Toughest kid on the football team, probably. It would have taken Dolly maybe fifteen seconds to put him in the hospital. The gray-haired man appeared at the doorway at the end of the bar. He said something to Dolly, who came down the bar to us.
'There,' he said and gestured with his head toward the doorway.
Through the doorway was a big office, wainscotted in dark oak, the walls painted forest green. Along the back wall was a dark oak bookcase lined with hardcover books. I could see the complete works of Booth Tarkington and Mark Twain among others. There were some minions in the room, probably bodyguards, but the central figure was the middle-sized guy who sat behind a big Victorian library table, his hands folded quietly before him on the green leather table top. He was a trim man in a charcoal-gray suit, a white shirt, and a silver silk tie. There was a silvery silk handkerchief in his display pocket. His clothes fit him well. His nails were manicured. His dark face was leathery and pitted as if from a childhood illness. His nose was prominent. There were deep grooves running from the nostrils to the corners of his mouth. He nodded at us when we came in.
The gray-haired man said something in Spanish. Chollo translated for me.
'They are both wearing weapons, Chief.'
'I understand the word `Jefe,'' I said.
'Hell,' Chollo said. 'What do you need me for?'
'Let them keep the guns,' Santiago said. He was looking at Chollo.
He spoke to Chollo in Spanish.
Chollo translated, 'Who are you?' and answered in Spanish.
Santiago nodded.
'It will save us time,' he said, 'if we all speak English. You are Mexican, I can tell by the accent.'
'Si,' Chollo said. 'East LA.'
'Had you been from around here,' Santiago said, 'I would have known you.'
He looked at me without moving his head. 'And you?'
'Name is Spenser,' I said. 'I'm looking for a woman named Lisa St. Claire. She's missing. I heard she might be in Proctor with a guy named Luis Deleon.'
'And you wish my help?'
'Yeah.'
Besides Santiago and the guy with the gray hair, there were three other Hispanic men leaning on various walls of the room looking deadly and scornful, like a bunch of extras in a George Raft movie. In fact, the whole place had a kind of theatrical quality, as if it had been designed specifically as a dangerous gangster office. Freddie Santiago didn't take himself lightly.
'Why do you think she is with Deleon?'
'He is apparently her former boyfriend. There is a message on her answering machine the day she disappeared from a man who might have an Hispanic accent. He says he'll stop by.'
'That's all?'
'They say the romance was a hot one.'
'That's all?'
'That's all.'
'You think that's enough reason to come poking your Anglo nose into my city?'
'It's more reason than I've got to poke it anywhere else.'
Santiago smiled briefly.
'What will you do if you find her?' he said.
'That'll depend on her circumstances. First I'll find her.'
'And her husband? Where is he?'
'Somebody shot him.'
'Dead?'
'Almost.'
'And this young man?' Santiago nodded at Chollo.
'My translator.'
'And valet, perhaps? Does he lick your Anglo boots clean as well?'
Neither Chollo's voice, nor his face, showed any expression.
'You should be careful, Senor, of your mouth,' he said gently.
Santiago said, 'Julio, throw the Chicano out.'
One of the background thugs heaved himself languidly off the wall and walked toward Chollo. He was maybe four inches taller and thirty pounds heavier. He had the bored look that thugs work so hard on. He put a hand on Chollo's arm. Chollo's hands moved so fast I couldn't quite tell what he did, but Julio was on the floor gasping for air and clutching at his throat, and there was a 9mm automatic in Chollo's hand.
