“A Russian. Really?”
“No joke. And what’s worse, I still don’t know where this chick is. It’s like she’s vanished. Oh, and DFS? They’re on the same path as us.”
“How do you know that?”
“We’re not the only ones watching that woman’s building. There were other folks there. I can’t say who they were, but the name Anaya ring a bell? Justo said he might be into this whole thing.”
“Anaya.” El Mago shook his head. “Yes, I know Anaya. He is a nosy bastard who wants to climb up the ranks using my bones to lift himself up. Dirty thief.”
“Thief?”
“He has a side business smuggling stolen American cars into the country. It came out a little while ago, and it’s gotten him in a bit of trouble. That wouldn’t have been tolerated in my day, but now!” El Mago made a fist. “He believes if he can make me look bad, he can make himself look good. If he gets those pictures before I do, it’s all over. It is over for me and it is over for you. You understand?”
Elvis nodded. “I told the Russian I worked for Anaya. Figured it was better than saying I worked for you. And maybe he’ll go and stab that fucker instead of us, if he feels like it.”
Elvis switched the rag with the ice from one cheek to the other. El Mago crossed his arms, deep in thought, then began walking toward the living room. Elvis followed him. He glanced at the pictures above El Mago’s upright piano. There were two little girls in several photos. A younger El Mago with other family members.
“Sorry if I didn’t tell you over the phone, but I was trying to follow procedure,” Elvis said, and he had been. Keep chatter to a minimum over the phone, that’s what El Mago told them.
“You were scared,” El Mago said. “You are still scared. Scuttling around in fear. Well, you cannot. This was a minor incident.”
It didn’t feel very minor to Elvis with his jaw throbbing. “Sure.”
“What did you find out about Asterisk? Aside from the fact that they seem to have a Russian friend.”
“They think Leonora is a mole. And there’re a couple of people she might have turned to for help. Emilio and, yes, I know you said not to dig there, but also a dude named Sócrates. I didn’t get much chance to ask anything else.”
El Mago walked toward where Elvis was standing, by the piano. He lifted the lid and ran his fingers over the keys, playing a simple melody. “I can give you a file on Emilio. But you need to be cautious with him. He is no dissident.”
“If he’s hiding the girl, maybe he is.”
“Doubtful.”
“You have anything on Sócrates?”
“I have something on every member of Asterisk. Wait here.”
El Mago exited the room, and Elvis leaned down, looking at the piano keys. Then he straightened up and glanced around the room, at the beautiful books, the beautiful shelves, the antiques and decorative items. What a perfect, precious place this was. If only he could live like this instead of having the crap beaten out of him in a storage room.
He’d never wanted this, the fucked-up job he had, the fucked-up people he lived with, the fucked-up assignments watching folks when he didn’t give a damn if they were red or not—Jesus, what was the big deal about that? He needed the money. Needed the gig. If he wasn’t a Hawk he’d be a damn delinquent, a thief, a nothing. He needed the hope that at the end of the tunnel there was a place like this, safe and cozy. A little apartment with a piano and beautiful furniture and pictures in silver frames.
El Mago came back with two folders and handed them to Elvis. “Should we still be watching the girl’s neighbor?”
“She was at Asterisk, which is apparently a den of KGB spies these days. She spoke to Leonora. That woman must know something she is not telling us yet. Keep tabs on her.”
That was that. El Mago told him to go back to the apartment and clean himself up. When he reached the street it had started to rain. An anemic rain, but it felt good on his face.
17
“YOU NEED TO get Lara’s address from Emilio,” Rubén told her.
“He was going to his shop when I saw him earlier.”
“I know where that is.”
Maite thought it was rude to drop by uninvited, but there was a gun in a brown paper bag sitting on the dashboard. They were past the point of pleasantries. It scared her a little, but she also enjoyed the electric frisson it conjured. It was like one of her comic books. Except Rubén didn’t look much like a comic book hero, in his t-shirt and driving that ratty car. Would his appearance improve at all in a tuxedo? Who knew.
Emilio. So she’d get to speak to him twice in one day. She opened her purse and began digging inside of it, trying to see if she’d packed her lipstick. But she hadn’t. She pulled down the side passenger mirror and smoothed back her hair, trying to at least fix that.
Her reflection showed her all the little imperfections of her skin. She closed her eyes.
Rubén let her out exactly in front of Emilio’s shop, but he told her he’d park around the corner. She stepped out of the car, grasped her purse with both hands and looked at the sign, which said “LOMELÍ ANTIQUES” in large letters. In the window display there were porcelain vases and dishes, and one could see the glint of crystal and lacquered furniture in the background.
It looked like a very nice shop, as he’d promised.
She walked in, a silver bell ringing as she opened the door. The shop was charming, but a little crammed, and she had to walk carefully by a display with porcelain dolls. A young woman was sitting behind a counter, reading a magazine, her long, pink fingernails tapping a picture. Maite wound her way through the shop and clutched her purse tighter, wondering what she should tell the girl.
When she reached the counter, Maite placed her purse upon its glass surface. “Is Mr. Lomelí in?” she asked.
The young woman looked up at Maite. “He’s doing inventory. Do you have an appointment?”
“No. But I’m a friend of his. Maite. My name is Maite.”
The employee gave her a thin, skeptical smile. “I’ll see if he’s available.”
The young woman stood up. She was wearing a miniskirt and perilously tall heels. She swept a red curtain aside with a hand, stepped behind it, and closed it again.
Maite wondered if that was the way Emilio liked women. Slim, hair cut short, looking a bit like Twiggy, balancing atop shoes that were more like stilts. But no, Leonora didn’t look like that. Her hair was long. Yet she was also beautiful.