by Nina Berry
Pagan stopped in her tracks. Mercedes glanced back, but she kept walking. Her cheeks were pink. Was she actually blushing? Pagan hustled to catch up. “Was it?”
Mercedes shook her head, staring down at her feet as she walked. “Nope. Girls are nice and pretty and all, but I didn’t feel a thing.”
“But then...” Pagan didn’t know where to go from here. “You probably haven’t found the right person.”
“Maybe.” Mercedes frowned. She actually looked worried. “So far no one’s tempted me. All I want to do is read the next issue of Fantastic Four and study astrophysics.”
“So—you don’t want to get married? Have children?” Pagan was trying to wrap her head around this.
“It just never occurred to me. Do you?” Mercedes asked.
“Of course!” Pagan said automatically, then thought more. “But I’m not sure why.”
“Everybody says that’s what makes women happy,” Mercedes said. Her voice was unusually uncertain for her. “So if I don’t want it, what does that make me?”
Pagan frowned. “You’re still a girl! You’re still a woman. What else would you be?”
Mercedes said nothing, staring fixedly off into the distance. A couple of young men lounging in a doorway pursed their lips and made kissing noises at them as they walked past. Pagan resisted the urge to throw them a rude gesture.
“Well, nobody’s going to want to marry me, so we can be spinster old ladies together,” she said.
Mercedes thought that over as they passed a shop filled with colorful glass bottles, and another selling shiny leather goods.
Mercedes glanced over her shoulder, then back at Pagan, her expression softening. “As long as I do the cooking.”
Pagan laughed. “Deal.”
Mercedes squinted at her thoughtfully. “Except, you like kids.”
Kids. Ava. Her little sister, dead for more than a year now.
How Pagan missed pressing her cheek against that soft head of blond hair, missed making crazy faces to turn that that serious, frowning expression into a laugh. Pagan’s and Ava’s fingers had warred over the piano keys in furious duets. Their voices had meshed and clashed as they read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe out loud in tandem. They were so different yet so close.
What would Ava be like now if she had survived the accident Pagan had caused? What would Ava say about Pagan’s quest to find the mysterious Dr. Someone who had visited them so many years ago?
“I wouldn’t mind having kids if they were like Ava,” Pagan said. It was getting easier to say her sister’s name, but still it made her throat close, her fists clench.
“You’d be a fun mom,” Mercedes said.
“I’m still figuring out how to go a day without drinking,” Pagan said. “One thing at a time, please. Mostly I wish I didn’t have to go back to the movie shoot tomorrow. I used to think the tango was wonderful, but now...”
“Maybe you haven’t found the right partner,” Mercedes said tartly. She glanced over her shoulder again and a frown had creased the smooth skin between her eyebrows. Her almond eyes flicked briefly over her shoulder again. But she kept walking.
“What?” Pagan said.
“Don’t look. But the same man that’s behind us now was behind us before, in front of the Casa Rosada.”
It took all of Pagan’s self-control not to look over her shoulder. Her stomach tightened, but inwardly she told herself to remain calm. “He’s probably a tourist, like us. You said this is a popular street.”
Mercedes shook her head. “He’s not acting like a tourist. The café’s a block up on the other side. Let’s cross here.”
Pagan didn’t want to question M’s instincts. In reform school, she could look at someone once and know if they were an actual threat or bluffing. But the real world was more complicated, and Mercedes wasn’t running with a gang now.
They crossed to the southern side of the street, and Pagan took a casual glance back the way they’d come. Two men talked and smoked as they walked together, a young woman pushed a stroller and a bent old woman all in black crossed the street behind them.
Mercedes scanned the same people as they reached the other side. “He’s not there now. He was wearing a gray suit and hat. He must’ve seen that I noticed him.”
They reached the dark-wood-and-glass doors of the Café Tortoni with its flamboyant art nouveau sign above in red.
Pagan opened the door as Mercedes said sharply, “There he is again.”
“The man in gray?” Pagan stepped back out and looked down the street, but saw no man in gray.
“Gone again,” Mercedes said. “I took my eyes off him for one second, and poof!”
“Maybe he thinks you’re cute,” Pagan said, and hauled open the heavy door again.
M gave her the side eye and walked in. Past the curtained-covered glass door, the Café Tortoni became a glorious high-ceilinged fin de siècle restaurant, its glittering chandeliers shrouded in cigarette smoke. Greek columns with curlicues on top held up a ceiling with a stained-glass skylight in the center. The murmuring voices of the patrons bounced off the glowing wood walls covered with Cubist paintings and autographed photos of patrons. Pagan recognized the shock of white hair belonging to Albert Einstein in one of them. The warm smell of steak make her stomach grumble.
“My guidebook called it one of the ten most beautiful café’s in the world,” Mercedes said.
It was indeed trés elegant. They could have been in the chicest café in Paris. A waiter in a white shirt and black pants ushered them over to a table under the gold-and-black stained-glass skylight. The chairs were red leather and dark wood, the table plain but polished. They ordered iced tea and a cheese plate to share to start, followed by steaks and French fries, please and thank you and as soon as possible would be nice.
The drinks and hors d’oeuvres arrived, and Pagan began devouring the slices of apple and brie. Mercedes sipped her tea and glanced around uneasily.
“You’re worried,” Pagan said, wiping crumbs off the corner of her mouth. “About that guy in gray.”
“I’m telling you, he was up to no good.” Mercedes tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. “Do you mind if I go outside for a minute to make sure he’s not still there?”
“’Course not,” Pagan said. “As long as I eat a large steak soon, I’ll be the happiest girl in the world. The beef in Argentina’s supposed to be the best.”
“Great.” Mercedes, distracted, was already standing up. She didn’t carry a purse and never wore gloves, so she set the guidebook down on her seat. “Back in a moment.”
Then she was gone, moving quietly with her determined stride toward the front door. Pagan finished off the brie and speared a few olives from their tiny bowl with a toothpick. Olives made her think of martinis, which made her miss the icy bite of vodka moving down her throat, but she was too hungry not to eat them, and the sharp need for alcohol was dulled as her hunger abated. The waiter came by and she ordered more iced tea.
As the waiter moved off, the weird dizzy feeling in Pagan’s head and its accompanying depression brought on by the confrontation with Tony, hours of dancing and lack of food faded.
What had she been so worried about? She could handle this whole silly movie situation. She’d made some choices she regretted in the past, but she wasn’t going to let Tango Tony, as M called him, get on her nerves about it. Maybe now that he had some reason to fear her, he’d behave. And she’d find a way to charm the director, even if she did have to pretend to be the silliest clown in the circus.
“Alone at last.” A familiar voice floated over her shoulder.
Pagan’s heart beat once, very loudly. She turned to find Devin Black lounging at the table behind hers, a coffee and folded newspaper before him, his dark hair, gelled back, curled slightly around his temp
les in the summer humidity. His dark, turbulent eyes, like the ocean at twilight, took their time looking her over.
Pagan swallowed her last bite, her pulse accelerating, and dusted the crumbs off her hands. “Just you, me and the cheese. I think I’m in love.” She paused. “With the brie.”
One corner of Devin’s mouth turned down in amusement. It had been weeks since she’d seen that characteristic smirk of his, and it was as annoyingly beguiling as ever.
“Wait till you try the steak,” he said.
Why, oh, why did that remark make her flush? Or was it the way he was looking at her? Either way, her cheeks were hot, damn him.
She shook her ponytail, rallying. “Mercedes is going to laugh. She thought someone was following us with evil intent, but it turns out it was you. Or wait...” She surveyed his long, slender form again in its freshly ironed white shirt and crisp khaki pants, slightly scuffed brown leather oxfords on his feet. He was the picture of effortless summer sophistication, but he was not wearing a gray suit and hat. “That couldn’t have been you.”
He frowned, leaning toward her subtly, eyes scanning the room. “Mercedes saw someone following you here?”
“Yeah, but...” She was about to say Mercedes was being paranoid, but the look on Devin’s face stopped her. He dropped his paper on the table and signaled the waiter. “You think it’s true?” she asked.
He was reaching for his wallet, pulling out paper Argentine pesos. “Buenos Aires is a hotbed for espionage, especially since the Israelis kidnapped Eichmann in ’60.”
Pagan had a vague memory of hearing about Eichmann in the news—an infamous Nazi war criminal in hiding who’d been captured in Buenos Aires by Israeli intelligence agents and whisked away to be put on trial in Jerusalem. He’d recently been convicted of orchestrating the Nazi efforts to exterminate the Jews and sentenced to death. His capture had been daring and illegal. Because of it the little-known Israeli secret service, the Mossad, had emerged as bold and utterly ruthless. She had a vague memory of that caper causing a lot of tension between Jews and non-Jews in Buenos Aires when it was discovered.
Devin was saying, “You know Mercedes’s background. She of all people would recognize a threat when she saw one. This man in gray must’ve realized she’d spotted him and may be gone by now. More likely, he got a follow-up man to take his place. I’ll meet you back at your hotel room. They’ll have finished sweeping it by now.”
He was settling his bill with the waiter, so Pagan canceled the order for steaks and asked for her bill, as well.
“Sweeping?” she said when the waiter had gone. “For dust bunnies?”
“Every afternoon while you’re out, some friends of mine will sweep your suite for listening devices.” He took a linen jacket off the back of his chair and slid his wallet into the breast pocket. “That way we’ll always have a safe place to talk. So you might want to keep your unmentionables put away.”
“What!” She managed to keep the exclamation low in volume and not to stare at him dramatically. The angle of his body and his gaze told her they were supposed to be acting as if they were in casual “we just met” conversational mode for anyone watching. “Every day? Is it really that dangerous here?”
“Having fun yet?” He grinned, sliding his gaze back to her.
There was an impact as their eyes met, like a meteor striking the earth. She was flushing again. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”
“I’ll meet you back at your suite.” He started to get out of his chair.
“Wait!” She resisted putting her hand on his arm. They were still faking casual chitchat, acting as if they were strangers. “Shouldn’t you be staying to protect us from this guy?”
“Fear not, fair lady. He’s got to be tailing you in these public places for information, not assassination,” Devin said. “And I don’t want him tailing me. So act as if you’re leaving because you changed your mind, and don’t let him know for sure you’ve made him.”
“So we shouldn’t try to lose him?” she asked. “If we see him again.”
“No. He probably knows where you’re staying by now. See you soon. Give my best to Mercedes.” And with that he was gone, weaving toward the back of the restaurant, no doubt to slip through the kitchen and out a back door the rest of the world had no idea existed.
Pagan was finishing paying the bill when Mercedes came back, looking frustrated. Her eyebrows drew together as she saw the table being cleared and Pagan sliding her purse strap over her shoulder.
“Devin sends you his best,” Pagan said. “I told him you thought someone was following us. He’s got a full file on you, so he figured you knew what you were talking about, but he says we’re not in any danger. I need to meet him back at the suite to talk.”
“That explains the look on your face,” Mercedes said. “I couldn’t find the man in the gray suit again.”
So her excitement at seeing Devin did show on her face. How aggravating. “Devin said he probably noticed you noticing him and left, or got replaced with a follow-up man. I wonder if that’s a technical term. Oh, and they’re sweeping our suite every day for bugs.” She put down a few pesos for the tip. “You’re probably hungry. Stay if you like.”
Mercedes snorted and shook her head. “And miss a chance to finally meet Devin Black?”
They caught a cab back to the hotel. Pagan tried not to keep glancing out the back window to see if anyone was following them, but she caught Mercedes looking in the driver’s side-view mirror more than once.
“Anything?” she asked.
M shook her head. “Hard to tell.”
Devin was waiting in their suite. It was a little unsettling to walk into their private space and see him lounging in the side chair, reading the paper. He stood and held out his hand to Mercedes, smiling while she shook it. “I was going to introduce myself,” he said. “But I’m thinking that might be unnecessary.”
“I might have heard a thing or two about you,” Mercedes said, taking her hand back. “But apparently nothing like the research you’ve done on me.”
Devin gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s research like that which makes my job so interesting.”
Mercedes’s lips pursed in an appreciative little smile. “A compliment that doesn’t sound like a compliment. Pretty smooth for an art thief.”
“Former art thief,” Devin said. Pagan could see he was tickled by Mercedes tweaking him. “I never stole cars, but compared to taking a Picasso out of a guarded museum, it doesn’t sound that hard.”
Pagan opened her mouth to shush him, and then shut it. As Devin well knew, Mercedes had stolen her share of cars, and other things. She was in reform school for armed robbery and extortion because she’d been one of the top enforcers for the Avenidas, one of the most powerful Mexican gangs in Los Angeles, a gang headed by her brother, who’d been shot and killed. A gang that still wanted her back.
Mercedes’s eyelids dropped to half mast as she reassessed Devin. “It’s not hard,” she said, “unless Clanton 14 has six guys chasing you from both ends of Rampart Avenue and the only car you can get to has two more of them inside it.”
Clanton 14 was the rival gang to the Avenidas. Reform school had taught Pagan a lot of things Hollywood could not.
Devin lifted an impressed eyebrow. “I retract my statement.”
“Look at us, three little criminals,” Pagan said.
Mercedes and Devin turned as one to look at her, faces wearing identical looks of skepticism.
“You think she qualifies?” Mercedes asked Devin, as if Pagan wasn’t standing right there.
“As a criminal?” Devin shook his head. “She lacks the killer instinct.”
Pagan blinked at them. “But I...”
“She’s got a thing for the criminal type, though,” Mercedes said.
“Obvio
usly,” said Devin, turning back to her. “Now this man in gray you saw following you. Can you describe him?” He ushered Mercedes to take the gold brocade chair behind him. “I ordered steaks for you both, by the way. The hotel cook’s pretty good.”
“Hooray,” Pagan said, still trying to deal with the two most important people in her life bonding without her. “I’m starving.”
She took the sofa while Mercedes lowered herself into the chair and said, “He was young, maybe early or midtwenties, over six feet, white, reasonably handsome with reddish brown hair under a light gray fedora. Gray suit, white shirt, narrow gray tie.”
“Thorough,” said Devin. “And what made you think he wasn’t a fellow tourist?”
Mercedes squinted, thinking. “He wasn’t looking around. He had no curiosity about the things or people around him. No guidebook. He kept staring at Pagan.”
Pagan straightened. Devin said, “He wasn’t some fan of her movies, maybe?”
Mercedes shook her head. “I thought of that. But he didn’t want an autograph, and not because he’s shy. He was intent, focused, and he didn’t want her, or me, to see him.”
Pagan was impressed, and convinced, and Devin was taking everything Mercedes said very seriously. “Will you let me know if you see him again?” he asked.
“Sure. Do you know who it is?”
It was like being at a tennis match, her eyes bouncing back and forth between them.
“No,” Devin said. “But we’ll find out.”
Mercedes nodded. “He’ll be back.”
“I knew Berlin was a garrison of spies,” Pagan said, turning to Mercedes. “But Devin says Buenos Aires is, too, even more so since the Israelis kidnapped that war criminal Eichmann back in ’60.”
“I did some research for my school report that said there’s a large Jewish population here,” Mercedes said. “But also a large German ex-patriot population.”
“Exactly,” said Devin. “And those are only two of the factions that come into conflict. Many of the old aristocracy resent elements within the German community and the former Perónist government, which harbored Nazis like Eichmann and Mengele. Then there are local gangs who follow various brands of fascism and Perónism, who agitate against the current government and target Jews. Not to mention that the Israelis and other foreign agencies are still active, all with their own agendas.”