He handed her the folder. “There are four copies; sign them all and keep one.”
She quickly scanned the single-page agreement. “Call off the police,” she said.
“As soon as you’ve signed.”
“We seem to be at an impasse,” she said.
“It’s over, Barbara; the alternative is a Mexican jail, assuming the capitán lets you make it that far.” He handed her a pen.
She looked at him for a long moment. “You were a good lay,” she said. Then she signed the papers, kept a copy and handed him back the folder. “Now call the capitán.”
Vittorio took back the pen, so she couldn’t use it as a weapon, inspected the signatures, then he pressed the redial button on his cell phone.
“Sí?”
“Capitán?”
“Yes, Vittorio, we are ten minutes away.”
“Capitán, I am sorry to tell you that I have made a mistake; she is not in the restaurant. The woman I was following was another person entirely. I apologize for this terrible inconvenience.”
Vittorio held the phone away from his ear to avoid the torrent of Spanish cursing and so that Barbara could hear the policeman. “I’m sorry, capitán,” he said, when the swearing had ebbed. “It was the wrong woman.”
“Vittorio,” the captain said, “I owe you no more favors.” He broke the connection.
“Did you hear that?” Vittorio asked Barbara.
“Yes, I heard it.”
He took a towel and wiped his fingerprints from the pistol, then handed it to her. “Have a nice evening,” he said. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again.” He stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He could hear a thumping noise against the door as he walked away; she was apparently punishing the door.
Outside, he found Eagle and Cupie leaning against the car. He opened the folder, rested it on the trunk, witnessed the documents and handed the folder to Eagle. “There’s your signed agreement,” he said.
Eagle checked the signatures. “All is in order, Vittorio. I’ll send you a check when I get back to Santa Fe.”
Cupie spoke up. “When do the capitán and his men arrive?”
Vittorio laughed.
“Come on, it’s all you had to threaten her with.”
“I called him off,” Vittorio said.
“Are you sure?” Eagle asked. “I don’t want her hurt.”
“I’m sure. Can I give you a lift to the airport?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Eagle looked around the parking lot. “Do you know which car she arrived in?”
“The black BMW,” Vittorio replied.
The three men got into Vittorio’s rented Jaguar. He introduced Eagle and Cupie to Birgit, then he started the car and headed for the airport.
Vittorio turned to Birgit. “You might have told me she had changed her appearance,” he said.
“Sorry, I forget about that.” She smiled sweetly. “I’m hungry,” she said.
“Later,” he said.
Fifty-eight
T
HE JAGUAR WAS APPROACHING THE TURNOFF TO THE
airport when Eagle spoke up. “Don’t turn for the airport. Take me back to Tijuana instead, to the border crossing.”
“As you wish,” Vittorio said, speeding up. “Why do you want to go to the border?”
Eagle didn’t reply, and Vittorio didn’t question him further. He drove into the city and made his way to the border crossing.
“Park over there,” Eagle said, pointing to a space.
“All right,” Vittorio replied.
“Before you confronted Barbara, did you see their table?”
“From a distance.”
“Could you tell how far along with dinner they were?”
“I saw a waiter take away dishes; I assume they had finished their main course.”
“All right,” Eagle said, then went silent again.
Vittorio settled down to wait for whatever Eagle was waiting for.
B
ARBARA AND JIMMY FINISHED
their coffee, and Jimmy asked for the check.
“You’ve gone all quiet on me,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she replied, “I was lost in thought.” She had been quiet, indeed. Now that Eagle had dried up as a source of money, she needed to make new plans. “Jimmy, you said your wife left you, what, three weeks ago?”
“Yep.”
“You haven’t sounded upset about it.”
“I’m not; I feel nothing but relief.”
“Have you filed for divorce?”
“She has. I was served less than a week after she moved out.”
“Have you enjoyed our time together?”
“Every minute of it. What are your plans?”
“Oh, I think I’ll spend a couple of days at La Reserve, then maybe go back to L.A. for a while. Want to stay with me and relax for a bit?”
“I’d love it,” he said, reaching over and kissing her. “And when we get back to L.A., why don’t you move in with me?”
“What a nice idea,” she said, kissing him back. She breathed a sigh of relief. Nice to have old Jimmy waiting in line.
V
ITTORIO BEGAN TO HAVE
uncomfortable thoughts. “Mr. Eagle,” he said, “could I speak to you in private for a moment?”
“Sure, Vittorio.”
They both got out of the car and walked a few steps away.
“Mr. Eagle, you said you didn’t want Barbara harmed, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, I’m beginning to get the feeling that something is about to happen to her, and if that’s so, I don’t want to be here when it happens.”
“Relax, Vittorio,” Eagle said. “The responsibility is all mine; you have nothing to worry about.” He walked back to the car and got in.
Vittorio followed him, still troubled. Then, as he watched, two Mexican police cars pulled into reserved parking spots about thirty yards in front of him, between his car and the border.
B
ARBARA SAT AS CLOSE
as she could to Jimmy in the car and let her hand wander inside his thigh. “Jimmy,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t have much in the way of clothes, since I left Eagle, so I need to do some shopping. Do you think you could arrange a credit card for me?”
“Sure, babe,” Jimmy replied. “I’ll make the call in the morning; you’ll have it the day after.”
“And please remember to put my new name, Woodfield, on it, will you?” she said, giving his crotch a little squeeze.
“Sure thing.”
He reached over and ran a hand up her skirt, and she opened her legs to give him access.
“We’ll be back at La Reserve in less than an hour,” she said, “and when we get there I’m going to make you forget last night.”
“That’s going to take some doing,” he replied.
“But it will be done,” she said.
They were approaching the border crossing now.
Barbara felt a stab of fear, as she spotted the two police cars parked near the crossing. Jimmy pulled the car into line at one of the drive-throughs and stopped, rolling down his window.
Then Barbara saw Vittorio and Ed Eagle getting out of a Jaguar and walking toward her. She began looking for somewhere to run.
E
AGLE SPOTTED THE BLACK CAR
as it got in line at a border patrol station; he got out of the Jaguar and began walking slowly toward the BMW. Vittorio got out and followed him with Cupie right behind.
Vittorio left Eagle and walked toward the police cars; as he did, the captain got out of one of them and met him. He did not offer his hand. “Good evening, capitán,” Vittorio said.
“Where is she?” the captain demanded. “I know she is here, if you are here.”
“Look around. Do you see her?”
“Where is the woman you were following?”
“In the BMW, there,” Vittorio said, nodding toward the car. “As you can see, it is a different woman.”
“Then why did you tell me it was she?”
“I was misinformed. Believe me, I did not like making this trip for nothing.”
B
ARBARA SAW VITTORIO
and the captain talking, looking her way. She turned away from them and froze, looking frantically about. The line of traffic was moving, and they were now at a crossing station.
“Good evening, folks,” the border patrolman said.
“Good evening, officer,” Jimmy replied.
“Are you folks American citizens?”
“Yes, we are,” Jimmy said.
“May I see your passports or a government-issued picture I.D.?”
“Of course,” Jimmy said, handing him his driver’s license.
Barbara handed over her passport.
“How long have you been in Mexico, folks?”
“Only a few hours,” Jimmy said. “We just came over for dinner.”
“Have you purchased anything during your stay in Mexico?”
“Only dinner,” Jimmy replied.
“Do you own this car, sir?” The patrolman asked.
“Yes, I do. Would you like to see the registration?”
“Yes, please.”
Jimmy dug into the glove compartment and handed over the California document.
“All appears to be in order, sir,” the patrolman said, handing back their documents. “Welcome home.” He waved them on.
Jimmy pulled the car up to a barrier and waited for it to open.
“A
ND WHO IS THE
tall Indian gentleman who is staring at the car?” the captain asked.
“He is my client,” Vittorio replied. “He is disappointed, too, as he had hoped to take his wife back to El Norte tonight.”
The captain watched as the BMW moved up to the barrier.
E
AGLE STOPPED A FEW
feet behind the BMW and motioned Cupie to stop, too. “Let’s just wait right here,” he said. Vittorio joined them.
As they watched, two men in suits and half a dozen uniformed policemen approached the BMW from the U.S. side of the border.
B
ARBARA WAS SURPRISED,
when someone opened her car door, not to be confronted by the Mexican capitán.
“Barbara Woodfield?” A man in a suit asked.
“Yes?” she said uncertainly. What was going on here?
“I’m Lieutenant Charles Vickers of the Los Angeles Police Department.” He handed her a folded sheet of paper. “This is an arrest warrant with your name on it; the charge is first-degree murder, two counts.”
“I believe you’ve made a mistake,” she said, reaching for her handbag, but Vickers got there first. He reached out and snapped a cuff closed on her wrist. An officer on the driver’s side of the car began cuffing Jimmy.
“You’re making a terrible mistake,” Barbara said.
“Yes,” Jimmy joined in. “We’ve just come back from dinner. She hasn’t murdered anybody; I can attest to that.”
“Well, sir,” Vickers said, “we’re going to have a long talk about that just as soon as we get back to L.A.”
The police removed both of them from the BMW, and a police officer got behind the wheel and moved it. A moment later, Barbara and Jimmy were in the rear seats of separate police cars.
“S
HE LOOKS DIFFERENT,”
Eagle said.
“She’s had some work done,” Vittorio replied. “We saw her in the Bel-Air bar last night, remember.”
“I do now.”
“All this was very nicely done,” Vittorio said.
“Now you know why I didn’t want her harmed,” Eagle replied. “You’ll probably be called to testify.”
“I doubt if I’ll be needed,” Vittorio said. “The gun she used is in her handbag. If she’s smart, she’ll plea-bargain for her life.”
“Oh, she’s smart,” Ed Eagle said. “She’s very smart, but I’m glad I’m not defending her.” He clapped Vittorio on the shoulder. “Now you can drive me to the airport.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.
However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my website at www.stuartwoods.com, where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all of my e-mail, and I will continue to do so.
If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is because you are among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.
Remember: e-mail, reply; snail mail, no reply.
When you e-mail, please do not send attachments, as I
never
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Please do not place me on your mailing lists for funny stories, prayers, political causes, charitable fund-raising, petitions, or sentimental claptrap. I get enough of that from people I already know. Generally speaking, when I get e-mail addressed to a large number of people, I immediately delete it without reading it.
Please do not send me your ideas for a book, as I have a policy of writing only what I myself invent. If you send me story ideas, I will immediately delete them without reading them. If you have a good idea for a book, write it yourself, but I will not be able to advise you on how to get it published. Buy a copy of
Writer’s Market
at any bookstore; that will tell you how.
Anyone with a request concerning events or appearances may e-mail it to me or send it to: Publicity Department, G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.
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If you want to know if I will be signing books in your city, please visit my website, www.stuartwoods.com, where the tour schedule will be published a month or so in advance. If you wish me to do a book signing in your locality, ask your favorite bookseller to contact his Putnam representative or the G. P. Putnam’s Sons Publicity Department with the request.
If you find typographical or editorial errors in my book and feel an irresistible urge to tell someone, please write to Rachel Kahan at Putnam’s address above. Do not e-mail your discoveries to me, as I will already have learned about them from others.
A list of my published works appears in the front of this book and on my website, www.stuartwoods.com. All the novels are still in print in paperback and can be found at or ordered from any bookstore. If you wish to obtain hardcover copies of earlier novels or of the two nonfiction books, a good used-book store or one of the online bookstores can help you find them. Otherwise, you will have to go to a great many garage sales.