Mimi smiled modestly, batted her eyes, and said to Dort, “Isn’t Pablo a dear? He’s very angry — and very jealous of you! He thinks we’ve...” She permitted her voice to trail a way delicately.
“Tell the ape to go out and pick cotton,” Dort replied as he attempted to circumnavigate Pablo’s bulk.
Pablo moved with surprising quickness for a man of his size, and Dort continued to find Pablo between himself and the door.
Dort said to Mimi, “Please tell him it’s too early in the morning.”
“He won’t believe me,” Mimi explained.
Pablo clenched his teeth, slitted his eyes, and growled menacingly in his throat. It was an impressive performance. Dort realized that as he spoiled the effect, somewhat, by hitting Pablo in the belly. Pablo inhaled deeply, sharply, then swung a huge fist that caught Dort on the side of the head and knocked him half way across the room.
Mimi, watching curiously, found the courtesy to observe the formalities and protest weakly. “I wish you boys wouldn’t fight over me.”
“So do I,” agreed Dort, and went back to work.
He became quite strenuously occupied with Pablo. He became distracted after a moment, however, by sounds of an extremely high frequency. The sounds seemed to originate in the room and, by mutual consent, he and Pablo discontinued their own activities to watch and listen. Ynez had entered into a discussion with Mimi.
Standing with hands on their hips, the two girls carried on a conversation pitched to the top of their voices — a conversation which seemed to consist mostly of undesirable words in English, French, and Spanish. Other guests of the Copabonga, drawn to the scene of the discussion, lingered in the hall and lined the balcony, shouting words of encouragement.
Mimi, realizing her voice was giving out, retreated slowly to her dressing table to collect additional ammunition. She scooped up a volume of Lucretius and hurled the heavy book through the air. It missed Ynez by several feet and slamming into the wall, bounced back to the floor. The heavy cover flew open and pages, twisted and tom during the flight, disgorged hundred-dollar bills around the room.
All action, all sound ceased as a score of assorted sets of eyes followed the gently floating bills. Then a voice announced, “I will take charge of the books!” Captain Lorca, followed by two police in khaki uniforms carrying short carbines, entered the room.
At six o’clock in the morning, it was growing hot again in Castelonne. Dort, Mimi, Pablo and Ynez were gathered in Captain Lorca’s office. During the exchange of protests, denials, charges and counter-charges, Lorca had continued to cut the pages of the two volumes of Lucretius and remove hundred-dollar bills.
Dort stood, with folded arms, and mentally kept count with Lorca. The captain having removed the last bill from the last page, stood and regarded the prisoners.
“How much money do you have for bail?” he inquired. Amidst protests from Pablo and tears from Mimi and Ynez, they pooled twenty dollars in American money, thirty in Mexican, and forty one in San Salvador pesos.
“That comes out exactly right,” Lorca announced calmly. He put the money in his desk drawer, and dismissed the prisoners. Turning to Dort, who had paid no bail, the captain continued, “You will undoubtedly wish to return to the United States on the first plane.” He pushed a large document across his desk to Dort. “You will please sign, here.”
The document, printed in Spanish, was a mystery to Dort. “What in hell are these for?” he asked.
“Formalities,” Lorca replied casually.
“If I don’t sign it?” asked Dort.
“You don’t leave San Salvador,” explained Lorca.
Dort signed the document, and turned to leave the guardroom.
Lorca remained behind his desk where he had two stacks of bills. In one pile were twenty-five century notes. Lorca picked the entire pile up, edged it carefully, then tucked it in his tunic. The balance of the money, twenty-two thousand, five hundred dollars, he shoved toward Dort.
“Don’t forget to take the money,” Lorca said.
Dort turned and regarded the captain in amazement. “I figured it was a contribution to a pig farm, and tractor agency,” he said.
“Under no circumstances!” Lorca replied rather coldly.
Dort scooped up the bills and distributed them throughout his pockets. Then he said to the captain, “I still don’t get it. You could keep it all.”
Lorca, reminded of the large sum of money, sighed regretfully, but shook his head. “You forget Colonel Gomez, and General O’Brien,” he said. “They would get it.” Lorca patted his tunic where the smaller stack nestled. “This — which you have given me — they cannot touch.”
“Okay,” said Dort. “But if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll go now.”
“You are free to leave anytime you wish,” Lorca assured him politely. “But do you not wish to speak to Professor Berman first?”
Dort, who had nearly reached the door, stopped, abruptly. Going a little pale he turned by degrees to face Lorca again. “You’ve got him here?”
“Four days — five now.” Lorca added, “Cell nine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” demanded Dort.
“You didn’t ask me,” Lorca replied reasonably. He carefully rearranged his desk calendar, note book, and small vase of flowers. “Professor Berman has been inquiring for you.”
“My God!” breathed Dort.
“But he has not been a particularly cooperative prisoner,” Lorca said, shaking his head gently. “After I read his letter to you, I inquired of him regarding the money. Naturally, he denied any knowledge of it.”
Lorca shifted slightly to escape a ray of brassy sunlight which was stealthily creeping toward his chair. “However, it seemed reasonable to assume that if you arrived, Senor Dort, you would find the money.”
“I get it,” Dort said, his face emotionless, “you let me do all the leg work.”
Slowly the pieces began to fall into place, and he continued more rapidly, “As a matter of fact, you didn’t want Berman to turn over the dough to you, because if he did you could have collected only the reward money and Gomez and O’Brien would have grabbed that!” Lorca lighted a cigarette and listened politely. “So you waited and made a private deal with me. You held on to Berman, telling yourself that I would have to find the money, and cut you in on my percentage.”
Dort stumped out his own cigarette and began to grin — a wolfish, hungry expression. “You know, Lorca,” he admitted, “I’d have done the same to J. J. Peterson, myself.” Dort began to laugh.
Captain Lorca joined him politely.
J. J. Peterson said, “All right, here’s the receipt for the twenty thousand.” He pushed the slip of paper across the desk. “Incidently,” he added, “when does Berman expect to return to this country?”
“The Professor can come back any time he wants, I guess,” said Dort. “But I think maybe he’s going to stay awhile in San Salvador.”
“Why?” asked Peterson.
“He’s got a new job working for a guy named Lorca. Lorca needs smart guys,” Dort explained. “He’s trying to build a brain trust.”
“What for?” asked Peterson. “By the way, is the air-conditioner too cold for you?”
“It’ll never be too cold again,” Dort said. “But getting back to Lorca, I’ve got a hunch he’s bucking to replace a colonel.” After a pause, he added, “And I think he’s just about got it made.”
“Won’t the colonel cause trouble?” J. J. Peterson began to unwrap a cigar.
“Frankly,” replied Dort, “it isn’t the colonel who’s going to cause any trouble. It is the general.”
“I don’t get you,” said Peterson.
“It’s this way,” explained Dort. “The general is going to be awful damned mad if he ever finds out that Lorca owns the junk yard which buys up all his stolen tractor wheels.”