Joven, said the oldest.
Sí.
She looked furtively about but there was no one there to hear.
Ya no está, she said.
He asked where she had gone but they did not know. He asked if she would return but they did not think so.
He touched his hat again. Gracias, he said.
Ándale, said the whores.
At the corner a sturdy cabdriver in a blue suit of polished serge hailed him. He held an antique umbrella, rare to see in that country. One of the panels between the ribs had been replaced by a sheet of blue cellophane and under it the driver’s face was blue. He asked John Grady if he wanted to go see the girls and he said that he did.
They drove through the flooded and potholed streets. The driver was slightly drunk and commented freely on pedestrians that crossed before them or that stood in the doorways. He commented on aspects of their character deducible from their appearance. He commented on crossing dogs. He talked about what the dogs thought and where they might be going and why.
They sat at a whorehouse bar on the outskirts of the city and the driver pointed out the virtues of the various whores that were in the room. He said that men out for an evening were often likely to accept the first proposal but that the prudent man would be more selective. That he would not be misled by appearances. He said that it was best to move freely where whores were concerned. He said that in a healthy society choice should always be the prerogative of the buyer. He turned to regard the boy with dreamy eyes.
De acuerdo? he said.
Claro que sí, said John Grady.
They drank up and moved on. Outside it was dark and in the streets the colored lights lay slurred and faintly peened in the fine rain. They sat at the bar of an establishment called the Red Cock. The driver saluted with his glass aloft and drank. They studied the whores.
I can take you some other places, the driver said. Maybe she is go home.
Maybe.
Maybe she is get married. Sometimes these girls is get married.
I seen her down here two weeks ago.
The driver reflected. He sat smoking. John Grady finished his drink and rose. Vamos a regresar a La Venada, he said.
In the Calle de Santos Degollado he sat at the bar and waited. After a while the driver returned and leaned and whispered to him and then looked about with studied caution.
You must talk to Manolo. Manolo only can give us this information.
Where is he?
I take you to him. I take you. It is arrange. You have to pay.
John Grady reached for his wallet. The driver stayed his arm. He looked toward the barman. Afuera, he said. No podemos hacerlo aquí.
Outside he again reached for his billfold but the driver said for him to wait. He looked about theatrically. Es peligroso, he hissed.
They got into the cab.
Where is he? said John Grady.
We go to him now. I take you.
He started the engine and they pulled away down the street and turned right. They drove half way up the block and turned again and pulled into an alley and parked. The driver cut the engine and switched off the lights. They sat in the darkness. They could hear a radio in the distance. They could hear rainwater from the canales dripping in the puddles in the alley. After a while a man appeared and opened the rear door of the cab and got in.
The domelight was out in the cab and John Grady could not see the man’s face. He was smoking a cigarette and he cupped his hand over it when he smoked in the manner of country people. John Grady could smell the cologne he wore.
Bueno, the man said.
You pay him now, said the cabdriver. He will tell you where the girl is.
How much do I pay him?
You pay me fifty dollars, the man said.
Fifty dollars?
No one answered.
I dont have fifty dollars.
The man sat for a moment. Then he opened the door again and got out.
Wait a minute, said John Grady.
The man stood in the alley, one hand on the door. John Grady could see him. He was wearing a black suit and a black tie. His face was small and wedgeshaped.
Do you know this girl? said John Grady.
Of course I know this girl. You waste my time.
What does she look like?
She is sixteen years old. She is the epiléptica. There is only one. She is gone two weeks now. You waste my time. You have no money and you waste my time.
I’ll get the money. I’ll bring it tomorrow night.
The man looked at the driver.
I’ll come to the Venada. I’ll bring it to the Venada.
The man turned his head slightly and spat and turned back. You cant come to the Venada. On this business. What is the matter with you? How much do you have?
John Grady took out his billfold. Thirty somethin, he said. He thumbed through the bills. Thirty-six dollars.
The man held out his hand. Give it to me.
John Grady handed him the money. He wadded it into his shirtpocket without even looking at it. The White Lake, he said. Then he shut the door and was gone. They couldnt even hear his footsteps going back up the alley. The driver turned in his seat.