|
"Probablemente," he said, "these women have already gone home." "But ..." Alex stumbled over his words. "But I was drugged. With narcotics. Your own doctor will tell you that. And they must have been drugged too." "Si, si!" Castella was getting impatient. He was thinking of a hot, little chica waiting for him. One who needed some police protection. He grinned at the thought of the kind of protection he was going to give her. "What is it you have lost, senor?" Alex, despite his dismay, filled Castella in with a detailed description of his wallet, lighter, ring and jeweled cuff links and tie clasp that had disappeared. |
|
|
"Bolero!" The detective stood up, opened the drawer of his desk and took out a small, pearl handled automatic pistol. He stuck that in his coat pocket and then led Alex out of the dingy green room into the musty hallway where he signaled to a younger, cleaner cut detective. Obviously a rookie from the eager way he responded.
They drove to the whorehouse in relative silence, each immersed in his own thoughts. Alex had the sinking feeling that he was the only one in any way concerned with finding the two women. The fat detective was acting as if he had a date somewhere else and kept looking at his watch. The youngster would look too and nod his head every time the older cop did.
The doorman tried to slam the door in their faces, but it was too late. The fat cop looked slow, but he had his shoulder through the door while the kid was still trying to decide where to put his hands.
Inside, they pushed their way to the main room where the whores were already hard at work. Hurriedly, the projectionist snapped off the projector and covered it up with a sheet.
The cop studiously pretended it wasn't there, as if he didn't have to walk around it to talk to the man he wanted to see.
They talked in high-speed Spanish for a few minutes while the young cop furtively peeked under the sheet trying to get a good look at what was on the film.