“Lockwood was neither,” Aragon said. “All his luck was bad and his only skill seems to have been attracting women.”
“That sounds to me like good luck.”
“Not for him.”
“I could use such luck, call it good or bad.” The superintendent stared down at his belly as if he were wondering how it got there. “This Lockwood, he was probably thin?”
“No. In the only pictures I saw of him he was quite fat.”
“Tall?”
“No.”
“But very handsome?”
“No.”
“That’s most encouraging, a small fat homely man attracting many women. Yes, I like that very much, it tempts me to view you in a much friendlier light. But such a thing would be unprofessional. I am always professional.”
“I can see you are.”
“It shows, then?”
“It shows.”
The superintendent sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk and Ganso immediately took a picture of him. There was complete silence while the film was developing. The finished product showed a small homely fat man.
The superintendent gazed at it soberly. “I must keep reminding myself of Lockwood and all those women. Were they nice sensible women, the kind a man would choose to marry and to bear his children?”
“I only know one of them. She’s—” He wasn’t sure that “nice” and “sensible” were the right words to describe Gilly. “She’s very interesting.”
“Why has she not formed an attachment to some other man?”
“She did. Or at any rate she married him.”
“How is it, then, that she wants you to find Lockwood?”
“Her present husband is dying. I think she is afraid of being left alone.”
“How old is she?”
“About fifty.”
“I am not interested in any woman beyond childbearing age.”
“Naturally not.” Poor Gilly will be heartbroken. “One of the other women is still young, only twenty-three.”
“That is much better. And she likes fat homely men?”
“Her personal preferences don’t matter. She’s a hustler here in Rio Seco. You might know her. In a professional way, of course — your profession, not hers.”
“We have a great many hustlers in Rio Seco. Most of their customers are American tourists who drive down for the races or the bullfights, Navy men who drive by the busload from San Diego and Marines from Camp Pendleton.”
“Her name is Tula Lopez.”
The superintendent shook his head. “The hustlers don’t come up to me on the street and introduce themselves. If I were a private citizen and wanted to find a particular young woman, I’d put her name on the grapevine and offer a sum of money for information.”
“Or hire a shouter.”
“So you have been to the Quarry. Good. That will give you some idea of what happens to people who don’t watch their behavior... Do you know a man named Jenkins?”
“Jenkins is a common name in my country.”
“In my country it’s most unusual. Thus, when someone named Jenkins performs an unusual act like jumping off our new bridge, it arouses my curiosity and wonderment. Do you have much wonderment, Mr. Aragon?”
“Enough.”
“Then let’s wonder together about various coincidences. Mr. Jenkins and your friend, Lockwood, were both Americans. Jenkins served time in the Quarry for the same offense that Lockwood did. You tell me that Lockwood was released by Magistrate Hernandez after a payment of some kind. Now I tell you that Jenkins also was released by this same Magistrate Hernandez after paying a fine. What do you make of all this?”
“That Hernandez had ways of supplementing his income.”
“His income wouldn’t have bought the rug on this floor. Our public servants are very poorly paid, that is why they become private bosses. A little mordida here, and a little there, keeps them from starving.”
“Hernandez was about as far from starving as I am from being named to the Supreme Court.”
“Mordida is part of your system, too, so I hope you didn’t come riding across the border on a white horse.”
“I don’t ride a horse of any color,” Aragon said. “Just a ten-speed bicycle.”
“I dislike all forms of exercise except that of the imagination. From the neck up I am very athletic. I am like a greyhound chasing a mechanical rabbit at the dog track. Only I catch the rabbit... You smile, I see, because I don’t look like a greyhound. Well, you don’t look like a rabbit. But here we both are.”
Aragon had already stopped smiling. “I’m not sure what a greyhound would do to a real rabbit if he caught one.”
“Probably nothing. The chase is what matters to him. But the rabbit doesn’t know that. What matters to him is escape. Sometimes he makes a serious error and runs into a hole which has no exit. That’s what you did. You ran right up that driveway and into this house.”
“My coming here was a coincidence.”
“I can swallow only a certain number of coincidences. Then I start to upchuck. So let’s eliminate some of these coincidences, shall we?”
“I don’t know how.”
“We’ll begin once more at the beginning.”
The superintendent got up, walked around the room quite rapidly as if his athletic imagination were chasing him, then sat down again in the swivel chair. Aragon stared out the window, but it was dark. All he could see was the reflection of the room itself, the fat man in uniform behind the desk, the middle-aged man with the camera poking around in the clutter of ransacked papers, and the young man standing at the window peering through his hornrimmed glasses like a rabbit that had entered a hole with no exit.
“No, Mr. Aragon, tell me frankly, what brought you here this afternoon?”
“A telegram from someone at the U.S. consulate who found out that Lockwood had been released from prison by Magistrate Hernandez.”
“Did you expect to see the magistrate?”
“Yes.”
“And to ask him questions?”
“Yes.”
“And to receive answers?”
“Yes.”
“Mordidas,” the superintendent said, “do not appear in filing cabinets or record books. Or magistrates’ answers.”
“I thought it was worth a try, since my previous attempts to find Lockwood failed.”
“Now this one has also failed. What will be your next step?”
“I think I’ll go home.”
“But there is still the girl. Aren’t you going to look for her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid to.”
“Afraid? You’re strong, young—”
“I’m not afraid for myself. I do all right. I don’t back into sharp instruments or fall off bridges.”
“So...” The superintendent leaned his elbows on the desk and the tips of his fingers came together to frame an arch like a bridge. “So you did know Jenkins.”