The Rules of Wolfe (3 page)

They park one behind the other in the shade of the palm trees around the circular fountain centered on a statue of a mermaid pouring water from a conch shell. The engines shut off and the music stops and the passengers alight amid much laughter. A few favored chiefs emerge from the Lincoln, underbosses of various sectors of the Company, the men dressed as if for golfing. Eddie easily spots El Tiburón, the Company's number three man, who keeps his hair cut short to better exhibit the scarred and earless right side of his head. Lesser captains have come in two of the other cars.

The rest of the cars carry only women, young and attractive without exception, their light summer dresses exposing much skin. Servants begin unloading luggage from the car trunks and one of the SUVs.

Eddie scans the guests in vain search of a certain one, and he feels a keen disappointment.

But then there she is. The last to exit the cars. Big sunglasses. Little yellow dress showing lean brown legs. Gleaming black braid to the small of her back.

Miranda.

2

Eddie and Miranda

This is the second party held at the rancho since Eddie Gato has been here, and he has been looking forward to it, notwithstanding that it is only for the invited guests. Even in their off-duty hours the rancho guards and security men are excluded from the fun.

The last party was in late May and spanned four days. Delivery trucks coming and going, the air thick with the aromas of roasting meats. The evenings boisterous with music and gaiety and shrieks from the windows of the upper floor where most of the bedroom suites are. There were periodic shooting contests in the patio behind the bar lounge. The indoor lights and courtyard lamps blazed through the nights.

It had been Eddie Gato's first look at the Boss, little more than a glimpse as the man and his entourage passed by him in one of the narrow galleries that ran the length of the building walls facing the courtyard. The Boss was tall for a mestizo and walked with an athletic litheness, his dark eyes taking in everything, including Eddie when their glances met for an instant. The man was said to be in his forties but Eddie thought he looked younger. He'd heard that the Boss's brother had come too, but if Eddie saw him he did so without knowing who he was.

The Miranda girl had also been among the guests, though Eddie did not notice her until the third day, when for the first time since the party began he had the 8 AM to 4 PM shift in the tower. Neto had told him of the treat he had in store. The tower offered a clear view of the swimming pool courtyard, where some of the girls would sunbathe topless in the morning.

He had been in the tower nearly an hour when a group of them appeared in the pool courtyard, all of them in short robes and big hats and sunglasses. The sun had cleared the mountains and the air was already warm. The compound was in a brief period of quiet and you could hear the crooning of doves. At poolside the girls took off their robes and draped them over the lounge chairs and from their bags withdrew lotions and cigarettes and magazines and MP3 players with earphone attachments. They wore thong bikinis and they all but one took off their tops. They applied lotion to their legs and bellies and breasts and by turns to each other's backs and buttocks. Some lay faceup and some facedown and Eddie kept looking from one to another to another and wished he had more eyes.

The girls seemed oblivious of him. From time to time one looked his way but it was as though he were invisible, and his strenuous smiles were to no effect. And he knew better than to use the binoculars. The day before, one of the girls had glanced up at the tower to see Neto glassing them and she gave him the finger and yelled for him to go fuck his hand. The others laughed. Neto backed away from their line of sight for a while before easing up to the parapet again to peek some more but without the glasses. They evidently did not mind being admired but drew the line at binoculars. From this distance Eddie couldn't hear them talking but at times caught low ripples of their laughter.

The sun was well up and the heat still rising when they started to gather their things and head back indoors. The music had once again cranked up in the house and it carried over the compound on outdoor speakers. The last of the girls to leave had kept herself somewhat apart from the others and their conversations. She was the only one who had not removed her top, and so at first received the least of Eddie's attention, though he'd noticed a little pair of indistinct red tattoos on her back, one on each shoulder blade. Now he was wondering what her breasts looked like uncovered. They weren't large but seemed well formed. She put on her robe and left it unbelted and put on her hat and slung her bag on her shoulder. Then adjusted her sunglasses and looked up at the sky. Then turned her gaze toward him.

His reaction was impulsive. He snatched off his hat so she could clearly see his face and he formed his hand into a pistol and pointed his index finger at her and flicked his thumb as he silently mouthed,
Pow
. She grinned whitely in the shadow of her hat brim and slapped a hand to her breast as if shot. Then turned and sauntered away.

Eddie leaned over the parapet to keep her in sight all the way to the end of the courtyard. She was almost to the house when she paused at a row of shrubs in bloom with large yellow flowers. She fingered a flower and leaned down to smell it. The gardener came around the corner with his wheelbarrow of tools and nodded a greeting as he maneuvered past her. She spoke and he stopped, and she spoke again and gestured at the flowers. They conversed for a moment and he tipped his hat and she went into the gallery and out of Eddie's sight.

Neto had told him to expect a second entertainment around mid-afternoon when some of the girls would return for a dip in the pool. And some did, though fewer than in the morning, and absent the one he'd flirted with. There were a handful of men with them this time, guys who had slept off their hangovers and were ready to resume the fun.

This time the girls got completely naked. Their crotches were shaved bare or pubic hair neatly trimmed to fuzzy patches, a cosmetic option Eddie Gato had not seen in the flesh since Jackie Marie's little auburn arrowhead. But the men kept their swim briefs on even when they joined the girls in the pool for splashing horseplay.

Neto showed up for his shift a half hour early in hope that some of the girls would still be poolside, and he was delighted by the antics taking place. “Madre bendita,” he sighed. Why can't
one
girl in the village—or even at the Hotel Rey—look like any of those down there? Were there many this morning?

More than now, Eddie said. I wonder when they sleep.

The old woman said they don't drink very much, not like the men. They don't get hungover. And they know how to take naps. Like cats, she said.

The frolickers were in the pool only a short time before getting back out, the girls teasing some of the men for their obvious hard-ons and yipping as the men plucked at their breasts and bottoms. They all put on their robes and hurried off into the house to continue their good time upstairs.

p

Despite his youth, Eddie Gato has great confidence with women and believes he knows a thing or two about them. He sets great store on humor's value as a lubricant to carnal cavort. Show him a woman who laughs at a playful come-on and he'll show you one who is readily amenable to sexual adventure. Which was why, after her reaction to his pantomimed shooting of her at the previous party, the girl with the red tattoos had remained in his mind. The party girls were the best-looking women he had seen in many months and he was heady with the conviction that he could have his way with Miss Tattoos.

The problem was the lack of time to work his way with her. The Boss was hosting a big dinner for all his guests that evening and the party was due to break up the next day. But there would be another party in another two or three months. Eddie figured that if he moved fast he could at least prepare the groundwork with her for the next time.

That evening he went to the gardener's quarters. The man was plainly nervous at this visit from a guard, and Eddie had to assure him that he wasn't in any trouble, that he only wanted to know about the girl who had spoken to him in the courtyard. What'd she say to you? Eddie asked. The gardener told him she wanted to know what the flowers were named. She had never seen such flowers and thought they were very beautiful. She was delighted to know they were called delicias. She said it was a perfect name for them.

p

At noon the next day, as servants were carrying suitcases to the cars and while the Boss and his men had a parting drink together in the bar lounge, Eddie Gato stood in a dim recess near the bottom of the stairway the girls would use to come down from their wing of suites. The M-16 slung on a shoulder would identify him as a guard to any security man who might take note of him.

Then the girls were descending the stairs in a chattering flock and heading off along the gallery toward the main courtyard. He was hoping that she would again trail behind the rest of them. And she did, coming down the steps in no hurry at all, a little swing to her hips as if in time to some tune in her head. Hair in a ponytail and again the big sunglasses. A green strap dress bared her brown shoulders but covered the tattoos on her back. A canvas tote bag dangled from her shoulder.

He stepped out from the wall, one hand behind him, and said, “Buenos días, señorita.”

She turned in a slow whirl like a dance step. Then saw she'd been hailed by a guard and her mouth tightened in irritation. “Y tu qué quieres?” she said.

He pushed back his hat. Remember me? he said. He pointed his index finger at her and clicked his thumb.

Ah yes, of course, she said. “El asesino en la torre.” She showed a small smile. I see you have a rifle this time. Do you intend to shoot me more seriously?

Up close her face was even more striking than he'd thought, even with the sunglasses masking her eyes. Her lips were full and without paint and he imagined himself gently biting the lower one.

Well . . . what is it? You have a message for me or what?

A message, yes, he said. The message is that I feel very guilty for shooting you and I beg your forgiveness. I wish to give you a token of apology.

Her face stiffened.

He brought his hand out from behind his back to present a posy of yellow flowers. I saw them in a courtyard, he said, and for some reason they made me think of you. They're called delicias.

What the hell are you doing, kid?

His ears warmed. He didn't care for being called kid by a girl who didn't look any older than he was. As I said, I am apologizing for shooting you.

Her head tilted as something behind him caught her notice, and he turned and saw a pair of security men walking toward the courtyard gate. But the men did not look Eddie's way and then were gone.

He extended the flowers to her. I promise not to shoot you again.

You are very foolish.

How sad that you think my apology foolish. And my promise.

He stepped closer, the flowers now almost touching her breasts. She sighed in exasperation as if at an importunate child, then plucked one of the flowers from the bunch and put it in her tote. Thank you.

As she started to turn away, he said, One thing more.

“Ahora qué?”

What is your name?

She stared at him.

You have a name, no?

She pulled her glasses down a little to give him a searching look over them, her eyes darkly bright. Then slipped the shades back up and said, “Miranda.”

“Yo soy Eduardo.”

“Adiós, Eduardo.”

She walked off with lean hips swaying. And then without slowing made another graceful twirl—a full-circle spin—to glance at him once more, and then her back was to him again and he watched her all the way to the gate.

The whirl-around was the clincher. When they take a look back they're interested. And when they make such an obvious show of it, well, they're ready for anything.

Next time, Miranda baby, he thought.

p

During the following weeks Eddie had often thought of her. His plan was to approach her again and say the right things and make the right moves and get her to slip away from the party at the first opportunity when he was off duty. They would meet someplace—his room, the pool bathhouse, he had various trysting spots in mind—and he would damn well make up for what he'd been missing these past months.

But what if she wasn't with the party next time? Jorge Santos and Javier had said they'd seen some of the same girls at different parties, but they saw most girls only once and there were new ones every time. If she didn't come, he would have to start from scratch with some other girl and might again be thwarted by the lack of time.

He anyway preferred the Miranda one. The more he thought about her—her fine legs and bottom, that sassy mouth, the playful peek over the sunglasses—the more he couldn't wait to get his hands on her. They were all pretty, these party girls, some even prettier than she was, but she was different from the rest. She held herself apart, among them but not of them. The best thing about her, in his view. A girl without friends was always easier to deal with than one with a close circle of pals, and could more easily slip away for a short while without attracting anyone's notice. He intended to work on a different girl at each of the parties to come, but first he wanted this one. And the more he wanted her, the more he fretted he might not even see her again.

p

But here she is, the last of them to exit the cars. Miranda. On this sultry Friday near the end of July. Sunglassed and cinnamon-skinned. In a little yellow dress and her black hair in a plait.

The men precede the women into the house and she again lags behind. Eddie wishes she would look up. But she doesn't.