Ask for Me Tomorrow

Aragon said, “You watch cars around here all the time?”

“Sure, man.”

“I bet you know a lot of people in the neighborhood.”

“I got eyes, don’t I?”

“I’m looking for an American named Harry Jenkins. I was told he lives in a room above Reynoso’s.”

“Whoever told you’s got eyes, too. That’s where he lives, Harry Jenkins. Some cheapskate. Never gave me a dime.”

“Reynoso’s shop is closed.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“For one of the dimes Jenkins never gave you, will you tell me how I can get up to his room?”

“You a hustler, man?”

“Let’s just say that the members of my profession are sometimes called hustlers.”

“Yeah? Okay, then. There’s an alley four, five doors down, takes you straight to Reynoso’s outside stairs.”

The boy pocketed the dime and settled back against the windshield to enjoy the final inch of the cigar.

Jenkins’ door was locked. When Aragon knocked on it, it felt flimsy as though it would collapse like cardboard if he leaned against it too heavily. He wrote a note and pushed it underneath the door:

Mr. Jenkins:

I am offering a fair price for any information you might have about B. J. Lockwood. If you are interested, please contact me at the Hotel Castillo.

T. C. Aragon

He returned to the hotel and tried for the third time to put through a call to Gilly. The telefonista must have had a refreshing siesta, she sounded almost human: “You wish to speak personally to Mrs. Marco Decker, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“I may have a line for you now. Hold on.”

After about five minutes of back-and-forth chatter in two languages, a man answered the phone. “Hello.” A certain note of petulance in the man’s tone identified him as Reed Robertson, Marco Decker’s nurse.

“I have a person-to-person call for Mrs. Marco Decker. Is Mrs. Decker there?”

“Hold on.” Reed raised the pitch of his voice about an octave. “This is Mrs. Decker, operator. I’ll take the call.”

“Your party is on the line, sir. Go ahead.”

“Hello, Reed.”

“That you, Aragon?”

“Yes.”

“She’s in the pool. Violet Smith just took her out a robe, so she’ll be here in a minute. Listen, amigo, she’s burned up because she hasn’t heard from you.”

“She burns easy. It’s only Monday.”

“Any trace of B. J.?”

“ ‘Trace’ just about covers it. I found his ex-partner, though.”

“Harry Jenkins.”

“I gather Mrs. Decker has confided in you.”

“The old girl has to talk to somebody. It was a toss-up between me and Violet Smith. I won. If you want to call it winning.”

“What do you call it?”

“I call it a living,” Reed said. “Speaking of living, where’s Jenkins doing his, in some castle in the sky?”

“Over Reynoso’s shoemaking shop on Avenida Gobernador. I might say he’s on his uppers if I went in for bad puns.”

“So Jenlock Haciendas never got off the ground.”

“No. All the other news is bad, too.”

“How bad?”

Gilly came on the line. “Aragon? What’s this about bad? Have you found B. J.?”

“No.”

“That’s not exactly bad, is it? I mean, it’s just nothing. How is that bad?”

“B. J. seems to have disappeared.”

“From where?”

“The jail in Rio Seco.”

“Did you say jail?”

“Yes.”

“What was he doing in jail?”

“Like all the others in there, he was waiting to get out.”

“Don’t get sharp with me, dammit.”

“I’m trying not to,” Aragon said. “I don’t like delivering news like this any more than you like receiving it.”

“Why was he sent to jail? B. J. wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Flies don’t invest money in real estate developments. People do, and when they discover they’ve been swindled they complain to the police. B. J. and Jenkins were picked up in Bahía de Ballenas. While they were waiting trial B. J. disappeared. One of the other inmates told me he’d been ill and upset and the guards had to give him stuff to calm him down. ‘Stuff’ was the word used. It could have been anything.”

“Oh God, poor B. J.”

She began to cry. Aragon could hear Reed trying to soothe her: Buck up, old girl. Stop it now. Here, here’s a drink. That’s a good girl...

When things quieted down, Aragon continued, “I may get more information tonight or tomorrow. I haven’t talked to Harry Jenkins, but I found out where he’s living and left a note for him.”

“Left a note? You should have waited for him, camped on his doorstep if necessary.”

“He didn’t have a doorstep. He didn’t even have much of a door.”

“Give me his phone number. I want to talk to him myself.”

“I guess I’m not getting through to you, Mrs. Decker. Jenkins is broke. That’s the main reason I expect to hear from him. I offered him money for information about B. J.”

There was a long interval of silence. Then, “Where’s the girl, Tula?”

“I have no recent news about her. When the two men were arrested she went with them to Rio Seco. The word is that she wanted to get away from Bahía de Ballenas and the child, too.”

“Away from her own child?”