The Lonely Silver Rain Part 10

"But..."

"Please. Your motives are pure. Your monetary knowledge is infantile. Don't spoil my hash browns. If you want to be serious about it, I will loan you some texts."

"I just stopped being serious."

"Good. Now let's get back to what you were talking about before. You have a target. The young Marino. Or his father. Or both. They are public people. I read about them from time to time, mostly about the young ones. Four children?"

"Two boys and two girls. Ruffi is the eldest."

"So you can reach them, approach them, what ever. Luckily, before anybody reaches you again. But is that what Browder would have done? If we are going to make moral judgments, take what we conceive to be moral actions, then we should set in motion what Browder hoped to set in motion."

"I don't know how he was going to do it."

"You mean you don't know what particular pipeline he was going to use. But is it important to know that? I would think that your Mr. Jornalero would get the information to the right people. If Browder's guess was right, you can then lay back until the fireworks are over, and if young Marino survives it, you have your target. But after the fireworks, if indeed they happen, no one will be coming after you anymore. So you could quit right there."

"If I should happen to want to."

"But you won't?"

"No. If I read about that boat in the paper, maybe I could quit. But I was there. I saw them. I didn't know them, but I think I owe them. If they were garbage, they were young garbage. Whoever did it, it ought to be hung around his neck like a sign. Unclean. He ought to have to carry a little bell to warn people he's coming."

"The white knight rides again."

"With rusty armor, bent lance and swaybacked steed. Why not? Billy was a friend. I had good luck and the two little thieves had bad luck. So I'll follow your suggestion. I thank you for it. Browder thanks you. I'll buy the breakfast."

"I think you should. Anyone who can carry that much money into Mexico and bring it all back out can always buy my breakfast."

"When I counted it, I was down two thousand. Browder took out expenses, I think."

"Strange man. He didn't sound persuasive. He didn't look persuasive. But he was."

In the afternoon I tried to get in touch with Jornalero. There was no listing for a home phone. I phoned Millis. Her voice was subdued and listless.

"How are you making it?" I asked her.

"It isn't easy. And the cold in the night killed my whole garden. Everything is black and sagging and ugly. Like some kind of message. All of a sudden this place seems huge. I want to get out of it and yet I don't."

"How do you mean?"

"Frank keeps asking me to come in and sign things but I make excuses and he has to bring the papers here, and bring a notary and witnesses along. It's a terrible nuisance for him."

"He'll bill you for it."

"Of course. McGee, I kind of thought I'd hear from you sooner than this."

"I was out of town."

"Oh?"

"I was out of the country."

"Really? All I wanted, I wanted a chance to tell you that I tried to feel guilty and ashamed of us, but I couldn't manage that either. And then I've been worried about somebody trying to hurt you again."

"I had to do some scrambling about four days or so after I last saw you. But they didn't try hard enough."

"I hate to even think about it. Can you come see me today?"

"I called you to ask if you have any phone number for Jornalero. For his home?"

"Let me go look. I doubt it."

She took so long I got tired of waiting and switched the speaker phone on. I was pouring myself a cup of coffee I didn't need when she came back on the line. She told me I sounded as if I was in the bottom of a well. I told her that was because I have a cheap speaker phone. She said she found Jornalero's home address, but no phone number. He lived at 22 Sailfish Lagoon, Miami. As, I remembered, did the elder Marino. "Are you going to stop by, Travis?"

"Let me have a rain check, Millis. I've got some people coming over."

"Sure you have. Okay. Forget I asked."

"Maybe after they leave. I'll phone first."

No one was coming over. Sometimes I lie well, with hearty conviction. I probably hadn't lied well to Millis because I didn't want to get involved with her, but I couldn't help wondering if just a little bit of involvement would hurt anything.

So of course, to punish bad lying, some people came over. Two people, two men in their thirties, conservative tweed jackets, neckties, a look of desks and offices. Wisner and Torbell. Employed by the DEA. Polite, impa.s.sive, with the cop air of habitual disbelief. Nothing the world had told them had been totally true, and would never be true, here or in the hereafter.

"Browder gave us a pre-operational report by phone. We'd like to check it out with you, Mr. McGee," Wisner said.

Fourteen.

IN THE lounge I got Wisner into the big chair and Torbell onto the curved yellow couch. I brought the desk chair closer and sat in it, thus making myself a foot taller than they were. If you suspect someone wishes to give you a hard time, never arrange yourself so that he or she can look down at you.

They refused a drink. Torbell cleared his throat and took out a small notebook. He leafed back and forth through the pages, wearing a frown of self-importance which made a little knot between his brows.

I let them have their silence. Bo they gave up finally and Torbell said, "May we a.s.sume that you phoned in the report of his death?"

"You may so a.s.sume."

"You took fifty thousand dollars down there with you?"

"I did."

"And brought it back?"

"I brought forty-eight back. Browder took out expenses, I think."

"Where did you get the money?"

"That's irrelevant."

"We have the power to make arrests."

I held both fists out toward him. "Be my guest."

Wisner took his turn, saying, "Your att.i.tude isn't getting us anywhere."

"Our att.i.tudes, let's say."

"All right. Did you go down with Browder to buy cocaine?"

"No."

"Then for G.o.d's sake, man, why were you carrying all that money around?"

"Browder carried it into Mexico. I asked him at one point why his employers couldn't provide the money. He said the government was cutting back on expenses."

"Why did you provide it?"

"There was a Jack Benny skit years ago where a robber jumped out at him with a gun and said, 'Your money or your life!' And it was the long, long silence that got laughs."

"Are you saying Browder threatened you?"

"I'm saying there have been two unsuccessful attempts on my life lately and Browder heard about them from the other end. He also heard, from the other end, that the orders to kill Billy Ingraham came from Miami. Browder seemed to think that if I sat still, they'd finally get to me."

"Was this Ingraham a smuggler?"

"Why don't you people do some homework before you come out of the office to ha.s.sle somebody? Ingraham was a retired millionaire developer killed in Cannes in a hotel last month by somebody shoving a wire into his brain."

Wisner and Torbell looked at each other and Torbell said, "I think I read about that. He was the one owned the yacht three people were killed on."

"And I'm the one who found the yacht with the bodies aboard and notified the Coast Guard. I had a deal with Billy to try to find it. And I did. And one of the bodies was of a young Peruvian girl from an important family. Her uncle is in the drug business. He demanded that the Miami group find out who killed his niece. They decided it was easier to nominate Billy and me than look for the right one. I'd found out the cruiser had come across from the Yucatan. So Browder found a way to make contact over there, and I could provide the money to make it look real, and he had me rigged out to impersonate a dead smuggler named Bucky, the Estanciero."

"Who?"

"Forget it. Forget the whole thing."

Torbell's face got red. "It took a long time to plant Browder on the inside, to plant him at a level where he could provide us now and then with some very useful information on delivery systems. It's a giant step backward to have him taken out."

"He wouldn't think so."

"What do you mean?" Wisner asked.

"He implied that all he was doing was help nail the replaceables. He was more interested in the men behind the scenes."

"I know he was," Torbell said. "The impossible dream. The men who run things never put anything on paper. They never say anything usable on a telephone. They deal strictly in cash, and by the time it is in hand, it has a history that is squeaky-clean. It has been through the big laundremat.

I almost said, "Run by Jornalero," but stopped in time. That would have led to the unlikely connection between Jornalero and Billy Ingraham, something that would have creased their bureaucratic brows with new suspicions.

Torbell perused his notebook again. He verified the date we had flown to Cancun. I took him through the travelogue, step by step. I was pleasantly surprised to find they knew about El Brujo. I told them I did not know exactly how Browder had made contact with him, and I could not remember the name of the man we met who drove us down the coast road to see the wizard.

I told them that a man had been flying into the airstrip at Tulum and buying from Brujo and flying back to a ranch strip in Florida. But each flight was more dangerous than the last, so he had brought in the kids who had stolen Ingraham's boat, and they took a s.h.i.+pment back in the boat in August. They came back in September and paid Brujo seventy-five thousand in counterfeit money. Brujo said he would not deal with the Florida people until somebody reimbursed him for his loss. He said he was dealing with Canadians, who were taking all he could offer.

"Browder told me it was his guess that the man who had been flying the product out of Yucatan to Florida arranged to pick up the s.h.i.+pment in the Keys from the kids. When he got there he learned they had paid off Brujo in counterfeit, thus cutting off the source. So he killed them and took back his seventy-five thousand along with the s.h.i.+pment."

"Who was this person?"

I had been turning the dilemma over and over in my mind, knowing they would come to that key question sooner or later. I became ever more convinced that this pair would blow it. Better they should be back in the office reading the computer screens.

"We never did get his name. I don't think Brujo knew it. We got a description. He was a thin man, prematurely bald, deeply tanned, wearing gla.s.ses with gold rims."

Torbell wrote this neatly in his little book. Wisner asked, "Who killed Browder?"

"The light was strange in there. We were far from the windows and doors. The line was dense, jam-packed, and it was so long that people kept edging through it from both directions, because it was blocking the way to the airline check-in stations. It was very quick. n.o.body noticed who did it."

"And they took his carryon bag?"

"He had the strap over his right shoulder. I think they hit him and slipped it off in the same motion. They thought they had a clean fifty thousand. He was the one trying to make the buy, so he was the one logically to rob. The bulk is too big for a money belt."

"One of Brujo's people?"

"Sure. Who else knew? But my guess would be it was an independent action, not directed by El Brujo. Whoever did it had all the necessary skills."

So then, of course, being bureaucrats, they took me through it again, in greater detail. They were not in operations. They were in reports. When they left, they did not thank me. After all, they were making me do my duty as a lawabiding citizen. They said they might be back if they thought of something else to ask.

Funny how your body keeps tricking your brain. Mine seems to do it far oftener than I would care to admit. I began to think there probably was a lot more about Jornalero that Millis knew and had not had a chance to tell me. And the more I could learn about Jornalero, the more useful he would be.

And maybe the thing to do-without getting involved with her, of course-was to give her a ring and sort of drop on by and chat. It could be important, I thought, to tell her she might also be in danger. But she wouldn't buy that and neither could I. Arturo Jornalero would provide a certain amount of insulation, and even had she never known him, Latino pundonor would not countenance the vengeance slaying of women. I decided to stop giving myself vapid excuses for seeing her.

It was a chill and early dusk when I walked into the foyer of Tower Alpha, Dias del Sol, and said, "Hi, guys," to the security personnel on duty. Their response was bleak. I understood. They were ent.i.tled to their own fantasies. So I rode to the top. Were I to guess the amount of time we spent in discussing the life and times of Arturo Jornalero, I would say it was probably eleven or twelve minutes.

The first reprise was as hasty and hungry as the time before. But the next was slower, longer and far more inventive. She had pink night lights which showed her lovely face pulled tight with straining; teeth set in the plump lower lip. She was as quick, sleek and graceful in movement as a dolphin.

She fell gasping beside me, hanging on to keep from falling off the planet. She burrowed her head into my neck and when her heart and her breathing had slowed, she said, "I made some phone calls Friday."

"What about?"

"To my friendly travel agent."

"Going somewhere?"

"Maybe we are."

"We?"

"Us. The two of us. Millis and Travis. The choice I like best, we fly to Los Angeles about February fifth-I think that's the date-and we get on the Royal Viking Sky and take it all the way across the Pacific, to wonderful ports, and up through the Suez Ca.n.a.l and the Mediterranean to London, and we fly back to Miami on the Concorde."