Jack Higgins: Passage by Night

Footsteps approached and it opened a few inches. A woman’s voice said, ‘Who is it?’

‘I’m looking for Juan,’ Manning said. ‘Juan Garcia. I’m an old friend of his.’

There was the rattle of a chain and the door opened. ‘You’d better come in,’ she said and walked back along the corridor.

He closed the door and followed, wrinkling his nose at the stale smell compounded of cooking odours and urine. She opened the door, clicked on a light and led the way into a room. It was reasonably clean with a carpet on the floor and a double bed against the far wall.

She was a large, heavily built woman running dangerously to seed, the coffee-coloured skin and the thick lips an in dication of her mixed blood. She was still handsome in a bold, coarse sort of way and a sudden smile of interest appeared on her face.

‘I’m Juan’s girl – Hannah. Anything I can do?’

There was an unmistakable invitation in her voice and Manning grinned. ‘Not really.’

‘Is it business?’

‘You could call it that.’

‘Well that’s nice.’ She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. ‘Give me a cigarette and tell me all about it.’

She patted the bed beside her and Manning obliged. The gaudy housecoat she was wearing fell open when she crossed her knees revealing black stockings, the flesh bulging over the tops.

‘I thought I knew most of Juan’s friends. How come you’ve never been here before?’

‘I move around a lot,’ Manning said. ‘Never in one place for long. Where did you say Juan has gone?’

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