remembered something.
He looked up the number for Cupie Dalton, in Los Angeles, and dialed it.
“This is Cupie,” a voice said.
“Cupie, it’s me.”
“Capitan! How the hell are you?”
“All right, I guess. You remember you phoned me a little while back about the woman Barbara Eagle?”
“Yeah, sure, I did.”
“You wanted to know if she was still in prison?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“She is not.”
Cupie thought about that for a moment. “Barbara is
“It would appear so. The day following our conversation two men appeared at the prison with a transfer order, supposedly issued by the Ministry of Justice. The warden told me it was properly executed, and the men took Eagle away, telling him to continue to keep her on his roll of prisoners and warning him to tell no one.”
“Good God! Where did they take her?”
“I have no idea. The Ministry has no record of a transfer. I suspect that this was an escape arranged by some friend of hers.”
“Is anyone looking for her?”
“No, that would be… inconvenient, at this time.”
“I can understand how it might be,” Cupie said.
“Cupie, it seems possible that your eyes did not deceive you when you thought you saw her.”
“It certainly does,” Cupie replied.
“My friend, I would be very grateful if you could try and trace her. It is impossible for me to pay you at this time, but if you were able to find her and return her to Mexico, I could arrange a substantial reward for you.”
Cupie thought about that. It wasn’t as though he had much work at the moment. “Capitan, I would be very happy to try and find her,” he said.
“Good, Cupie, very good.”
“I can’t estimate how much time it might take, but there are leads I can follow.”
“Please call and tell me of your progress,” the capitan said.
The two men said good-bye and hung up, then Cupie made another call.
“Hello?”
“Vittorio? It’s Cupie.”
“Hello, Cupie,” Vittorio replied. The two men had worked together twice for Ed Eagle, searching for his ex- wife.
“I just heard from our friend, the capitan, in Tijuana,” Cupie said. “Barbara is out.”
13
Ed Eagle sat in a canvas director’s chair on the set of Susannah’s film. It was the first day of shooting, and since he had invested in the film, his name was emblazoned on his chair.
Eagle had never watched a movie being filmed, and he found the process painfully slow. Scenes were shot from different angles; there were master shots, two shots and close-ups, and the lighting had to be adjusted for each setup. Grass grew faster, he decided, and he was pleased when his cell phone vibrated. He got up and walked off the soundstage. “Hello?”
“Ed, it’s Cupie Dalton.”
“Hello, Cupie.”
“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”
“It’s all right. You got me out of watching a movie being made. I’ve rarely been so bored.”
“I have some bad news, I’m afraid.”
“Did somebody die, Cupie?”
“Not yet,” Cupie replied, “but you’d better watch your ass. Barbara is out of prison.”
Eagle froze, and it took him a moment to respond. “How?” he asked.
Cupie told him how two men had appeared at the prison with a transfer order and taken her away. “Turns out the order was a fake.”
“When did this happen?”
“I’m not sure, exactly-two, three weeks ago. I think I saw her at Venice Beach about that time.”
Eagle took a deep breath. “Why would she be at Venice Beach?”
“There’s a guy has a photography business down there, and as a sideline he makes paper for those who can afford him. Or maybe the sideline is the photography.”
“So, she has a new identity?”
“That’s my guess.”
“Any idea where she is?”
“No, but sooner or later she’s going to be wherever you are. We both know that.”
“Yes, we do,” Eagle replied.
“I’ve been offered a reward, if I can return her to Mexico, but I need expense money for Vittorio and me.”
“What do you need?”
“Three hundred a day each,” Cupie replied, “and ten grand each if we can take her back.”
“Done,” Eagle said. “I’ll wire you the first week’s expenses immediately. Your account information still the same?”
“Yes. I’ll be coming to Santa Fe. There’s no point in trying to track her, since we know her destination.”
“Get on it, then.”
“You know, Ed, somebody had to arrange this for her, a friend on the outside.”
“Barbara doesn’t have any friends,” Eagle replied.
“Except for one.”
“As it happens, he’s here in Santa Fe right now, in the next room, in fact.”
“Don’t let on that you know she’s out,” Cupie said. “He’s our only link to her.”
“All right.”
“I’ll be there tonight,” Cupie said, “and we’ll start tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks, Cupie. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Eagle called his office and gave his secretary instructions on wiring funds to Cupie, then he waited until the red light went off above the soundstage door and walked back in. They were changing setups.
Jim Long was deep in conversation with the director, and Eagle’s first impulse was to collar him, drag him outside and beat the shit out of him. As satisfying as that might be, however, doing so would not help him find Barbara, so he restrained himself.
CUPIE CALLED VITTORIO. “I talked to Eagle. He’s wiring expense money, and I’m getting a three-o’clock plane to Albuquerque. Can you meet me?”
“Sure, and you can stay with me. We can save money, not get a hotel.” Vittorio lived in a small adobe house in the desert outside Santa Fe.
“See you in Albuquerque,” Cupie said. He hung up, packed his bags, got into his car and drove to his bank, where he made a cash withdrawal of four thousand dollars. He left his car in long-term parking and caught the bus to the terminal.
VITTORIO, WHO WAS an Apache, descended from his great-greatgrandfather of the same name, stood out in the airport crowd, with his black clothing and black flat-brimmed hat. The inky braided hair to his shoulder blades helped, too.
In the car, Cupie handed him two thousand in cash. Vittorio tucked it into an inside pocket of his vest and
