The Pepe Gonzalez and Almeida, Café Tabac.
“Buenas tardes, amigo. Soy de los Estados Unidos. Estoy buscando una mujer. El nombre es Neusa Muñez. Es una emergencia.”
“Lo siento, señor. No la conozco.”
The answer was the same everywhere. No one has ever heard of the fucking broad.
Harry Lantz wandered around La Boca, the colorful waterfront area where one could see old ships rusting at anchor in the river. No one around there knew of Neusa Muñez. For the first time, Harry Lantz began to feel he might be on a wild-goose chase.
It was at the Pilar, a small bar in the barrios of Floresta, that his luck suddenly changed. It was a Friday night and the bar was filled with workingmen. It took Lantz ten minutes to get the bartender’s attention. Before Lantz was halfway through his prepared speech, the bartender said, “Neusa Muñez? Sí. I know her. If she wishes to talk to you, she will come here mañana, about midnight.”
The following evening, Harry Lantz returned to the Pilar at eleven o’clock, watching the bar gradually fill up. As midnight approached, he found himself getting more and more nervous. What if she did not show up? What if it was the wrong Neusa Muñez?
Lantz watched as a group of giggling young women came into the bar. They joined some men at a table. She’s got to show up, Lantz thought. If she doesn’t, I can kiss the fifty grand good-bye.
He wondered what she looked like. She had to be a stunner. He was authorized to offer her boyfriend, Angel, a cool two million dollars to assassinate someone, so Angel was probably up to his ass in millions. He would be well able to afford a beautiful young mistress. Hell, he could probably afford a dozen of them. This Neusa had to be an actress or model. Who knows, maybe I can have a little fun with her before I leave town. Nothing like combining business and pleasure, Harry Lantz thought happily.
The door opened and Lantz looked up expectantly. A woman was walking in alone. She was middle-aged and unattractive, with a fat, bloated body and huge, pendulous breasts that swayed as she walked. Her face was pockmarked, and she had dyed blond hair, but her dark complexion indicated mestizo blood inherited from an Indian ancestor who had been bedded by a Spaniard. She was dressed in an ill-fitting skirt and sweater meant for a much younger woman. A hooker down on her luck, Lantz decided. But who the hell would want to fuck her?
The woman looked around the bar with vacant, listless eyes. She nodded vaguely to several people and then pushed her way through the crowd. She walked up to the bar.
“Wanna buy me a drink?” She had a heavy Spanish accent, and up close she was even more unattractive.
She looks like a fat, unmilked cow, Lantz thought. And she’s drunk. “Get lost, sister.”
“Esteban say you are lookin’ for me, no?”
He stared at her. “Who?”
“Esteban. The bartender.”
Harry Lantz still could not accept it. “He must have made a mistake. I’m looking for Neusa Muñez.”
“Sí. Yo soy Neusa Muñez.”
But the wrong one, Harry Lantz thought. Shit! “Are you Angel’s friend?”
She smiled drunkenly. “Sí.”
Harry Lantz recovered swiftly. “Well, well.” He forced a smile. “Can we go to a corner table and talk?”
She nodded indifferently. “Ess okay.”
They fought their way across the smoky bar, and when they were seated, Harry Lantz said, “I’d like to talk about—”
“You buy me a rum, sí ?”
Lantz nodded. “Sure thing.”
A waiter appeared, wearing a filthy apron, and Lantz said, “One rum and a Scotch and soda.”
Muñez said, “Make mine a double, huh?’”
When the waiter left, Lantz turned to the woman seated beside him. “I want to meet with Angel.”
She studied him with her dull, watery eyes. “Wha’ for?”
Lantz lowered his voice. “I have a little present for him.”
“¿Sí? What kin’ a presen’?”
“Two million dollars.” Their drinks arrived. Harry Lantz raised
“Buenas tardes, amigo. Soy de los Estados Unidos. Estoy buscando una mujer. El nombre es Neusa Muñez. Es una emergencia.”
“Lo siento, señor. No la conozco.”
The answer was the same everywhere. No one has ever heard of the fucking broad.
Harry Lantz wandered around La Boca, the colorful waterfront area where one could see old ships rusting at anchor in the river. No one around there knew of Neusa Muñez. For the first time, Harry Lantz began to feel he might be on a wild-goose chase.
It was at the Pilar, a small bar in the barrios of Floresta, that his luck suddenly changed. It was a Friday night and the bar was filled with workingmen. It took Lantz ten minutes to get the bartender’s attention. Before Lantz was halfway through his prepared speech, the bartender said, “Neusa Muñez? Sí. I know her. If she wishes to talk to you, she will come here mañana, about midnight.”
The following evening, Harry Lantz returned to the Pilar at eleven o’clock, watching the bar gradually fill up. As midnight approached, he found himself getting more and more nervous. What if she did not show up? What if it was the wrong Neusa Muñez?
Lantz watched as a group of giggling young women came into the bar. They joined some men at a table. She’s got to show up, Lantz thought. If she doesn’t, I can kiss the fifty grand good-bye.
He wondered what she looked like. She had to be a stunner. He was authorized to offer her boyfriend, Angel, a cool two million dollars to assassinate someone, so Angel was probably up to his ass in millions. He would be well able to afford a beautiful young mistress. Hell, he could probably afford a dozen of them. This Neusa had to be an actress or model. Who knows, maybe I can have a little fun with her before I leave town. Nothing like combining business and pleasure, Harry Lantz thought happily.
The door opened and Lantz looked up expectantly. A woman was walking in alone. She was middle-aged and unattractive, with a fat, bloated body and huge, pendulous breasts that swayed as she walked. Her face was pockmarked, and she had dyed blond hair, but her dark complexion indicated mestizo blood inherited from an Indian ancestor who had been bedded by a Spaniard. She was dressed in an ill-fitting skirt and sweater meant for a much younger woman. A hooker down on her luck, Lantz decided. But who the hell would want to fuck her?
The woman looked around the bar with vacant, listless eyes. She nodded vaguely to several people and then pushed her way through the crowd. She walked up to the bar.
“Wanna buy me a drink?” She had a heavy Spanish accent, and up close she was even more unattractive.
She looks like a fat, unmilked cow, Lantz thought. And she’s drunk. “Get lost, sister.”
“Esteban say you are lookin’ for me, no?”
He stared at her. “Who?”
“Esteban. The bartender.”
Harry Lantz still could not accept it. “He must have made a mistake. I’m looking for Neusa Muñez.”
“Sí. Yo soy Neusa Muñez.”
But the wrong one, Harry Lantz thought. Shit! “Are you Angel’s friend?”
She smiled drunkenly. “Sí.”
Harry Lantz recovered swiftly. “Well, well.” He forced a smile. “Can we go to a corner table and talk?”
She nodded indifferently. “Ess okay.”
They fought their way across the smoky bar, and when they were seated, Harry Lantz said, “I’d like to talk about—”
“You buy me a rum, sí ?”
Lantz nodded. “Sure thing.”
A waiter appeared, wearing a filthy apron, and Lantz said, “One rum and a Scotch and soda.”
Muñez said, “Make mine a double, huh?’”
When the waiter left, Lantz turned to the woman seated beside him. “I want to meet with Angel.”
She studied him with her dull, watery eyes. “Wha’ for?”
Lantz lowered his voice. “I have a little present for him.”
“¿Sí? What kin’ a presen’?”
“Two million dollars.” Their drinks arrived. Harry Lantz raised
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