The Mexico Run (6 page)

    The charming senorita coughed and covered her mouth with her hand and let out a small, embarrassed laugh.

    I saw that she still hadn't packed her bag.

    "Now that I am back, Sharon, you can go out and do that shopping you wanted to do. Take a taxi into town and don't hurry. I'll be here when you get back. I am sure that the captain will excuse you."

    She hesitated for a moment, looking at me oddly, as though she hadn't heard quite right. And then she slowly stood up, still with that half-silly grin on her face, and without a word left the room.

    I could sense Morales' eyes following her as she crossed over to pass through the door.

    "Sharon," he said. "A very lovely name. And a very lovely young girl. You
Americanos
are so fortunate in your women. So blond, so beautiful, so charming."

    "So shit," I said. But I said it under my breath.

    He hesitated and then suddenly stood up. He was taller than I thought, a good six feet. His suit was beautifully cut, but it wasn't cut beautifully enough to conceal the shoulder holster he wore. It was on his right side, so I figured he must be a leftie. He went to the door, opened it quietly, looked up and down the hall, then closed the door and locked it. He went back to his seat, and this time when he spoke, there wasn't the slightest trace of a Mexican accent. His voice was like ice.

    "All right. You wanted to see me. I am here."

    "I appreciate your coming, captain," I said. "My name, as you know, is Mark Johns. I am an American citizen. I have recently returned after a tour of duty in Vietnam. Out in Saigon I did business with a man named Bongo, whom I understand you know."

    He said nothing, waiting for me to go on. I took the wallet out of my hip pocket, searched in it, and found the cellophane-covered copy of the handwritten note which Bongo had given me. Wordlessly, I handed it to him.

    I watched him closely as he read it. I had already memorized exactly what it said.

    

    

    
Captain Hernando Morales:

    
This will serve to introduce to you Sergeant Mark Johns, whom I have known and done business with for several months. Sergeant Johns is completely trustworthy, completely reliable, and can be counted upon, depended upon, to do anything he says he will do. He is a man of utter integrity and I am sure that it will be to your mutual benefit to know each other. My own business dealings with him have been both profitable and satisfactory.

    
Bongo

    

    

    Beneath the name was a set of fingerprints. I waited until he was through, and then I said, "The letter is authentic. I believe you have Bongo's prints on file if there is any question in your mind."

    He looked up at me. "Why should there be a question?"

    "No reason."

    "And where is Bongo now?"

    "Bongo is dead. He was killed by the Saigon police. He made a social error."

    He smiled a rather tender smile.

    "Bongo was always making social errors. I am surprised he lasted as long as he did."

    Again he hesitated for several moments.

    "And just what, Mr. Johns, can I do for you?"

    "I understand that you are attached to the narcotics division of the-"

    He half lifted one of his nicely manicured hands to interrupt me.

    "No longer," he said. "Homicide. Are you interested in narcotics, Mr. Johns?"

    I didn't give him a direct answer. Instead I said, "My information, captain, is that you are a man of certain connections and a man who has influence in certain quarters."

    "If not narcotics, then what are your interests, Mr. Johns?" he asked.

    "I am interested in meeting people. In a sort of way, I am an importer."

    He took the gold-rimmed dark glasses off, wiped them with a silk handkerchief, and for a moment stared at me with a pair of the coldest eyes I'd ever seen.

    "Why don't we stop talking in circles and come to the point? Just what is it you're looking for, senor?"

    "I'm looking for a connection. A source of supply for something I would like to import into the States."

    "And you believe that I could arrange those connections?"

    I told him that I hoped he could.

    He put his glasses back on and spoke in a very soft voice. "You mentioned, before, my having been with the narcotics division. Your interest, then, is in narcotics?"

    "Not precisely. My interest is in marijuana."

    He looked up sharply and then suddenly laughed.

    "The way you took that weed out of the little lady's mouth," he stopped, beginning to chortle.

    "I'm not looking for a personal supply," I said. "I'm looking for bulk, and it has to be good. It has to be the very, very best."

    "And is that all? Just marijuana? I can tell you now that it will be most difficult to get it across the border. You can buy it here easily enough. But after one or two trips-"

    "I am not interested, captain, in connections for getting it out of the country. I'm only interested in a reliable source of supply. I thought, perhaps, you might be of some assistance to me."

    I hesitated then, took my wallet out, and found the two five hundred dollar bills I had saved from the money-belt. I laid them on the table at my side. He watched me and then laughed again. "And what are you planning? To buy a thousand dollars' worth?"

    I shook my head. "Not unless they sell several hundred kilos for a thousand dollars," I said.

    "You are interested in several hundred kilos?"

    "The first time around, yes. The second time, I'm interested in tonnage."

    He seemed to be mildly impressed. He stood up and crossed the room, put his hand out and picked up the two five hundred dollar bills.

    "You seem to have a great deal of faith in my connections, senor."

    "A great deal," I said.

    "And assuming that I am able to steer you in the right direction, just how would you plan to pay for this hundred or so kilos of marijuana and perhaps, later on, those tons you mention?"

    "Cash," I said. "American dollars, or pesos, if you prefer it that way."

    "And where would you want delivery?"

    "Ensenada."

    He nodded his head thoughtfully.

    "I believe it could be arranged. It may take a week or ten days."

    He hesitated a moment, looking down at the two five hundred-dollar bills in his hand. "And these?"

    "A sign of my appreciation."

    "And you say you are prepared to pay in cash?"

    "I will have the money with me," I said. "Of course, the deal will be contingent upon the wholesale price, as well as the quality of the merchandise. I am only interested in very pure stuff."

    "And that is all," he said. "You're only interested in pure stuff. Nothing else. Nothing hard?"

    "Nothing hard," I said.

    "A shame," he said. "A man who has the capacity for moving tonnage across the border would seem to be wasting his time on a minor commodity."

    "That's the way I prefer it," I said.

    Again he was hesitant for a while, looking thoughtful. Finally he looked at me. "And you say you have the cash on hand to pay?"

    I nodded.

    He was still holding the two five-hundred dollar bills in his hand, and he carefully folded them twice and laid them on the small table next to his chair.

    "It is possible that I could help you out," he said. "I do have certain friends. However, I am not interested in small change."

    Again he hesitated, watching me closely.

    "Let us come to an understanding. There's nothing I can do for you after you receive the delivery. From that point on, you will be on your own. No Mexican can be of any use to you when it comes to crossing the border. You will have your own immigration inspectors to cope with, and I can assure you that they are alert since this latest campaign of cooperation between my government and your government has gone into effect."

    "I understand, captain," I said. "I am only interested in contacts. Reliable contacts. I want to be sure that I am dealing with dependable people and that once I have taken delivery, I will not be interfered with for at least twenty-four to forty-eight hours. At the end of that time, the merchandise will no longer be in Mexico."

    "You seem very sure of yourself, senor. Let us say I am able to arrange the connections you want and that things go through on schedule. The price will not be a thousand dollars. You're talking kilos and hundreds of kilos, talking tonnage. I will expect a percentage of what you pay. Let us say tentatively, twenty-five percent. Payment is to be made at the time of delivery. It will not be made to me directly, but will be put on top of the total price you pay."

    "That will be satisfactory," I said. "And how long do you believe it will be before-"

    "You are staying in Tijuana for several days, senor?"

    "If necessary, yes. But I plan to drive down to Ensenada as soon as possible, and I shall be there for at least a day or two."

    "Ensenada," he said. "I see."

    He stood up.

    "I suggest you stay at the hotel here for the next few hours. I will be in touch with you. It is possible I may have some information for you very shortly. In the meantime," he bowed slightly but didn't offer to shake hands, "it has been a pleasure to talk with you, Senor Johns."

    He smiled and added, "And please give my regards to that most charming little daughter of yours."

    His sarcasm wasn't wasted, and I wondered if Sharon had stupidly suggested to him that she could have been my daughter. I wouldn't have put it past her, although, to have qualified, I would have had to be ten years old at the time she was conceived.

    A moment later the door closed behind him.

    

    

    I was still holding the two folded notes of five hundred dollars he had picked up and handed to me on his way out. It suddenly occurred to me that he had taken Bongo's letter with him.

    I didn't like it. It had all been too easy. It wasn't that I could put my finger on anything in particular. It was just something in his attitude and his quick willingness to accept me at face value.

    There was nothing, however, I could do about it. The next move would be up to him. I was pouring a drink of tequila and regretting the fact that I'd neglected to pick up a bottle of decent bourbon when I had gone out, when the door opened and Sharon entered.

    She was wearing a large, carved, Mexican-leather shoulder bag, and over her right arm was an Indian serape. She had been doing a little tourist shopping with her getaway money.

    Knowing how I felt, she looked at me a little defiantly and then said, "Hi."

    There was something a little odd about her expression, a peculiarly glazed look in her eye, and I knew at once she must be about half stoned. She couldn't have done it on the one cigarette I'd taken away from her, so I gathered that she must have had several others.

    "I thought I told you to leave."

    She shrugged. "I was just getting ready to when he came."

    "And how long was he here?"

    "Oh, maybe fifteen, twenty minutes."

    "Where did you get that joint you were smoking when I came in?"

    "He gave it to me."

    "What else happened. What did he ask you?"

    "Well, he knocked at the door and said that you were expecting him, so I asked him to come in and wait and I told him I thought you'd be back. I didn't leave then, because I didn't know whether you'd want me to leave him in the room alone. So I just waited for you."

    "What did you tell him?"

    "I didn't tell him anything."

    "Didn't he ask any questions about me?"

    "No, he just wanted to know how I liked Tijuana and if I'd been in Mexico before and, you know, things like that. Just sort of making conversation."

    "Did he tell you who he was?"

    She shook her head. "He just said his name was Morales and that you were expecting him."

    I looked at her and said, "All right, kid, get your bag packed and get going. The only thing you can do down here from now on is get yourself into a lot of trouble. I'm going to telephone for a cab. You can…"

    She interrupted me. "I want to take a shower and change my clothes."

    "You had a shower last night. You look fine."

    She pouted. "I'll only be a few minutes."

    "All right, change your goddamn clothes and get going. I'm no longer fooling about it."

    She rummaged through her suitcase, pulled out a couple of garments and went into the bathroom, and a moment later I heard the sound of the shower. I walked over to the telephone and called down to the desk. I told them that I'd want a cab within the next twenty minutes, and they said they'd arrange for it.

    When she came out, she was wearing a long, flowered skirt, and somehow or other she had managed to wrap the Indian serape around her shoulders, and it was pinned together so that it substituted for a jacket. She'd washed the lipstick and the make-up off again, and she looked young and lovely and very desirable.

    "You like it?" she asked, smiling at me coyly.

    "Looks great on you. But start packing. No hard feelings, it's just that you have to go back to the States, and I have things to do."

    I guess the idea finally got through to her that I was serious, because she shrugged her shoulders after a moment and went over and started doing things with her suitcase.