I didn’t know there was anything like that.’ Her eyes gleamed in the lamp-light, her feet seemed unsteady on the path as they walked back around towards the casino entrance again.
She said, ‘Wasn’t it incredible? Wasn’t it fascinating?’
‘Mm.’
‘I never saw anything
I could stay here all night, look at me, I’m trembling all over. Where were they from, are they from Mexico?’
‘Yes.’
‘The men, too? The ones talking to them?’
‘Handlers. Trainers. Baron imports them with their birds.’
‘I’ve never been to Mexico,’ she said, thoughtfully. And then, as they were entering the main building again, ‘Do they have them in Mexico a lot? Cockfights?’
‘Here and there.’
They went inside and he left her at one of the tables again, with instructions to get some pictures of the cashier’s wicket. He went away to the roulette table nearest the cashier and played off and on while watching the routine behind the wire, where the cash went, who did what, what keys opened the wood and wire door in the far corner.
After half an hour he gathered up the girl again and they went back outside. This time they followed the path around the other way, down between the main building and the living quarters, past the cockpit on the other side, and up between the storage sheds. The path was just dirt here, hemmed in by jungle, scantily lit by bare bulbs hanging by wires from tree branches.
Just past the storage sheds a heavy-set man in a dark suit stepped out on the path in front of them. ‘Sorry, friends,’ he said. ‘No guests past this point.’
Parker took from his pocket a ten dollar bill. ‘A little walk and privacy,’ he said, ‘that’s all we’re looking for.’ He stepped forward with his hand out, and the bill disappeared.
The heavy-set man said, ‘Don’t go in none of the cottages, though. I can’t do nothing about that. You go in there, you get us all in trouble.’
‘We’ll keep out.’
The heavy-set man moved back into the darkness and Parker and the girl moved on.
The path now detoured around the power plant, a bulky humming building in semidarkness. Around on the other side the ground sloped downward, and now the path, just barely lit by widely spaced dim bulbs, meandered and curved back and forth, passing one after another of the cottages. The cottages were flimsy pastel clapboard structures of the tourist-cabin type, built up on concrete block supports to keep the damp away, and with narrow porches equipped with hammocks. Just enough land had been cleared for each cottage, so the jungle hemmed it in on all sides and the path skirted the porch steps. All the cottages were dark and seemed empty.
At the sixth cottage the path ended. ‘Wait here,’ said Parker. He took a pencil flash from his pocket and tried groping through the underbrush towards the water, but it was impossible. He could catch occasional glimpses of the ocean out there, glinting in the moonlight, but the undergrowth was too dank and thick and interwoven for any sort of passage short of chopping one’s way with a machete.
Parker said, ‘All right.’ He put the pencil flash away again. ‘Let’s go back.’
‘You want any pictures?’
‘Of what? There’s nothing here.’
They retraced their steps, this time seeing nothing of the heavy-set man, and when they got back to the main building Parker turned and led the way past the living quarters, down a concrete walk behind the living quarters of the two boathouses.
Two of the three young men who’d come out in the small boat yesterday were sitting on webbed lawn chairs by one of the boathouses, dressed the same way as before. One of them got up and came over to Parker and the girl, saying, ‘Off limits. You want to go the other way.’
‘Sorry,’ said Parker. He stood there looking at the boathouses and the water. ‘Nice place here,’ he said.
The guy didn’t know exactly what to do. He didn’t want to get tough or rude with a customer, but he knew he was supposed to keep people away from here. He took another step forward, holding his arms out as though to keep Parker from seeing anything or getting by him, and said, ‘I’m sorry, but orders is orders. You got to go back to the casino.’
‘Sure,’ said Parker. He turned away, taking the girl’s arm, and when they’d walked out of earshot he said, ‘You get pictures?’
‘Four of them.’
‘We’re done. You ready for another boat ride?’
‘Not really, but let’s get it over with.’
They had to wait in the boat ten minutes, with the girl getting more and more shaky the whole time, talking faster and louder, jabbering away like a disc jockey, and once again she shut up the second the boat pulled away from the dock and was silent the whole trip.
There were three empty cabs parked along the curb near the pier entrance. As they came out, the girl, somewhat recovered again, said, ‘Come on along to my place, I’ll develop these pictures right now. You can have them in an hour.’
‘Good.’ Parker opened the door of the lead cab, and they got aboard. She gave a LaMarque address and they sat in silence as the cab headed for Galveston Bay and the Gulf Freeway.
Her apartment was in a large modern elevator building with central air conditioning. Her windows overlooked no view at all, but were large anyway. The living room was expensively and tastefully decorated, but with the sterility and lack of individuality of a display model.
‘Bar over there,’ she said, pointing. ‘Just let me get this film started. You could make me a martini, if you would.’
‘Sure.’
‘Very very dry.’
She went through the archway on the far side of the room, and Parker went over to the bar, a compact and expensive-looking piece of furniture in walnut. It included a miniature refrigerator containing mixers and an ice cube compartment, and up above a wide assortment of bottles and glasses.
Parker made the martini with the maximum of gin and the minimum of vermouth, and added an olive from a jar of them in the refrigerator. For himself he splashed some I. W. Harper over ice.
Then he had nearly ten minutes to wait, and waiting was something he’d never learned how to do. He prowled the living room like a lion in a cage, this way and that, back and forth. He carried his drink and took occasional small bites from it.
There were paintings on the walls, small ones, originals, abstracts with the primary colour paints piled on thick and messy, the frames neat and plain and simple. They looked like things bought at an annual sidewalk art show; none of them distracted Parker from his pacing more than a few seconds.
The furniture was bland, dull, pastel, straight out of a foam rubber store’s show window, but quietly and discreetly and tastefully expensive. The carpeting, the wallpaper, the light fixtures and draperies, all showed the same grasp of fashion and the same total lack of individuality.
This was much worse than waiting in a motel room or some place like that. This place was dry but awkward, like a desert with green sand.
Crystal, whatever her name was, came back in a bright print blouse and black stretch pants and flat shoes. ‘I just had to change,’ she said. ‘I felt so stiff in that dress. My drink?’
He was near the bar. He picked up her drink and handed it to her, and she said, ‘Thanks. Let me know when it’s fifteen minutes, I’ll have to go move the film from A to B.’ She tasted the drink and raised her eyebrows to show delight. ‘Mmmm! You have a talent.’
‘How long before we get pictures?’
‘About an hour. Why, are you in a hurry to be off?’ She smiled over her drink, showing white teeth, and batted her eyes a little.
Parker shrugged. ‘No hurry,’ he said. He turned away and went back over to the bar to refresh his drink.
She followed him, saying, ‘I guess you’re what they call the strong silent type. No idle chitchat, no passes, just business.’