Eduardo grinned and slapped the bar, then went to the cooler and came back with an open bottle of Modelo. He was right; this bottle was almost twice the size of the baby Budweiser he had given Noah before. Noah held it up in salute, and took a long pull before setting it down.
“That is very good,” he said. “Thank you, I really appreciate you letting me know about that.” He took another pull, then stretched, leaning back on the stool, and twisting himself as if trying to pop his back. He leaned forward, then, and as he did so he pressed the bubblegum-wad spy camera up under the bar, right beside the wall where it could get a wide-angle view of everything in front of the bar.
He smiled at Eduardo. “Gotta stretch my legs,” he said. “Which way is the bathroom?”
Eduardo pointed to a door in the back wall. “First door on the left,” he said.
Noah went through the doorway, and found the toilet. He used it, then took the sheet of sticker microphones from his pocket and, following the instructions Neil had given him, gently stuck one onto the tip of each of his fingers, except for the thumb and index finger of each hand. He went back out into the tavern, and pressed the tip of his pinky against the outside of the door. The little microphone that had been stuck there was suddenly and permanently affixed to the door.
Noah walked around the tavern, looking at different signs on the wall, decorations that had been hung up over the years, and occasionally reached out to touch something. One sign was particularly amusing, and Noah called out to Eduardo as he stuck a microphone to it. It showed a cowboy hat sitting on top of a pair of cowboy boots, and the caption underneath read: “Portrait of a Cowboy with the Shit Kicked Out of Him.”
“This is hilarious,” he yelled to Eduardo, who laughed with him. “I wish I had a copy of this to hang on my wall back home. I’ve got this neighbor, he’s originally from Texas, and he thinks he’s just the greatest thing in the world. He calls himself a cowboy, and I would love for him to see that!”
Eduardo laughed again. “That would be very funny.”
Noah went back to his seat as the front door opened and three men walked in. He glanced at them, but when one of them gave him a challenging glare, he turned his attention back to his bottle.
One of the men, and Noah thought it was the one who had glared at him, rattled off something in rapid Spanish. Eduardo grinned, and replied in English. “He is just visiting,” he said. “He is looking for some things to buy, to take home and sell to make money.”
All three of the men suddenly turned to look at Noah, and one of them walked over to stand beside him. “I am Raul,” he said. “Raul Delgado. I should tell you, we do not like new gringos who come to our town and think they can make us do business with them the way they want.”
Noah turned on his stool to look Raul in the eye. “My name is John Baker,” he said, “and the only reason I came here is because somebody I work for told me to. I’m not trying to make anybody do anything, that much I can promise you. I’m just here to buy some things, and arrange to get them shipped back home. That’s all, I promise.”
Raul put his arms over his head and stretched, leaning backward so that the loose shirt he was wearing rode up in the front. The big revolver that was shoved down the front of his jeans became visible, and Noah looked down to make it clear to Raul that he had seen it. He raised his eyes back up to Raul’s own, and smiled, once more trying to appear nervous.
“Listen, Raul, I’m not trying to make anybody do anything. I’m just a buyer, and I work for other people. When they tell me go here, then that’s what I do, and all I’m doing is looking for sources of the things my clients want. Now, the good part is, they give me lots and lots of money to work with. If I find what I’m looking for, and we can come to an agreement on price and make arrangements on how to get it back home, then I can make a phone call and have money sent anywhere in the world, it only takes a couple of minutes. Heck, I don’t even need to know who I’m buying from, all I need to know is where to send the money, and where I get to pick up my merchandise.”
Raul grinned at him, and suddenly clapped him on the shoulder. “John Baker, perhaps we can do some business. What kind of thing is if you’re looking for?”
Noah tried to keep the nervousness up, as he said, “Well, you know, I’m just sort of hanging around right now to see what might be available. But if I had to say something in particular, I’d probably say I was looking for cocaine, maybe some heroin.” He let his eyes flick from Raul to his two friends and back, trying to get the impression that he was afraid they might be federales.