Murder Is My Business (15 page)

“And the girl?”

“She went over to Juarez on a streetcar with her pick-ups.”

“How do they get away with it?” Shayne demanded.
“Don’t persons crossing the border have to produce some sort of identification in wartime?”

“Sure they do. And they had it. My man was on the car with them. The two soldiers had registration cards all in order. 4-Fs, both of them.”

Shayne nodded slowly. His eyes were alight now. “It begins to look like a well-planned business. Renting civvies and fake identification cards to soldiers who want to cross the border.”

“Looks like it,” Dyer agreed unemotionally. “Not too much harm in that, though. The boys have to blow off steam somehow.”

“If that’s all it amounts to,” Shayne agreed. “Is your tail still on Marquita and her two escorts?”

“That’s out of our jurisdiction. But he did turn her over to a Mexican detective on the other side. They’re keeping watch on her tonight — and on the two soldiers.”

“The Juarez police sound more cooperative than they used to be,” Shayne commented wryly.

“There’s a new municipal set-up over there. They’ve helped us all they could.”

Shayne asked, “How about putting me in touch with the right people on that side?”

“What for?”

“I’ve got a hankering to take a look at the seamier side of Juarez, and I imagine following Marquita around would be a good way to see it all.”

Dyer studied him suspiciously for a moment, but Shayne’s wide-mouthed grin gave no indication of the detective’s real thoughts. He lifted his telephone and
gave a Juarez number. He talked to a Captain Rodriquiz for a time, and then hung up and nodded to Shayne.

“They’ve got a man on her. See Captain Rodriquiz at headquarters and he’ll arrange a contact. And I,” he added violently, “am going to buy a bottle of aspirin and a quart of whisky and go home to bed.”

Shayne’s grin widened, and he warned him, “Don’t hit either of them too hard. An inner voice tells me that things are ready to start popping again.” He went out with a blithe wave of his hand.

Captain Rodriquiz of the Juarez police force was a slim, elegantly clad young Mexican with flashing white teeth and a thin black mustache. He spoke impeccable English and looked intelligent. He greeted Shayne warmly at police headquarters, assured him it was an honor to be associated with the famous American detective on a case, and offered his services as a guide for the evening.

“That won’t be necessary,” Shayne demurred. “If you’ll just put me in touch with the man who is tailing the girl and the two soldiers—”

“But I wish to accompany you,” Rodriquiz insisted. “You think it is important — this girl and the soldiers?” He put on a small black hat with a tiny red feather in the band and led Shayne out of the police building.

“I don’t know,” Shayne admitted. “It’s likely to be a blind alley, and I’m afraid you’ll be bored.”

“Please, Mr. Shayne. It will be a pleasure. We will walk, if you like. At present the girl and her escorts are at
El Gato Pobre.
It is but a short distance.”

“I’ve eaten there,” Shayne told him. “Best food in Juarez since the Mint closed. But it’s hardly the place I’d expect Marquita to hang out unless it’s changed a lot in ten years.”

“Oh, no. It is the same. It is early, and they go there for dinner and drinks. Later, Marquita will take her soldiers to the other places.”

“Still running wide open?”

Captain Rodriquiz shrugged elaborately, a broad smile exhibiting his white teeth. ‘It is what you Americans expect when you cross the border for a night out. We would be sorry to disappoint you by closing them.”

“Marijuana and the pipe joints — and all the rest?” Shayne persisted.

“I think you will find in El Paso or any other American city the same,” his guide protested somewhat stiffly. “In Juarez we do not turn our backs and pretend it is not so.”

Shayne admitted the justice of the rejoinder. They strolled along the 16th of September Street to Juarez Avenue, turned to the right, and then off onto a side street and into
El Gato Pobre Café.

There was a long bar just off the entrance, a check room at the left. Half a dozen prosperous-appearing Mexicans were drinking at the bar. Rodriquiz said, “I think we will have a drink,” and wandered to the end of the bar. Shayne ordered a double shot of
aguardiente,
and the captain took
tequila
with a slice of lemon.

The bartender nodded to Rodriquiz while taking their orders, and lingered to wipe off the bar after setting the drinks before them. Rodriquiz murmured a few words of Mexican Spanish into his ear, and he nodded again. He went back through an inner door leading into the café, and was gone a couple of minutes. He
went on serving drinks without another glance at the captain and Shayne after returning.

Shayne sipped his
aguardiente
and wished he had thought to order a chaser. An inconspicuous little man came out of the café and sidled up to Rodriquiz. He ordered a glass of beer and began talking in a low monotone.

After he finished his beer, he went out the front door.

“The girl and her soldiers are inside eating dinner,” Rodriquiz told Shayne. “Do you think she would recognize you?”

Shayne said, “I don’t think so. Not if we sat some distance from her.” He finished his drink and added wryly, “I just remembered I’ve had neither lunch nor dinner.”

“We will go inside,” the Mexican officer decided. “There are tables in the corners behind palms where you can dine while we watch.”

They went into a large dining room with less than half of the tables occupied. There was a small dance floor in the center with a string quartet on a platform. They were playing a Mexican melody, and half a dozen couples were dancing.

Rodriquiz led the way to a table in one corner near the door, partially screened from the rest of the room by two potted palms. When they were seated, he gestured toward the dance floor and said, “Is that not Marquita at the table near the platform?”

Shayne’s gaze followed the gesture, and he nodded.
Marquita wore a black dress, cut low and square across the front with thin straps over her shoulders. She wore a lot of rouge and looked very vivacious and pretty at that distance. Her companions were young, and had evidently been drinking quite a lot. They both wore gray suits that didn’t fit too well, and they laughed a lot, and both of them sat close to Marquita.

“They are eating dinner slowly, and we will have plenty of time,” Rodriquiz assured Shayne when a waiter put menus in front of them. “You will excuse me, for I have eaten.”

Shayne looked at the typewritten menu and ordered, “Roast mallard with chestnut dressing.” He hesitated, and asked the captain, “Do I dare order an American cocktail?”

“It will be of the best quality,” Rodriquiz told him.

Shayne told the waiter, “Two sidecars,” and looked inquiringly at his companion. Rodriquiz smiled and said, “I will have
tequila
with lemon.”

Marquita got up to dance with one of her soldiers. Her dress was as short as the skirt Shayne had seen her wearing previously. She pressed her body shamelessly against her dancing-partner and showed the rolled tops of her stockings and an expanse of tanned thighs as she whirled around the dance floor.

The dining room filled slowly as Shayne ate his dinner. He stiffened slightly when he saw the hunched shoulder blades and bushy head of Neil Cochrane come through the door. He moved his chair slightly so he was farther behind a palm frond when Cochrane stepped
aside to wait by the door after a few words with the headwaiter.

Captain Rodriquiz alertly noted Shayne’s glance and his movement to conceal himself from the waiting man. He lifted his black brows and asked politely, “Is it someone you would avoid?”

“He’s an El Paso reporter,” Shayne muttered.
“Could
be that he’s here for the same reason I am.”

At that instant Cochrane spotted Marquita returning to her table. He watched her for a moment, and then threaded his way toward her. He stopped at her table and leaned over the back of her chair to speak to her, and from across the room, Shayne and Rodriquiz could see that she was introducing him to her companions. He took the empty chair at their table, and one of the soldiers ordered another round of drinks.

Shayne settled back and shook his head. He admitted, “I don’t know, Captain. It looks as though he planned to meet her here with those two lads. If that’s it—” He shook his red head again and his eyes were worried. “Let’s sit tight and see what happens.”

A Mexican girl came out on the stage and sang
“Estrellita.”
She had a beautiful, clear voice that hadn’t been ruined by too much nightclub work, and she sang the song with artistry. She didn’t get much applause when it was over, and she didn’t stay for an encore. The quartet swung into
“Besame Mucho,”
and Neil Cochrane and Marquita got up to dance. She didn’t press herself flagrantly against him as she had with the soldier, and he appeared to be an awkward dancer. They
were discussing something as they moved about the dance floor, and neither of them seemed particularly happy. They went back to the table as soon as the one number was over.

Shayne was watching them, and didn’t see Carmela Towne come in the door. He saw Cochrane straighten up after Marquita was seated, and glance toward the door. The reporter then said something to the trio and left them.

Shayne looked toward the door and saw Carmela standing just inside. She wore a belted sports outfit that was too young for her and accentuated her thinness. Her lips were heavily rouged, but her cheeks were pale. Her dark, deep-set eyes glittered and flashed from Cochrane, who was moving toward her, to Marquita and her two young escorts.

Cochrane smiled as he approached Carmela. Neither of them seemed surprised to see the other, indicating a pre-arranged meeting. He took her arm and drew her aside to a small table for two. Shayne stayed behind the palm and kept his face averted. He said to Rodriquiz, who was watching everything with alert interest, “We may have to separate. You take the Mexican girl and her two companions if they leave first. The woman who just met the reporter at the door is Miss Towne, daughter of Jefferson Towne. I want to keep them in sight.”

Captain Rodriquiz said, “So?” He watched the couple intently. “They’ve ordered a drink and are talking,” he reported. “She asks him questions and is not pleased
when he shakes his head and refuses to reply.”

“The others are paying their check,” Shayne warned him. “You follow them out and I’ll take care of the check here.”

“There will be no check at this table,” the captain said. “It will be, as you say, on the house.”

The trio had left their table by the dance floor and were going out. Shayne kept his face averted, but Rodriquiz chuckled, “I think Miss Towne does not like Marquita. She gives what you call a dirty look as they pass.”

He pushed his chair back and got up, went toward the door behind the three. Shayne lit a cigarette and smoked it, resting one side of his face against the open palm of one hand to shield it from Carmela and Neil Cochrane, occasionally peering cautiously at them.

He need not have taken that precaution. Neither of them was paying any attention to anyone else. They had ordered cocktails but were not drinking them. It was evident that Carmela was tensed to a high pitch. Her movements were jerky, and she puffed rapidly on a cigarette, exhaling the smoke immediately in quick puffs. They were having an unpleasant argument, and Cochrane was evidently enjoying it. There was a sly, sadistic smile on his vulturous face, and he kept shaking his head in response to Carmela’s entreaties.

She got up suddenly, her body stiffly erect and her eyes blazing at Cochrane. He stood up, smiling insolently, pausing to get out a wallet, and let two bills
flutter to the table beside their untasted drinks. Shayne hunched farther away from them and looked in the other direction. He waited a few minutes before going out. Carmela and Cochrane had disappeared, but he was surprised to see Captain Rodriquiz loitering in the outer doorway.

The captain smiled and beckoned to him when he hesitated. “It is all right,” the captain assured him. “Your couple have just gone out. Marquita and her soldiers stopped at the bar for a drink and are only slightly ahead.” He looked down the street and nodded “They are close together down there.”

Shayne stepped out with him. Marquita and her escorts were just turning to the right onto Juarez Avenue, and Carmela and Cochrane were less than twenty feet behind them. When they also turned the corner to the right, Shayne started forward, muttering, “I wonder what in hell this is all about. Looks as though Miss Towne and Cochrane were following the others.”

“I do not think so,” Rodriquiz objected. “Unless they knew they would stop at the bar for a drink. They would be long out of sight, otherwise. Of course,” he added politely, “I do not understand the connection between all of these.”

“Neither do I,” Shayne muttered. He held back as they reached the avenue. “You’d better take a look.”

Rodriquiz sauntered past the corner. He shrugged, and paused to light a cigarette, taking some time with it. Then he nodded to Shayne. “It is all right, I think.”

Carmela and Cochrane had lengthened their distance
to almost a full block when Shayne rounded the corner. The other three were still the same distance ahead. Carmela’s bare head with its smoothly coiled braids of black hair was inches above Cochrane’s. She held herself proudly and moved with a swinging stride that caused him to hurry his short legs to keep pace.

Shayne and the Mexican police captain loitered along the full block behind, through a section of respectable business houses, and on into the furtive darkness of unlighted streets lined with heavily curtained houses crowding close to the sidewalks. They moved closer after leaving the lighted avenue behind, up to within fifty feet of the rear pair. The others were still slightly ahead, evidenced by Marquita’s light giggle from time to time, and answering laughter from her tipsy companions.

“I think Marquita will go first to Papa Tonto’s,” Rodriquiz whispered cautiously after they had traversed three blocks in this manner. “We have the report that she is seen there much. It is a bad place,” he went on in answer to Shayne’s unspoken query. “If they turn down the alley in the next street, we will know.”