Honey in His Mouth

had gone back to sleeping with El Presidente, although the way the grapevine had it, for two years this had not been the case. The garish display of gold bric-a-brac, tapestries and old masters was exactly the kind of rich foulness that appealed to El Presidente. Or maybe, Mr. Hassam reflected, Miss Muirz was keeping the awful decorative scheme intact as a shrine to her memories, in which case El Presidente must have been a better lover than anyone thought.

Doctor Englaster arrived shortly and was let in by the same unspeaking, dour-faced servant who had admitted Mr. Hassam. Miss Muirz had still not made an appearance. “Good afternoon, Achmed. You got the call also, did you?”

Mr. Hassam did not like to be called Achmed. It was his given name and it was also the name under which he had once been sent to prison. “Is it true, Doctor?”

“I am not sure. Rumors. Rumors everywhere, like buzzing hornets. Have you any facts?”

“I have seen no one who is on the inside.” Mr. Hassam waved a hand at the room they stood in. “I am surprised she has not loaded up a lot of this crap and dumped it in the river. I would if it was me.”

“The place is a bit of a circus ring, all right.” Doctor Englaster had found a cabinet which turned into a bar when one lifted the top. “I see we have potables here. What do you say we place a cushion, liquid form, under the shock I suspect we are in for.”

Before they could mix drinks, Miss Muirz appeared in the doorway. “I was on the telephone.” She poured the liquor for them. “Gentlemen, I offer you a toast.” She raised her glass to the level of her eyes. “A toast to the great and illustrious leader of our nation, the accumulator of certain funds cached abroad, who is on his way out. In other words, I had a talk with El Presidente this morning.”

Doctor Englaster nodded. “How did you catch his attention, disguise yourself as a high-school student?”

Mr. Hassam kept all expression off his face, but he wished he had said that to her, he wished he had had the guts. He did not like her. He did not like her smug way of knowing everything before anyone else knew it, which was her specialty. Also he did not like Doctor Englaster.

Miss Muirz sank lazily onto a chair. “Thank you, Doctor. You make it easier for me to spoil your day. As I have it, he has resigned.”

Mr. Hassam moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. “But news like that is not out anywhere.”

“I don’t think he has resigned.” Doctor Englaster made liquor swirl around and around in his glass. “He lacks that much sense. What do you say, Achmed, does he have that much sense left?”

“Good God!” Mr. Hassam was feeling weak. “We do not have Harsh ready to take his place.”

“He has resigned.” Miss Muirz did not blink her eyes. “He told me so himself. This morning.”

“Goddamn!” Doctor Englaster began to look as if someone had shut off his wind. “You mean this is not a joke?”

Mr. Hassam looked at Doctor Englaster in surprise, realizing for the first time that the Doctor had been treating the whole thing as a joke because he actually thought it was one. Why, the overbearing fool, Mr. Hassam thought. How could he be so stupid?

“The clique who ousted him is keeping it quiet until they have full control over the government.” Miss Muirz was almost too calm to suit Mr. Hassam. “El Presidente is in hiding.”

Mr. Hassam put his glass down quickly. “You talked to him?”

“Yes.”

“In person?”

“Yes, this morning. This afternoon again, by telephone.”

“Where is he hiding?”

“I do not know.”

“But if you talked to him in person...”

“That was at the palace, before he resigned. He had his resignation in his hand, carrying it around with him as if it was a monstrous thing. The way he looked at the paper. I felt so sorry for him.”

“But where is he hiding now?”

“I do not know.”

“The situation is serious, anyway.” Mr. Hassam was watching Miss Muirz closely, for he was becoming puzzled by her calmness, or rather her appearance of calmness. He suddenly decided she was not calm at all. She was rigid with tension, that was what she was. She was far more affected than any of them.

Doctor Englaster gestured jerkily. “What is that rat bastard planning to do? Throw us out in the cold?” His right hand was wet with spilled liquor.

Miss Muirz’s eyes were strangely blank. “Doctor, you are spilling your liquor.”

“That dirty double-crossing rat.” Doctor Englaster clenched a fist. “He could not have put off going into exile until we were safely ready to kill the son of a bitch and put Harsh in his shoes.”

Mr. Hassam was watching Miss Muirz at the moment, and he learned something. When Doctor Hassam mentioned murdering El Presidente, there were signs of a suppressed inner convulsion apparent with Miss Muirz. Mr. Hassam was shocked. Good God, she still loves the scoundrel, he thought.

Miss Muirz addressed Doctor Englaster quietly. “Stop howling childlike remarks, Doctor. I called you two gentlemen here to tell you why El Presidente telephoned me. This is the reason. He wants us to take his personal possessions out of the country.”

Mr. Hassam was not deceived by her quiet voice. Inside she was very tense. When it comes time to kill El Presidente, Mr. Hassam reflected, we must arrange it so she is not in the vicinity and better still does not know about it until the slaying is an accomplished fact. He did not trust women with the temperament of Miss Muirz to withstand emotional shock in any predictable fashion.

“What property?” Mr. Hassam showed interest.

“Paintings and his late wife’s jewelry.”

Mr. Hassam nodded, for the oil paintings were very desirable items, several having been purchased from the late Hermann Goering collection at the time the Third Reich was a going concern and in need of El Presidente’s friendship, and bought at a terrific bargain, while the jewelry had been accumulated by El Presidente’s late wife prior to her death, and it too was fabulous for she had felt compelled to outdo all the family jewels in the nation.

Mr. Hassam smiled. “Good. If he wants us to get the personal stuff out for him, it shows he intends to join us later.”

Doctor Englaster groaned. “Goddamn paintings and goddamn jewelry, chicken feed.”

Mr. Hassam glanced at him. “He paid two million for the paintings. She paid five times that for the jewelry. I happen to know the appraisal six months ago was nearly seventeen million. What chicken did you have in mind feeding, Doctor?”

Doctor Englaster belched. Mr. Hassam abruptly realized he was somewhat intoxicated.

“The oil paintings, the jewelry, will they be difficult to assemble?” Mr. Hassam looked inquiringly at Miss Muirz.

“No trouble. Actually it is all in a room in this house right now. El Presidente himself brought it here.”

Mr. Hassam went to the portable bar and began mixing another round of drinks. So that was what had gotten her worked up; the old lover had come running to her in his moment of need, arousing her mother complex or something. He wondered what would be aroused when they actually got ready to assassinate El Presidente. Suddenly he suppressed a shudder.

“I can supply transportation.”

“Very good, Mr. Hassam.”

“Where is El Presidente now?”

“I do not know. I told you that.”

“Oh, yes.” Mr. Hassam doubled the amount of liquor in each glass in the drinks he was making. “He may lie low. That would be the sensible procedure, go into sanctuary until the storm subsides.” He noticed that his own hand was shaking. “They will clamor for his blood, and he will know that.”

“Where would the rat hide?” Doctor Englaster’s voice was fuzzy.

“Well, there are the traditional sanctuaries, the monasteries and churches.” Miss Muirz accepted a drink with a hand which was very pale but also very steady. “However, there is also a Uruguayan gunboat in the harbor and