by Dancer, Jack
"Call room service and order coffee and a fruit bowl or something would you? I'm going to shower. If we can find Juan, we'll find the girls," she says.
"And if we can't find Juan maybe we should go to the Els Quatre Gats?"
"We could have lunch there. It's supposed to be a really nice place," she yells back with the shower going.
"That's fine, but I think our priority needs to be finding Terry and Ebba," I yell back.
The bathroom door comes open and Monica's head sticks out, "You know what? I'm really getting pretty fed up with those two. They could've called us, or somebody, by now, and they haven't. They're probably shacked up with Juan and whoever and haven't given us a second thought. This is supposed to be my vacation too, and I intend to enjoy myself in Barcelona, not be forced into hiding from those two IndyDicks and constantly worrying about Terry and Ebba the cow. To hell with them, to hell with all of 'em. They're making our time here miserable, and I won't have it. I hope Mr. Dick-Dick guy locks those two IndyJerks in a dungeon somewhere and throws away the key - at least until we leave. And if Terry and Ebba do finally show up, maybe we can pay him something extra to lock them up too." Her head disappears just before the door slams.
I tiptoe up to the closed door and say, "Atta girl. I'm with you. These people are messing up our good time. Screw 'em. But, let's still go to the Fira and try to find this Juan guy."
"And if we find him let's pay him to keep Terry and Ebba tied up somewhere until we leave, okay?"
"Deal."
***
As the cab approaches the Fira Palace, I'm scanning all directions for any sign of the IndyCat.
"I thought you said Dick-Dick has those guys?" Monica says.
"Yeah, that's what he said."
"Then why do you think you're going to see them around here?"
"I don't know. Just checking."
When the cab reaches the front of the Fira, I pay the driver, and we walk through the Fira’s double glass doors and into the massive lobby.
"Feels kind of weird coming here when it was only yesterday we were skipping out through the back door, don't you think?" I say.
"Would it make you feel better if you went up and paid the bill?"
"What bill? We never registered."
"Exactly," she rolls her eyes, "but we still have rooms so here's what we're going to do. You go to your old room and wait for me."
"Where're you going?"
"I'm going to the bar to find Juan."
"Why shouldn't I go with you?"
"Because Juan's not there."
"Okey dokey," I say like that makes sense.
"The bar doesn't open until lunchtime. I'm going to find out where Juan lives. Then we'll go to his house."
"How're you going to find that out? They're not gonna to just tell you his address."
"Don't you worry yourself about that, honey, I'll get it," she says and I have no doubt she will. "You just go to the room and wait for me. I shouldn't be long."
"What if Ebba's there?"
"Then kill her and stuff her under the bed," she says with a bad-girl grin. "Then come back down to the bar and we'll have a toast."
"You're funny. Getting a little scary too."
She starts to walk off then turns, "Oh, while you're up there waiting for me, why don't you call Dick-Dick and see if he's found out why they were looking for us? And while you're at it ask him to find out as much as he can about this Doctor Libica those guys are working for, you know, where she lives and works, phone number, whatever he can get out of them. We might be able to use that information for our trip to Perpignan on Friday. Tell him it's urgent," she says.
I don't bother telling her I've already asked Dick to do all that. She seems to be in too good a mood. Why blow it? I jump to attention and salute, "Yes sir. I mean, ma'am."
Giving me a playful little push she says, "Don't be silly, Tucker. Am I being too bossy? This is serious. We need to get to the bottom of this. I don't want to spend all day and my whole vacation worrying about the two idiots stalking us or the other two disappearing idiots."
"So far, all four idiots have disappeared. Maybe we should just be thankful and leave it be. Go have fun."
"That's what I was planning to do before you jumped out of bed this morning all insistent we find Terry and Ebba, remember?"
"Yeah, I do. Okay. I'll go to the room and call Dick-Dick, I mean, Dick. Now you've got me saying it. But, before I go, I want a kiss, boss."
She beams that killer smile of hers then taking my face in her hands, lays a kiss on me that sets roosters to crowing and the morning sun to rise all over again. I tell ya, the woman's got me.
"Wow. For that I'll be your slave," I say.
"You already are."
"Yeah, I suppose I am."
Turning to go, she says, "I'll be up in a couple of minutes. This shouldn't take long."
"Hey, wait. Do you have your room key? I could check it too while I'm there."
"For what?" she says looking through her purse.
"I don't know. See if Terry's there?"
Fumbling through her purse, she can't seem to find it, "If she is, you'd be better off knocking first."
"Oh, yeah, forget it."
"I can't find it right now. I'll look for it when I come up."
Never knew how anyone could find anything in those bottomless black holes of womanhood.
When I get to the room, I decide to take Monica's advice and knock first. Nothing. Before I run my keycard through the reader, I take my shoe off, then run the card through and when the green light blinks crack the door, toss the shoe in and wait for something to happen. Nothing. So I slip inside and retrieve my shoe. The room's perfectly made. Ebba's things are still there - paperback on the nightstand, suitcase in the closet, People Magazine on the desk, toiletries in the bathroom - all, but her. A sour, empty feeling washes over me. Something bad's happened to her, I just know it and I feel sick about it, helpless. If we can just find this Juan guy, we should be able to find her . . . and Terry. Oh, yeah Terry.
I go to the connecting door and give it a rap. Nothing. I knock again. Still nothing.
Christ in a hand basket, what has happened to these women? This Juan joker; he was the last one with them. He's got to have something to do with them, but what? Hope Monica finds out where this guy lives. We've got to find him if we're going to find them.
I pull out my cell and dial Dick.
"Hey Dick, this is Tucker Blue."
"Hello, Tucker and how are you this glorious morning?"
"Fine Dick but I'll be much better if you can tell me what you've done with the two IndyCat boys. Have you learned anything from them? Like why they were stalking us?"
"Si Señor. The two hombres are safely tucked away and stewing quite nicely. We haven't learned anything yet but I would expect that, after tonight, we should have some useful information."
"Why tonight? Why not now?"
"These things are a delicate matter Señor and must be handled with care and precision. Tonight is important because it will be their debut."
"Debut? What are you doing, puttin’ 'em on stage?"
"Precisely Señor. Even as we speak they are hard at work, learning and practicing the choreography of their performance."
"You're kidding?"
"No Señor. I am not. Tiber and Drusus - those are the names of the two IndyCat boys in case you didn't know . . ."
"No, I didn't know. What're you talking about Dick? What exactly are they performing?"
"They will be performing on stage. Their debut is tonight. But, Señor, it is one I do not think would appeal to someone like you."
"Okay. So, who would it appeal to?"
"It would be to a rather niche audience, Señor, that is to say, an exotic audience. Forgive me Señor, my English is not so well in these areas."
Bullshit your English.
"Alright, I think I get the idea. I'll leave it up to you. All I'm interested in is finding out
why these two are stalking me."
"That is precisely the point of the exercise Señor. I hope to deliver to you exactly the answer to that question soon after their performance tonight. I think they will be quite willing to answer truthfully any question asked of them."
"Good. And the other thing we talked about was getting information on this Doctor Drusilla Libica in Perpignan - the woman these two, Drusus and Tiber - work for. Look, this is critical Dick. I need to know everything I can about this woman - who she is, where she lives, phone numbers, whatever. I need that information as soon as possible, by tomorrow morning actually. I'm driving to Perpignan tomorrow morning to attend the funeral of the man, I told you about - the one who died on the train. I expect this Doctor Libica may be there, and if she is, I need to know who and what I'm dealing with."
"Do you think that is wise Señor?"
"I don't know but I have to do something to resolve this situation."
"You must do what you must do, and I will do all that is in my power to provide you with the information you need. I am sure the IndyCat boys will be very cooperative by the close of this evening. I will call or text you as soon as I have something."
"Thank you Dick. Oh, and . . . Dick, sure you don't want to tell me where this performance will be held tonight? Who knows, I might enjoy the show. My girlfriend and I are looking for some entertainment tonight. We might be more prone to exotica than you think."
"Ha, ha. That is true Señor Blue and who am I to judge your tastes? Go to the Bagdad and your questions will be answered."
"The Bagdad? Is that a club? Where is it?"
"Ask anyone Señor. There is only one Bagdad."
"Alright Dick. Thanks for your help. I'll be looking forward to hearing what you find out."
"Oh, Señor."
"Yes."
"Forgive me but you said you and your girlfriend?"
"Yes."
"So, your missing girlfriend, she is no longer missing?"
"No. I mean yes she's still missing. This would be the spare."
"Ha, ha. Si Señor. Ets el semental!"
***
A sharp rapping comes from the adjoining room. I flip the deadbolt open and Monica's standing there with a piece of paper in her hand.
"I've got his address. Let's go."
"How'd you do that?"
"I have ways."
Jesus. So does Dick. Who are these people I'm involved with?
The next thing I know we're climbing the stairs of a tenement house in the Gothic Quarter on Carrer dels Banys Nous above the restaurant, Stoke. The building is old and run down. Snotty, dirty-faced kids are running up and down the dark and dank corridors lit with filthy, bare light bulbs.
We come to a door with peeling paint that might've been yellow one time. Monica stops, knocks and a moment later it cracks open and a small female face peers out, warily. Then Monica does something that surprises the hell out of me. She breaks into a rapid-fire monologue of Catalan.
Until now she'd thrown out a few words here and there during the trip, to cab drivers and service people and I didn't think much of it at the time. But now, she's going at it like a native.
At first the little woman shrunk back, intimidated, and kept answering no, no, no Juan, until Monica finally gave up and apologized to the woman, thanking her and giving her a couple of bills for her trouble. That gesture brought a smile to the woman's face before she disappeared behind the closing door.
"Well, that was a waste of time. The address the bar has on file is a false one," she says. Figures.
"Not entirely a waste. At least, we know he doesn't live here," I say and she shoots me a look. "Besides," I continue, "now I know you're totally fluent in the language. How come you never told me?"
"You never asked."
"So, you're Catalan?"
"My family."
"Did you live in Barcelona?"
"Only as a child. My family moved to the States when I was twelve."
Jesus, and I'm only now finding this out? Gotta quit staring at her . . . you know, and start asking questions.
"No kidding. Well, then you can do all the menu reading from now on out."
She gives a smile. "So, what do we do now?"
"Go to the Els Quatre Gats I guess and see if we can pick up their trail."
"It's still early. The place won't be open until lunchtime."
"Okay, then let's go to the Bagdad."
"Where?"
"The Bagdad. I was going to surprise you and go there tonight, but we can swing by and take a look at the place first and see if we want to risk it."
"What are you talking about, Tucker?"
"I called Dick and he said the two IndyCat boys will be performing at the Bagdad tonight. Don't ask me what because I don't know and Dick wouldn't go into detail except to say it probably wouldn't be our cup of tea. Said it's exotic, whatever that means."
"You know what it means, Tucker."
"Yeah, I know. He said once the boys perform there tonight they'll be more than willing to answer any question he asks them, so it must be pretty weird."
"Didn't I tell you this guy was some sort of psycho torturer?"
"Yeah, you did. You might be right too. Still, let's go by the place and check it out then we can head over to the El Quatre Gats."
We reach street level and flag down a cab and when I tell the driver club Bagdad he gives us a funny look and says, "It's not open. Only at night."
Monica then rattles something off that seems to put him in his place, and he shuts up and drives. Five minutes later, we're exiting the cab in front of a building covered in mosaic tile with Bagdad emblazoned across it. Pictures of nude women embellished the front with signage announcing, porno show. Next door is the Tequila Boom Boom bar and restaurant.
“Holy shit," I say.
“Right. Oh, look at this flyer,” she says picking one out of a rack hanging next to the door. "Oh, my God, Tucker, look at these guys doing each other. Oh, that's gross. Their opening act is tonight.”
“That's what Dick said, they're opening tonight."
"Tucker, if these boys ever discover we're the one's responsible for them being here, we're cooked."
"Afraid it's too late for that. They already know because Dick's questioning them about stalking us."
"Then we're screwed," she says.
“Dick promised not to let these guys loose until after we're long gone from Barcelona."
Monica starts laughing. "They're probably wishing they'd never set eyes on us. Can you imagine? This has got to be the most humiliating thing anyone could ever do to them. You think those markings on their faces are tattoos or just face paint?" she says pointing to the flyer.
"Got me. Hope it's just face paint otherwise they'll never be going into public again. Can you imagine if the little doctor were to see these pictures?" I say.
"Hey, maybe we should take a handful with us to the funeral and leave them near the front door for people to pick up. Bet that'd stir the pot; might even surface some answers," she says with an evil grin.
"Probably surface Drusilla Libica pretty quick too, if she's not already there."
"And if she is, can you imagine? She'd be the center of attention," she says brightening.
"God, you are evil."
"Am not," she says insulted, "but if we're fighting the devil, maybe we'd better be."
***
The Rider.
The rider waited patiently outside the Hotel Arts for the Americans and when they emerged, followed them to the Fira Palace, then to a tenement house and now to the Bagdad.
There is no sense to these people, he complains. Why would they come to the Bagdad? A horrible place. And in the morning? It doesn't make sense. These Americans have no morals. They are stupid.
***
She stuffs a handful of flyers in her purse and we start walking back up the Carrer Nou de la Rambla giggling and holding onto each other like a couple of drunks until we come to Carrer de
l Om.
“Come with me I want to show you something pretty cool," Monica says taking a left and crossing the street to Carrer l' Estel.
"Hey what's this?" I say stopping in front of a very official-looking government building on the corner with a sign reading, "Mossos d'Esquadra, Policia." I can figure out the policia part but what does Mossos d'Esquadra mean?”
“Literally it means, squad lads,” she says.
“Doesn't sound very tough for the police force.”
“Maybe not but the Mossos d'Esquadra is actually the police force of Catalonia and the oldest civil police force in Europe,” she says.
“So, you know about them,” I say.
“My father told me about them. I think he may have had a few run-ins when he was younger.”
“I see. Where's your father now?”
“Dead.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be, everybody has to die.”
Whoa, tad hard, I'm thinking.
“Maybe we should take a moment and make a police report out on Ebba and Terry missing. We need to do something.”
“We are. We’re going to the El Quarte Gats to find them,” she says.
“Yeah, I know. But we’re here now so why not pop in and see what we have to do in case the El Quarte Gats leads us nowhere?”
“Sure, why not?” she says and taking my hand we walk through the glass doors and up to the desk sergeant where we tell him we want to make a missing person’s report. He points us to a large room across hall where tangles of people are waiting. I see they’re using a ticket number system to call out the next customer waiting so I walk up and extract a ticket from the dispenser, #43. I look at the electronic reader board on the wall and it says, ‘now serving # 31.’
“You’d think we were trying to get into the buffet line at the Golden Coral wouldn’t you?” I say to Monica as we both take a seat on one of the benches up against the wall.
“This could take a while Tucker,” she says looking not so happy.
“Let’s give it fifteen minutes and if we’re still six back, we’ll leave.”
“Okay,” she says.
Surprisingly though the next ten numbers called are missing in action and we’re up in five minutes. I go to the window and explain we want to make a missing person’s report and the lady hands me two forms to complete - one for each missing person. Says to return them and they’ll call us for an interview. I give one to Monica to complete for Terry while I complete the one for Ebba.