White Cargo (13 page)

“Florio,” Bluey said under his breath.

The party settled at a large table in the corner of the dining room and began looking at menus. Florio's three male companions were lesser versions of him, and the women were dark and flashily dressed.

Cat tried not to stare, but he had never seen a big-time
drug dealer before, if he didn't count his son. The man was the center of attention and enjoying it, the headwaiter and his staff fawning over him.

“You finished?” Bluey asked.

Cat nodded. “I don't think I could handle dessert.”

Bluey waved the headwaiter over. “You got some Dom Pérignon?”

“Of course, señor. Always.”

“Send two bottles over to Florio's table with my compliments.”

The man scurried away.

“That'll be our calling card,” Bluey said to Cat. “Now, let's turn in.”

•   •   •

They were having breakfast in their room the next morning when there was a knock on the door. Bluey answered it, and there was a brief conversation in Spanish. He returned to the table. “We have an appointment with Florio in half an hour,” he said, buttering some toast. “Don't wear a gun, and let me do the talking.”

They presented themselves at Florio's suite at the appointed time and were thoroughly searched by a stone-faced man who had been at the table the evening before. When he was sure they were wearing no weapons, he ushered them into a sitting room and waved them to a chair. It was obvious that Florio had furnished the place himself. The furniture was heavy, overstuffed, and covered in various bright shades of synthetic velvet. One wall was dominated by a large and awful painting of a bullfighter, done in iridescent acrylics. Shortly, Florio entered the room, wearing a red silk dressing gown. He arranged himself on a sofa before them and stroked his thin Pancho Villa moustache.
His face was puffy and paler than it had seemed the night before, and Cat wondered if he had been wearing makeup.

“Ah, Mr. Holland,” Florio said, smoothing the gown and not looking directly at them, “I had understood we were not in quite the same business.” His English was heavily accented but quite good.

“I've recently changed businesses,” Bluey replied.

“Oh?” Florio said, lifting his eyes to gaze languidly at the Australian. “How can I be of assistance?”

“I'm not at all sure that you can,” Bluey replied. “I'm in the market for two hundred kilos of the purest.”

All expression left Florio's face, and Cat could not tell if he was stunned or if his mind were racing.

“The market price is twenty-one thousand a kilo these days,” Florio said finally.

Bluey shook his head. “I don't expect to pay that for quantity,” he said. “I might go to thirteen thousand.”

Cat was calculating rapidly in his head. Two hundred kilos at thirteen thousand dollars a kilo was two million, six hundred thousand dollars, which they didn't have. Was Bluey trying to get them killed?

Florio was silent for another long moment. “One assumes you have the money readily available.”

“Of course not,” Bluey said. “I can arrange it on forty-eight hours' notice, though, to be exchanged for the merchandise in an agreed fashion.”

Florio was quiet again. A slight expression of distress crossed his face, and finally he shrugged. “Señor, I am afraid that I cannot be of assistance to you. The market is, well, difficult at the moment. I could manage only a small part of what you wish.”

Bluey nodded. “Thank you for being frank with me.”

“Is there any other way in which I might assist you?”

Bluey was about to rise, but stopped. “Perhaps,” he said, pausing on the edge of his seat. “I understand there are people from whom a beautiful young woman might be purchased.”

Cat resisted the impulse to lean forward. Instead, he watched Florio's face carefully.

Florio laughed aloud. “But of course, señor, such people are on every street corner in Riohacha, or the bellman could assist you. But why do you ask this of
me?”

Bluey shook his head. “I beg your pardon, I have not made myself clear. I am not interested in a local prostitute, but in a more permanent purchase. An Anglo, perhaps.”

Again, Cat watched the man's face closely.

Florio looked at them blankly. “I am most sorry,” he shrugged, “but you ask me something of which I have no knowledge. I deal in quite a different commodity.”

“Of course,” Bluey said, rising, “I wished merely to ask your advice.”

Florio rose with him. “I am flattered that you would ask me, and I am sorry that I cannot help. I hope we might at some future date do business, when the market is better, but at the moment I am afraid you are talking about Anaconda Pure, something that does not come my way.”

Bluey had turned toward the door, but now he stopped. “Anaconda Pure?” he asked. “I am not familiar with that.”

“Ah, well, this is rumor,” Florio said. “One hears of large amounts of the finest merchandise being moved, but perhaps it is only rumor. Still, the last couple of years, one hears the name often. If the rumors are true, then surely the merchandise is shipped through the Guajira, but none of it stops here.”

“Where does it originate?” Bluey asked.

Florio spread his hands. “There are not even rumors about that,” he said.

They all shook hands, and the stone-faced bodyguard let them out of the suite.

“A very courtly fellow,” Cat said as they walked back to their own room.

“If he had thought we had that much money on us, he would have had our throats cut on the spot,” Bluey replied.

Cat gulped. “You gave me a start, there, when you were talking about two hundred kilos at thirteen thousand a kilo. I didn't bring that much money.”

“Ah, that was all bluff,” Bluey said. “Florio never dealt more than ten kilos in his life. I blew him right out of his socks with talk of two hundred. I knew he wouldn't even pretend to have access to that much; he's strictly a small-timer. I just wanted to ask him about girls.”

“I was glad you told him we'd need forty-eight hours to get money, too,” Cat said.

“Well, you want to distance yourself from that much money, otherwise you might meet one of Florio's blokes in a dark alley. Say, how much did you bring with you, anyway?”

“Two million dollars,” Cat said.

Bluey stopped and stared at him.
“What?”

“Plus the hundred thousand pocket money you suggested,” Cat said.

“Jesus H.
Christ!”
Bluey whispered hoarsely.
“Where
is it?”

“In the room,” Cat said, surprised at his reaction, “in that aluminum case of mine. You did say to bring a lot of money, Bluey.”

“I meant two or three hundred thousand,” Bluey said,
walking faster. “Jesus, now I'm not going to be able to relax for a minute.”

He opened the door to their room. “Good God, it's just sitting there!” he said, pointing at the case.

“Well, it has a combination lock,” Cat said. “I thought it would probably be safer just sitting out than if I hid it under the mattress.”

Bluey sat down on the bed and mopped his brow. He jumped at a soft knock on the door.

Cat, who was nearer the door, opened it. The bodyguard from Florio's suite stepped in and walked over to Bluey.

“Señor, you are interested in a girl?” he asked. “I hear you say this, yes?”

“Not a whore,” Bluey replied.

The man's eyes narrowed slightly. “I think you are looking for a girl . . . particular,” he said.

“Oh?” Bluey said, feigning indifference. “How do you mean?”

“I think you look for a girl you know. Just this one girl.”

Bluey said nothing.

“I know a man who has such a girl,” the man said.

Cat's heart leapt.

“What girl?” Bluey asked, shooting Cat a cautionary glance.

“An Anglo girl. A beautiful one. I see her, myself.”

“Where is she?”

“Here, perhaps three kilometers from the town. In a very rich house.”

“What is this girl's name?” Cat asked, taking care to keep his voice steady.

“Her name is Kathy, señor. This is Anglo, no?”

“Perhaps. What does she look like?”

“She is very beautiful, señor. Tall, like this.” He held a hand to his eyebrows. “Her hair is gold, but not at the bottom.” He placed a finger at the part in his own hair. “Here it is darker.”

“How old is she?”

The man shrugged. “She is young. Her skin is very smooth.”

Ignoring Bluey's wary expression, Cat removed a photograph from his wallet, a year-old picture of Jinx in tennis clothes. It was the most recent one he had. “Is this the girl?” he asked, handing the snapshot to the man.

He regarded it for a moment, then nodded. “I think this is so,” he said. “The hair is gold, but I think it is this girl.”

Bluey stood up. “Will you take us there? There's money in it for you.”

The man held up a hand. “Not now,” he said. “Too early. But there is party tonight. I can get you invitation. For one thousand dollars American?”

“I'll give you five hundred when we get inside the party,” Bluey said, “and five hundred if the girl is what I want.”

The man nodded. “I come for you eleven o'clock tonight. You must wear suit, tie.”

Bluey nodded his agreement, and the man left. Bluey turned to Cat. “You're rushing this,” he said. “I don't like it. It's too good to be true.”

“No, it's not,” Cat replied.

“What do you mean?”

“There's something I haven't told you,” Cat said. “Jinx is a nickname. When she was small she was always breaking things. Her name is Katharine, after her mother.”

S
TONEFACE, AS
C
AT HAD COME TO THINK OF HIM, ARRIVED ON
time, at eleven that evening. In front of the hotel, the man called for his car. “You drive your car,” he said. “When you are in the house, you give me five hundred, okay?”

Bluey nodded. “Okay.”

“When you see girl, you give me five hundred more.”

“If I want the girl,” Bluey said. “If it is the girl in the picture.”

The man nodded and held up a finger. “I leave when you see this girl,” he said. “I don't help you take this girl.”

Bluey agreed.

“These
hombres,
they are quick,” he said, making trigger motions with his index finger. “It is dangerous,
comprende?”

“Comprende,”
Bluey said. The cars arrived.

They drove east for ten minutes or so. Neither Cat nor Bluey said anything. The houses thinned out, and they came to a large iron gate. A policeman stood guard. Stoneface stopped, exchanged words with the policeman, gestured at the car behind him, and both cars were waved through. The house was a couple of hundred yards from the street, behind an unruly growth of stunted trees. A
wide area in front was filled with a jumble of vehicles, including a number of Cadillacs and Mercedeses. Bluey turned the Bronco around and parked it facing the gate, a little away from the rest of the cars. The house was a large, apparently old, stucco structure, in good repair. Lights flashed from the windows, and music with a heavy beat could be heard from inside. They met Stoneface at the steps.

“Now,” he said, rubbing his fingers together.

Bluey gave him five hundred dollars, and they walked into the house together.

A wall of noise and heat met them. There was music of more than one kind being played, and Cat was temporarily blinded by flashing strobe lights. He held up a hand to protect his eyes and tried to become accustomed to the light and sound. A large room ahead of them was filled with people dancing with abandon to rock music. Another room to their left had a live band playing something South American just as noisily. Bluey grabbed a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and gave one to Cat. “Take it,” he said. “We'll look odd without a drink.” He turned to Stoneface. “Where's the girl?” he shouted over the din.

Stoneface made a circular motion with his hand. “We must look,” he shouted back. He led the way into the room before them, skirting the dancers. Another waiter approached, this time with a tray bearing a crystal bowl containing a white powder. Stoneface took a tiny spoon from the tray, dipped it into the powder, and sucked it into his nose. He grinned widely at Bluey and Cat, exposing a set of badly stained teeth. He held up a thumb and motioned for them to help themselves.

Bluey and Cat shook their heads. Stoneface shrugged
and moved on into the room, searching faces. He was beginning to move in time with the music. Cat and Bluey followed, bombarded by the volume. They circled the room twice, then moved into the room with the live band. The volume was more tolerable there, and the dancing slightly more restrained. They moved slowly through the crowd, Stoneface occasionally stopping to have a word with someone. Then, moving his head to the music, he led them into another large room beyond.

It was nearly unlit, and the music was different—still South American, but slower, though just as loud. Most of the light in the room came from a large projection TV at the far end, on which a pornographic movie was playing. There were a few tables, but more cushions and mattresses on which couples and groups were arrayed, most of them naked. Stoneface motioned them to a table.

Cat sat stiffly, watching the action around him, made nervous by what he saw. He was not a very good voyeur, he discovered. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he found the activity more embarrassing than erotic. Why did they have to sit through this? He leaned forward to speak to Stoneface, but Stoneface was already speaking.

“Close to the video,” he was saying. “That side.” He nodded toward a corner. “Here is Kathy.”