The Mexico Run by Lionel White Read Free Book Online Page A

looked up at me, but didn't say anything. Neither did I. Instead, I hesitated in the doorway and looked over at the man sprawled in the big armchair by the window.
        He had a complexion of burnished copper, a pencil moustache, and he wore a pair of dark, gold-rimmed glasses. His gray hair was parted at one side and neatly combed. He wore a dark-blue silk suit, perfectly cut, a white, shantung shirt, a pair of glistening-black cowboy boots. His hands were beautifully manicured, and there were rings on both index fingers. He was broad-shouldered, slender, and tall for a Mexican.
        I walked into the room and crossed over and took the cigarette out of Sharon's mouth and went into the bathroom and flushed it down the toilet.
        I went back and closed the door and then went over to the table and sat down in the straight-backed chair next to it.
        "Senor Johns, I presume?"
        His voice was like poured liquid.
        I nodded.
        "This charming senorita, your daughter, yes…"-he made it sound like a question, but from the twisted smile on his thin lips, it was obviously a question to which he expected no answer and needed none- "… has been kind enough to entertain me while I awaited you. I am Captain Morales."
        The charming senorita coughed and covered her mouth with her hand and let out a small, embarrassed laugh.
        I saw that she still hadn't packed her bag.
        "Now that I am back, Sharon, you can go out and do that shopping you wanted to do. Take a taxi into town and don't hurry. I'll be here when you get back. I am sure that the captain will excuse you."
        She hesitated for a moment, looking at me oddly, as though she hadn't heard quite right. And then she slowly stood up, still with that half-silly grin on her face, and without a word left the room.
        I could sense Morales' eyes following her as she crossed over to pass through the door.
        "Sharon," he said. "A very lovely name. And a very lovely young girl. You Americanos are so fortunate in your women. So blond, so beautiful, so charming."
        "So shit," I said. But I said it under my breath.
        He hesitated and then suddenly stood up. He was taller than I thought, a good six feet. His suit was beautifully cut, but it wasn't cut beautifully enough to conceal the shoulder holster he wore. It was on his right side, so I figured he must be a leftie. He went to the door, opened it quietly, looked up and down the hall, then closed the door and locked it. He went back to his seat, and this time when he spoke, there wasn't the slightest trace of a Mexican accent. His voice was like ice.
        "All right. You wanted to see me. I am here."
        "I appreciate your coming, captain," I said. "My name, as you know, is Mark Johns. I am an American citizen. I have recently returned after a tour of duty in Vietnam. Out in Saigon I did business with a man named Bongo, whom I understand you know."
        He said nothing, waiting for me to go on. I took the wallet out of my hip pocket, searched in it, and found the cellophane-covered copy of the handwritten note which Bongo had given me. Wordlessly, I handed it to him.
        I watched him closely as he read it. I had already memorized exactly what it said.
        
***
        
         Captain Hernando Morales:
         This will serve to introduce to you Sergeant Mark Johns, whom I have known and done business with for several months. Sergeant Johns is completely trustworthy, completely reliable, and can be counted upon, depended upon, to do anything he says he will do. He is a man of utter integrity and I am sure that it will be to your mutual benefit to know each other. My own business dealings with him have been both profitable and satisfactory.
         Bongo
        
***
        
        Beneath the name was a set of fingerprints. I waited until he was through, and then I said, "The letter is authentic. I believe you have