Chapter Four
Four or five whiskeys with soda and shaved ice started to augment the fascination of the trophy-class black marlin hanging from the ceiling of the SolMar’s main bar. Over twenty five feet long, with a yard of fin sticking up and two feet of antenna-like appendages to either side, it increasingly looked to Con O’Donough like an airship of some kind, a deep space object.
He was imagining this beautiful sleek behemoth soaring weightless in the open sea, thundering into its prey like a highballing freight. It choked him up to think of it, and to realize that the fishermen were kidding themselves by hauling them in on line, hanging their carcasses up to weigh and photograph. Their beauty would only be fully revealed in their deep, free range. It suddenly hit him that nobody had ever really seen a real, working marlin.
At the sound of footsteps on the terrazzo floor he looked down from the marlin and at the man walking towards him through the cool, airy bar. O’Donough was a little surprised at what he saw. The dark complexion was mostly suntan, of course, but the thick black brows and shock of coarse black hair made him look practically Italian. Except for the thick bones and that heavy mule’s jaw. Anyway, he looked competent enough, moved like a damn prizefighter, certainly not the way a body should in his forties. Maybe living on beaches in a camper bus kept one youthful. He spread an arm to offer the table’s other chair, then stood to extend it for a shake. He said, “Thank you so much for joining me, Mr. Hardesty.”
The guy shook his hand with a quick, light grip and said, “Those soldiers made it seem like more than an idle invitation. And please. Call me Doc.”
Standing for the handshake O’Donough was further surprised to notice that Hardesty was five or six inches taller than himself, maybe six foot four. There was a proportion about the man’s body that gave the impression of average size, the same way Magic Johnson looks so normal. You look at pictures of Magic and Michael Jordan, and who’d guess that Johnson is six inches taller? And who’d look at this diffident beach bum and see a trained killer? It hit O’Donough that those who hire these men and send them out never really get to see them in operation.
O’Donough nodded to one of the hovering waiters, who took Doc’s order for a brandy and seven up. He gave him an old man’s sunny smile and said, “You must be of the Black Irish.”
Doc nodded civilly, “I suppose. We never kept much track of the old sod counties or anything. In fact, my mother was a French war bride.”
O’Donough nodded judiciously, playing the silver-maned old grandsire. His florid face and long white hair would have suited him perfectly as a Boston police sergeant or harp wardheeler. As a southerner, they conjured up a carpetbag biblebelt demagogue straight out of Al Capp, the kind of image Southern politicians cultivate and exploit in a way that outsiders have never understood. They had ground their teeth over him just like they did over Hughie Long and George Wallace and Jesse Helms, with absolutely no idea why things so blatantly antithetical to their own sensibilities could succeed so well for so long.
Though a Catholic, he managed to project evangelical faith so well that most people probably thought he was a Baptist. He probably could have been elected governor of any of five or six states, and always threatened to take just such a job if he ever felt like retiring. He waited for Doc to taste his drink then said, “Well, let’s just call it a ‘power invitation’. I’m in the jam of my life and the local people are co-operating enthusiastically.”
“I kind of got the feeling you invited me here–since we’re calling it that–for something more than a drinking companion. I’ll bet you’ve got some sort of proposition I can politely refuse.”
“Maybe. I will certainly want your advice and counsel and am prepared to pay you for whatever you can do to get me out of this.”
That set Doc back a bit. Con O’Donough’s problems and triumphs tended to be larger than life. He said, “How do you think I can help somebody of your resources?”
“Which means you know who I am. Including my involvement in the current administration?”
“Are they still calling it Drug Czar?”
“Not since I took it over. I ask because my role in the Drug War might be significant to what has happened.” He paused for a deep drink and a deep sigh. It seemed to both deflate and harden him, removing some of the public poise to reveal him as both disheartened and ruthless. He went on, “Mr. Hardesty, my daughter was kidnapped from her hotel room here two days ago. There has been no note and no sign of her captors. I am determined to do everything I can to get her back unharmed.”
Doc leaned back slowly, his eyes on the older man. “And you want MY advice and assistance?”
O’Donough acknowledged with a wry look that he knew it sounded silly, but replied with a flat. “Yes, I do.”
Doc thought a minute, stirring his drink with his finger. He said, “You’re a rich enough target if half of what they say is true. But your position makes it a good chance the motive is political or drug-related, rather than just a snatch for ransom. If it was terrorists, you would have heard something by now, I think. Or will in the next day or two.”
“That is my own thought. And those of the authorities.”
“So are they rounding up the usual suspects?”
“Oh yes they are. In fact, you might say you’re one of them. One of the first things the Federales did after I arrived was to sweep the entire capes area and match their findings up with computer records. The registration on that school bus of yours came up. You may be a simple beach bum here in the Baja. Or you may not, of course. But to those computers at Interpol and such you’re a known mercenary with a bit of prison time and a history of involvement with smugglers. So you come recommended.”
“Boy, you’re really taking me back.”
“No, nothing recent, but nevertheless, it’s a matter of record. Your presence in the country was noted when you picked up your auto permit, it was known that you were in La Paz just before the kidnapping.
Doc spread his arms in a “search me” gesture, “You think I swiped your daughter? So you hauled me in to go through my pockets for her? I didn’t do it, cross my heart. I gave up on picking up rich girls a long time ago.”
O’Donough’s smile was perfunctory. “You’re not suspected at the moment. But when I looked at your dossier…”
“My dossier, no less. Damn. I guess a man is never as lost as he thinks.”
“Not even when he works at it.”
“I think I liked Mexico better before they got computers.”
“I can see how you might. Especially since there’s more than a taint of drug involvement in them. Going back a long time. And connecting you to some moderately big figures.”
“But I’m a man of few convictions. You impressed me more by turning me up in a thousand miles of desert than by bandying a bunch of stale DEA rumors around.”
“That’s what we have in the Drug War, rumors. Until they get to be convictions.”
“Or fatalities”
“Half of those turn out to be rumors.”
“Lines get fuzzy when you outlaw states of mind and declare war on your own people.”
“Nice business you do, Hardesty,” O’Donough was suddenly very stern and concerned, a silver-haired patriarch. Another persona, Doc thought, this guy can go from Big Brother to Big Daddy to Father Christmas to Dutch uncle in five flat. He’s got a hundred masks and they add up to him running your life. But in a caring kind of way.
“My business is photography,” Doc reminded him blandly. “And I’ve never figured that what other people do in the privacy of their bedrooms or bloodstreams is anybody’s business but their own. You wanted a war, you’re got your war. I’m through with mine.”
“You’re an artiste now, so the dirt doesn’t stick any more?”
“What dirt? You’re all shook up about faint gossip I might have hung out with some drug runners. You care nothing about my long and proven record of murdering people for money. I’ve done a lot of things I’m deeply ashamed of and I’ve piled up karma I’ll never burn off, and I got medals for it. It started when I was eighteen and the U.S. government got their hands on me and turned me into a gook killer. I got so good I kept at it for awhile. But you don’t hold that against me, do you? In fact, that’s maybe why we’re having this little chat, isn’t it?”
O’Donough slowly relaxed his face and his posture, settling down in his chair to examine Doc more closely. After a moment he said, “Yes. Your records show a lot of counter-insurgency work and I was hoping you might advise me. Perhaps help locate my daughter, even try to negotiate for her.”
“Advisor. That’s how it always starts out, doesn’t it. Before moving on to body counts and carpet bombing and those civilized tricks our benevolent governments pull when they aren’t running around worrying about the evils of smoking pot or tooting coke.”
O’Donough ignored the dig, but nodded his head, “I’ve heard you’re very good at raids and hostages and such.”
Doc shifted his stare past the man, out to the ocean. He was smiling, but O’Donough didn’t see any humor in it, just a tired kind of sadness. Doc said, “Then I’m surprised you didn’t hear that I don’t have such a hot record of getting them out alive.”
O’Donough shifted in his chair, suddenly directing a scrutiny so concentrated Doc could almost feel it sweep his face. At last he said, “Well, I appreciate candor.”
“Then you’ll love this,” Doc said, but in a much gentler tone, “There’s a good chance she’s already dead. We’re in the middle of a desert in the middle of an ocean. She could be a mile from here right now and never get found.”
O’Donough kept his eyes locked on Doc’s and said, without expression, “Don’t spare my feelings, son. Give it to me straight.”
“I’m afraid I like to start at the downside and work up.”
“So do I. I’m starting to feel a certain confidence in you Mr. Hardesty. It must be your hard sell techniques. Will you help me find my daughter?”
“Please, just call me Doc. And, I don’t mind commiserating or discussing this with you, but I’m not really for hire. I told you, I’m a photographer.”
“You’re also a chance, a card I can play. If I can buy you I will. I’m completely committed to this action and I’ll do anything to get my daughter back.”
“Of course you will…”
O’Donough cut Doc off, “This is beyond ‘of course’. The fact is, I never cared enough about her, never loved her the way a man should love his own flesh. I know that now, maybe too late to do her any good, but it’s making it more important for me to do everything I can for her. Does that make sense?”
Doc saw changes in the muscles in O’Donough’s skull. He had seen masks of power, humor, and advantage slip off the old face, now he felt like he was seeing the last mask falling away. That he was seeing the naked man; pale, shaky and unused to public appearance. Very gently, he said, “It makes perfect sense. It’s a lot easier to live with a loss when your own conscience is clear.”
O’Donough seemed surprised, as if he’d missed an obvious point. He said, “Exactly. I’m amazed that you understand me so well, but I hope it helps you decide to help. God, I already lost my dear boy. But not this, not my girl too. Not like this.” His voice has started to shake and he seemed to age as he spoke. Suddenly he stopped and seemed to seize hold of something. He glared fiercely at Doc and said, “I hope you don’t think I’m trying to sway you with a display of maudlin emotion.”
Doc said, “Why would you hate for me to think that?”
“Because it’s true, dammit. I’m not a man who likes to beg or ask for sympathy. But it’s my little girl. She’s no blushing magnolia. Fact is, she’s a bitch. And I’m sure she married that jackass just because he was the first buck she ever met who she didn’t impress. But she’s all I got left, my only chance to have any grandchildren. She’s my only blood, son. Will you go find her for me? All I’ve got left is just the plea of old man for his only daughter. If that doesn’t turn your head, I’ll just have to go with the army or feds or the DEA or some other damn fools sure to get her killed.”
O’Donough seemed to find a second wind in the unexpected exposure of his feelings. Power seemed to fall back around his face and silver mane as he spoke. “I let that girl down her whole damn life and I won’t be able to live with myself or her mother if I can’t somehow make it up to her.”
“Take my word for it,” Doc said, “You can’t make it up to her.”
“You know something about it, do you? Well, I won’t ask. But I will beg you to help me get her back so I won’t collapse under the guilt of it. I may be unfashionably rich and powerful and old and white, but don’t I deserve one more chance to try to save my own soul, and just maybe give her back what I should have given her before?”
Doc said, “I’m always a sucker for a second chance. Let me look around, ask some questions, see if I can find you anything.”
O’Donough looked at him gratefully, not trying to hide the triumph of having won him over. “Thank you, son. I consider this a kindness, and it won’t go unrewarded.”
Doc said, “Let’s meet at Estela’s around ten tonight and see what I’ve found out. Bring anybody else you want involved.”