Dillinger. Jack Higgins
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in front knew. ‘Yes,’ was all Dillinger said.
‘Allow me to introduce myself. Don Jose Manuel de Rivera.’
Dillinger could tell from the way the hotel clerk nodded to the man that he was a wheel.
‘My business can be stated quite briefly, senor,’ Rivera said. ‘Perhaps I could accompany you to your room? We could talk as you unpack.’
‘We can talk right here in the lobby,’ Dillinger said, gesturing to a glass-topped wicker table with two chairs beside it.
‘As you wish,’ the man called Rivera said.
Just then they both heard the commotion outside, and a cracked voice yelling, ‘Scram! Vamoose! Get the hell out of here!’
‘Excuse me,’ Dillinger said, and walked quickly to the front entrance, where, as he suspected, the old man was trying to chase away three shirtless teenage Mexican boys, one of whom had already opened the near door of the convertible and was peering into the glove compartment.
With quick strides Dillinger was at the car and grabbed the kid by his hair and yanked him out of the car, then twisted the kid’s arm behind his back, paying no attention to the stream of Spanish invective. Calmly, Dillinger looked at the other two boys, who were stand-ing on the running board on the other side. Whatever they saw in his eyes, plus the yelping of their friend, sent them dashing down the street.
The old American came around so he could yell at the captive’s face. ‘Ladron! Ladron!’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ Dillinger asked.
‘Thief.’
‘Tell him I’m going to break his arm so he won’t steal any more.’
The old man translated it into rough Spanish. The kid looked frightened.
Then, with one motion, Dillinger flung the kid to the ground, giving him a chance to scamper away.
Dillinger laughed, and only then did he notice that the whole scene had been observed by Senor Rivera from the doorway.
‘Bravo, Senor Jordan,’ Rivera said.
‘I apologize for the intermission,’ Dillinger said, ‘but I really like that car the way it is.’
‘Understandable.’
The old man, his face a mask of disgrace, was holding out the five dollar bill Dillinger had given him. ‘I guess you want this back. I didn’t do too good watching your car for you.’
‘You did fine. If you hadn’t yelled, I wouldn’t have come out. Just what I wanted.’ He reached under the front seat of the car and pulled out a big flannel rag. ‘Here. Why don’t you clean the dust off the car while I talk to this gentleman. If you’re dusting it, I don’t think anybody else will bother it.’
‘Absolutely, Mr Jordan,’ the old man said, taking the rag and hastily pocketing the five-dollar bill again.
Rivera said, ‘Perhaps now we can talk in your room where it will be quieter, senor?’
Dillinger hesitated and then shrugged. ‘Why not?’
He collected his suitcase from the front desk and led the way up the broad wooden stairs to the first floor and unlocked the door at the end of the corridor. The room was like an oven. The fan in the ceiling was not moving.
Dillinger yanked the pull chain; nothing happened. He flicked both switches on the wall. One turned on the light. The other did nothing.
‘Mexico is not like the United States,’ Rivera said. Dillinger moved to open the French windows and nodded towards a table on which stood a pitcher of iced water and several glasses.
‘Help yourself. If you don’t mind, I’ll have a wash.’
When Dillinger took his jacket off, Rivera noticed the underarm holster and gun with interest. No wonder the man could act with such authority. So much the better!
Dillinger put the holster down within easy reach. This Rivera looked rich. Dillinger trusted rich people less than poor people.
He stripped to the waist, poured lukewarm water from a pitcher into the basin on the washstand in one corner and sluiced his head and shoulders.
Rivera said, ‘If you have not been to Mexico before, I recommend you order bottled water, Senor. American stomachs do not like our water.’
Dillinger nodded his thanks. Rivera sat down in a wicker chair by the table and Dillinger walked to the window, towelling his damp hair. A steam whistle blasted once, the sound echoing back from the mountains across the flat roofs, and a wisp of smoke drifted lazily into the sky from the station.
Rivera put down his glass and said, ‘I’d like to offer you a job, Senor Jordan.’
‘What kind of a job?’ Dillinger was amused. This guy certainly didn’t know who he was.
‘I’ve re-opened an old gold mine near my hacienda at Hermosa. That’s a small town in the northern foothills of the Sierra Madre, towards the American border. Hermosa and the area around it is rough country. The peasants are animals and the Indians who work the mines ...’ He shrugged. ‘But you will find this out for yourself. What I need is a man of authority, who will work with me for six months or a year. Keep discipline. You know what I mean?’
This guy was fascinating, Dillinger thought. ‘Who keeps discipline for you now, Mr Rivera?’
‘Ah,’ Rivera said. ‘I had a good man, also an American, very tall, very strong. He didn’t want to go back to the States, the police bothered him there, and so he had an accident and now I have to replace him. I hope with you.’
‘In one sentence,’ Dillinger said, ‘not a chance.’
‘You have not heard my terms, senor. Two thousand dollars in gold for six months, five thousand dollars in gold for a year.’
Dillinger was really tempted to tell this fancy jerk that he’d made that much in five minutes by vaulting over a counter and emptying a teller’s drawer.
‘En oh,’ Dillinger said. ‘That spells no. But how would you like to work for me while I am in Mexico? You could be my guide. I’ll pay you a thousand dollars for a month, how’s that?’
Anger blazed in Rivera’s dark eyes. The jagged white scar that bisected the left cheek that Dillinger hadn’t paid attention to before seemed to stand out suddenly against the brown skin. Rivera took a cigarillo from his breast pocket and lit it. When he looked up, he had control again.
‘I know you did not mean to insult me, Senor. You do not know the ways of Mexico.’ He took a slow puff. ‘I usually get what I want, Senor Jordan. We have a saying: A man must be prepared to pay for past sins. I will pay you double what I paid the other American if you return to Hermosa with me. My final offer.’
‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ Dillinger said gently. ‘I’m really here on a kind of vacation.’
He was aware of the sweat trickling from his armpits, soaking into his shirt and poured himself a glass of iced water, then remembered Rivera’s warning.
Rivera said calmly, ‘Your final word?’
‘Yes. Sorry we can’t do business.’
Rivera walked to the door and opened it. ‘So am I, Senor Jordan. So am I.’
He closed the door behind him and descended the wide wooden stairs to the lobby and went outside. He found the old man who was guarding Dillinger’s convertible sitting on the bench, a small bottle of tequila in hand. So, he’d spent some of the money already.
‘Hello, Fallon, I thought I recognized you. Having a difficult time of it lately?’
The old man looked at him sourly. ‘You should know, Mr Rivera!’
‘You needed a lesson,