“Sounds like the New York World’s Fair,” I observed. “I guess the economics are the same the world over.”
“Come. Here’s our chance. Let’s go.” Pilar grabbed my hand again, and we hightailed it after the bulls which had just passed.
A few more narrow scrapes, and we finally reached the hotel. “I hope she’s in,” I told Pilar. “I hope she hasn’t gone out to watch the bulls like everyone else."
“She will be in,” Pilar said positively. “She will be in bed with Mendes. They will be making love.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“The same reason the bull was making love to the heifer. The same reason I made love with you. Mendes goes into the ring this afternoon. He will be making the most of the time left with his mistress."
“Well, I hate to interrupt him,” I told Pilar, “but-—"
“You will not be allowed up if you call from the desk,” she warned me. “Mendes is always incommunicado before he fights."
“But if I don’t go to the desk, how will I find out what room he’s in?”
“Wait. The bell captain is a friend of mine. I will find out for you.” Pilar left me sitting in the lobby and went into a huddle with the bell captain. “Suite five-oh-three,” she told me when she returned. “But the elevator will not take you to his floor. The hotel is taking precautions to guard him against his fans. Take the elevator to the seventh floor and walk down. But be careful. There is a hotel detective guarding the entrance to his suite.”
“Thanks, Pilar.” I took her hand. “I hope we’ll meet again soon,” I told her honestly. “It has been really wonderful.”
“For me, too, Señor Victor. Be sure to look me up whenever your business brings you back to Pamplona. Only next time, please don’t bother to bring along your Italian playmate. The way he was going to shoot us—it seems to me that he lacks the sporting instinct.”
“I'll come back alone,” I promised. We kissed goodbye, and I watched as she strode toward the door. “Good luck with the bull this afternoon,” I called after her.
“I will fight as one inspired,” she called back. She blew me a kiss, and then she was gone.
I strode over to the bank of elevators and took one to the seventh floor as Pilar had suggested I should. Then I walked down the two flights to the floor where Mendes’ suite was. Peeping out of the stairwell, I spotted a man sitting on a chair in front of one of the doors. The number on the door identified it as five-oh-three. I figured the man for a hotel detective and pondered what I was going to do next.
Standing in the shadow of the stairwell entrance, I watched a chambermaid pass down the corridor in the opposite direction from the hotel watchdog. She paused at a linen closet, loaded up with towels, and then kept going around a bend in the corridor.
That gave me an idea. Unnoticed by the hotel cop, I darted down the corridor to the linen closet. It was even better than I’d hoped. There was a waiter’s jacket in there, and a tray as well. I slipped off my own jacket and put on the white coat. Then I shoved some washcloths and sponges onto the tray and spread a snow-white napkin over it. It looked like a typical hotel breakfast tray as I hefted it to my shoulder and started toward the seated hotel dick.
The plan I had worked out called for me to sail into the room next door to five-oh-three. I knew the cop would stop me if I tried to enter Mendes’ room. But I figured he wouldn’t pay much attention to me going into any other room. Once I was next door, I hoped to be able to figure a way to get into Mendes’ room from there.
“Hey, you!”
My hopes sank as the hotel cop called out to me.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You’re out of uniform.” He pointed at my pants.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “This was a rush call and the chief said to go right up.”
“Rush call! That’s no excuse. I ought to put you on report!"
I had the idiotic feeling that the next thing he’d suggest would be a full court-martial with all the trimmings. What would happen then? I wondered. Would I be drummed out of the waiters’ corps? “I’m sorry.” I cringed as servilely as I could while balancing the tray. “It won’t happen again,” I promised.
“Well, see that it doesn’t. Damn foreigners," he muttered to himself, having noticed my accent. “Not enough work for the people who live in Pamplona and they bring in outsiders! What’s the hotel business coming to?”
“Can I go in now?” I asked timidly. ‘Tm afraid this food will get cold.”
“Go ahead,” he grumbled.
I reached for the doorknob.
“Jesus! What kind of a waiter do you call yourself, anyway? Don't you even know enough to knock?"
I knocked as softly as I thought I could get away with knocking, and prayed it wouldn’t be heard. Then I reached for the doorknob again.
“I didn’t hear them say to come in,” the plainclothesman said.
“Do you have trouble with your hearing?" I asked sympathetically. “I have an aunt who’s deaf, and she went to this clinic in—”
“Ahh, go on! Get about your business!” He waved me inside the room.
Once the door was closed behind me, I set the tray down and looked around. It was an ante-room. The bedroom was beyond, on the other side of the French doors. If I was going to get into Mendes’ suite, I could see that it would have to be through there. I eased open the French doors and slipped inside.
The blinds were drawn, and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. When they did, they focused on the bed. It was a large, plush bed and the covers on it had been thrown back. In the center of it was a two-headed figure. Female. Naked. Sleeping.
I blinked and took a second look. The figure had two sets of arms and two bare bosoms, as well as two heads. A third look finally straightened it out for me. There were two girls there, both young, both blondes. They were sleeping with their bodies locked together like two pairs of criss-crossed scissors. One of the heads was at the top of the bed, the other at the bottom. Which explained the optical illusion. And also something else, which was really none of my business.
From the position, there could be no mistaking what they’d been up to when they drifted off to sleep. The lipstick smears confirmed it. For a moment I caught myself making mental notes for O.R.G.Y. Then I caught myself up short, cast one last, appreciative look at the fleshy pattern on the bed, and got back to the business at hand.
I crossed over to the window and squeezed in behind the blinds. The window was open. A ledge, about two feet below the window, ran the entire length of the facade of the hotel. It was about a foot wide, of hewn stone, and looked quite sturdy. It was the obvious path to the room next door and the only one that I could see.
I climbed out on the ledge. Five stories below, the street was filled with rampaging bulls. I hugged the side of the building and edged toward the window to Mendes’ room. I had almost reached it when I felt a portion of the ledge crumbling beneath my foot. And then my arms were flailing wildly as the stone gave way altogether and my footing disappeared from under me.
Somehow, I managed to grab a handheld on the sill of the window to Mendes’ room. I dangled there for a moment, the bulls stampeding like thunder far beneath me. For a minute it was touch-and-go as to whether or not I was going to topple into their midst. Then I managed to grab hold of the sill with my other hand as well. Painstakingly, my fingers digging in and aching from the strain, my arms feeling like they would pull loose from their sockets, I inched my way up to the window.
I was lucky. It was open a few inches. I heaved it open the rest of the way, and in the same motion jack-knifed through it head-first.
It was a fairly good dive and, fittingly enough, it ended underwater. I had misjudged. The window didn’t lead to Mendes’ bedroom, but to the bathroom adjoining it. And I had neatly plunged into a bathtub filled with water.