His search began with the city telephone directories. Lantz started with the places in the heart of the city: Area Constitution, Plaza San Martin, Barrio Norte, Catelinas Norte. None of them had a listing for a Neusa Muñez. Nor was there any listing in the outlying areas of Bahía Blanca or Mar del Plata.
Where the hell is she? Lantz wondered. He took to the streets, looking up old contacts.
He walked into La Biela, and the bartender cried out, “Señor Lantz! Por dios—I heard you were dead.”
Lantz grinned. “I was, but I missed you so much, Antonio, I came back.”
“What are you doing in Buenos Aires?”
Lantz let his voice grow pensive. “I came here to find an old girl friend. We were supposed to get married, but her family moved away and I lost track of her. Her name is Neusa Muñez.”
The bartender scratched his head. “Never heard of her. Lo siento.”
“Would you ask around, Antonio?”
“¿Por qué no?”
Lantz’s next stop was to see a friend at police headquarters.
“Lantz! Harry Lantz! ¡Dios! ¿Qué pasa?”
“Hello, Jorge. Nice to see you, amigo.”
“Last I heard about you, the CIA kicked you out.”
Harry Lantz laughed. “No way, my friend. They begged me to stay. I quit to go into business for myself.”
“¿Sí? What business are you in?”
“I opened up my own detective agency. As a matter of fact, that’s what brings me to Buenos Aires. A client of mine died a few weeks ago. He left his daughter a bundle of money, and I’m trying to locate her. All the information I have on her is that she lives in an apartment somewhere in Buenos Aires.”
“What’s her name?”
“Neusa Muñez.”
“Wait here a moment.”
The moment stretched into half an hour.
“Sorry, amigo. I can’t help you. She is not in our computer or in any of our files.”
“Oh, well. If you should come across any information about her, I’m at the El Conquistador.”
“Bueno.”
The bars were next. Old familiar haunts. 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?