Partly, she was stalling, of course, while she tried to make up her mind, but partly she was putting on an act for Tillery and Co. If they should be watching, they'd see her making conversation vivaciously, entertaining the government boob she'd been ordered to work on, impressing him with her bright personality, making him think she was the girl for whom he'd been waiting all his life, a girl to whom he could confide his most secret hopes and fears- and his most secret information. Sitting down facing her, I played up by looking abashed at the way my suggestion had been received.
"Why, what's wrong with margaritas?" I asked humbly.
"Nothing," she said, "nothing, I suppose, if you like a tourist tipple made up of cactus juice and Cointreau- and they generally don't even use the genuine Cointreau down here, but a local product spelled, for God's sake, Controy!" She leaned forward and patted my hand across the table. "Don't be like all those other bigmouth big shots, darling. Don't try to impress me with your vast knowledge of Mexico and its products, alcoholic and otherwise. Hell, I was born in Yuma, Arizona, right on the border. I had my first slug of tequila-well, actually it was pulque, the stuff with the maguey worm in the bottom of the bottle-at the tender age of twelve. I can do the salt-and-lime bit for you like a native, and if I hadn't already known it, I'd have learned it from all the fat and greasy business types whose hobby is hauling blondes across the border and teaching them quaint bits of local lore while pouring cheap local liquor down them to get them into the mood. Margaritas were bad enough when they were a quaint local drink; now that they've become a national tourist industry, to hell with them. We don't have to play tourist, do we, darling? Let the quaint local bastards keep their quaint local salt-rimmed glasses. Just see if you can promote me a nice vodka martini, will you?"
It was quite a speech, and quite a vivacious performance went with it, but I didn't pay too much attention since I knew it wasn't really aimed at me. I didn't glance around the room to see if any likely targets were visible. I just sat there smiling and looking attentive, I hoped, maybe even fascinated, amorously enthralled, while I wondered what she could tell me if she decided to tell me anything, and what I'd do about it if she did.
"Yes," I said. "Yes, of course, sweetheart."
Since we didn't seem to be getting much action from the restaurant staff, I rose and walked over to the circular bar at the end of the room, returning with two vodka martinis, one of which I placed before my blond companion. She gave me a pretty smile of thanks.
"You're a darling, darling," she said fondly. "But tell me, honestly, why the hell should I stick my neck out for you?"
She was now wearing a sleeveless dress of yellow linen with a gaudy silk sash for a belt and hardly any skirt to speak of. I noted that she was another pantstocking girl. Well, with that abbreviated dress, she pretty well had to wear tights, since practically everything showed when she sat down. I'm not usually so sharply conscious of these matters, although I seldom overlook them entirely. I guess I was feeling a few twinges of regret for a missed opportunity. It seemed that, like it or not, I was over my period of mourning for Annette O'Leary; I was no longer in a chaste and continent mood.
I sat down and tasted my cocktail, not bad, but actually I kind of enjoy a margarita once in a while. However, I wouldn't have spoiled Bobbie's act for the world.
"Honestly?" I said. "You put me on the spot, doll. Honestly, I can't think of a single damn reason why you should stick out your neck for me."
"Then why the hell didn't you take the ticket that was offered and go along for the ride? I mean, you haven't really got a conscience about tricking a girl into bed, have you? Particularly when she asks for it like I did. If you'd played along; you might have learned something, or overheard something."
"Learned what?" I asked. "As long as you thought I was just a sex-mad sucker, you'd have been damn careful not to let me learn or hear anything I shouldn't. I figured I'd try convincing you I was a reasonably smart guy you could trust, a guy with a few scruples, even, and see what happened. Maybe you'd see a way you could use a guy like that, for your own preservation."
"And are you a reasonably smart guy with a few scruples I can trust, darling?"
I grinned. "We buried the last guy with scruples who tried to break into this business a long time ago. I think he lasted about six weeks, and only because it took that long for somebody to decide to send him out on a job. And only a fool would trust anybody in my line of work, Bobbie."
She sighed. "There you go again, undermining your own buildup. What the hell are you trying to do to me, anyway, get me all confused? Don't you know I want to think of you as a knight in bright armor on a big white horse, riding to the rescue of poor little me?" When I didn't say anything, she made a face at me and took a big gulp of vodka slightly adulterated with vermouth. "I've got to really know why you did it… I mean, didn't do it. Hell, you wanted me all right, you wanted me badly. Why didn't you just take me and do the talking afterwards? The average guy would have figured to give the little girl a great big treat first, and she'd be his sex-slave for life, ready to risk anything for more of the same."
I said, "Hell, maybe I'm just an insecure, inadequate type. Maybe I don't have quite that much faith in my virility." I hesitated. "Do you want to know the truth?"
"That's what I'm asking for, isn't it?"
I drew a long breath, and said, "Well, the truth is…" I stopped and cleared my throat and started over: "The truth is, you looked kind of nice, kind of pretty, with that thick movie crud washed off your face. I… I just couldn't do it to you, not like that." There was a little silence. I went on: "You can start the laugh track any time."
She was looking down at her glass, twirling it between her fingers, using the long blond hair to keep me from seeing her face.
"You're conning me, aren't you?" she whispered at last. "You know that's what I'd like to think, gullible me, so you're using it against me. Aren't you?"
"Sure," I said. "A little. Naturally. How can I help it. After years of practice, how do you stop? But that was part of it, I swear it." The funny thing was, as I've already indicated, I was telling the truth.
She sighed, and lifted her glass and drained it in one motion. Setting it down gently, she said, "I can't tell you where they are right now, Matt, if that's what you need to know. They didn't say where they'd be staying. But I know they figure on taking some kind of drastic action tonight, and before they do they'll want to hear what I've found out about you-about what you and that female dope-agent are up to. So they're going to call my room late in the afternoon, Tillery is. Maybe… maybe he'll let something slip. I'll see what I can find out for you. That's the best I can do." She drew a ragged little breath. "Matt?"
"Yes?"
"Do you really want lunch?"
I said, "Frankly, for some reason, food isn't exactly what's foremost in my mind at the moment."
She laughed softly. "In mine either. Drink your damn drink and let's go finish what we started, before I climb the damn walls…
Later, much later, I woke abruptly and started to take evasive action, aware of a hand on my shoulder that might be hostile. I didn't know, and I wasn't about to wait to find out. Those who wait, waking up in doubt, don't generally live very long. However, my instinctive movement just got me entangled in blinding masses of hair that had a faint, clean, pleasant smell to it and reminded me of everything.
I sank back onto the pillow. Bobbie, standing by the bed bending over me, straightened up and tossed back the long blond hair that had fallen into my face. She laughed a bit uncertainly.
"My God, darling, do you always wake up like that? Next time I'll get a long fish pole and poke you from across the room."