Spooner looked at him incredulously. “And yet you intend to let these meetings go on as if nothing has happened?”
“What else am I supposed to do?” asked Longarm. “That raid didn’t have anything to do with what brought you here, Major. The fella who’s ramrodding those desperadoes just decided to hit the town for a change, instead of another of the ranches around here. The gang made a good haul, but they took some heavy losses. I don’t reckon they’ll be back.”
“Can you guarantee that?” Spooner snapped.
“I can’t guarantee anything,” said Longarm. Then he thought, Except that this job is going to be a pain in the ass. He went on. “But I can tell you that it’s likely we won’t see El Aguila again while we’re here in Del Rio.”
“El Aguila,” Spooner repeated. “I suppose that’s this bandit chief you spoke of?”
“Yep. Coffin, that Texas Ranger who’s helping me out, plans to help the local sheriff run the gang to ground once these meetings are over.”
Spooner nodded slowly. “Well, I suppose you know what you’re talking about. I’ve heard that you’re a good man at your job.”
“I try,” Longarm said dryly.
“So do I, Mr. Long. You should remember that.”
“I will,” said Longarm. “Now, I need to tell Mr. Barton that everything’s ready downstairs.”
“I’ll do that,” Spooner volunteered. “Why don’t you inform the Mexican delegation?”
Longarm nodded. “All right.” He stepped across the hall to Don Alfredo’s door and rapped on it as Spooner went back into the American suite.
Instead of the Mexican diplomat or one of his associates, Sonia Guiterrez opened the door to Longarm’s knock. “Senor Long!” she said, her wide mouth curving in a sultry smile. “It is so good to see you again.”
Longarm didn’t point out that it had only been a little over an hour since he had left her in her room. Instead, he cleared his throat and tried not to think about the impact she made on his senses. “Senorita Guiterrez, I need to speak to your father.”
Her full lower lip extended even more than normal in a pout. “You did not come to see me?”
“Not this time,” said Longarm.
“Well, then, perhaps another time you will. Another time soon.”
Longarm swallowed and found his throat dry. “Maybe so.”
Sonia gave him another of those maddening smiles, then turned her head and called, “Papacito.”
A moment later Guiterrez appeared beside her, smiling broadly. “Yes, my dear?” He glanced at Longarm. “Ah, Senor Long. I take it that everything is in readiness down stairs.”
“Yes, sir,” said Longarm. “I reckon you and Mr. Barton can get things under way just as soon as you’re ready.”
“Excellent. Gracias, Senor Long.”
Don Alfredo didn’t seem to be in any hurry to come down and get the meetings started. Longarm hesitated a moment, then asked, “Should I tell Mr. Barton that you’ll be downstairs in a few minutes?”
“Soon, Senor Long, soon. No need to rush these things.” Longarm nodded as understanding dawned in his brain. Don Alfredo didn’t intend to go downstairs until he was sure that Franklin Barton and the other Americans were already there, waiting for him. Longarm glanced across the hall at the door of Barton’s suite. It was closed, and something about it told Longarm it would stay that way for a while. Barton would be thinking the same thing Don Alfredo was. Appearances were the only things that really mattered to these gents, and neither of them wanted to seem too eager to get started.
With a tug on the brim of his hat, Longarm nodded. “Well, then, whenever you’re ready,” he muttered, then backed away from the door. Sonia closed it, but not without another of those smoldering, heavy-lidded glances at which she was so expert.
Longarm sighed and went downstairs to wait.
“Hell, you coulda stayed in Denver and I coulda stayed in Austin,” complained Coffin as he and Longarm sat at a small table in a corner of the hotel lobby. “We’re about as much use here as tits on a boar hog.”
Longarm couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with the big Ranger. He and Coffin had been waiting all afternoon for the diplomatic meetings to begin, and so far everyone concerned was still upstairs, each side trying stubbornly to out-wait the other.
“Maybe if we went up there with our guns out,” Coffin went on, “we
could make them fellas come down here and do their jobs. Might have to
boot ‘em in the rear end a time or two on the way, but-“
“We can’t do that,” said Longarm.
“Why in blazes not? That might take ‘em down a notch or two and make ‘em a whole heap more reasonable.”
“And make them declare war on each other,” Longarm pointed out gloomily.
A broad grin spread across Coffin’s bearded face. “Well, at least that’d be somethin’ happenin’, wouldn’t it?”
Longarm just grunted and didn’t say anything. If this stalemate went on much longer, he might start giving some serious consideration to Coffin’s suggestion.
That was when, as if they had timed it, Lewis Markson and one of Don Alfredo’s assistants appeared at the second-floor landing. Longarm could see the men from where he sat. For a long moment, they sized each other up without speaking, then Markson said something that Longarm couldn’t hear. The Mexican gestured at the stairs, as if inviting the American to go first. Markson shook his head and stepped back slightly, indicating with a sweep of his own hand that the other man should precede him.
If they kept up that routine for very long, thought Longarm as he watched them, he was going to draw his gun and shoot both of them. Coffin looked as if he felt the same way.
Finally, both men came down the stairs side by side and went to the arched entrance of the dining room. Longarm and Coffin sat up straight and watched as Markson and the Mexican looked around the dining room. A few more low-voiced comments and nods were exchanged, then the men turned and went back across the lobby to the staircase.
“Wait a minute,” Longarm called in a strangled voice as he came to his feet. “Are you fellas about to get started or what?”
Markson smiled humorlessly at him. “Presently, Mr. Long, presently.Coffin growled, “I’ll presently your ass, you little-“
Longarm put a hand on the Ranger’s shoulder as Coffin started to surge to his feet. “All right,” he said to Markson, “but tell Mr. Barton that the sooner we get all this done, the better.”
“Not necessarily,” Markson replied blandly, then joined his companion from south of the border in ascending the stairs.
Coffin settled back in his chair. “I ain’t cut out for this,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Neither am I, old son,” Longarm told him. “Neither am I.”
Eventually, Barton and Don Alfredo both emerged from their suites and met at the top of the stairs, going through the same pointless exercise as their assistants had before coming down the staircase side by side. The other members of both delegations trooped along behind. Longarm and Coffin were waiting for them, and led the way into the dining room. When everyone was assembled—the Americans on one side of the tables that had been pushed together to make one big table, the Mexicans on the other—Franklin Barton turned to Longarm and Coffin and said, “Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all.”
Longarm frowned. “I figured we’d sit in on the meetings, just to make sure there’s no problem.”
Barton shook his head emphatically. “Impossible. The things that will be said here are secret.”
“You mean you don’t trust us?” Coffin burst out.
Barton smiled and said, “I mean, Mr. Coffin, that you and Mr. Long have done your jobs. Now let us do ours.”