On the twenty-eighth day of December, the Ba brothers came to report what they had learned.
At peril to their own lives, they said.
'Velly dange-ous,' Zing said.
'Henny Shoe fine out, tssssst,' Zang said, and ran his forefinger across his throat.
'You want to be wimps or winners?' Herrera asked.
The Ba brothers giggled.
Somehow, their laughter made them seem even more menacing.
Zing had done most of the talking. His English, such as it was, sounded a bit better than his younger brother's in that he never said ain't. Herrera listened intently. Partly because Zing was difficult to understand if you didn't listen intently and partly because the content of Zing's report was causing Herrera's hair to stand on end.
Zing was talking about a million-dollar dope deal.
'Millah dollah,' he said.
A hundred kilos at ten thousand per. Discounted because Tsu was making a quantity buy.
'Hunnah kilo,' Zing said.
The shipment was coming up from Miami by automobile.
On the twenty-third of January.
'Tessa-tay one play, pee up-ah ress not same,' Zing said.
'What?' Herrera asked.
'Tessa-tay one play, pee up-ah ress not same,' Zing repeated, exactly as he had said it the first time. He showed Herrera a slip of paper upon which several addresses were written in English in a spider-like hand. 'Tessa-tay play,' he said, indicating the first address.
'What?' Herrera asked.
'Tessa-tay.'
'What the fuck does that mean?'
Through a series of pantomimes, Zing and his brother managed at last to transmit to Herrera the idea that the first address on the slip of paper was an apartment where the testing and tasting would take place. . .
'Fi' kilo,' Zing said, and held up his right hand with the fingers and thumb spread.
'Five kilos,' Herrera said.
'Yeh, yeh,' Zing said, nodding.
'Will be tested and tasted at this place . . .'
'Yeh, tessa-tay play.'
'And if it's okay, the rest'll be picked up at this second place.'
'Yeh,' Zing said, 'pee up-ah ress not same,' and grinned at his brother, letting him know the benefits of a second language.
'Where only some of the bags will be tested at random.'
'Yeh, ony some.'
'What if the first stuff tests bad?' Herrera asked.
Zing explained that the deal would be off and the Miami people and the Tsu people would go their separate ways with no hard feelings.
'No har feeyin,' he said, and nodded.
'But if the girl is blue . . .'
'Yeh,' Zing said, nodding.
'Then they hand over the five keys and Tsu's people hand over fifty thousand.'
'Fiffee tousen, yeh.'
'And then they go to this next address to do some random testing and pick up the rest of the shit'
'Yeh, ressa shit.'
Herrera was thoughtful for several moments.
Then he said, 'These Miami people? Are they Chinese?'
'No, no, Spanish,' Zing said. Which was what Herrera figured.
'I need to know how to get in touch with them,' he said. 'And I need to know any code words or passwords they've been using on the phone. Can you get that information for me?'
'Velly har,' Zang said.
'Velly dange-ous,' Zing said.
'You wanna make velly big money?' Herrera asked.
The Ba brothers giggled.
Herrera was thinking that if he could buy those five measly keys set aside for testing and tasting . . .
Buy those five shitty little keys with the money he'd stolen from Hamilton . . .
Why then he could turn the pure into fifty thousand bags of crack...
At twenty-five bucks a bag . . .
Jesus!
He was looking at a million and a quarter!
Which if he split with the Chinks as they'd agreed . . .
'Velly big money, you bet,' Zing said, laughing.
'You bet,' Herrera said and smiled at them like a crocodile.
Now - at twelve noon on the twenty-second day of January - Herrera made a long-distance call. Just dialing the 305 area code made him feel like a big shot. Spending all this money to make a telephone call. Then again, it was Hamilton's money he was spending.
The person who answered was a Colombian.
The two men spoke entirely in Spanish.
'Four-seven-one,' Herrera said. The code numbers the resourceful Ba brothers had supplied. Chinese magicians.
'Eight-three-six,' the man said.
The counter code.
Like spy shit.
'A change for tomorrow night,' Herrera said.
'They're already on the way.'
'But you can reach them.'
'Yes.'
'Then tell them.'
'What change?'
'For the test. A new address.'
'Why?'
'Heat.'
'Give it to me.'
'705 East Redmond. Apartment 34.'
'Okay.'
'Repeat it.'
The man read it back.
'See you tomorrow,' Herrera said.
The man said, 'And?'
'And?' Herrera said, and realized in a flash that he'd almost forgotten the sign-off code.
'Three-three-one,' he said.
'Bueno,' the man said, and hung up.
* * * *
The Cowboy's shop was closed on Sundays, and so he met Kling in a little tacos joint off Mason Avenue. At a quarter past one that afternoon, the place was packed with hookers who hadn't yet gone to sleep. Palacios and Kling were both good-looking men, but none of the women even glanced in their direction. Palacios was eager to get on with the business at hand. He did not like having his Sunday ruined with this kind of bullshit. Besides, he was not at all happy with what he'd come up with.