“Wally will ask me where.”
“You don’t know where-you’re frantic, man, excited. Now you’re in your rage. You tell Wally you’ll call him back.”
“What if he alerts the police?”
“Let them look, too, we don’t care. Then by the time you call him back, we will know your man Nacio has left Atlanta, uh? Almost to Miami. You tell Wally you called several airlines, but they wouldn’t give you information about a Franklin de Dios, so you demand that he finds out and you’ll call him later.”
“A third time.”
“Yes, you’re very anxious.”
“Where do I call from?”
“Wherever we are, I don’t know. We’ve left here. I suppose we’re in the state of Mississippi.”
“I call him after we kill the Indian.”
“Of course, after.”
“All right, I call Wally the third time…”
“And he tells you Franklin went to Miami.”
“What if he doesn’t know it yet?”
“He will, don’t worry. You say we’re going there immediately, and hang up the telephone. Simple? That’s all you have to do.”
“Yes, but go back. We’ve killed the Indian-where did we hide his body?”
“Something new for you,” Crispin said. “The way you do it, you leave the bodies.”
“I want to know where.”
“We’ll see the place. In Mississippi, in a forest.”
“I don’t want blood in the car.”
“If it becomes soiled, buy a new one.”
“Man, it cost almost sixty thousand.”
Crispin raised his glass, sipped champagne, letting a quiet settle.
“What is it about killing this one that sticks in your mind?”
“I don’t care about the Indian. He means nothing to me.”
“Then why are you annoyed?”
“I’m a soldier. This isn’t like fighting in a war.”
“Well, you won’t be a soldier for long,” Crispin said, and then smiled. “You can look at this as beginning to learn a new business.”
Dagoberto was silent for several moments.
“We’ll need a shovel.”
“For what?”
“To bury the Indian.”
“We bury only his hands and his head. We don’t need a shovel for that.”
“We’ll need an axe.”
“We’ll get one.”
“Or a machete.”
“I think the axe will be easier to find.”
“That fucking Indian, reporting on us.”
“You said you thought Wally made it up.”
“Some of it. But I know that fucking Indian has been reporting on us. It’s shameful, isn’t it, that we can’t trust anyone?”
Wally Scales came out of the hotel and walked straight across Bienville to Franklin de Dios, standing by the black Chrysler in his mod black suit, shirt buttoned but no tie: the Indian chauffeur, brought out of the wilds of the Rio Coco by way of Miami to a street in the French Quarter. Man, oh, man-and you’ll never know, Wally Scales thought, what’s in his head.
“Why don’t we have us a farewell drink, amigo?”
“I have to be here.”
“They may have company in, but I doubt they’ll be going out on the town, all that loot there.”
“They say I have to stay outside.”
“Use the back door, huh? And wipe your feet.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m just talking. You suppose to stay here all night?”
“They say to keep watch, that’s all.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know what.”
“They don’t seem worried about anything, that I noticed. They seem worried to you?”
“They see only themselves.”
There, just for a second, the Indian starting to show himself.
“Anything you want to tell me, Franklin?”
Wally Scales noticed a slight hesitation before the Indian shook his head.
“No strange or unusual occurrences?… Where’d you go today?”
“Follow the woman’s car.”
“Yeah? Where’d she go, anyplace special?”
“Just around.”
“You can tell me anything you want, my friend, that might be bothering you.” Wally Scales gave him time to unburden, but got nothing for it. He said in a quiet, confessional tone, “I imagine it was you had to take out that guy in the restaurant. In the Men’s room.”
Franklin said nothing.
“I’m sorry you had to do that. You understand he was a very dangerous individual. He would’ve tried to steal your money, I’m confident of that, and kill anybody in his way. We know for a fact he was in Managua… Well, anyway… Okay, so you’re all set? Ready for your ride on the banana boat?”
“I think it’s time to go back now, yes. See my family.”
“And fight your war?”
Franklin moved his shoulders in what might be a shrug, the man back inside himself.
“You want to stay, I can fix it.”
“I want to go home.”
“If that’s what you want, Franklin, you can have it. You can have the goddamn bats flying in the window, the malaria, hepatitis, diarrhea-Somoza’s revenge, the son of a bitch-and the bugs. All the bugs known to man and some more. I never saw bugs like that anywhere in my life. They’re more like fucking animals than bugs. Two years I spent down there, my friend, and I ain’t ever going back. Not for pay or at gun point. I listen to those two freedom fighters upstairs saying they could be eating their last three-hundred-dollar meal, it breaks my heart. The colonel talking out of both sides of his mouth…”
Wally Scales looked toward Bourbon Street at the passage of tourists, stared for several moments before his thoughts came back, and he said, “I’ll tell you something, Franklin, since it isn’t likely we’ll ever meet again. I speak fairly good Spanish and can even understand most of what I hear, but I never let on. Act dumb and listen and you learn things. I hear the colonel, for instance, saying one thing in Español and something entirely different in English. Even his tone, going from one to the other, gives him away and he doesn’t even realize it. I failed to learn any deep secrets, but I recognize the man’s greed and I’ll tell you straight, keep your eyes open. If they haven’t included you in their conversation there might be more to it than common snobbery. The way those two cowboys enjoy the good life it’s hard to imagine them ever again taking a dump in the woods. They’re just liable to leave you standing on a street corner and disappear. If the dirty bastards ditch you, call me. I’m gonna give you a number in Hilton Head-that’s in South Carolina. See, I can have you picked up and somehow get you back home. That’s a promise. Or, on the other hand, they take you along, say back to Miami or someplace like that? Key Biscayne? I’d appreciate your letting me in on that, too. I don’t give a shit about the money they scrounged-they didn’t exactly get it from widows and orphans. But I’d hate to think I’ve been used. Is that a deal? You’ll call me?”
Franklin nodded.
“Did they show it to you, the money?”
Franklin shook his head.
“Five bank sacks up there-three of them, they say, full of American dollars.” Wally Scales put on a frown and adjusted his glasses. “Wait a minute-are they dumb? I doubt they know the capital of Nebraska, but they’re not foolhardy, are they? Leave two million bucks lying on the couch and go to bed?… If you were the colonel, Franklin, how would you safeguard it?”
“If I didn’t sit on it,” Franklin said, “with my gun?”
“Yeah, what’s a better way?”
“Hide it?”
“I suppose you could, but where?”
Wally Scales let him think about it.
“Franklin, remember how we taught you how to rig a grenade? You open a door or a window shutter and kapow… I believe the colonel neutralized a priest one time with such a device. Priest opened the trunk of his car and went to his reward. You know why I’m telling you this? Should you get curious, my friend, and since those two don’t tell you anything, be damn careful what you open. You understand? Nod your head.”
Franklin nodded.
“They tell me they have over two million bucks. How many cordobas is that? Add a few zeroes and trade it on the black, shit, that’d buy you some bins and fried plantains, wouldn’t it? If it wasn’t going for weapons and ammo.”