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.
A little more than a half hour later, I was having another drink of straight tequila and she was sitting on the bed, pouting and looking unhappy. The taxi hadn't shown up, so I went over to the phone to call the desk to check on it. I was lifting the receiver when the knock came on the door.
I figured that the driver had by-passed the desk clerk and come directly to the room. I called out, "Come in."
There were two of them. Both short, heavy-set, in uniforms, wearing dark glasses. It occurred to me, for no reason at all, that I had never yet seen a Mexican policeman who wasn't wearing dark glasses.
The one with a Zapata moustache closed the door and stood with his back to it. The other one, the tougher-looking one, with acne scars marring his face, took a couple of steps into the room.
"I should like to see your identification, senor."
I stood
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.
A little more than a half hour later, I was having another drink of straight tequila and she was sitting on the bed, pouting and looking unhappy. The taxi hadn't shown up, so I went over to the phone to call the desk to check on it. I was lifting the receiver when the knock came on the door.
I figured that the driver had by-passed the desk clerk and come directly to the room. I called out, "Come in."
There were two of them. Both short, heavy-set, in uniforms, wearing dark glasses. It occurred to me, for no reason at all, that I had never yet seen a Mexican policeman who wasn't wearing dark glasses.
The one with a Zapata moustache closed the door and stood with his back to it. The other one, the tougher-looking one, with acne scars marring his face, took a couple of steps into the room.
"I should like to see your identification, senor."
I stood
Similar Books
