“Harvesting grapes along the Ribeira Sacra.”
The man said nothing, but his lips twitched behind that big mustache, and he nodded slowly with a surprised expression. Was he in fact impressed?
Nogueira tossed his cigarette butt into the sand-filled receptacle. “Let’s go.” He walked toward the almost empty parking lot.
“Aren’t you going to tell me where the calls came from?”
“Later will be better,” Nogueira said, dismissing his request. “Let’s get going. The girl will be busy later tonight, and getting to her’ll be complicated.” He saw the dog trailing after them. “What the hell is that?”
“‘That’ is my dog,” Manuel replied with studied indifference. “The name is Café, and he’s with me.”
“Definitely not in my car.”
Manuel stopped and looked him up and down. “I was planning to take mine so you could stay afterward. If you want.”
He saw Nogueira put the hand with the wedding ring behind his back. “I already told you we’d discuss the phone calls afterward.”
“Okay.” Manuel clicked the remote to unlock the car, swung the rear door open, and lifted Café into the backseat.
Nogueira hesitated for a moment, surveying the parking lot.
“And please drive. As a favor to me. I can hardly lift a finger.” Manuel felt the leaden weight of his legs.
That seemed to pacify Nogueira, who walked decisively around the car to the driver’s side and got in. “Key?”
“There is no key. It starts automatically.” Manuel showed him the button, pushed it, and the engine came to life.
Nogueira watched without comment as the side mirrors swung out. The BMW’s electronic systems registered the reduced light, turned on the headlights, and adjusted them. The policeman said nothing, but Manuel saw he was enjoying this. The loving care with which the lieutenant treated his own car showed why he was as pleased as punch to be riding in the latest model. Nogueira peered into the rearview mirror. “Where’d you get that thing?” he asked, plainly referring to Café.
Manuel smiled, looking forward to astonishing Nogueira. “From As Grileiras. This was álvaro’s dog. Apparently he picked it up as a stray.” He offered the simple version. Though the notion of a rescue was more heroic, he assumed Nogueira would sneer at such charity.
Nogueira raised an eyebrow, baffled, and peered again into the rearview mirror even though the dog was invisible in the gathering darkness. “A dog like that at As Grileiras?”
“For the last year, more or less. He found the dog in a terrible shape along the road to the winery, took it to the estate, and had the vet take care of it. Santiago can’t stand the sight of it.”
“Well, for once I have to agree with the fancy-pants marquis. That’s the ugliest fucking little dog in the whole damn world.”
“Nogueira!”
The lieutenant looked at him with a candid grin that made him look twenty years younger. “Oh, give me a break, writer man. You gotta admit the dog is butt ugly.”
Manuel turned to look. Café was perched stiffly on the backseat as if participating in the conversation. His rough fur bristled with static electricity. One ear hung limp, and a fang jutted up from his crooked jaw. Manuel exchanged glances with Nogueira and grinned, conceding the point.
The jammed parking lot at the roadhouse was lit by the hectic pink and blue neon of the bar sign. They drove in and had to park at the far end. Nogueira turned off the engine. His hands ran down along the steering wheel in a gesture that was practically a caress. “Wonderful vehicle, se?or. It must have cost you a fortune.”
“I sold a lot of books last year.” Manuel smiled but anticipated a sarcastic reply. He didn’t get one.
“You have every reason to be pleased.” Nogueira ran his fingertips along the dashboard.
Spurred by the officer’s good mood, Manuel decided to chance it. “Nogueira, I don’t know if this makes sense to you, but the thought of álvaro in that place is really painful to me.”
“Want to wait here?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Nogueira made no comment. He opened the door, got out, and walked to the entrance. From the car Manuel saw Nogueira’s fake leather jacket change colors with the neon as he crossed the parking lot.
Manuel helped Café to the front seat and looked for music on the radio. He settled down to wait, remembering all too well Daniel’s friendly warning that he’d ache all over the next day.
A sharp rap on the window startled him. Out in the electric blur of the neon he saw a face he recognized as that of the prostitute they’d called Baby. He started to get out, but she blocked the door and signaled to him to lower the window.
“Hey!” Her hoarse voice disappointed him; perhaps she had a touch of laryngitis.
He didn’t know what she wanted.
She hunched down by the car to peer in and spoke before he could find anything to say. “You know who I am?”
“Yes.”
“I got something to tell you, and I can’t do it inside there.”
He saw she was wearing only a thin satin robe over her underwear.
“Get into the car. You’ll freeze out there.”
“No, if you open the door, the Mammoth over there,” she said, jabbing a thumb toward the albino cowboy on guard at the door, “is going to notice the light. He’ll come snooping. Anyhow, this is against the rules. The boss doesn’t want us out in the parking lot. No freelancing allowed.”
Manuel nodded to indicate he understood. He used the moment to get a close look at her. She really was beautiful: those big saucy eyes studying him to evaluate his age, his clothing, his importance; that full mouth, looking so innocent, with pink lips like those of a child, no lipstick required. Her soft dark mane of hair, natural in color, cascaded down either side of her face. Its perfect oval reminded him with startling clarity of the beautiful sergeant who’d forced her way into his home to deliver news of catastrophe. Perhaps that was a sign, he thought, a signal to warn him that news from someone this beautiful would be equally disastrous. If so, it would be reason enough to hate such beauty.
He made no effort to hide his distrust. “What do you want?”
“We never did it!” she blurted.
“What?” He was confused.
“Your boyfriend and I never did nothing.”
Manuel’s mouth worked but nothing came out.
“Double negative,” the girl said, grinning at a joke that for the moment only she was capable of understanding. “Well, yeah, sure we did something. We talked. What I mean is, we never fucked.”
Manuel still found nothing to say.
“The brother’s different, he’s a regular. Comes by a lot, and your boyfriend came with him.”
“He was my husband,” Manuel managed to say in a choked voice.
She kept talking; he was sure she hadn’t heard him. “The first time don Santiago was really drunk and really insisted he pick one of the girls. He chose me, but when we got to the room he said he’d come upstairs to avoid explaining something to his brother. Said he was faithful to his love and we weren’t gonna do nothing. Don Santiago already gave me the money, but your guy paid me some more and made me promise not to tell. Hey, I don’t care, you know? And I wouldn’t have minded with him anyhow, he was really good-looking. But when I saw you the other night I realized it wasn’t just on principle.” She smiled with a little tilt of the head. “He visited a couple more times, maybe three, max, and it was always like that. We went upstairs, talked a while, he paid me extra, and that was it. The other night I saw you and Nogueira, and today the boss told Mili and me you wanted to ask about his visits. I can’t admit it in front of the boss. She says we always have to provide the goods, ’cause there’s some of ’em who ask for their money back afterwards. That wasn’t the deal. But she’d give me hell if she knew I got paid double, so . . .”
She reached up with a slim hand and grabbed the car door to steady herself. Her artificial nails were jet black.