What will he pay? I asked.
He won’t, Sanderson replied. He’ll pay us a flat fee — we’ll pay you twenty-five dollars a day, plus expenses. You’ll have to make a trip to Vieques, probably with Zimburger.
Jesus, I said.
He smiled. No real hurry. Let’s say next Friday.
The brochure will be aimed at investors, he added. This is one hell of a big marina — two hotels, a hundred cottages, the whole works.
Where did Zimburger get his money? I asked.
He shook his head. It’s not just Zimburger. He has several people with him on this — as a matter of fact, he asked me in on it.
What stopped you?
He swung around to face the window again. I’m not ready to retire yet. This is a pretty interesting place to work.
I’ll bet it is, I said. What’s your cut here — ten percent of every dollar invested on the island?
He grinned. You think like a mercenary, Paul. We’re here to help, to keep the wheels turning.
I got up to go. I’ll come by tomorrow and pick up the stuff.
How about lunch? he said, looking at his watch. It’s about that time.
Sorry, I said. I have to run.
He smiled. Late for work?
That’s right, I said. I have to get back and work on an expose.
Don’t let your boy scout ethics run away with you, he said, still smiling. Oh yes — while we’re on the subject of scouts, tell your friend Yeamon to stop by when he gets a chance. I have something for him.
I nodded. Put him to work with Zimburger. They’d get along fine.
When I got back to the office Sala called me over to his desk and showed me a copy of El Diario. On the front page was a picture of the three of us. I hardly recognized myself — slit-eyed, sneaky-looking, hunched on the bench like a hardened criminal. Sala looked drunk and Yeamon looked like a maniac.
When did they get this? I said.
I don’t remember, he replied. But they damn well got it.
Underneath the photo was a small story. What’s it say? I asked.
Same thing the cop said, he replied. We’ll be lucky if we aren’t lynched.
Has Lotterman said anything?
He’s still in Ponce.
I was beginning to get the fear. You better carry a gun, Moberg advised me. They’ll be after you now. I know those swine — they’ll try to kill you. By six o’clock I was so depressed that I gave up trying to work, and went to Al’s.
Just as I turned onto Calle O’Leary I heard Yeamon’s scooter approaching from the opposite direction. It made a hellish sound in those narrow streets and you could hear it six blocks away. We arrived in front of Al’s at the same time. Chenault was riding on the back, and she hopped off while he cut the engine. They both seemed drunk. On the way back to the patio we ordered hamburgers and rum.
Things are getting worse, I said, pulling up a chair for Chenault.
Yeamon scowled. That bastard Lotterman dodged the hearing today. It was a hell of a thing — those people at the Labor Department saw our picture in El Diario. I’m sort of glad Lotterman didn’t show. He might have won today.
No wonder, I said. That was a very ugly photograph. I shook my head. Lotterman’s in Ponce — we’re lucky.
Damnit, he said. I need that money this weekend. We’re going over to St. Thomas for the carnival.
Oh yeah, I said. I’ve heard about that — it’s supposed to be pretty wild.
I’ve heard it’s wonderful! Chenault exclaimed. It’s supposed to be as good as the one in Trinidad.
Why don’t you come with us? Yeamon suggested. Tell Lotterman you want to do the story.
I’d like to, I said. San Juan is driving me nuts.
Yeamon started to say something, but Chenault cut him off. What time is it? she said anxiously.
I looked at my watch. Almost seven.
She quickly stood up. I have to go — it starts at seven. She picked up her purse and started toward the door. I’ll be back in an hour, she called. Don’t get too drunk.