“It don’t surprise me a bit Hernán would partner with the broker fella in hoodwinking your outfit,” Patterson said. “He’s always in bad need of money, and the way I heard it he aint too particular how he gets it. They say he cheats at cards something awful, same as his old daddy did. Mendoza played cards with Hernán once and said it was one time too many.”
The next afternoon Patterson stopped by the Trade Wind office with the information that Guillermo Demarco, prior to going into business as a broker, had been employed as secretary to Hernán Montenegro.
John Roger deliberated for two days. Then wrote a letter to Montenegro, informing him that due to financial improprieties perpetrated against the Trade Wind Company by La Sombra Verde in concert with the brokerage service of Guillermo Demarco, the company was severing its contract with the hacienda.
He then went to Demarco’s office on the third floor of a commercial building near the harbor. He introduced himself and told Demarco he was there to collect reimbursement for the substantial overpayments he had received from the company through fraudulent means over a period of six years. He handed him their disparate invoices and theft reports and an estimated bill for the total overpayment.
Guillermo Demarco, sitting behind a spacious desk with his back to a large window framing a view of the harbor, smiled as he scanned the papers. He was a small and tidy man, well seasoned in business dispute. He dropped the papers on the desk and pushed them away with a fingertip. Then leaned back in his chair and said John Roger’s so-called evidence of fraud was worthless. Try to make a case in a Mexican court with this and you will be laughed out of the room, he said. Unless you make the judge so angry for wasting his time that he locks you in San Juan de Ulúa.
I might not have much of a legal case, John Roger said, but you and I both know it’s true you cheated the company.
Demarco said truth was a beautiful thing but of little significance in commerce or the law. It pained him that the Trade Wind Company was displeased with his former services, but, be that as it may, there was really nothing they could do about it.
I could pass the word around town of what a cheat you are.
Demarco grinned. Oh dear, he said.
John Roger had not expected to collect on the bill, only to let Demarco know that his fraud had not gone undiscovered and to shame him if he could. But as he now understood, the man was immune to shame. And his smugness was galling.
I guess you’re right, John Roger said. There isn’t much I can do about it legally. But what I most assuredly can do, Mr Demarco, is throw you out that window.
He surprised himself no less than he did Demarco. He’d made the threat with an easy confidence that he could make good on it—and with the unmistakable implication that he was leaning toward doing so.
The broker straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. But Mr Wolfe, he said, even if you were not joking, what could you gain from such a barbarity except many years in prison?
Maybe some personal satisfaction, John Roger said. And stood up. Demarco shoved back from the desk and sprang to his feet, eyes wide. Then realized he had put himself even closer to the window, and he sidled hurriedly over to the wall.
“Don’t soil your pants, you low son of a bitch. You’re not worth the trouble of killing.”
“Como?” said Demarco, who did not speak English.
“Chinga tu madre, pendejo,” John Roger said. His ready ear had familiarized him with the profanities of the street, and while he had always shied from such coarseness in English, in Spanish it came without qualm. He gathered up the papers and plucked out the bill and laid it back on Demarco’s desk. Then left.
He was awed by the discovery he’d made about himself—his readiness to throw a man from a window—and yet also felt uneasy about it. It was disquieting to think there might be even other facets of himself with which he was unfamiliar.
When he told Patterson of his meeting with Demarco, the little man laughed and said, “Hellfire, I’da paid money to see his face when you threatened to pitch him. Bedamn, son, if you aint got a proper share of grit. You sure your people aint from Texas?”
A week later, a lawyer representing La Sombra Verde showed up at the office to warn him that Don Hernán Montenegro would sue for violation of contract unless the Trade Wind Company continued to buy his coffee. John Roger dared him to do it. If Montenegro should sue him, he said, he would in turn sue Montenegro for defrauding the Trade Wind in collusion with the brokerage of Guillermo Demarco. The lawyer, whose name was Herrera, scoffed that such a charge could never be legally proven.
John Roger said maybe not, but the accusation would anyway be of great interest to the newspapers and the printers of broadsides. As everyone knew, even an accusation unsustained in court could do public injury to a reputation.
Herrera’s face was stiff with contempt. Only a man without honor would do such a thing, he said.
Nevertheless, John Roger said.
You disappoint me, sir.
How sad, John Roger said. Listen, Mr Herrera, I suggest it would be in the best interest of everyone concerned to forgo the unpleasantness of public allegations and courtroom procedures and simply agree to the termination of the contract.
Herrera said he would have to discuss it with Don Hernán, though it might be some time before he could meet with him, as the don had left for Mexico City just two days prior on urgent business that could detain him for some time.
John Roger said he understood perfectly. And that he hoped it was understood equally well that he would under no condition, including legal threat, do further business with La Sombra Verde.
He wrote to Richard to tell him of his rescission of the Montenegro contract and the reason for it and said he hoped Richard was not offended that he had done it without first consulting with him. Richard responded that he was glad John Roger had figured out the swindle, even though it had come to an end four years ago, and he agreed with the decision to cut ties with Montenegro. “And don’t fret about making a decision on your own,” Richard wrote. “I told you when I hired you Johnny, in Mexico you’re the Trade Wind.”
Nearly two months after Herrera’s visit, John Roger had not heard from the man again but had learned that La Sombra Verde had begun selling its coffee to another export firm. He therefore concluded that there would be no legal action against the Trade Wind and that the entire matter was done with.
The following month, on the Day of the Dead, they hosted a lively party celebrating John Samuel’s fourth birthday. After the festivities were done and the guests had gone home and Elizabeth Anne had sung the boy to sleep, as John Roger was discussing with her whether they should buy the house they had been renting for almost five years or look for one with a view of the sea, there was a pounding of the street door’s iron knocker.
John Roger went to an open window and in the light of the patio lanterns saw lame Beto the handyman come out of his carriage-house quarters in his nightshirt and hobble toward the gate. It was a rarity for anyone to call uninvited at such a late hour for any reason other than an emergency. Beto opened the little peep window on the door and was loud about asking who was there. John Roger felt Elizabeth Anne come up beside him. The voice outside the gate was indistinct, and then Beto said, Yes, of course, of course, one moment. Then turned and saw John Roger at the window and called out that Don Hernán Montenegro Velásquez wished to speak with the master of the house.