John Brunner - The Squares of the City

All the other tables were at least partly occupied; I had the headwaiter show me to Dominguez’s. He looked up and nodded coldly to me, but didn’t speak before going back to his perusal of the newspaper.

I said after a frigid interval, “You’re perfectly right, Senor Dominguez. It’s a mess, isn’t it?”

He thrust the paper aside and scowled at me. “Then what have you permitted it for, Senor Hakluyt?” he countered.

“I’m hired,” I said. “Vados gave me an ultimatum: do it his way, and disregard my personal opinions. So I’ve done it. I did my best to prevent it—I told Vados, I told Diaz, I told Angers, I told everyone I could reach, that if you just throw the squatters out, you’re creating a fund of ill-will that may possibly end in revolution. I sent a memorandum to Diaz about it, and I’m told the cabinet discussed it, and in the end Vados vetoed it. What the hell am I to do?”

He recognized the genuine bitterness in my tone and appeared to thaw a little. “That is interesting, senor. I had not heard. Have you perhaps heard that you have a powerful ally in your opinion?”

“The most powerful ally I seem to have is Sigueiras,” I said acidly. “Wherever he may be—he’s still in hiding, I suppose.”

“Ah—yes, in a sense. He could probably be found today, if it was necessary.” Dominguez spoke indifferently. “But perhaps you have wondered why no steps have been taken to evict the squatters under the monorail central. After all, it seems they all conspired to conceal Senor Brown, a wanted man.”

“I suppose something ought to have been done by now,” I agreed.

“Yet it has not. And why not? Because it would be necessary to use troops for the eviction, and our commander in chief General Molinas has declared that he could not trust his men to do the work. Many of them, after all, are peasants like the squatters, who had no better chance in life than to enter our little toy army. Their officers are, most of them, upper-class dilettanti, who would sooner associate with criminals than with common soldiers. Moreover, there is an element of racial prejudice involved; as you are perhaps aware there exists in some parts of Latin America a kind of social hierarchy based on percentage of European blood, and in our army this is quite marked. It is an exceptional man who despite Negro or Indian ancestry achieves advancement.”

“This is most interesting,” I said thoughtfully. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Do not thank me for anything, Senor Hakluyt. I wish only one thing: that we had met under happier circumstances. For as the situation is, I and those in Ciudad de Vados who think as I do are compelled to regard you as a menace, because you reinforce the capacity of our opponents to implement their highly dangerous plans. This is an honest statement, senor; I hope you will take advice, not offense, from it.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

He folded his newspaper so that the article about my plan was concealed, and let it fall to the floor. “So!” he said. “Let us talk of other things.”

“I’d rather ask you a further question on the same subject, if you don’t mind,” I said. “I was talking with Seixas yesterday.”

Dominguez frowned. “I have no doubt what you are going to say. Seixas is a cunning man, but little else than cunning.”

“I was wondering why you—uh—backed down in your attack on him. I can’t make out if he really is an open scandal or simply a target for random criticism.”

“Oh, he is notorious. But we have more important matters to deal with. Flagrant offenders will sooner or later hang themselves. We must expose the subtler forms of corruption.”

After that we did talk of other things, desultorily, until it was time for me to leave. I had been asked to call on Caldwell in the health department, reason unspecified.

I found him in a pretty bad way. He looked extremely tired, and his stutter was the worst I had heard it since his gruelling by Fats Brown during the Sigueiras case. Distractedly, he waved me to a chair and offered me a cigarette. He was going to take another himself when I pointed out that he already had one burning in an ashtray on the desk.

He gave a nervous laugh. “I’m s-sorry,” he said with an effort. “I haven’t f-felt so good s-since that b-bastard O’Rourke went for me—d-did you read about that?”

I nodded.

“S-scandalous!” said Caldwell with vigor. “I’m c-certain O’Rourke has some k-kind of interest in hiding the t-truth. If it weren’t for the sh-shantytowns, m-maybe he’d be out of a job.”

“This sounds like the old one about doctors having a vested interest in disease,” I said when I’d recovered from my surprise.

“Oh, you d-don’t understand!” said Caldwell irritably. “I mean s-someone must be p-paying him what-you-call-it. P-p—”

“Protection money?” I said incredulously. “But what for?”

“Th-that’s right! What f-for? What for? T-to k-keep quiet about what g-goes on in th-these p-places, naturally.” Caldwell thrust his hands through his already untidy hair and gave me a defiant look through his glasses.

“Look,” I said, “you’ve obviously been overstraining yourself. I’ve been to the shantytowns, I’ve been through this place under the station, and I haven’t seen anything half as bad as the things they were putting over on television, for instance.”

“Ah, but you went there in the daytime, didn’t you?” exclaimed Caldwell, pouring the words out in a rush without a hesitation. “I t-told the newspaperman about th-that when I s-spoke to him this morning. I t-told him what the t-truth must be.”

“You mean you’ve told the papers—I mean Liberdad — that O’Rourke is hiding something?”

“I t-told the t-truth,” said Caldwell with dignity. “And now I’m going to p-prove it. You’re an outsider, Hakluyt, s-so you’re an independent witness. I want you to c-come along t-tonight and s-see for yourself.”

I almost said, “You must be out of your mind!” And then I didn’t. Because it occurred to me, watching Caldwell’s wild expression, that that was very probably true.

I changed the remark to, “Well, what do you think does go on there?”

“All k-kinds of vice, Hakluyt! I’ve s-seen it. And if you c-come with me tonight, I’ll sh-show you.”

I frowned and didn’t reply for a moment. It was logical, of course, that there would be at least a few prostitutes operating out of the shantytowns—poverty dictated it. But to accuse el Jefe himself of graft, and to accuse—most likely with justice— a few local police officers of turning a blind eye, were two totally different things.

“You’ll come with me?” he insisted hotly. I yielded with a sigh, and he rose and shook my hand warmly.

“You’ll s-see!” he said.

I went back, frowning, to the traffic department after arranging to see Caldwell at one of the shantytowns at eight p.m., and called in on Angers to consult him about Caldwell’s condition.

He greeted me with comparative warmth, for him. “We’re going all-out on this plan of yours,” he said. “Well done!”

I scowled; this enthusiasm for what I could only regard as rubbish was getting me down. “How does Diaz feel about it?” I asked.

“Well, of course, he hasn’t got a leg to stand on. One almost has to feel sorry for him. I don’t mind saying it’s put me in a pretty sticky position, because of course while Diaz is nominally my chief, Vados is mayor of the city, and in this case it’s what he says that counts. However, I must say the argument has been a very interesting one—it’s a pity you’re not a citizen, because there’s an important principle at stake.”