“I’d just like to talk to her,” I repeated. “Where can I find her?”
“You not find her tonight. She busy with her boyfriend.”
“Oh, so she has a boyfriend. And what sort of fellow is he?”
“Why you ask? You want boy steada girl?” She thrust my hand away from her breast.
“No. Not at all. I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“You sure ask a lot of questions.”
“That’s my business. I told you.”
“Well, this my business.” She reached for my hand again and this time she put it between her thighs.
“I just wondered what sort of a man would want a professional prostitute for a girl friend,” I said.
“And what’s the matter with that?” She was indignant again. “We make best kind girl for any man. Girls like us are loyal an’ he always know where we are, an’ we treat our men very good.”
“Sure. Sure,” I agreed hastily. “I didn’t mean— Is this boy friend of hers a Dominican?”
“I don’ know.” Dovita shrugged. “She don’ talk to me about him. They only just start in together. You so hot to know, you gonna have to ask her. But tomorrow, ’cause she no around tonight.”
“All right, I will. What’s her name?”
“Consuela.”
That was it. I was on the track all right. Only I’d have to drift for the next day or so until I could get to Consuela herself. If I played it right, she’d lead me to Raoul Marti. And if I kept playing it right, he might tell me where the German scientist had been taken.
Meanwhile, Dovita’s hand was moving farther up my leg. I put business aside and took a really good, look at her. With her dark eyes shining brightly and the way her tongue was licking her lips, she looked like a hungry cat. I touched her breast again—this time all on my own. Her face broke into a smile, and now she looked like a cat with a mouthful of canary feathers.
“No more questions now?” she purred softly.
“No more questions,” I assured her.
“Then we make love, no?”
“We make love, yes.” I’m not made out of Wood, and Dovita’s sexy appearance and provocative ways were getting to me. Frustrated by Victoria, further investigation postponed until I could latch onto Consuela, I could think of no good reason why I shouldn’t take advantage of Dovita’s willingness to “entertain” me.
This she set about doing in a highly professional way. She guided my hands over the contours of her lush body and then nibbled her way down from my ears to my neck to my chest. Her fingertips played havoc with my erogenous zones as she unbuttoned my clothing. Her mouth was a will-o’-the-wisp darting hither and thither over my body, pinpointing erotic responses and sending signals of passion to my brain—which returned them with interest to the organ of my manhood.
It was here, finally, that her lips fastened hungrily. So wondrous was her skill that my whole body responded. My back arched and I thrust upward and every muscle tensed. For a moment the thrill was so great that I felt the blood rushing to my head. My hands tangled spasmodically in her ebony tresses, and I felt as if the top of my skull was about to fly off.
And then all hell broke loose.
There was the sound of a mortar shell exploding very close by. Even closer came the steady chatter of a sub-machine gun. There was the crackle—-several sharp cracks in a row, really-—of rifle fire.
The electric light bulb in the ceiling fixture shattered, and we were plunged into darkness. It all happened so fast that it was a moment before the message of agony reached my brain. It originated with Dovita. Her reaction to the sudden holocaust had been to clench her teeth. And the instant of clenching had changed my rushing ecstasy to sharp pain.
I slapped her jaw—not too lightly, I’m afraid. Her face muscles relaxed, and I pulled free. As soon as that happened, Dovita seemed to unfreeze and spring into action. She was across the room in a jiffy and at the bureau standing in the corner there. Her back was to me for an instant, and when she turned around, she held a large Luger in two hands. She held it awkwardly, and not too steadily, but that didn’t make it look any the less menacing. You see, the safety was off, and her finger was on the trigger, and it was pointed at my belly with just enough accuracy to insure that if it went off it would blast my guts into a collage on the wall behind me.
“Hey!” I said. “What-—?”
“The revolution has begun!” she announced. Her eyes were blazing with a fervor that was fanatical.
“What revo -?”
“We will drive the junta out!” she said, her voice exultant. “And we will drive the Yankee gringos out with them!”
“But—?”
“The Yankess must go or die!”
“I was just leaving-—-”
“Every citizen is a soldier of the revolution. And every gringo is an enemy. Now, Mr. Victor, you will pay for your country’s meddling!”
Her finger tightened on the trigger . . .
CHAPTER SEVEN
I LUNGED straight forward and down, slamming into the floor with my groin. The bullet whistled over my rear and grazed it as I leaped. My outstretched hand hooked Dovita’s ankle and yanked the floor out from under her.
The gun went off again as she fell. I scrambled over her and got a grip on the hand that was holding it. I shook the Luger loose and it went spinning across the floor. I straddled Dovita, my knees pinning her shoulders, sitting on her bosom—very soft, very comfortable -— and got my breath back.
Outside there was a symphony of gunfire. The ratatat of submachine guns, the ping of rifle bullets, the intermittent boom of mortar shells exploding-—all the sounds of a small-scale war getting off the ground filled the night. There was an odor of smoke wafting through the broken window. A searchlight beam swiveled past and lit up the room. I got a good look at Dovita’s face.
It was still feline. Only now it looked like an enraged tigress, rather than a passionate pussycat. The upper lip was curled back in a savage snarl. Her eyes were dark pools of venom. They were staring at my face with a look that raked the flesh from my cheekbones. I smiled at her and she spat at me.
I wrapped one hand around her throat and kept it there while I climbed off her and retrieved the Luger. When I had it, I let her go and sat on the floor well out of the line of any gunfire that might come through the window. Then, holding the gun on her, I politely asked her what the hell was going on.
“The rebels, they have struck,” she said, looking at me contemptuously. “The day of the Yankee in Santo Domingo is at an end.”
“You mean a revolution has broken out?”
“Si.”
“Well, okay. But why would that make you want to kill me?”
“You are a Yankee. That is enough reason.”
“Aww, come on. That’s not very hospitable. Just a few minutes ago you were all sexy syrup for me. I’m still the same guy. Why should you be out for my blood now?”
“Because you must pay for exploiting us.”
“Me personally?”
“Si. All North American gringos.”
Something occurred to me. “I don’t get it, Dovita. Why are you so het up? You’re not even a Dominican. You’re a Cuban. And a refugee from Castro to boot. I’d think you’d be against this revolution, if anything. Isn’t it the same kind of thing that drove you out of Cuba?”
She looked at me for a long moment, and then shrugged her shoulders in a way that said she had nothing to lose by telling me the truth. “I am Cuban, si,” she said. “But I am not anti-Castro. I am one of those who bring our glorious revolution to this country.”
“Well, I’ll be damned! So the Cassandras were right. Old Fidel is exporting Communism throughout Latin America. Is he the one behind this revolution now?”