Soma Blues (26 page)

“We’ll go to Sa Punta,” Nigel said, naming the best restaurant in Santa Eulalia. “I’m paying.”

“I should hope so,” Navarro said and stalked off to a waiting police vehicle.

“Well, old boy, what do you say to that drink?” Nigel asked.

“El Caballo Negro ought to be open,” Hob said. “Do you think a Bloody Mary will take the taste of soma out of my mouth?”

“Eventually,” Nigel said.

They got into one of the taxis that, like black-and-white vultures, gathered for any event that promised to offer fares, alive or dead, and rode in companionable silence to Santa Eulalia and the cheerful sounds of El Caballo Negro.

“Well, old boy,” Nigel said, two drinks later, “it has not worked out too badly, I think.”

“For you,” Hob said. “You must have made a nice profit from Arranque.”

Nigel made a dismissive gesture. “That is beside the point. I refer to the work I brought in to the Agency.”

“What work would that be?” Hob asked.

“My dear fellow! Hasn’t Jean-Claude filled you in?”

“Just a lot of cryptic nonsense,” Hob said.

“We, the Agency that is, are sole agents for the sale of a rather large shipment of San Isidro’s art treasures.”

“Was that what Santos wanted to set up?”

“Of course. The Arranque thing was just a little something on the side, as it were.”

Hob stared at him, filled with a wild surmise in which, faintly, he could just glimpse the wavy outlines of money. Just then Sandy, the proprieter, came over, a slip of paper in his hand.

“This telegram came for you yesterday, Hob. Or maybe it was the day before.”

Hob took it and read: shipment now unloaded at cherbourg. no problems so far. awaiting your instructions. It was from Jean-Claude.

“I think there are some details you need to fill in,” Hob said.

“Of course. But don’t you think we had better make our travel arrangements? We don’t want to leave a ten-to-twenty-million-pound cargo rotting in a warehouse in Cherbourg for too long.”

“Twenty million pounds?”

“Perhaps that’s an exaggeration. But the stuff should fetch a pretty price in Paris and Brussels. And ten percent of it is ours. But I still have to get my mother a birthday present.”

Jean-Claude’s telegram took the taste of soma completely out of Hob’s mouth, replacing it with the sweet tang of anticipated money.

14

Hob didn’t mention the San Isidran shipment when he lunched with Fauchon a month later in Paris. He told him all the rest, however.

“And that’s how it ended?” Fauchon asked, as he and Hob sat at a small outside table in Paris, at Deux Magots.

“Well, not exactly,” Hob said. “Dramatically speaking, you could say Navarro’s rescue of us was the climax. But there was quite a bit of falling action after that.”

“I’m surprised at your friend Navarro,” Fauchon said. “Surely he was taking a lot on himself.”

“
Au contraire
,” Hob said. “He was merely following the orders of his superior, Colonel Sanchez. Sanchez was, and still is, the ranking Guardia Civil officer on the island. Sanchez had also been well and thoroughly bribed by the various criminal parties in this. To arrest the soma people at the hotel would have brought out his own well-paid part in the affair. The officials in Madrid, even though their part of the bribe had been passed on, would’ve had no recourse but to hang him out to dry.”

“ ‘Hang him out to dry,’ ” Fauchon mused. “Is that an American expression?”

“Yes, it is,” Hob said. “I just made it up at this moment.”

“And Colonel Sanchez was in Madrid at this time?”

“No,” Hob said. “He was at the Guardia Civil barracks. But when he heard what was going on, he told Ramon to say that he was off the island and to contain the situation the best way he knew how.”

Fauchon shook his head. “It wouldn’t have happened that way in France.”

“Of course it would,” Hob said. “The French police have the same tendencies as the Spanish. Either to overlook something entirely or to jump in and take too much action, thus creating a worse mess.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Fauchon said. “It’s not like that in America?”

“I suspect it’s like that everywhere,” Hob said.

“So how was the matter finally resolved?”

“In the usual way. Half a dozen or so people were killed in the shoot-out at the hotel. Another dozen or so wounded. The rest patched up their differences. This was made easier now by the fact that Annabelle had withdrawn her claim as high priestess.”

“And Arranque? And Silverio Vargas?”

“You’ll be happy to know they both survived.”

“And Etienne?”

“Alive and well. He suffered a superficial wound that allows him to carry his arm in a black silk sling. It looks very well on him.”

“What was Etienne doing in the hotel in the first place? I’m not quite clear on that.”

“Arranque’s men had captured him from Vargas’s finca and taken him to the hotel to ensure Vargas’s compliance. Etienne overpowered his guard—did I mention that he was a black belt in karate?—and managed to free Nigel, too.”

“I see,” Fauchon said. “Did father and son manage to patch it up?”

“I believe so,” Hob said. “I wasn’t privy to that scene.”

“And what about Annabelle? Did she make up with Arranque or return to Etienne?”

“Neither. She went to Hollywood. We still haven’t heard if she was able to sell her story yet. She has an agent, however.”

“And what about Stanley Bower’s murderer?” Fauchon asked.

“That was Arranque,” Hob said. “Not that you’ll ever be able to pin it on him. That’s how it goes in real life, Inspector.”

“His brother will be disappointed, I suppose.”

“I wrote Timothy with the information, as he requested. I haven’t heard from him.”

“Presumably he’s satisfied,” Fauchon said.

“Presumably.”

“And the soma you found in the cellar?”

“The Guardia didn’t want to know about it. As far as I know, it’s on the streets of big cities in America and Europe. And selling briskly, I hear. But you’d know more about that than I do.”

“Indeed I do,” Fauchon said. “Your statement is correct, as far as it goes. Soma is indeed being sold. But the previously established criminal organizations—the Yakuza, Mafia, Triad, and so forth—have objected in no uncertain terms to this traffic, since it cuts them out. In America there’s open warfare between the two organizations, the Cali Cartel and the Kali Kartel. One or the other of them is going to have to find another name. It’s very like Chicago of the old days. Dealers are dying like flies. Frankly, it saves us a lot of work.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hob said. “This has not been my sort of affair at all. I’m happy to be out of it.”

“Well you might be,” Fauchon said.

“Anything else in mind?”

“Not at the moment. I’ve come into a bit of money from an uncle in Florida and so I’m fixing up my finca.”

Fauchon nodded. “I think that takes care of everything. Except Nigel, of course. Did he ever get his mother’s birthday present back?”

“We picked up something else for her in the Rastro in Barcelona,” Hob said. “An even nicer silver service. From what Nigel told me, she was well satisfied.”

“Well, that is fine,” Fauchon said. “What are your plans now?”

“I’m going back to Ibiza,” Hob said. “It’s just coming on autumn, the best time of year there. The tourists are going home. One has time to think.”

“Autumn is the best time everywhere,” Fauchon said. “Pity it can’t be extended year around.”