“Frankly, I don’t give a damn what you do to him,” I said. “After I give him a break. He’s an old friend and from me he deserves a break. I intend to give it to him.”
“That is very dangerous loyalty, Mr. Varney.”
“Like you, I’m stuck with certain codes.”
“And if I should reject this—”
“Then you won’t be dealing with a boozed-up has-been, senor. I’m very good at what I do.”
Hernandez did not lose his amiable expression, but behind the eyes I knew he was evaluating me. I was betting his little info system was not only quick but went deep and he’d know my background.
“You know La Bola?”
“Yeah. A bar a block from the border.”
“Tomorrow. Eleven o’clock in the morning.”
I stood up.
“And I make no promises, afterward, senor.”
I went out the gate feeling the kind of nausea inside that conies with that kind of bargain. But I knew it was the best I could hope for: a little time to get Ed away from the border. The odds were pretty good he’d drift back, but that would have to be his decision.
I stopped at La Bola, had a Mexicali beer and checked out the place. It was dark, full of noise and smelled faintly of tortillas from the cafe next door, but It was okay for an exchange.
When I got back to Carpenter I found a motel, had a bite to eat in one of those brightly lit truck stops on the highway running through town and went to see Ed.
I figured to lay it out for him very simply. There was no reason to hide Hernandez’s hedged guarantee. If Ed didn’t want to buy it, then I had done as much as I could.
My rapping on his door got no answer. I went down and woke up the desk clerk.
“He ought to be up there,” he mumbled as he walked up the stairs in front of me. “Probably in a drunk sleep.”
When he unlocked the door I flipped the lights and Ed Glass was using a table leg for a pillow. The lamp cord was knotted around his thin neck.
“Damn.” the big man beside me whispered.
He started to loosen the cord.
“Leave it,” I said. “He’s dead and the cops like pictures the way it is.”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess so.”
When he was gone to call the local police, I made a quick check around the room. In the closet I found a loose wall board and behind it an empty hole where I knew the money had been.
I sat on the bed and looked at my old friend. Even if he was a drunk, he was no slob. The room was neat, if maybe heavy with that whiskey smell. It angered me to think Hernandez hadn’t called off his dogs in time — if he ever intended to. Now I thought about my promise to him. It would’ve been easy to leave and forget the whole stupid mess.
But I had a stubborn streak.
Lieutenant Henderson, a bland, thin man, questioned me and seemed bored by it.
“Glass was a bum,” he said, puffing on a black pipe, watching his I.D. man take his pictures. “You say he was an old friend?”
“Yeah,” I said.
He shook his head. “Well, the hotel owner, Tony, says three Mexicans came in a couple of hours ago.”
“He recognize them?”
“Nobody local.”
“That’s interesting,” I said.
“You know what this is about?”
“Nope,” I said.
He didn’t believe me but didn’t much care. He shrugged, puffed his pipe and nodded for me to go. Outside in the cooling night I hoped it would go away, that nasty feeling I get when I’m caught with my words hanging. “—you won’t be dealing with a boozed-up has-been.”
Nice speech, I thought. Full of dramatics. A speech to get drunk over, or maybe killed over.
Sleep didn’t come easy and the next morning my breakfast of over-easy eggs turned hard by a sloppy cook in the truck stop didn’t help my disposition.
It was a few minutes before eleven when I found a table in La Bola. A Scotch and water flushed away some of the bad egg taste. But nothing got rid of Ed Glass’ body lying in that fleabag hotel.
The Mexican in the tight green suit came in, looked around and walked over to me. He had a handsome scar starting just below his earlobe and angling south. No doubt the other guy had been the loser.
“Donde esta?” he asked.
“Don’t give me that,” I said.
“Que?”
“English,” I said. “And the ‘what’ of it is the money, meathead.”
He stood there, rooster-like, tight-suited and hating my existence, and I didn’t much give a damn. He wasn’t going to make a play there; I half-wished he would have.
“You do not have the money?”
“Ask your boss,” I said.
Without another word he left. I had two more Scotch and waters, getting a glow and feeling like a mean bastard when Hernandez, flanked by a pair of mustachioed bodyguards, strolled in. His face was all amiability and his teeth were pearls and I thought about my fist planted there.
“I told you,” I said when he sat down.
“What, Mr. Varney?”
“I got to give it to you. You play it out. Your boys garroted him, took the money.” I shook my head. “Bad news, senor.”
For the first time his face was not so cheerful. His eyes narrowed. “You’re saying he is dead and the money is gone?”
“Tell me you don’t know.”
“A joke, verdad?”
I didn’t smile.
“I know nothing of this. My men act only on my orders.”
“Three didn’t, then,” I told him.
“Tres hombres? For one drunk?” He laughed sharply. “That is a joke.” Then his lips drew tight. It seemed to draw the rest of his face skin like a drum top. “You are not trying a double-cross, are you, Mr. Varney?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’m sitting here passing the time of day instead of legging for L.A. with fifty grand.”
“An interesting bluff, though?”
“And very dumb.”
“Yes. But, then, neither of us are very dumb.”
I sipped my drink. Hernandez’s two henchmen were itching to move in.
“We still have a partial deal, senor,” Hernandez said. “My men did not kill your friend. And you owe me fifty thousand dollars.”
Hernandez walked out and at the doorway his two boys looked back at me and I waited for the move. There was none.
I felt a whole hell of a lot better when I got back across the border. But there’s no one-hundred percent in these deals.
Driving back to Carpenter, I thought about a lot of bad money and I wondered about my own motives. Getting fifty grand back meant sending a hell of a lot of pot or smack right into the supply-demand racket. I hated the lousy racket, but here I was in the middle of it. And all for a friend. A dead friend, now.
If nothing else, Carpenter had the bars. I knew Ed would have a reputation in them. I began making the tour, watering my drinks and running through joints like the Green Room and the Happening.
I kept getting the name Dottie.
In a place called the Sagebrush, a piece of stucco near the railroad tracks, I found a talky bartender.
“Dottie and Eddie were in and out, sure. A real piece, that girl. Don’t know what she saw in the souse, though.”
“Where do I find her?”
“Sam’s Siding, last I heard. She held down a barmaid job. She was just waiting for Eddie to take her away from Carpenter. Always talking about Hollywood.” He shook his head. “Pretty girl, but not that pretty.”
Sam’s Siding was a converted railroad club car, now a bar, and the “conductor”, Sam Lark, glared at me When I mentioned Dottie.
“Skipped me! Not a damn word! You find her, you tell her I’ll wring her neck. It’s only proper she give notice.”