The Consummata

“That stretch of street was deserted, and the park wasn’t exactly busy—no old men playing checkers this time of night.”

They didn’t seem to know what to say.

Finally Saladar managed, “But why would such a person search you out, Senor Morgan?”

“Well, it’s not the militia. They’d just as soon catch me breathing.” I sipped more coffee. “Bunny thinks the dead guy worked for Halaquez.”

Maria, alarm in both her voice and eyes, said, “How could Halaquez know where you would be?”

“Good question.”

Pedro said, “If somehow he did know, he is very capable of sending a man to remove you, senor. Halaquez might be afraid that you would find him, and—”

“Maybe,” I said, cutting off my host. I watched his face closely. “But why send somebody before I’ve even begun the hunt? After all, you people didn’t hire me to kill this clown. It’s a straight retrieval job.”

Pedro squinted in thought. “I do not follow, senor....”

“Seventy-five thousand bucks,” I said, “is real money, I’ll grant you. But it doesn’t justify sending an assassin to take me out.”

“Perhaps not, senor,” Saladar said. “But if one considers the reputation of Morgan the Raider, it might well seem prudent.”

“Doubtful.” I let a few seconds of silence sink in, then added, “Could it be something else? Could it be more than the money?”

In turn, they looked at each other, their puzzlement palpable.

Pedro said, “I am sorry, Senor Morgan, but I do not understand.”

“Never mind.” I grunted. “Tell me about Gaita.”

Mildly defensive, Pedro said, “We trust her with our lives, senor.”

“That’s your choice. But trusting her with mine is my call. I want chapter and verse.”

“Senor?”

“I want the whole damn dossier.”

This also confused Pedro, but Luis Saladar knew exactly what I meant.

The trimly bearded man leaned back in his chair—again he wore a dignified white suit with a bolo tie—and his eyes focused on me steadily, rarely blinking as he spoke.

“My friend, this young woman’s parents were killed by Castro’s men before her eyes. With the bodies of her mother and papa nearby, several of these soldiers...they had their way with her.”

“They raped her.”

“They raped her, senor, yes. She was but a child of twelve or perhaps thirteen, you understand...yet what they did to her, she understood, and she learned at this age how to hate—how to hate very well.”

“Makes sense.”

“She came to this country aboard a small boat with six others. Two died of malnourishment before finally the Coast Guard towed them ashore. She was an independent child...true, she made her living by becoming a...”

He couldn’t make himself say it, and found other words.

“...by catering to the needs of men. But like all of us, she deals with whatever commodity she has available. And her work for the cause, it has been exemplary.”

I nodded. “Novios?”

But it was Maria who took the liberty of answering: “No sweethearts, Senor Morgan. No boys, no men. Since Gaita’s experience at the hands of Castro’s pigs that awful night, so many years ago? She has little to do with the male sex.”

“Unless she’s charging a male for sex, you mean?”

She took no offense and seemed utterly unembarrassed as she said, “That is business, senor. One must survive.”

“Maybe so, but she made me a free offer the other night.”

Now it was Saladar who replied: “That is because you are different. She said as much to me. She said, ‘This Morgan—he is a real man.’ ”

“Yeah, well, that’s swell...but maybe that’s what she wants you to hear, Luis. And wants me to hear through you. The question is, can I trust her?”

Saladar’s chin jutted. “As Pedro told you—I would trust her with my life. In fact, I have...several times.” His eyes narrowed. “Information she had ferreted out for us, it has proved invaluable.”

“She made the arrangements at the Hotel Amherst,” I reminded him.

“If she had the intentions upon your life, senor,” Saladar said quietly, “did she not have ample opportunity to act upon them? When you were in her care, and her trust? Would your death have not come sooner, and in less obvious a fashion than by some bomb? No? As you said yourself, your coming here was most accidental. She could not have foreseen your arrival. None of us could.”

I leaned back in my chair and took a taste of the coffee. The stuff could make your eyes water. I liked it.

“That,” I said, “leaves us with the other hooker—Tami—and that cab driver, whose name I never caught.”

Saladar’s nostrils twitched and he seemed to grow with the breath he took. “The driver, senor, was my nephew. I will vouch for him gladly.”

“Okay. But will you vouch for Tami?”

“Gaita recommended her as a trusted friend.”

But a prostitute. A woman who sold herself for money might not hesitate selling somebody else out. On the other hand, I’d met plenty of whores whose morality was superior to a lot of self-proclaimed good people.

“So if we take Gaita’s word that Tami’s reliable,” I said, “we are still left with a great big leaky hole somewhere.”

Maria gave me a soft smile. “This house, Senor Morgan, it is watertight.”

“I’m thinking about another house.”

“Senor?”

“The Mandor Club.”

Saladar’s eyes were curious now. “This is by the process of elimination, senor?”

“In part,” I said. “But mostly it’s because, as Gaita made clear, the Mandor’s a handy little place for picking up tidbits of information you can make pay off. Luis, you said yourself that Gaita has been a top source of information for you...and where did she get that information?”

He shrugged. “The Mandor Club. You are right, senor.” Then he shook his head. “But not Gaita, or her friend Tami, either....”

“Still—somebody else could be using it for the same reasons.”

“The businesswoman who runs the Club Mandor,” Saladar said, “you seem to trust her. She passed your message on to Pedro, and through him to me. But she would have the perfect opportunity to gather such intelligence.”

The military term did not surprise me, coming from this man.

“True,” I said. “She may have every room bugged. Hell, they may have film or video cameras going behind one-way glass. But Bunny didn’t send the man with the knife.”

Saladar’s eyes narrowed and his head tilted to one side. “How can you be sure of this?”

“If Maria will pardon a vulgar American expression—you don’t shit where you eat. She would hardly sanction a killing in the lobby of her own apartment house.”