Jupe nodded. “I have a friend whose dad works for the movies. He does special effects.”
“What’s his name?” said the girl. “Maybe I know him.”
“Crenshaw,” said Jupe.
She shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Guess we haven’t been on any of the same pictures. Those special effects people are really something. Sometimes I think I should forget about makeup and try to get into effects. On the other hand, I do okay with makeup, and I still have time for my courses.”
“You’re going to school?” said Jupe.
“Not exactly. I take lessons–acting lessons–with Vladimir Dubronski. In case . . . you know . . . I get a chance for a part.”
Jupe nodded. He tried to look sleepy, but his brain was racing.
“I guess everybody wants to act,” he said. “But makeup can be terrific. I saw a picture last week about this guy who stole an idol out of a temple, so he had a curse put on him.
“Oh,” said the girl. “One of those. I suppose he turned into a turnip when the moon was full, or something.”
Jupe laughed. “He turned into a snake, only he still looked like a man.”
“Oh, yes,” said the girl. “The Invasion of the Cobra Men, wasn’t it? They made that picture for about thirty-seven cents, but it wasn’t too bad. I know the guy who did the makeup for the snakeman. Arnold Heckaby. He’s really into that sort of thing. One of these days he’ll get a big budget picture and then he’ll probably be up for an Academy Award.”
“Did you ever do any of that special makeup?” Jupe asked. “I mean, making somebody look like a bat or a werewolf or anything like that?”
“I’ve made a few people look older than they really are,” said the girl. “That takes more time than regular makeup, but it isn’t really hard. I’ve never done a monster or a werewolf.”
“Is it hard to do monsters?” said Jupe. “What about scars? Remember the story about the wax museum where the villain was all scarred?”
The girl shrugged. “It takes time,” she said. “Given enough time, you can do almost anything. Except you can’t make old people look young. You can age a young person, but once an actor gets really old, well, they’re old. You can help a little bit, and of course lots of them get face lifts or have tucks taken in their chins, and they dye their hair and the cameraman shoots them with a soft focus, but eventually they’re just too old to play young romantic leads anymore.”
Jupiter’s glass was almost empty. He’d asked for water so he’d have an excuse to sit around talking, and he now decided he’d learned enough. Finishing the water in a gulp, he set the glass down on the small table beside his chair.
“Thanks very much,” he said. “That was good.”
“Okay,” she said. “Want some more?”
“No thanks. I’m going to tell Mr. Crenshaw I met you. Maybe you’ll meet him sometime when you’re working on a picture.”
“Your friend’s dad?” she said. “The one who does special effects? That would be nice.”
“What should I say your name is?” Jupe asked.
“Graciela Montoya,” said the girl, “but everyone calls me Grade.”
“Okay,” said Jupe. “Thanks again for the water.”
He went out through the gate and headed back to the nursery school, pleased with the results of his dumb-kid act. But when he rounded the corner on to Dalton Avenue, he stopped and groaned.
Hans and Pete and the truck were gone! Jupe would have to get back to Rocky Beach as best he could.
“Blast!” he said out loud. Then he set out for Wilshire, where he could get the bus. As he went his head buzzed with a new idea.
10
The Terrorists
JUPITER SAT BEHIND THE DESK in Headquarters and looked at his two friends. It was after lunch, and he had just finished relating his talk with Graciela Montoya.
“Just suppose,” said Jupe, “that the blind beggar is a woman.”
Bob thought about this for an instant, then shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.”
“But isn’t it a possibility?” said Jupe. “She’s a makeup artist and she seems to be very friendly with Mr. Bonestell. Pete, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Grade Montoya is the link between the beggar and the robbers and the crew at Denicola’s.”
“She isn’t the beggar,” insisted Bob. “The blind man had whiskers. I was standing right behind him at the bus stop, looking down at his face. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. Would a makeup artist bother with whiskers?”
“Hm!” said Jupe. He looked disappointed. “Still, the girl might have pumped Mr. Bonestell for information and then passed it along to the robbers–one of whom might have been the blind man. The scar–”
“The scar is a fake,” said Bob.
“Oh?” Jupe grinned. “You found something at the library.”
“I sure did,” said Bob. He had been holding a Manila envelope on his lap. Now he took copies of several news magazines out of it.
“Mesa d’Oro is an interesting little country,” he said. “Only fifteen thousand square miles and less than four million people, but it’s had its share of trouble.”
Bob opened one of the magazines to a place he had marked with a slip of paper. “Here’s a recap of its history in World Affairs, from three years ago,” he said. “As you’d suppose, the country was once a Spanish colony. Then in about 1815 the landowners threw out the Spanish governor and declared the country’s independence. They elected a president and formed a legislature.”
“That’s nice,” said Pete. “And what does that have to do with blind men and bank robbers?”
“Maybe nothing,” said Bob. “It’s background. Now, in 1872 there was a revolution. People got killed, and they’re still getting killed today!”
Pete and Jupe both sat up straight.
“A revolution that started in 1872 is still going on?” cried Pete. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Well, yes and no,” said Bob. “The revolution of 1872 was something like the French Revolution or the revolution in Russia in 1917. The landowners in Mesa d’Oro–the ones who had thrown out the Spanish governor–they’d become corrupt. They got rich on the labour of the poor people and didn’t give anything in return. Most of the poor people were descended from the Indians who had owned the country in the first place, but the landowners didn’t think they were important.
“Finally an Indian named Juan Corso began to get his own people organized. He went around the country giving speeches about rights for everyone. The landowners didn’t like this at all, so they tossed Corso in jail.”
“You said something about a revolution,” reminded Jupe.
“Jailing Corso was the start of it,” explained Bob. “Corso was very popular with the common people. They got mad and stormed the capital. They freed Corso from prison, and then hanged the president, a guy named Arturo Rodriguez from a tree. The president’s son, Anastasio Rodriguez, fought back. There was a lot of bloodshed, and the government changed hands several times, but finally Corso was made president and Rodriguez fled to Mexico City.
“Now that should have been the end of that,” continued Bob, “but it wasn’t. Rodriguez sat in Mexico City and began acting like an exiled king. Meanwhile the landowners left in Mesa d’Oro weren’t a bit happy because the labourers now had the vote and made the rich people pay heavy taxes.”
“Must have been frustrating,” said Pete.
“You bet it was,” said Bob. “Anyhow, the landowners started talking about the good old days when Arturo Rodriguez was president, and how nice it would be to bring Rodriguez’ son back. They called themselves Soldiers of the Republic. They used the blue flag with the golden oak leaves as their banner. That was the flag of the Old Republic–the government that existed under Rodriguez. The new government that began with Juan Corso used a green flag with a seal in the middle.”
Jupiter frowned. “All of this took place more than a hundred years ago,” he pointed out. “What could it possibly have to do with our client? Don’t tell me the landowners are still agitating for a return of the old president’s son. He must be dead by now!”
“Well of course he is,” said Bob, “but today his great-grandson, Felipe Rodriguez, lives in Mexico City. This Felipe is waiting for a chance to return to Mesa d’Oro and be the head of the state. He has spies who report to him on conditions in his homeland–which he’s never seen!”
“Oh, come on!” cried Pete.
“I know it sounds fantastic,” said Bob, “but it’s all true. World Affairs says that the conflict in Mesa d’Oro is called a traditional cause. The side a citizen is on depends on his family. Descendents of the old landowners become Soldiers of the Republic. That isn’t an outlaw party. It’s recognized, and the members are called Republicans–not that they’re much like our Republicans. On Sundays they have rallies and they make speeches about how great it used to be. They manage to elect a representative to the legislature every now and then.