“No,” the Controller said. “I told you that no names are to be mentioned.”
“Yes, sir. But there’s a problem. Neusa Muñez, Angel’s mistress, says he’s willing to make a deal, but he won’t move without knowing who he’s dealing with. Naturally, I told her I had to check it out with you first.”
“What is this woman like?”
The Controller was not a man to play games with. “She’s fat and ugly and stupid, sir.”
“It’s much too dangerous for my name to be used.”
Harry Lantz could feel the deal slipping away from him. “Yes, sir,” he said earnestly. “I understand. The only thing is, sir, Angel’s reputation is based on his being able to keep his mouth shut. If he ever started talking, he wouldn’t last five minutes in his business.”
There was a long silence. “You have a point.” There was another silence, even longer. “Very well. You may give Angel my name. But he is never to divulge it, and never to contact me directly. He’ll work only through you.”
Harry Lantz could have danced. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell him. Thank you, sir.” He hung up, a big grin on his face. He was going to collect the fifty thousand dollars.
And then the million-dollar reward.
When Harry Lantz met Neusa Muñez late that evening, he immediately ordered a double rum for her and said, happily, “Everything’s set. I got permission.”
She looked at him indifferently. “Yeah?”
He told her the name of his employer. It was a household word, and he expected her to be impressed.
She shrugged. “Never hearda him.”
“Neusa, the people I work for want this done as quickly as possible. Marin Groza is hiding out in a villa in Neuilly, and—”
“Where?”
God Almighty! He was trying to communicate with a drunken moron. He said patiently, “It’s a little town outside of Paris. Angel will know.”
“I need ‘nother drink.”
An hour later, Neusa was still drinking. and this time Harry Lantz was encouraging her. Not that she needs much encouragement, Lantz thought. When she’s drunk enough, she’s going to lead me to her boyfriend. The rest will be easy.
He looked over at Neusa Muñez staring filmy-eyed into her drink.
It shouldn’t be hard to catch Angel. He may be tough, but he can’t be very bright. “When is Angel coming back to town?”
She focused her watery eyes on him. “Nex’ week.”
Harry Lantz took her hand and stroked it. “Why don’t you and I go back to your place?” he asked softly.
“Okay.”
He was in.
Neusa Muñez lived in a shabby two-room apartment in the Belgrano district of Buenos Aires. The apartment was messy and unkempt, like its tenant. When they walked through the door, Neusa made straight for the little bar in the corner. She was unsteady on her feet.
“How ‘bout a drink?”
“Not for me,” Lantz said. “You go ahead.” He watched as she poured out a drink and downed it. She’s the most ugly, repulsive bitch I’ve ever met, he thought, but the million dollars is going to be beautiful.
He looked around the apartment. There were some books piled on a coffee table. He picked them up, one by one, hoping to get an insight into Angel’s mind. The titles surprised him: Gabriela, Clove & Cinnamon, by Jorge Amado; Fire from the Mountain, by Omar Cabezas; One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel García Marquez; At Night the Cats, by Antonio Cisneros. So Angel was an intellectual. The books did not fit with the apartment or the woman.
Lantz walked over to her and put his arms around her huge, flabby waist. “You’re damned cute, do you know that?” He reached up and stroked her breasts. They were the size of watermelons. Lantz hated big-breasted women. “You’ve got a really great body.”
“Huh?” Her eyes were glazed.
Lantz’s arms moved down and stroked her fat thighs through the thin cotton dress she wore. “How does that feel?” he whispered.
“Wha’?”
He was getting nowhere. He had to think of an approach that would get this amazon into bed. But he knew he had to make his move carefully. If he offended her, she might go back and report him to Angel, and that would be the end of the deal. He could try to sweet-talk her, but she was too drunk to know what he was saying.