Ask for Me Tomorrow

Aragon went outside and proved him wrong. The air was fresh, straight from the sea, but all he could smell was the little room and the dead girl and his own vomit.

The superintendent followed him out. “You’re becoming a problem, Mr. Aragon. Don’t I have enough trouble without a squeamish American on my hands?”

“I think it’s a touch of — it must be turista.”

“Nonsense. It’s murder. You are revolted at the sight of murdered girls. I too am revolted, being a man of sensitivity, but it is my profession to look at them. The eye, the digestive system, the mind, they all make the necessary adjustments. Death is a fact of life.”

Aragon leaned against the wall of the building, which was covered with graffiti, mainly in English. The first one he read when his eyes came back into focus was You were on Canit Camera dummy haha Speedo Martinelli Newark NJ USA.

“Are you feeling better, Mr. Aragon?”

“No.”

“You have stopped upchucking.”

“I ran out of chuck. I — may I go and sit in the car?”

“Very well. We can talk there.”

They returned to the superintendent’s Toyota. Even inside the car with the windows rolled up, Aragon could smell the cage that was Tula’s room, and with his eyes closed he could see the wall that had served as the community’s bulletin board: This a hell hol... Chinga tu madre... Viva Echeveria... Freddy from Chi... Hi Freddy... God Forgive all Sinners... Constancia 3349... Repent... Lolita está pinchincha!

“Three deaths,” the superintendent said. “And you appear to be the common denominator. You come to Rio Seco to talk to Jenkins and suddenly he is leaping from a bridge. You go away and come back, this time to see Magistrate Hernandez, and lo, he is stabbed by a burglar. You look for Tula Lopez and here she is, beaten and strangled.”

“I barely knew Jenkins, I never met Hernandez and I just saw Tula Lopez for the first time.”

“But someone knew all those people.”

“Yes.”

“Someone didn’t want any of them discussing him, perhaps telling you where he is. Would you call that a fair assumption?”

“Yes.”

“This Lockwood, we must find him.”

“Yes.”

“Because he is a murderer, a madman.”

Aragon stared, heavy-eyed, into the night. The Lockwood Gilly knew no longer existed. He had died somewhere in the years between Dreamboat and the Quarry, and a violent stranger now walked around in his body. “No. No, I can’t believe—”

“You must,” the superintendent said quietly. “I think it would be wise for you to leave Rio Seco as soon as possible. It is an ugly place to die, especially at this time of year. Spring would be better, when the flowers are in bloom after the winter rains. But one doesn’t have a choice of season when one is dealing with a madman. Lockwood doesn’t intend to let you find him. That surely is clear to you by now, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“Naturally, you hate to fail in your mission and thus disappoint your client, but you’re young, you have much to live for. Are you married?”

“Yes.”

“Your wife is expecting you back?”

“Yes.”

“In a box?”

“If you’re trying to scare me, don’t bother. I’m already scared.”

Instinctively, he looked back over his shoulder. The streets were crowded. Rio Seco was opening up for the night.

“No, no,” the superintendent said. “Don’t look back. He’s not there. He hasn’t been following you. He’s been ahead of you, waiting behind every corner you turn.”

“How could he know what I was going to do?”

“I don’t mean to be unduly critical, Mr. Aragon, but your actions seem most predictable. That’s to say, you’re an amateur. Lockwood is a graduate of the Quarry.”

Lockwood had learned well — how to con a con man, how to stab as expertly as a surgeon, how to beat up women. Summa cum laude.

“I must return you to your hotel and get to work,” the superintendent said. “By the way, have you talked to your rich lady client since our last meeting?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t by any chance mention me as a likely prospect for her?”

“No.”

“No, of course not. The situation was too delicate. But now you may proceed with a clear conscience, since Lockwood is out of the picture and the situation is no longer delicate. There are a number of facts you might tell her about me which are perhaps not apparent on the surface. For instance, I have never once accepted a mordida, or at any rate nothing more than a few cases of liquor. That ought to impress her, yes?”

“Possibly.”

“I am a man of honor. I have all my own teeth. Also, I have an independent income, my mother gives me a small allowance. I wouldn’t want your client to think I was interested only in her money, when the truth is, I have a very romantic nature. Be sure to mention that.”