"Who the fuck is this? We don't open till nine."
The first sound of his voice brought a wave of relief, but then his
cocky attitude made me livid all over again.
"It's Morgan James, you shit. Why did you leave me stranded up here?
You have no idea what--"
"Oh, you . . ." He paused for a cigarette cough. "You made me walk all
the way downstairs just to bust my chops. What the--?"
"Talk to me, you prick." I still intended to strangle him. "I need your
help. You owe me. You have no idea what--"
"Hey, lady, you didn't possibly believe taking off in that fucking
hurricane was my . . . Let's just say I was acting under duress. I all
but didn't get back."
"Well, you can start making up for that right now by springing me the
hell out of here." So, somebody had put him up to it, just like I'd
thought all along. But who? "I want you to look up the number for the
American embassy. And tell me the name of somebody there who--"
"Jesus, you truly don't get the picture, do you?" He paused for another
early-morning reefer hack.
"I 'get' that you--"
"Missy, it was a high official at that very establishment 'suggested' I
fly you up there. Why the hell else would I do it, for chrissake? You
know I'm not a citizen of this fun house. Said party noted that if I
didn't, he could make a few phone calls about my residency status, my
pilot's license . . . Let's just say it was an offer I didn't see fit
to take issue with."
"Oh, my God." I felt like a knife had just plunged into my back. "Was
his name Barry Morton? Please tell me."
"Taking the Fifth on that one," he said coughing again. "But you've got
primal instincts."
I heard a noise outside and sank lower in the chair. What was I going
to do now?
"Listen, do you have any idea where Steve is? They're looking--"
"No shit, Madame Sherlock. I had a long, deeply uninspiring
interrogation by a couple of upscale assholes who showed up here in an
Army Jeep. They wanted to know where the fuck he was, when I'd supped
with him last. Let me inform you, love, you got my old heartstrings
buddy in some decided doo-doo."
"I feel guilty enough about that as is, so stop." In spite of all Alex
Goddard had done, I felt horrible about Steve, like a self-involved
witch. "But do you know where he is now?"
"Haven't the foggiest fucking idea, never heard of the jerk. Shit, hang
on." The line went silent, and I could feel my pulse pounding.
Outside the office door, I heard footsteps approaching down the hall.
Please, God, please. But then they passed by, terminating where the two
soldiers had been dozing. Next I heard the tones of a solid
dressing-down in profane Spanish.
"_Tu heres un pedaso de mierda!"_
Then came a familiar voice from the receiver. I couldn't believe it.
"Morgy, why in hell did you let Alan take you up there by yourself?"
His tone had a sadness, and a deserved pique, that cut me to the core.