Goodbye Mexico

by Phillip Jennings

  Around me swirled a dozen or so women in various states of undress. Negligees, silken Chinese robes, and slippers seemed to be the uniform of the day. Gearheardt was at the teletype, pulling off messages and scribbling notes on them. The women took the sheets, consulted clipboards, and filed the messages into boxes arranged on the floor around the room. Telephones had been brought in and half of the women were speaking earnestly into them. A map of the world had been tacked to one wall.

  The door opened and Benito entered, pushing a cart laden with rolls and coffee. He smiled when he saw me.

  “Ola, Jack. You no come for the dessert.” He gave a little swish with his hips.

  “I’m not a homosexual, Benito,” trying not to sound as if that were an accomplishment on my part.

  “I ask Señor Gearheardt and he say ‘not yet.’”

  “Yes, well Señor Gearheardt is an idiot. He is pulling your chain, Benito.”

  “Sounds nice,” he said with a sad smile. He began handing out coffee cups.

  I saw Gearheardt laughing at me. “Be good, Jack. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  I accepted a cup of coffee from the non-grudge holding Benito. Gearheardt rose and went to the map. With a grease pencil he began making notations on its acetate cover.

  Hong Kong—3 military, 4 govt. 11 bus

  Bangkok—10 military, 15 govt. ? bus

  London—0 military, 0 govt 22 bus

  Moscow—15 military, 10 govt 0 bus

  Looking closer I notice that fifty or so major cities around the world had similar notations. None were in the U.S.

  “Isabella,” Gearheardt called out, “get Hong Kong on the phone. Find out which military the three are from. They could be from anywhere.”

  I turned and saw Isabella who smiled at me. It was Conchita’s friend. I guess I should have known.

  “Si, Señor Gearheardt,” she answered.

  “And make sure the offices are using the lists we sent them. Full colonels and above for the military. You got that?” He turned around to the desk nearest him. “Clara, check with Bangkok and try to find out the story behind the ‘zero’ businessmen. The chance that no important businessmen are in massage parlors is non-existent.”

  Gearheardt closed the notebook he was holding and looked up at me. “Jack, I should probably bring you up to date on the situation.”

  “That would be nice. How many more people will be trying to kill me when I know the whole plan?”

  “No one is trying to kill you, Jack. At least no one that is involved with the ISP/Gearheardt plan.”

  “What about the Pygmy? That half blind Ukrainian guy? What about them?”

  “I was just trying to make sure I had your attention, Jack. Get you focused. Thinking someone is going to put a bullet through your head can get you riled up sometimes. Know what I mean?”

  I was too dazed and tired to be mad at him. And I was not totally surprised. Over- estimating danger in order to grab assets and assistance was an Agency thing. The fact that Gearheardt was supposedly my best friend was not a hindrance to that practice when a mission was on.

  “It doesn’t bother you to scare me half out of my wits in order for you to use me, right?”

  “Cake walks don’t get resources, Jack.” He smiled and turned back to the room. “Would someone tell me why there is a red circle around Delhi?” he asked, his voice suddenly edgy.

  Three of the women spoke quietly to each other, their heads together, looking up at the map and back at Gearheardt occasionally. Finally the one he had called Isabella came shyly over.

  “Señor Gearheardt, we are trying to talk to the office in Bombay who will talk to the office in Delhi, who will visit the front line (I found out later this was what the girls called the bordellos now) to see what has happened.” She hesitated and looked back at the map, avoiding, I thought, looking at Gearheardt.

  “But the red circle—let me make sure all of you know—is to indicate that the girls have started action. We went over all of this. So why is there a red circle around Delhi?” Gearheardt was didactic.

  Isabella looked back at her friends, who looked away. Then she faced Gearheardt.

  “The girls have taken the Lotus House and are holding the customers. There has been some ‘reaction’ and we are in touch with the girls now.”

  “DAISY,” Gearheardt yelled. The room activity stopped. The girls manning the phones continued to talk but lowered their voices.

  I had not noticed, but Daisy was at one of the desks near the door. She was on the phone and held up a finger to Gearheardt. After a moment she hung up, rose slowly, and crossed to stand in front of him.

  “Daisy,” Gearheardt said calmly, “Isabella tells me that the girls in the Lotus House couldn’t wait until we gave them the word. Can’t everybody get it through their little prostitute heads that this is not a game?” He looked up at Daisy. “So what’s the situation?”

  Daisy sat down in one of the side chairs. “The girls have taken the house. There are a number of officials and some policemen that are … in … that are … not being allowed to leave. Sari is in charge. We have talked to her. She’s trying to hold on, but she is scared and many girls have run away.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Daisy, we have to be tough. I know these women have gone through a lot for years and years. But we can’t let them just fly off the handle and ruin the big picture for everybody. If I have to be a hard-ass, so be it. Let me talk to this damn Sari and I’ll see if I can control the situation.”

  Daisy nodded to a young woman across the room. She punched keys on her telephone and then the unit on Gearheardt’s desk rang. Daisy picked up the receiver and held it toward Gearheardt. “This is Sari, Señor Hard-Ass. She is twelve years old.” She dropped the receiver suddenly, causing Gearheardt to reach out and grasp it. He held it away from his chest, his palm over the transmitter.

  Gearheardt looked stricken. His eyes moist. I found it hard to look at him, so unusual to see him emotional and at an apparent loss for words. Finally he raised the phone.

  “Sari, this is Mr. Gearheardt.” His voice was honey.

  We could hear her response clearly. “We are not surely knowing what to do, Mr. Gearheardt. Will we be having help soon?”

  “Where are the older women, Sari? Are you … in charge?”

  “I am oldest, Mr. Gearheardt. When we are becoming thirteen in the Lotus House, we are moved to not be with our friends. Will we be having help soon?”

  “Sari, I am going to put Mrs. Daisy back on the phone. She and the girls here will help you as best that we can. Thank you, Sari. You are a very good leader for the Lotus House platoon.”

  “Mr. Gearheardt, I would be asking you one thing.”

  “What’s that, Sari?”

  “Even if I am to be not living, may I be taken to Cuba to be resting forever? I do not wish to stay in Delhi. I am asking please, Mr. Gearheardt.”

  Gearheardt turned to the map, away from the room. I didn’t hear his answer but after a moment he held out the phone and Daisy took it from him. She punched the hold button on Gearheardt’s phone and returned to her desk.

  Gearheardt seemed to recover just a bit. “Daisy,” he yelled across the room, “get the nearest Alpha team into Delhi asap.”

  Now Daisy held her hand over the transmitter. “It may be too late by the time the team can arrive, Señor Gearheardt.”

  Gearheardt thought for a moment. “Send them anyway. If Sari and the other girls are … gone, then have them burn the Lotus House and track down anyone that owned it and … they’ll know what to do.”

  I caught Gearheardt’s eye. “This sounds like war, Gearheardt.”

  “You’re goddamned right it is, Jack. No turning back now.” He looked back at the map which was being updated by two young women in black lace. “I need some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

  Daisy found two unoccupied rooms and Gearheardt asked her to wake him in just a few hours. Imagined or not, my head was filled with rhythmic
poundings, sad cries of ecstasy, and voices alternatively demanding and cajoling. The pillow over my head helped enough for me to fall asleep. I was glad I hadn’t been raised in a whorehouse.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  HIGH LATE MORNING

  Gearheardt woke me at dawn.

  “Better roll out, Jack,” he said, “Today’s a big day.”

  “Anything new from Delhi?” I asked as we headed out to have a morning cigarette.

  Gearheardt didn’t answer but his face turned red and he clamped his jaws tighter. Something not good must have happened in Delhi.

  By the time we reached the street, Gearheardt had built up an impressive rage. He lit a cigarette and looked at the passing Mexican people. “Pick someone for me to beat the crap out of, Jack. I trust your judgment.”

  “The odds of someone I don’t like strolling by right now are probably not good, Gearheardt. Take a deep breath. You look like you’re about to have a stroke. Not a good look for you.” Telling myself it was no use quitting the day I was probably going to die, I took a cigarette from his pack and lit up. “Do you suppose its time for you to fill me in on the global operation you’re running?”

  We were standing on the sidewalk in front of the Las Palomas building. Gearheardt suddenly flipped his cigarette butt into the gutter. It barely missed the feet of an elderly Mexican gentleman pushing an orange-laden cart.

  “Buenos dias,” I said.

  “Buenos dias,” he replied, frowning at Gearheardt and then smiling at me. His cart squeaked on down the street.

  “That old bastard saves his money so he can come in once a month and harass Filona.”

  I respected Gearheardt’s mood, but expected a bit of rationality none the less.

  “It is a whorehouse, Gearheardt.”

  Gearheardt looked at me like I was crazy. I returned the favor.

  Finally I spoke. “I’m not putting the girls down, Gearheardt. It’s just that the routine is that if you pay money, you get to ‘harass’ the girls. I didn’t make the rules.” It was only later that I recognized the ridiculousness of explaining how brothels worked to Gearheardt. Now, I was just trying to calm him down.

  I think Gearheardt noticed about the same time that I did that the orange vendor had evidently left his cart to be valet parked. He was walking quick-step away when Gearheardt turned and shoved me against the building, putting his body between me and the cart. “Oh, shit,” he said.

  The explosion was loud but, from a destruction point of view, not terribly productive. Other than orange pulp and juice coating the area, including Gearheardt’s back, no harm was done. The vendor was still within sight and Gearheardt took him down with a single fruit plucked from the still smoking pile on the cart. I started toward where he sat picking pulp from his head, but Gearheardt grabbed my arm and stopped me.

  “He’s not important, Jack. Someone hired him to scare us. Don’t waste your time on him.” He returned his handkerchief to his pocket after wiping the back of his neck. He gestured to the cart of burnt and split oranges.

  “This is the thing to remember, Jack. This smoking pile of oranges will someday be talked about like the sinking of the Maine, the shots fired on Fort Sumter, the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the sexual habits of the Kennedys. This is history, Jack. The first skirmish of the War of the Whores.” He grabbed another orange and threw it at the vendor. A perfect head shot knocked the man to the street again. “I trademarked that name, by the way. The girls have tee shirts being silk-screened.”

  We shoved our way through the gathering crowd of curiosity seekers. Gearheardt nodded to the young valet, who indicated he would take care of things. Back in the coffee shop the waitresses eyed me warily and I knew any sudden moves I might make toward Gearheardt would result in an ashtray and beer bottle beating. We took a table in the back of the shop, away from anyone and the noise coming from the street.

  The action seemed to relax Gearheardt. We no sooner had ordered coffee than Daisy appeared at our table.

  “Señor Hard Ass,” she said, “you should be upstairs. There are things happening.”

  “I’ll be there shortly, Daisy. I need to brief my pal here before he goes off and does something stupid.”

  “Señor, there is word that the Halcones are coming to Las Palomas. We should make plans.”

  “Daisy, the Halcones are not coming here. You have my word. The Mexican police might drop by, but we can handle them. Take care of things upstairs for just a few minutes, and then I’ll be up there.”

  She left without speaking, stepping on my toes as she departed.

  “I don’t think she likes you, Jack,” Gearheardt said. “She usually doesn’t like guys who smoke in her brothel.”

  In the past I might have pointed out to Gearheardt that one, he had been the one smoking, and two, smoking was actually allowed in some of the finest whorehouses around the world.

  “What’s going on?” I wanted to try to keep Gearheardt focused on filling me in. I was to take part in an assassination attempt in a few hours and thought that knowing the plan might calm me.

  “Jack, let me give you some background. When I was traveling around the world while I was supposed to be in Angola, setting up the Gearheardt Information Network, I talked to a lot of prostitutes. And do you know what I found, Jack? A lot of these girls would prefer to be doing something else. They don’t like this screwing for money for the most part.”

  “You’re kidding.” Knowing the sarcasm would be lost on Gearheardt.

  “Couldn’t be more serious, Jack. It actually became depressing going brothel to massage parlor, city after city, knowing the women were not as happy in their work as I had always thought.”

  “Yes, that would be a downer.”

  “I began spending more time talking to the girls than … you know, fooling around with them.”

  “Let me interrupt, Gearheardt. You seem to actually be serious. Are you trying to tell me that up until then, after what must have been hundreds visits to various houses of pleasure, you thought the women were doing what they did because they just liked sex?”

  “Hundreds? Gee, I’ve never thought about how many—”

  “That’s not my point, Gearheardt. What’s going on?”

  The windows of the Las Palomas coffee shop shattered at the moment we heard the gunfire. A short burst from an automatic weapon, the crash, and the thud of bullets in the wall behind us. A car squealed away outside.

  “Well, for God’s sake,” Gearheardt said, “so much for the bullet proof windows in this place. These damn Mexican sonsabitches will steal your eyeteeth if—”

  “Gearheardt! Who in the hell was that?” I rose back from where I had ducked under the table.

  “Probably some of the damn Cubans, but I didn’t get a good look.” Gearheardt held his orange juice up to the light. “You suppose any glass would fly back this far, Jack?”

  “Which Cubans?”

  “Both sides have a stake in this, Jack. So either side could be trying to stop the other side.”

  “That clears that up. Which side are we, you jackass?”

  “We’re more or less non-partisan, Jack. Our mission is to secure Cuba. We’re the only people wanting us to do that.”

  Around us the staff was sweeping up the glass. At the curb our parking valet was directing a crew cleaning up the orange residue and pulling the still-smoking cart away. Gearheardt was reading the menu, that I knocked out of his hands. “Damn it, Gearheardt, finish the story. Maybe you have time to fill me in before the next assault or bombing. You are the most dangerous person to have as a friend in the entire fucking universe.”

  Gearheardt picked up the menu and smiled. “I always thought it was you, Jack. We never seem to have things happen to us except when you’re around.” He indicated the pancakes to the hovering waitress.

  I grabbed his menu, pointed to the pancakes, and dismissed the waitress. No doubt Gearheardt’s would be served on a silver platter, while she would carry m
y pancakes out in her butt-crack. And he was the one who was going to get everyone killed.

  I went on. “I’ve figured out that you sold the CIA on a plan that will have the U.S. take over Cuba for you. This fake assassination attempt. And I guess I’ve figured out that your plan was to then take Cuba for your International Group of Hookers—”

  “International Sisterhood of Prostitutes.”

  “Okay, the ISP. But even you aren’t crazy enough to think that the U.S. or any other country affected is going to just give you Cuba.”

  “I’m not going to ask them, Jack. I’m going to negotiate with them.”

  “With who?”

  “With whoever doesn’t want me to have Cuba. Realistically only the U.S. will give a damn. And they’ll be dead set against it since they’re the ones that have to spend all the money and fight the Cubans. Can’t say as how I blame them.”

  “Hmmm,” I said. “And what pray tell are you using for negotiating leverage?”

  “Damn it,” Gearheardt said. He rose and lunged for a hand grenade that had been tossed into the room through the broken window. Tossing it back to the street, he fell to the floor and yelled for me to do the same. The blast was loud, but again not particularly destructive from what I could see. “Landed under a taxi cab driving by,” Gearheardt said, craning his head through the front window. “That absorbed most of the blast. That valet boy has his hands full this morning.”

  He walked back toward our table, gesturing at the waitress who reasonably seemed to be in shock. “Vicki, mi amor, would you have those pancakes sent up to us in the club? The action down here is not conducive to proper digestion.”

  Upstairs, changes were being made. Two heavily armed women, in green fatigue uniforms, guarded the door. Inside, the fancy waiting room of Las Palomas now resembled a war room with terse commands and requests thrown out clipped and fast. Mostly in Spanish but occasionally in French, German and English. About half of the two dozen women were in fatigues, the other half comfortable in bordello combat regalia—negligees and garter belts. I doubted if any other ‘military’ staff boasted the cleavage exhibited. Maps and charts lined the walls, a large globe sat on its stand near the center of the room. Small flags were pinned into various cities.