security guys, including the one with the portable metal detector out front, all in Bottle Bar T-shirts. Three of them were behind the island bar, working alongside an equal number of petite Ticas, and didn't look like much, though probably they could be mobilized if there were a problem that required a show of force. And probably the number of security personnel, like the number of bartenders, would increase as the hour grew later and the bar more raucous.
He walked. Rear emergency exit-check. Next to it, a black curtain with a sign next to it that said Privado. Presumably Taibbi's office. And if there had been any doubt, the muscleman in dreadlocks and the black Bottle Bar T-shirt sitting on a stool next to the curtain would be an important clue. Okay. He stood a little ways off and watched the scene in the bar and waited. He thought of the last bar he'd been in, the one in Manila. But it was different now. He was operational. If violence was called for, he'd use it purposefully.
Or at least for the right purpose.
After a few minutes, Paula appeared. She was back in her regular clothes.
'I think I'm going to miss that outfit,' Ben said.
'I'm sure you will.'
'I should have taken a picture.'
'Yeah, you should have. Because that's the last you'll be seeing of it.'
'You ready?'
'Let's go.'
They strolled over to Dreadlocks. The guy watched their approach and didn't get up. Ben wasn't impressed. If he'd been Dreadlocks and seen himself walking over, he'd damn sure be on his feet before the threat had closed the distance.
Paula said, 'Hello there. Do you speak English??Habla mejor Espanol?'
Dreadlocks looked at her and said in American-accented English, 'What do you want?'
'Oh, thank you. My Spanish is so rusty. We're here to see Mr. Taibbi.'
'Is he expecting you?'
'I don't believe so, no. But I'm sure he'll want to talk to us anyway. We have some information about Harry McGlade.'
Dreadlocks looked at her for a moment longer, shifted his eyes to Ben, then shrugged. He got up, parted the curtain, and disappeared behind it. Ben heard a door open and close.
A minute later, Dreadlocks appeared from behind the curtain. He stood closer to Ben and Paula than he needed to, crossed his massive arms across his chest, and said, 'He's not here.'
Ben looked at him. 'You had to go back there to figure that out?'
'Guess I did.'
'When's he coming back?'
'Don't know. Maybe never. Main thing is, he's not here. Now you need to not be here, too. You understand?'
'Of course we do,' Paula started to say. 'It's just-'
Ben cut her off. 'Actually, I don't. I can be a little slow about that kind of thing. Maybe you can explain it to me.'
Ben could tell by a dozen tiny signals the guy wasn't a fighter, just someone who'd gotten used to intimidating people with his size and demeanor. Some guys like that, when they realized they'd treed a bad one, would find a lame way to back off and save face. But Ben didn't see any of that kind of recognition in Dreadlocks's eyes. Well, every would-be hard-ass fucks with the wrong guy eventually. Looked like Ben was going to be this one's first.
Dreadlocks looked at Ben and frowned. Ben thought of something one of his instructors had once taught him, something he'd already known from innumerable street fights as a kid. But he liked his instructor's formulation anyway:
When faced with violence, make sure you hit first, soon, early, and often.
Didn't look like Dreadlocks had received that particular memo. Well, it was never too late to learn.
Dreadlocks uncrossed his arms and stepped in closer. Ben knew the stance was supposed to look confident, and he supposed it did. But it was also extremely stupid. It left the guy's whole body open to attack.
'I'm gonna ask you-'
Ben didn't wait for the rest of the question. He threw a hand forward like a guy pitching a softball. There was a nice, satisfying impact as his palm connected with Dreadlocks's package. Dreadlocks made an oomph sound and doubled forward, his eyes bulging. Ben spread his fingers, raked in everything in the neighborhood, and squeezed extremely hard. The sound Dreadlocks was making changed to huuunnnnhh, and his face turned as scarlet and stricken as that of a man having a coronary. He wrapped his hands around Ben's wrist but Ben didn't let up for a second.
Ben looked around to make sure Dreadlocks didn't have plain-clothes backup and that they hadn't drawn the attention of any of the uniformed security up front. He didn't see anyone. They were lucky the bar was relatively quiet at this hour, the security posture accordingly relaxed.
'I'm sorry, what did you want to ask me?'
'Hnnnnuuuunnnnnhhhhh,' Dreadlocks said, grimacing.
'I'm sorry, I don't speak hnuh. But let me ask you something. Answer in English, okay? Is Taibbi here?'
'He's… here…,' Dreadlocks said, sounding like a human steam kettle.
'Good, I thought so. Now, in a second, I'm going to let you go. You try asking me any more questions after that, I'm not going to be so easy on you. Okay?'
'Okay,' Dreadlocks wheezed.
Ben let go and Dreadlocks dropped to his knees, clutching himself and making retching noises. Ben stepped past him through the curtain. Paula caught up and said, 'What the hell was that?'
Ben glanced at her. 'Just trying to break the cycle of violence.'
'You call that breaking the cycle of violence?'
'Well, there's no more violence, is there?'
'How are we going to get any cooperation after that?'
'I don't know. I don't usually think that far ahead.'
Ben swung open the door and stepped into a small, rectangular room, only slightly better lit than the bar outside, Paula just behind him. A man was sitting in an enormous leather chair facing the door, leaning back, his legs up on a wooden desk, tooled-up cowboy boots crossed at the ankles. He had a head of shaggy gray hair and small, strikingly blue eyes set back deeply under a craggy, protruding brow. He didn't flinch when Ben and Paula walked in. Instead, he pulled a few leaves off a plug of chewing tobacco in a pouch and casually eased them up between his gums and cheek. He closed the pouch and tossed it onto the desk. Then he slowly worked the wad into place with his tongue, watching them silently.
Taibbi, Ben thought. In his experience, any man who could be as relaxed as this one when two strangers barged into his office had a weapon within arm's reach. If the guy's hands went under the desk or into a drawer or anywhere else, Ben was ready to upend the desk and dump it on him.
'Who are you?' Taibbi said after a moment, in a deep Texas drawl.
Ben looked at him. 'Friends of Harry McGlade.'
'Harry McGlade doesn't have friends.'
Ben realized that was probably true. 'Acquaintances might be a better word.'
Taibbi squinted. 'All right, Harry McGlade's acquaintances. What the fuck do you want?'
Ben said, 'Information.'
Taibbi cocked his head and regarded them for a long moment, as though trying to figure out how two people this stupid could also draw breath. 'Well, sure, absolutely, just ask whatever you want, I'll tell you everything I know.'
Paula said, 'We were hoping if we ask nicely, Mr. Taibbi.'
Taibbi spit a wad of tobacco juice into a cup. 'The way you asked my bouncer?'
Either Taibbi was just coming to the logical conclusion, or he'd overheard the confrontation. Either way, it didn't matter. Ben said, 'He started it.'
Paula looked at him disgustedly, like he was the world's biggest child. Ben looked back and shrugged.
