“Then the cops picked you up?”
“They sure did. Beat the hell out of me, then Rivera came in the cell, and Hernandez said I’d better start talking or else. I had to agree to go back on the payroll at Hermosa, too. I didn’t have a choice.
“That’s okay, old-timer.” There was one more cigarette in the pack. Dillinger broke it in two and offered him half.
Fallon put his half in his wallet.
“Saving it for later?”
“Saving it forever. What a souvenir, half a cigarette given me by Johnny Dillinger.”
“What’s that?” Dillinger asked, pointing to a picture postcard that came part way out of Fallon’s wallet as he put the half-cigarette away for safekeeping.
Fallon unfolded the card. It was an advertisement in Spanish for a hotel in Hermosa. Standing in front of it was the most exotically beautiful woman Dillinger had ever seen.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s Rose. Runs the hotel now that her mother and father are both gone.”
“What makes her look that way?” Dillinger asked.
“You mean the eyes? She’s half Chinese, half Spanish.”
“Is she as good-looking in person as on that card?”
“Better. And a nicer woman you never met. It’s hard to believe she’s Rivera’s niece. Her father and Rivera never got on. Rivera didn’t want his kid brother marrying a Chinese woman. If he hadn’t, there wouldn’t have been Rose. Last year when her father died, Rivera wouldn’t go to the funeral. You know what she did, just to rub his nose in things? She had a new sign painted. Had them hang it above the front door of the hotel.”
“What’s it say?”
“Shanghai Rose.”
Dillinger laughed out loud.
“Every time Rivera goes into town he sees that sign. Oh, that Rose, she’s something special.”
“You’re not sweet on her, are you now?”
“Me?” Fallon said. “She’s a lady. ‘Sides, she wouldn’t look at anyone’s as decrepit as me. In Hermosa, she’s like a princess waiting for a prince to come along.
Dillinger thought they’d have come for him by now. Fallon had dozed off, but was waking up. Dillinger asked him, “Why does Rivera have such trouble getting help for the Hermosa place?”
“The mine’s a death trap. Least five cave-ins I know of. Christ knows how many dead Indians. He uses Apaches up there.”
“Apaches? I thought they went out with the old West.”
“Not in Sierra Madre. That was their original stronghold. Still plenty around up there.”
“If it’s that bad, why’d you agree to go back? Why not cut and run when they let you out?”
Fallon shrugged. “I don’t have a centavo more than the change for the five dollars you gave me. In this country a gringo without money in his boot…” He shrugged.
The door opened, and Hernandez looked in. “Senor Jordan, will you come this way, please.”
Dillinger picked his way between the Mexicans and followed Hernandez. They mounted the stone steps, passed along the whitewashed corridor, and paused outside the office. Hernandez knocked and motioned Dillinger inside.
The air was heavy with the aroma of good cigars. Santos had one clamped firmly between his teeth. He took it out and grinned cheerfully. “Ah, Senor Jordan. Sit down. I am happy to tell you that your troubles are over.”
Dillinger hardly noticed Santos. He had eyes only for Don Jose Manuel de Rivera as he turned slowly from the window and smiled. “We meet again, Senor Jordan.”
“Seems so.”
“I am pleased Don Jose has employment to offer you,” Santos said, smiling. “He has agreed to pay the balance of your fine out of his own pocket.”
“I came the moment I heard at the hotel that you’d been arrested,” Rivera said.
“That was real kind of you.”
“After speaking with Senor Santos it occurs to me that you may now review my earlier offer of employment in a somewhat different light.”
“I think you could say that.”
“Then you will be prepared to accompany me to Hermosa on the evening train?”
“What about my car?”
Rivera turned to Santos. “It is his pride.”
“Mexico,” Santos said, “has a generous heart. Senor Jordan may have his beautiful white automobile, without its arsenal, of course.”