It took almost two hours to figure out where Rudy was staying. I’d found Manfred and Nicky playing pool at The Eight Ball, so with their help and a couple of understanding Angeles regulars, we canvassed the district trying to discover where Rudy and Isabel might be.
I thought for sure he was staying at the Las Palmas Hotel, so I went there first. But it was a no-go. Ditto at the Royal Suites, the Vista and The Pit Stop. One of the things that worried me was that we’d find his hotel, but they wouldn’t be there. Angeles was a big place. For that matter, Luzon was a big island. Still, he wasn’t a native, so I held on to the belief that he had to take her somewhere familiar.
At three thirty a.m., Manfred called me on my cell phone. “He’s staying at the MacArthur Inn,” he said. “The receptionist said he came in awhile ago with a girl who was so drunk, he basically had to carry her.”
The MacArthur was a five-minute trike ride from where I was. I told Manfred to grab a couple of the hotel security guards and break in. Even as we were talking, I waved over a trike and climbed in.
The driver, spurred on by my offer of two hundred pesos to drive like hell, did just that. We were there in under four minutes. I threw the money at him and raced inside.
The receptionist seemed to be expecting me, and before I could say anything, she was pointing toward her right. “Room 117.”
I followed her directions and continued running at top speed down a long hallway lined on either side by numbered doors. The door to 117 was open, but my momentum almost carried me past it. I was a hell of a lot of mass moving at speeds I hadn’t achieved in years. I caught hold of the jamb and barely kept from falling to the floor.
The lights in the room were on, so I was able to take everything in quickly. Manfred was there, crumpled against the wall, his arms wrapped around his stomach, groaning. Otherwise the room was empty.
I lumbered over to him, and kneeled down. I put a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. His eyes remained closed for a moment before becoming slits. “Doc?”
“Jesus. What happened?” I asked.
He opened his eyes the rest of the way, then, with my help, sat up, back against the wall. “Receptionist gave me the key,” he said. “Found them in here. He had her. On the bed.” He grabbed my arm. “I was too late.”
“Where did they go?
“I don’t know. I tried to stop him, but that son of a bitch is strong.” He rubbed the side of his head. There was already a bruise forming there. “I guess he must have knocked me out.”
“What about the security guards?” I asked.
“Couldn’t find any. But I didn’t want to wait.”
“You gonna be okay?” I asked as I got to my feet.
“Yeah, yeah. Just go. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
I went back out into the hallway. If Rudy had taken her the way I’d come, the receptionist would have said something. So I turned the other way and ran. I burst through the door at the end of the hall, and found myself in a large courtyard surrounded on three sides by the different wings of the hotel and dominated by the MacArthur’s swimming pool. There were several empty tables scattered around, and some bushes lining the edge of the building, but I was alone. Across the courtyard there was a ten-foot-high wall, inset with a large wooden gate that I guessed led out to the street. Most of the hotels in Angeles were very concerned about security, so it was a fair bet the gate was usually closed. It wasn’t now.
I didn’t have enough energy to really sprint anymore, so I made my way to the gate as quickly as I could. Cautiously I passed through it and found myself in the dark, unpaved alley that ran behind the hotel. But there was enough light from nearby buildings for me to see I was still alone.
My desperation was reaching its peak. I had failed Isabel. I had promised to watch over her, and I had failed. I looked quickly toward each end of the alley. To my right was a walled-off dead end providing no obvious means of escape. But to my left was a street, paved and better lit. I jogged to it and found what I had both expected and feared.
Even at this late hour, you could always find an available trike. And parked across the street about half a block down were two trikes whose drivers were sitting near each other on the sidewalk in low conversation.
One of them stood up as I approached. “I give you ride,” he said.
“Did two people come by here a few minutes ago? A big guy? Lots of muscles. And a girl?”
“Sure,” the one still sitting on the sidewalk said.
“Did they take a trike?”
“You want a ride, mister?” the first guy asked.
I pulled out two fifty-peso notes and held one out to each of them. “Did they take a trike?”
“Sure,” the second one said.
“Do you know where they were going?”
They both shrugged and shook their heads.
“Damn it!” I looked up and down the street hoping for some clue, but there was nothing. I turned back to the trike drivers. “Which direction did they go?”
They talked amongst themselves for a moment, then the second one said, “Both.”
“He go that way,” the first one said, pointing to their left. “And she go that way.” He pointed to the right.
It took me a second to understand what they’d said.
The sun was coming up when I finally found her. She hadn’t gone back to The Lounge, and she hadn’t gone to her place, either. I guess she decided to go to the only place she thought she could find someone who would understand, and help her without a lot of other people getting involved.
I had to knock three separate times before Mariella finally opened the door.
“Papa Jay, I didn’t know it was you,” she said.
I pushed past her into the apartment. “Where is she?” I asked.
“She’s lying down in my room,” she said, closing the door.
“Is she okay?”
Mariella smiled. “Maybe in a little while. Right now she’s upset.”
“Did she tell you what happened?”
“I’m her cousin. She tells me everything.”
Exhaustion finally overtook me and I slumped onto Mariella’s couch. Her nice expensive couch, in an apartment filled with nice expensive things. I’d never been inside before, but looking around at the pictures on the wall and the dinette set and the vases of fresh flowers everywhere, I realized just how good she was at the
“Can I get you something?” she asked. “Maybe a drink?”
“No. I want to talk to her.”
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I just got her to calm down.”
From behind us, Isabel said, “It’s okay.”
We both turned. She was standing at the far end of the living room, next to an open door I presumed led to the bedroom.
“Come in here,” she told me, then disappeared through the open door.
I entered a moment later with Mariella right behind me. Isabel was sitting on a queen-size canopy bed done up in pinks and whites.
“Let me speak to him alone for a few minutes,” Isabel said to her cousin. Her voice was steady, and except for the distant look in her eyes, she seemed normal. Mariella hesitated, so Isabel added, “It’s okay.”
Mariella forced a smile, then went back into the living room.
“Close the door, please,” Isabel said to me.
I did as she asked. Once we were alone, the control she had been exerting over her body cracked, and she could no longer hold back her tears. I sat on the bed next to her, and started to put my arm around her shoulder.
“Don’t,” she said, stopping me. “I know you just want to help, but I…” She trailed off as her face twisted in pain, the memory of what Rudy had done still so very fresh in her mind.
