee shop. Hamburger and coffee. Very touristlike.
Obviously the lady had built walls here also. She liked walls around her, with broken glass on top. Big money plus a passion for privacy makes an effective combination. How long since anyone has seen Howard Hughes?
Went back to the lobby area and roamed about until I found a bellhop with a very amiable expression. Laid ten pesos on him to tote my little sack of toiletries up to twelve twenty-eight. It was enough to make him look even more amiable. It established me as a guest. When he came back down I intercepted him again, my hand in my pocket. He looked delighted.
"Say, all these rooms have numbers, but there seems to be phone numbers with letters instead of numbers."
"What, senor? What, please?"
"Suppose a phone number is F.D. Where is that?"
"What, senor? No understands."
"Si el numero de telefono es effay day, donde esta el cuarto?"
"Oh! Oh, yes, senor. Isss not a room. Isss a suite. Other part of hotel, that way. Effay means is Fiesta Suite. Effay ah. Effay bay. Effay-"
I thrust another ten onto him and told him that was very interesting. And something was nibbling at the frayed edge of my memory. Yes indeed. Fiesta D, in Rockland's little red book. With a name I could not remember. I found a writing desk and made some tries at it. I. V. Rivatera. I. V. Traviata. Close. But not close enough.
Eva Vitrier. And there is the old game of anagrams. So take out an "i" and a "v," and you have the letters E A V T R I E R. And in three tries they assemble into Rivereta. I. V Rivereta was exactly right.
New envelope. Same note. Tear open and reseal. Mrs. I. V Rivereta. Walk to desk.
"Would you please see that this is delivered?" Checks the index. "Yes sir. Thank you, sir."
"Thank you."
Walk back up to room and turn on the television and watch an episode of Gunsmoke and wonder how come they all speak Spanish; and wait. And wait. And wait. Start to give up and wonder
what the hell to try next.
Quarter to five. Got the phone on the second ring.
"Mister McGee?" A throaty and charming voice, with that strange French bit with the vowels, and the little clickety R's of the Parisian.
"This is he." Grammar reassures.
"I 'ave your note. What is this thing of so much great importance?"
This was a crucial moment. I had the feeling that if I said the wrong thing she would hang up, and that would be the end of it for good and all.
"It concerns Beatrice Bowie, Walter Rockland, Minda McLeen, Walter McLeen and, of course, you."
"Perhaps it is important to you, yes? But not to me."
John D MacDonald - Travis McGee 11 - Dress Her in Indigo Page 22
