Griffin W.E.B. - Honor Bound 01 - Honor Bound

"Oh, I am so happy to hear that," Kertiz said, making it quite clear that he thought that possibility was remote indeed. "I would hate to think that she does not find satisfaction with you, my friend."

"May I have this?" Mallin asked.

"Of course. I made it for you."

"Muchas gracias."

"De nada."

Soon after the girls returned to the table, without the manners to excuse himself, Kertiz jumped up and walked across the room to invite himself to sit with another gentleman and his Mi?a. A minute or so after that, he rather imperiously waved for his Corazonita to join him.

Of course, you sonofabitch. You accomplished at my table what you set out to do. Rub this disloyal bitch's philandering in my face.

"I didn't think to ask, Teresa," Mallin said when they were alone. "Did you have a pleasant Sunday?"

"Yes, thank you."

"And what did you do?"

"Well, I went to an early mass at San Juan Evangelista, then we had a family dinner, and then visited with relatives."

You are a bad liar.

Did you really go to mass? Or were you in bed all morning with your vegetable salesman? Perhaps in bed with your young man in the apartment I provide for you? After you told your father you were going to mass, did you then take your vegetable salesman into our bed?

"I was thinking that perhaps one day we should drive out to El Tigre," Mallin said.

Well, that caused a reaction, didn't it? Your eyes are frightened.

"El Tigre?"

"I thought we might go out there for lunch," he said. "Get out of the heat of the city."

"That would be very nice," Teresa said.

"It's been some time since I have been there," he said. "When was the last time you were there?"

Teresa shrugged.

"A long time ago. I don't remember."

Mallin stood up, so suddenly it frightened her.

"I am leaving you now, Maria-Teresa," he said.

"Excuse me?"

He threw Kertiz's photograph on the table.

"If you want to go out to El Tigre, have your vegetable sales-boy take you there."

"Enrico!"

"Get your things out of the apartment today," he went on. "And please tell your father that I am no longer able to guarantee his loan at the bank."

"Enrico, amado"—beloved.

"Don't 'amado' me, you treacherous little bitch!" Mallin said, louder than he intended. He glanced around the bar. People were looking at him. Kertiz had a smug look on his face.

He marched out of the bar with as much dignity as he could muster.

There wasn't a taxi in sight. There was never a taxi when you needed one.

He felt like crying.

Finally, a taxi appeared and he flagged it down and told the driver to take him to the Edificio Kavanagh. He would get the Rolls and drive around until he had his emotions under control, and then he would go home, where he would have several stiff drinks.

Pamela would be pleased to see him. She didn't expect him for several hours. Perhaps he would surprise everyone, Pamela, Dorotea, and Little Enrico, and take everybody out for dinner.

[FOUR]

4730 Avenida Libertador

Buenos Aires

1730 16 December 1942

Clete put the top up on the Buick convertible, marveling again that the General Motors automotive engineers had the ingenuity to come up with a device that would raise and lower the top at the push of a button (unlike the do-it-yourself bullshit he and Tony had had with the '37 Ford in Punta del Este). Then he carefully locked the car and walked into Uncle Guillermo's house.

A man was loitering at the corner of Calle Jorge Newberry, and Clete wondered whether the man was there to watch him.

He was in an unpleasant mood. Who the hell was Jorge Newberry, anyway? he thought as the man on the corner glanced his way, then averted his gaze.

The plan was to leave Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo for Estancia Santa Catharina sometime in the morning. To Clete's way of thinking, that meant sometime before ten-thirty. But it was twelve-thirty before the two-car, Horche-Buick convoy finally set out down the gravel road to Estancia Santa Catharina. During the forty-mile trip, he had to swallow the dust from his father's Horche.

And, of course, Claudia's daughters were not prepared to leave when they arrived. Argentina, while very unlike Mexico, had ma?ana in common with the republic immediately south of the Rio Grande.

"Since you have nothing to do in Buenos Aires," his father said cheerfully, "I'm sure you won't mind waiting for the girls to finish their packing while Claudia and I drive ahead. The girls will show you the way."

"Fine," Clete said.

The trouble was that he had something to do in Buenos Aires. He had to get in touch with Nestor and tell him he had found the Reine de la Mer and that he could forget taking her out by planting a charge against her hull. It couldn't be done that way. And since he could think of no way to do it himself, that would be up to Nestor to figure out.

On the flight back to the ranch, inspired by an Errol Flynn Battling the Dirty Nazis movie he vaguely remembered, he considered sneaking aboard the ship, overpowering the crew, placing scuttling charges, and then slipping away.

It worked for Errol Flynn. But, he finally remembered—shooting down the only idea he had been able to come up with—that ship in the movie was tied up at a wharf, not anchored twenty-odd miles offshore.

But of course he could not tell his father that, so he smiled and waited patiently for the girls to put their goddamned gear together. He occupied himself by putting the convertible top down, because he would no longer be swallowing his father's dust.

When she finally came out to the car, Isabela Carzino-Cormano insisted on riding in the backseat. Fine gentleman that he was, knowing that riding in the backseat of a convertible going as fast as he intended to drive was no fun, he put the roof up.

That situation lasted perhaps two miles, until Isabela tapped him imperiously on the shoulder and asked him if he would be good enough to please raise the windows. The wind was mussing her hair and she was getting dusty.

That was the last word Isabela spoke before they reached Buenos Aires. It was hotter than hell in the Buick with the roof up.

Alicia Carzino-Cormano tried to make conversation. "Now tell the truth, Cletus," she asked him, "aren't you really just a poco interested in Dorotea Mallin?" Watching them play tennis, she saw him looking at her in a certain way.

Actually, Alicia, you saw me looking down her dress and at her crotch, because 1 am a perverted dirty young man.

"Alicia, don't let your imagination run away with you. And since you're so curious, there is a young woman in America I'm involved with."

He was glad to get rid of both of them at his father's house on Avenida Coronel Diaz and drive quickly to the Guest House.

One of the maids greeted him at the door, then asked him if he would like her to park the Buick.

Thank you, no. Sweetheart. You are probably a worse driver than my father.

"No, gracias. I'm going to leave it right where it is."

His answer brought him a lecture about petty crime on the streets of Buenos Aires. She assured him that if he left the car outside overnight, in the morning there would be nothing left but the windshield, and perhaps not even that.

Getting the car into the garage also posed a problem. They couldn't find the keys. Se?ora Pellano would of course know where the keys were, the maid told him, but Se?ora Pellano was unfortunately at the house on Avenida Coronel Diaz. They wound up telephoning Se?ora Pellano and asking where the keys were.

Finally, stopping off at the kitchen to load a silver champagne cooler with ice and two bottles of cerveza, Clete was able to take the elevator to Uncle Guillermo's playroom and get on the horn to Nestor. Predictably, Nestor was not thrilled to hear from him.