Ask for Me Tomorrow

“That B. J. was released from jail three years ago by a magistrate named Guadalupe Hernandez.”

“So at least he didn’t leave feet first.”

“Not according to the records anyway. Hernandez wouldn’t give Miss Eckert of the consulate any details, so she suggests trying a little bribery. Or a lot. No sum was specified, but a great many officials lead high lives on low wages, so somebody must be paying.”

“And now it’s Gilly’s turn.”

“If she’s willing.”

“She’ll be willing, bet on it. I told you she has this thing about justice and fair play. Well, all her money — except what she gets from Decker — was B. J.’s to begin with. She’ll spend every cent of it on him if she has to, the way she spends every ounce of her energy and will on Decker. Probably with the same result. Zero.”

The artichoke hearts and eggs lay untouched on Gilly’s plate.

“How much?”

“I don’t know,” Aragon said. “I’ve never bribed a judge.”

“You claim a lot of them live high. How high? Like this, for instance — this house, the servants?”

“I think so.”

“Offer him a thousand to start. Be prepared to raise the price as much as you have to.”

“You assume I’m going back.”

“Of course you’re going back. Don’t you want to?”

“No.”

“You’re quitting,” she said. “Just when the case is beginning to open up, you’re quitting.”

“No, I’m not. You asked if I wanted to go back and I said no. I have the feeling someone is following me around down there, watching every move I make.”

“You’re getting paranoid.”

“If you prefer to use that word, fine. I’m a paranoid with someone following me around, watching every—”

“You must admit it doesn’t sound reasonable, Aragon. I expect a lawyer, even a novice like you, to have a certain objectivity. Someone who’s behind you and headed in the same direction as you are isn’t necessarily following you. Now, are you going back or aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Right away. This afternoon or tonight.”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I need a day off to catch up on my mail, my laundry, some—”

“Laundry, mail, all that can wait. You’re not helpless. Can’t you rinse out your own socks?”

“Yes, dammit, I can rinse out my own socks.”

“Then do it. And please try to work up a little enthusiasm for your job.”

“I’m trying,” he said grimly.

“As for the business about someone tailing you, it’s probably a mistake. He may think you’re someone else.”

“I’m beginning to think the same thing.”

“In any case, the solution is very simple. Next time it happens, all you have to do is turn around and confront him — or her — and identify yourself. That ought to solve the problem.”

“Or create new ones.”

“Please try to take a more positive attitude. I’m trying. I’m trying very, very hard to keep my — well, we won’t go into that. You’ll need extra money.”

“Not yet. Wait until I talk to Hernandez.”

“All right.” She glanced down at her plate. “What’s this crud taste like?”

“I can’t describe the taste exactly, but it feels kind of slippery.”

“Slippery. Christ.” She got up and dumped the contents of her plate in one of the marble tubs containing a camellia bush. The leaves covered the evidence. A dog or cat might smell it out or a bird discover it while searching for insects, but Reed would never see it.

When she returned to the table with the empty plate she looked suddenly old and sick, as if the dumping of the food had been a symbolic gesture, a rejection of life itself.

“You shouldn’t go without lunch,” Aragon said. “Let me take you out for a burger, guaranteed not slippery.”

“That’s nice of you, Aragon. I really appreciate it, I’d love a burger and fries, a whole bunch of nice greasy fries. But I can’t leave Marco. He’s not used to the new nurse yet. I can tell by his pulse that she makes him nervous. It’s too bad. Mrs. Morrison has excellent references and Marco has to get used to someone else besides me and Reed. Reed could quit any time. He has no contract, and I have no guarantee that I’ll last longer than my husband. It’s likely but not certain. I must prepare for every contingency. I promised him he’d never be left alone.”

Mrs. Morrison’s voice was as crisp and starched as the small pleated white cap which sat on top of her head like a crown. No matter how vigorously she moved her head, the crown remained firmly attached as though she’d been born wearing it and entitled to all the privileges it bestowed.

“I have studied your charts with some care, Mr. Decker,” she said regally, “and I have reached the conclusion that the amount of brain damage you have sustained will not prevent us from communicating with each other, at least on an elementary level. Such communication can be arranged in a fairly simple manner. Have you ever played twenty questions? Of course you have. Very well. I will ask you only questions which can be answered by yes or no. You will then raise one finger of your right hand for yes, and two for no. Or if you prefer, blink your right eyelid instead, once for yes, twice for no. Think you can do that?”