A Matter of Trust

7 - Meeting Gravestone

Vincent Crocadero sat uncomfortably in the wing-backed chair across from the massive, glass-topped desk. He watched silently as the man behind the desk applied his signature with a flourish to a series of pages then closed the folder and handed it to the petite young woman obediently waiting.

"What happened to your hand, Vincent?" The voice was as flat as the face; a slab of beige, compliments of a tanning salon, with a wide, equally flat nose splitting the surface between two arched, bushy brows. The lips had a pink tinge and moved with exaggeration as they formed each word.

"I broke a finger." He rubbed the gaudy bandage self consciously.

"How?"

"I just broke it, okay?"

"Hmmm. What happened with Miss Howard?"

"She gave the statue to some guy she works with. I didn't find out 'till after I got her alone in the car. I poked around and found out who it was and went to his place and searched it thoroughly but it wasn't there."

"Poked around. Is that how you broke your finger?"

"No I-"

"Who was the . . . guy?"

"An Arnold Wainright. He's just a co-worker, nothin' special."

"So what do you suppose Mister Wainright did with the statue?"

Vincent considered his shoes for a moment. He knew damn well that Bishop Gravestone knew all about them leaving the country before he caught up with them. This was just his way of leading up to a punishment for failure.

"It's with Howard, Wainright and the professor, on the way to Mexico." He sighed and waited for the dunning.

"And this Wainright was nothing special." It was not a question.

"Not that I knew about."

Gravestone swiveled back and forth for a moment considering his employee. "How are you in the tropics, Vincent. Does extreme heat bother you?"

Vincent recoiled inside. He was going to Mexico for screwing up. "I dunno, haven't been in the tropics much."

"Really? Well then, time for a new experience, Vincent. You will hie to Mexico, pick up our friend's trail and either retrieve the statue, uncover what they are up to, dispose of them, or all three."

Two fat-fingered hands spread apart, palms up, in a gesture of c'est la vie. "Am I clear on this point?"

"It might be helpful if I knew what part of Mexico to hie to." Vincent said with obvious disgust.

"Bear in mind just whom you are speaking to when you use that tone of voice. I happen to know where they went first and to make positively certain you don't let me down . . . again . . .I'm sending Claude along to keep you company."

Vincent tried to swallow but his throat seized. Claude DeGeer was a stone killer interested only in plying his trade as often and as brutally as possible. "Is that really necessary, Mister Gravestone?"

"He has the tickets and is waiting in the anteroom. Have a nice trip, Vincent." Gravestone immediately picked up the phone and punched in a number. Vincent was through. Done. Dismissed.

*****

"Captain Gomez was a simple constable when I first met him," the professor was shouting, over the roar of the jeep racing down the highway. "We met when the dig I was on was raided by banditos."

"Banditos?" Arnold gave Gretta a doubtful glance.

"Absolutely. They were looking for radios, cameras and the like for their revolutionary comrades. You must remember, Arnold, this was twenty-five years or so ago. The sites we worked were deep into the mountains and jungles and close to the borders of neighbouring states."