Ask for Me Tomorrow

“What if you are not available later to pay the bill? Possibly you would like to settle your account tonight.”

“No, I wouldn’t like that.”

“What if I insist?”

“I wouldn’t like that, either.”

“Perhaps you are not so polite an American as I thought,” the clerk said and grabbed at the insect that was attacking the light over the desk. He missed. Aragon left the two of them battling it out.

Superintendent Playa, wearing civilian clothes, sat in a corner of the dining room behind a potted palm as though he were in hiding. But there was too much of him to hide, and it seemed inevitable that more of him was on its way. He was eating flan with whipped cream, and drinking something thick and yellowish out of a glass mug.

“Oh, Mr. Aragon. Good evening.”

“Good evening, Superintendent.”

“I’ve been waiting for you, passing the time with a bite to eat. Please sit down.”

“All right.”

“Join me in a rompope. It’s an eggnog flavored with rum. Quite delicious.”

“No thanks.”

“Very well, we’ll get down to business.” The superintendent unbuckled the belt of his trousers, and his stomach ballooned out between him and the table like an air safety bag inflating on impact. “The word is that you’ve been searching for the girl Tula Lopez all over town.”

“Yes.”

“You still want to see her?”

“Very much.”

“Perhaps I can arrange it. Yes, I think it would be quite possible.”

“You know where she is?”

“I know. Come along, we’ll pay her a call.”

“I haven’t had any dinner.”

“I ate for both of us to save time.”

“That’s very good of you.”

“You might really believe that, a little later on. If one is going to feel squeamish, it is better to do so on an empty stomach.” He rose with some difficulty and pushed his own stomach back into the captivity of its belt. Then he called for his check.

Aragon said, “I told the clerk to add it to my bill.”

“Why would you do such a thing? Have you a guilty conscience?”

“No.”

“Are you attempting to influence my judgment?”

“No.”

“Then why should you pay for my dinner as if I’d been your invited guest?”

“I—”

“Unless, of course, you invited me and the invitation failed to reach me in time. Could that be true?”

“It could.”

“Then I accept your hospitality. Many of my invitations arrive late or never. Our local system of communications is poor, though I believe you and I are communicating quite nicely, are we not?”

“I think so.”

“Then let us proceed on our way.”

The superintendent was driving his personal car, a Toyota not much bigger than he was. He handled it as though it were his alter ego, with courteous attention and respect. Other motorists honked at him from behind, put their heads out windows to curse him as they passed, looked back and shook their fists. The superintendent didn’t let it bother him.

“Peasants,” he said amicably. “I save my wrath for more significant occasions. Besides, I have a full stomach. There is nothing more soothing than a good meal, isn’t that correct?”

“I don’t remember. I haven’t had one lately.”

“Try not to be waspish, Mr. Aragon. I am, after all, doing you a favor. You could have spent a week, even a month, searching for this girl, and I found her for you. You must learn the art of gratitude.”

“I don’t want to be grateful until I know what I’m being grateful for.”

They had reached the bridge. The superintendent was driving very slowly in spite of the pressure of traffic. “Let’s see now. It was right about here, from this spot, that your friend Harry Jenkins jumped. No manner of death is pleasant but it seems to me Jenkins picked, or was granted, one of the better ones, leaping out into the air like a bird, then dropping into oblivion. Magistrate Hernandez had no choice, no such beautiful moment of flying. It was quick, though. Others are not so lucky.”

She had put up a struggle.

For Tula, there’d been no easy bird flight, no sudden halt of the heart. Deep-purple bruises covered her face and arms and throat. A patch of her hair had been pulled out by the roots and was caught in the splinters of a shattered chair, like a thick black spiderweb. Two of her front teeth were missing and her neck was broken.

The room was like a cage for animals, but it smelled of people, of human wastes and wasting.

“She’s been dead since early this morning,” the superintendent said. “As is usual in a neighborhood like this, nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything. She was conducting her ordinary business. Only this one particular client wasn’t ordinary. He was — what would you call him in English?”

“Kinky.”

“So we have a dead whore, murdered by a kinky client. That certainly seems reasonable, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Whatever you say. I’d like to get out of here.”

“Why? You wanted to see her. Well, here she is, take a look... What’s the matter, do you feel squeamish?”

“Yes.”

“I knew you were the type. At least be glad you didn’t pay for a nice big dinner which you would only upchuck. As it is, you have nothing to upchuck.”