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She must be a great companion to you." He succeeded in transferring
the tiny electronic tracking bug that Anger had planted on his sleeve
to the dog's fur. "Going to be taking a walk?"
"As soon as I catch my breath."
"A long one?"
"We like to cover about two miles of ramps every day at least."
"Splendid." Jake continued on his way.
DRIVER OF the sky cab said, "This is, absolutely, far as I go, pal."
"We're still three blocks from my destination," Gomez pointed out as
the vehicle commenced dropping down through the sky over Semi Secure
Zone 3.
The driver told him, "Can't be helped, pal. This cafE you want happens
to be just two short blocks from the White Harlem border-and we never
go that close." He tapped the map screen on his control panel, where a
warning red arrow had commenced flashing over a street grid of the
neighborhood.
"Company policy."
"Far be it from me to buck company policy," said the detective. "You
hombres are, I take it, afraid of the Axis Brotherhood?"
"Cautious, pal, we're cautious." The sky cab settled down on a landing
lot. "Those Nazi bastards control that whole fifteen-square-block
patch over across the border. They are, to a man, a rotten and
quarrelsome bunch."
"Do they ever spill over here into Spanish Harlem?"
"Been known to."
Settling his fare, Gomez slid free of the cab. "Thanks for taking me
this far," he said as the cab rose upward.
There were no pedramps in this part of the town and the sky-car got up
and away rapidly.
Sitting on an empty neo wood crate next to the narrow entrance to the
Cafe Francisca was a skinny man with a rusty metal right leg showing
through his tattered khaki trousers. "I'm a Brazil vet, segor," he
informed Gomez. "Can you help out?"
"Si." After passing him a $5 chit, Gomez inquired, "You know Charley
Charla?"
"Might." He slipped the money away into a side pocket.
"Is he about?"
"Who've you?"
"The celebrated, some say fabled, Sid Gomez."
The undernourished man gave an affirmative nod. "Take the first door
on your right after you go in. Charley you'll find two levels down."
The hallway of the cafe smelled richly of spices and cooking oils.
Gomez entered the indicated door.
Three steps into the darkness beyond the door a metal hand took hold of
his throat. "Where you bound, gringo?"
"To consult with Charley," Gomez managed to gasp out.
"And, hey, I'm no gringo."
Thin yellowish light blossomed around them. Gomez discovered he was in
a grey walled corridor and that a large robot, much dented and long ago
painted yellow, had a grip on his neck.
The got asked, "Who sent you?"
"Bob Ramirez."
"How's old Bobby doing?"
"Well, he's overweight and, frankly, I think the closer he gets to
retirement the less nerve he shows." Gomez tapped at the fingers that
were still circling his throat. "Can you loosen up, her mano?"
"St; surely." The hand let go and pointed at a green doorway across
the way. "Go down the ramp and you'll find Charley's
Charla was a small man in a large white suit. In his late fifties,
intricately wrinkled and with a moustache that was much fuller and
fuzzier than the one the detective sported. "You call that a
moustache?" he asked as he nodded at Gomez's upper lip and bekoned him
into the small office.
"I used to call it an eyebrow, but that confused people." He sniffed,
glancing around the dimlit place. "What's that smell, Charley?"
"Mildew."
"Didn't know mildew could spoil." Gingerly, he sat on the sprung
flowered sofa that faced the small folding table the information
peddler was using for a desk. "Ramirez suggested I drop in on you."
"He told me." Charla grabbed up an oldfashioned manila folder from a
pile on the table. He opened it and set it out in front of him. There
was nothing inside. "We'll put your five hundred dollars in here."
"Is this going to be a magical trick?"
"It's my fee, ton to
"Give me a hint of what I'm buying for this enormous amount of
money."
Charla shut the folder, picked it up and fanned himself with it a few
times. "I'll give you a sample." When he smiled, dozens of new
wrinkles joined the permanent collection on his weathered face. "The
killing of Eve Bascom was a collaborative effort."
When Gomez leaned back, the ancient sofa made a loud spong noise.
"Bueno, Carlito," he said. "That little snippet of news is worth about
ten bucks. So you owe me another four hundred and ninety dollars'
worth."
"I can't pass on information if you keep butting in with prattle,
Sidney," he warned. "The collaboration in question was between a
United States government intelligence agency and certain members of the
ruling junta in Nicaragua." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]