“Yeah, good point.”
“OK. I’m going to get you some money now, then I gotta get to work.”
When I got in to the Rub-a-Mat, I pulled Celso aside and said, “Tomorrow I’d like you to go down to the docks with me.”
“I’m not into that kind of thing, Manuel,” he said.
“Swell,” I said, “but I want you to look at something in Velasco’s port log. It’s about your wife.”
“My wife? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying she sailed before you got into town, Celso. I don’t expect you to believe me, so we’ll go see Velasco tomorrow.”
“Why shouldn’t I see him this afternoon?” he demanded to know.
“Because Velasco doesn’t like you, that’s why.” That wasn’t something I wanted to say, but the blunter I was, the more likely Celso wasn’t going to visit Velasco on his own and maybe not be shown the log book. I still couldn’t see any reason to be concerned about the Flores couple, but I also couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to play in their court.
“He doesn’t?” Celso sounded genuinely surprised. “Why not?”
I shook my head. “I’m never down on a client, Celso. And it’s not my place to talk about Velasco’s feelings.” I didn’t exactly like Celso, but I also didn’t dislike him the way Velasco apparently did. “I can only tell you that you’ll never get very far without me to smooth the way.”
“All right, Manuel. Velasco never has been pleasant. I’d be grateful for your help.”
“Great,” I said. “Then it’s a date.”
“If you must call it that,” he said with a sniff.
Some people are just born difficult, I guess.
When Jock—the cook—came in to restock the food after the lunch crowd finally petered out I told him to empty #22. He looked at me like I had sprouted hair. “Are you trying to get me fired?” he growled.
“Of course not,” I said. “I’m just trying to get Toto Santos to speak to me.”
“Cursing at you is more likely,” Jock said, “and he does that already.”
“Maybe,” I said, “but I want to try this anyway.”
Jock shrugged and took the sandwiches out of #22.
“Keep ’em fresh,” I said. “I’ll be calling for them in a hurry once Toto gets here.”
“Yeah, and maybe I can restock them before he kills you,” Jock said with a fair-sounding snort. “He’d find a way, Cal,” he said to cut off my objection.
“OK, OK,” I said impatiently and waved him away.
“Sometimes I think you’re crazy, Manuel,” Celso said. “Why do you want that Santos character to talk to you, anyway?”
I shrugged. “Mainly because he won’t.”
“Why make him talk if he doesn’t want to?”
“Don’t be too sure he doesn’t,” I said. “Sometimes it’s the guys who don’t say much who really want people to talk to them.”
“And sometimes they just want to be left alone,” Celso said with plain good sense on his side.
“And I intend to find out which kind of person he is.”
“Suit yourself, Manuel,” Celso said with an unconcerned shrug.
When Toto came in some time later, he dropped his coins in the slot, opened #22’s door, grabbed a handful of air and exclaimed, “Hey! What the…?”
“Is there something wrong?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.
“Yeah,” Toto said. “Where the hell’s my lengua?”
“What?” I said and looked into #22 as if I didn’t know what I’d find. “Oh, for the love of…!” I went over to the doors to the kitchen, kicked them open and shouted, “Hey, Jock! Number 22’s empty!” I went back to Toto. “I’m sorry. I guess I was sleeping on the job.” Jock came in with the stack of sandwiches from #22. I took one and handed it to Toto. “Here you are. I apologize for the inconvenience.” Jock restocked the sandwiches and shook his head as he walked back to the kitchen.
“It’s just a sandwich,” Toto said, sounding a little bewildered. He looked at me, then at the kitchen door, over at Celso, and then back to me. He shrugged and instead of sitting in his usual spot he left the Rub-a-Mat.
“Well done,” Celso said.
“Hey, he’ll be back. I guarantee it. This was just the ice breaker.”
“If you say so, Manny,” Celso said skeptically. “Well, I’ll be going. I like to sleep late on my day off. How about I come to your hotel around 10 o’clock and we’ll go see Velasco’s log?”
“Fine with me,” I said. “But meet me at Velasco’s office instead. I’ll be on the docks tomorrow morning. I’ve got some business with Glottis.”
“All right,” Celso said. “See you in the morning.” He waved vaguely and left.
When I closed that night I went down to the Blue Casket. It was in a building at the base of the cliff almost directly below the Rub-a-Mat. It was supposed to be a pretty hip place—or maybe it was hep—in a beatnik sort of way. I wouldn’t have thought it was Carla’s sort of dive. She was waiting for me outside the Rub-a-Mat when I came out. “Whoa!” I exclaimed in surprise when I reached the parking lot and she suddenly appeared under a lamp post. “I thought we were going to meet down at the Blue Casket.”
“Well,” she seemed embarrassed. “I didn’t want to go in there by myself. It’s kinda got this reputation…” She took my arm as we started walking together.
“Yeah?” I asked. “So why do you want to go there, then?”
She shrugged. “I feel like slumming. How ’bout you?”
“I slummed my whole life away. One more night won’t make much of a difference. I’ve been kind of curious about the joint, anyway.”
We rode the elevator down the cliff, walked to the Blue Casket’s building, and went down the steps to the entrance. It was shaped like a casket.
“Extra-thick doors to seal in the hipness,” Carla quipped as I struggled to get them open. The hinges weren’t set very well, I swear.
“After you,” I said when I finally got them open.
Carla took a deep breath and went in.
It was dark inside and very, very blue. It was almost like being deep underwater—very disorienting. The music was loud and so was the crowd. Thick smoke, tobacco and otherwise, hung everywhere. There were black turtlenecks as far as the eye could see.
“Hey, look!” I said into Carla’s ear hole. “Dead Beats!” She laughed. I started looking for an empty table.
A very petite woman approached us. “New souls!” she said in a satiny, sexy voice, taking a drag on a cigarette in a holder in a way that would have gotten her arrested in Franco’s Spain. “What can I get you hepsters?” she asked on the exhale in a faintly sarcastic tone.
“A table and a waiter, if you got ’em,” I said.
“I’ve got everything you need, daddy-o,” she said in a low, throaty purr.
“Oh,” I practically moaned. I could see Carla giving me a strange look.
“This way,” the woman said. She led the way, her pelvis twitching in an inviting manner.
“Kind of dark in here,” Carla said.
“Dark and cold,” the woman said, “like the hearts of men.”
“Uh…” I said.
“Here you are,” the woman said when we came to an empty table. “You sit down and I’ll get you that waiter.” She turned and walked away. I enjoyed the view.
Carla punched me in the arm. “Are you out of your mind?!” she demanded. “That’s Olivia Ofrenda… Maximino’s girl!”
“Yeah?” I said. “The cat track guy?”
“Yeah! And the owner of the LOL shuttles. So watch yourself.”
“Tough customer, huh?”