"Whatever you wish, Se?or Frade."
"Why are we going to the Libertador house, Se?or Clete?" Enrico asked, turning from the front seat.
"I have my reasons," Clete said.
Enrico looked confused for a moment, and then understanding dawned.
He nodded with comprehension and approval.
"You can find something to do to occupy your time, can't you, Enrico?"
"Yes, of course, Se?or Clete."
Se?ora Lopez, the housekeeper, opened the door.
She is not only surprised to see me, but she doesn't seem to be too happy about it, either.
"You will be spending the night, Se?or Frade?"
"I think so, yes," Clete said.
She's uncomfortable with that reply, too. What the hell's going on? Oh, hell, she probably was going to take the night off, go to a movie or something, and I'm screwing that up for her.
"I will need nothing tonight," Clete said. "I'm going to bed early" I devoutly hope"and there's no point in you staying around, if you've made other plans."
"S?, Se?or," Se?ora Lopez said.
Oh, to hell with her.
"Let's see what cars are here, Enrico," Clete said. "You may have to go over to Avenida Coronel Diaz and get one."
Enrico nodded.
Three cars were in the basement garage: Se?ora Lopez used the 1939 Ford station wagon to run the house, and in it, it was to be hoped, she would drive to the movies before Dorotea arrived. Next to it there was the old, immaculately maintained Rolls Royce. And next to that was the bullet-shattered Horche in which his father had been murdered.
"Does that thing work?" Clete asked, pointing at the Rolls. "Specifically, will it make it out to Campo de Mayo in the morning?"
"Of course," Enrico said as if he considered the question very strange.
"OK. Then we'll use that."
Enrico nodded.
Clete walked to the Horche and ran his fingers over the bullet-shattered windshield and the bullet holes in the fenders and doors.
"1 want to have this repaired, Enrico. Made like new. Is that going to be a problem?"
"No. It can be done."
There was the sound of an automobile horn, close, a signal.
Enrico walked to the garage door, slipping his .45 automatic from the small of his back and holding it parallel to his leg as he did so. He pushed a button, and the garage door rose.
An Argentine Army staff car with a sergeant at the wheel rolled into the basement.
Jesus Christ, Per?n! I forgot that sonofabitch is staring here!
Are you calling him a sonofabitch because he just ruined your carnal plans for the evening?
He was your father's best friend. Be gracious to the sonofabitch!
Clete walked to the car and opened the rear door.
El Coronel Juan Domingo Per?n was not alone in the backseat of the car. A girl, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, no older than that, was sitting beside him. A shy girl, who glanced at Clete, then blushed and looked away.
"Buenos tardes, mi Coronel," Clete said with a smile.
Per?n looked a little embarrassed himself.
Probably because you showed your ass to me this morning at the Officers' Casino. You should be embarrassed, you bastard. That wasn't called for.
"I fear, Se?or Frade," Per?n said, "that I am still imposing on your hospitality."
"Not at all, mi Coronel. My house is your house for as long as you wish."
"You are very kind, but I am"
"Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez and I were just about to leave," Clete said. "We just came here to pick up the Rolls Royce."
Per?n nodded.
"I hope to see you soon, mi Coronel," Clete said, smiled, and walked to the Rolls Royce.
"You better drive, Enrico," Clete said. "I think this thing was made before I was."
He climbed into the front passenger seat and waited for Enrico to get behind the wheel.
Neither Per?n nor the girl got out of the car before Enrico drove the Rolls out of the garage.
"Who was the girl, Enrico? His daughter? I thought Per?n wasn't married."
"He is not, Se?or Clete."
"What is she, then, his niece?"
"Not his niece, Se?or Clete. Where are we going, Se?or Clete?"
Interesting question. What do I do now? Go to The Museum and call Dorotea from there? Why call her? She might have come to Uncle Willy's house, but she won't come to The Museum.
"Oh, Christ. To hell with it. To the Mallins' house, please."
Enrico nodded, and at the next intersection turned left off Avenida del Libertador.
"If that girl wasn't Per?n's niece, who was she?" Clete asked.
Enrico did not answer.
He's not answering that question. Why not? Because he would be embarrassed by the answer? Or because the answer would embarrass Per?n? That's what it has to be.
Jesus, is what I am now starting to suspect possible? Obviously, truth being stranger than fiction, it is.
"My God, Enrico, that girl was only fourteen, fifteen years old."
After a significant pause, Enrico said, "Your father, Se?or Clete, used to say that to have true friends, you must accept in each one a character flaw of some kind."
"I'll be goddamned," Clete said, chuckling. "El Coronel Juan Domingo Per?n is a dirty old man!"
Enrico was not amused. Clete wondered why he himselfhe was still smilinghad thought it, literally, laughable.
"Enrico, you don't think there's something strange about somebody his age fooling around with young girls?"
"It is not for me to judge, Se?or Clete."
"Has he been doing this long?" Clete asked, naughtily.
He got a look from Enrico that told him there would not be a reply.
[FOUR]
23 Calle Acros
Belgrano, Buenos Aires
193Q 19 April 1943
Enrico pulled the Rolls Royce up and stopped before the door of the Italian-style mansion that occupied the eastern corner lot at the intersection of Calle Arcos and Virrey del Pino. He did not get out of the car, as he usually did, to open the door for Clete. He sat, both hands on the wheel of the Rolls, looking straight ahead out the window.
He's pissed at me. Jesus, why? Because I think there is something funny sick but funny that the oh, so dignified Coronel Juan Domingo Per?n has got a thing for little girls?
"Norteamericanos are different, Enrico," Clete said. "We think there is something funny"
"It is not funny, Se?or Clete," Enrico said, dead serious, and still not looking at him. "God made him that way."
"Did God make you that way, too?" Clete asked gently, thinking he had a sudden insight.
"You have to ask me a question like that?" Enrico demanded indignantly.
"Well, what the hell was I supposed to think?"
"El Coronel Per?n was your father's best friend. Your father never laughed at"
"Well, get this straight, Enrico. El Coronel Per?n is not my best friend, and I think he ought be ashamed of himself!"
He had to smile when he heard what he had said.
"I am sure he is," Enrico said, seriously, rationalizing: "I would be. But he was el Coronel's best friend, and you should not mock him."
"OK. I'm sorry."
"No, you are not, Se?or Clete."
"No, I am not," Clete said. "Screw you, Enrico."