CHAPTER 12

The Caribe Hilton stood like a modern jewel on the edge of the cobalt sea; an architect’s dream of delight, a masterpiece of smooth lines and cool colors designed for the world of tomorrow. It sat at the edge of Santurce, facing the great wealth of bright ocean and backing up against the old city of San Juan. The modern lobby was open to the cool caress of the winds from over the Caribbean, a designer’s dream of quiet luxury. Beyond the great hall a crystal pool lay like a jewel before the beach, set in a perfect lawn and reflecting the crisp brightness of the tropical sky. On the left, a quiet restaurant looked out over sea and lawns. The place sang with a combination of sophisticated charm and businesslike efficiency. This was the stopping-off place for the many tourists who came to the islands for rest or exploration. This was the mecca of everything gay and gracious, the headquarters of the elite; the most modern hotel in Puerto Rico. The lobby was crowded with a representative group from the SS Rico. I passed through it quickly.

Nina Dunn was not among the loungers.

I crossed the great hall and sat on the terrace. In the pool, a variety of bathers dipped and dove, enough fancy quail to make up a reasonably good chorus line in any Broadway musical. On the lawn, sprawled in poses geared for sun worship, others of the same species lounged and lay. There were enough of all types to snare the eyes of a gross of marauding males—the very young and the middle-aged, the virginal and the graduates in the ancient art; blondes and brunettes and the bottled shades that grabbed at a man’s eyes and wouldn’t let go.

I let my eyes wander around the pool and along the beach. I relaxed in an easy chair and cased the mob down there. The variety of colors and costumes made it tough to locate Nina. But I found her at last, at the far edge of the lawn. She was on her back against a yellow mattress, her eyes hidden by sunglasses. She could do nothing, however, to hide the obvious high points of her svelte figure. Nina stood out among the crowd. She stood way out.

On the lawn alongside her, a man sat in an attitude of tense and tightened interest. He was a tall and lean character, scrawny in the biceps and anemic in the thighs. He wore a straw hat, of the peasant variety. He also wore a pair of trunks that would have looked well on Nina Dunn. The way he squatted alongside her, the way he arched his back and seemed to hang on each gesture, all these things labeled him for me. His figure blossomed with familiarity as soon as I placed those mannerisms. He was Devoe.

I watched them for a while. Devoe was talking fast, leaning down and yakking at her in an unbroken burst of dialogue. Nina only listened. If he was trying for a quick pass at her, he was failing badly. Something about his attitude suggested an emergency. He used his hands in a fluttery pattern, this way and that, as masculine as a pair of lace underdrawers. After a while Nina raised her body, adjusting herself so that her bikini superstructure would cradle the delightful burdens it was created to support. Then she leaned his way and began to tap his knee in a forthright rhythm. Devoe listened. Devoe then got up, said something curtly and stalked off, around the edge of the pool and into the hotel.

Nina followed him with her eyes, her ripe lips arched in a smile. She lit a cigarette and scanned the rim of the pool, eying the slow tide of bathers and loungers. For a fleeting instant, her gaze flicked across the terrace where I sat. I held my breath, wondering whether she saw me.

But she didn’t see me. She was caught up in a fresh interest now. A man.

He came around the left side of the pool, a casual stroller. He paused against the low wall back there, as idle as the small and fleecy clouds behind him. He was an average-looking character, not tall, not short. He had on a tropical suit, of the type found in any store window on Broadway during the sticky summer. He sported a lightish lid, a straw with a loud and racy band, bright yellow stripes and midget dots. His shirt stood out against the cream of his suit. His shirt was as blue as the highlights on the surface of the pool. From where I sat, I couldn’t see his face clearly. But when he crossed the edge of the pool and strolled closer, his features came through to me. He had a swarthy skin, not too brown, but brown enough to broadcast his many seasons in the sun. He had a lean unsmiling face. Below his nose and riding close to his thin upper lip was a mustache, a toothpick line of shadow that gave him a foreign, zany look.

He advanced to Nina’s side and bowed, stiff enough to crease his jacket.

And Nina gave him her nicest smile and began to talk to him. Casual? They were as calm and cool about their meeting as a pair of professional actors. He sat gingerly on the chrome beach chair at her side. He seemed to be pointing out the sights to Nina. He waved his hands back toward the mainland. He indicated the tiny cove behind the old ruined fort. He gesticulated toward the hotel itself. Nina followed his gestures with open interest. And when he moved away, she was at his side, strolling around the hotel and back toward the beach.

I got off my tail and followed them.

I sprinted through the restaurant and reached the concrete walk a few steps ahead of them.

“It’s a small world,” I said to Nina.

“Steve,” she answered, her quick smile alive on her face, as automatic as an eye blink. Her hand was out to me and she was pulling me her way. “Where have you been all this time?”

“The old town. I took a walk for myself.”

“Isn’t it charming? You could have come with me. I saw some of it myself, just a little while ago.”

The man in the blue shirt stood his ground and said nothing. His bright eyes were adding me up. He didn’t like the total I made. He didn’t like me at all. Sometimes an automatic dislike is as obvious as a bad smell. Like the way it was smelling up the little tableau here. He took a step away and adjusted his body so that I had a bird’s eye view of his back. He was slapping my face in the accepted continental manner. He was showing me his disregard with the good manners of a Spanish heel.

“Who’s your friend?” I asked.

Nina sensed my anger. She was beginning to squirm and stumble, her quick eyes out of control now. She turned his way, embarrassed by my sudden question. She was a doll on the make, caught with her pick-up showing. He must have sensed her dilemma because he adjusted himself to face the fresh situation. He stepped forward, smiling a thin and meaningless smile. He bowed from the waist.

“My name is Rafael Miquello,” he said smartly.

“We just met,” Nina explained haltingly.

“Only a moment ago,” Miquello added, all courtesy and good manners now. He put out his hand. “Mr.—?”

“This is Mr. Conacher,” Nina said, caught short by my sudden fit of quiet. I let Miquello shake my hand. He relapsed into his former show of spleen. Not too much annoyance with me, but enough to let me know that he would consider me a great man if I suddenly dropped dead where I stood. I let Nina explain our relationship to him, complete with a few nonsensical details about the recent trip on the SS Rico. Miquello listened to her with patience. “This is Mr. Conacher’s first trip to the island, too,” Nina said. “Perhaps he would like to come with us when you take me to see Jogado’s.”

“It will be my pleasure,” said Miquello.

“A gambling casino,” Nina said.

“The very best,” said Miquello. “The most exclusive.”

“Roulette and craps,” Nina said.

“Oh, everything.” Miquello laughed. “All the various types of gambling, Señor Conacher. And, if you like, cock fights, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” I said. “You live in San Juan, señor?”

“Santurce.”

“You don’t talk like a native.”

“Native?” he smiled, tonguing the word as though it stung a bit. “All the people in Puerto Rico are natives of the United States. You will find many who speak English well, señor.”

“Maybe so,” I said. “But you’re different.”

“Different?” He flicked his eyes at Nina for an electric instant. “And does the señorita think I am different?”

“I thought you were a Puerto Rican,” Nina said.

“We have Puerto Ricans in New York,” I said. “Señor Miquello has been in New York. For a long time. Long enough to pick up New York habits of dress, Nina. The way he wears that sporty tropical suit, the way he tilts his lid and the way he features light loafers, all these things add up in my book. I’d say, he’s been around Broadway for a big slice of time. Or am I wrong, Señor Miquello?”

“Very clever,” Miquello admitted. “Of course I have visited New York. You have good eyes, Señor Conacher. You also think clearly.”

“When do we visit Jogado’s?” I asked.

“As the señorita wishes it.”

“Tomorrow?” Nina said. “Tomorrow night?”

“Consider it an appointment,” Miquello said with much charm. He gave me another one of his lukewarm handshakes. He bowed from the waist again. Then he strode off, toward the lobby.

“A fancy package,” I said.

“He was awfully nice.” Nina laughed. She led me back along the rim of the pool. She held my arm and let me know that she liked being alongside me. We circled the pool and returned to her original spot. She let herself drop on the yellow mattress and pulled me down near her. When she turned her eyes my way, the sun highlighted her brown glasses. Her eyes were invisible behind them. “Puerto Rico has the nicest people, Steve. Really friendly.”

“Miquello looks like a man with a mission.”

“He was only trying to be hospitable.”

“He’ll be wanting a payoff.”

“He didn’t ask for money.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want money,” I said.

“Flatterer.”

“And maybe I don’t mean it as a compliment. That lad looks like something out of a bad dream. I’ve seen finer-looking pimps on 49th and Broadway.”

“Now, you’re being nasty.” Nina pouted. “You make me feel cheap.”

“Maybe it was Miquello who did that job. He hits me as being on the prowl for bargain basement stuff.”

“Like me?”

“You should know.”

“I’m beginning to hate, you a little, Steve,” she said. Her body pulled away from me, but not too far. “Just what are you trying to say about me?”

“Maybe I’m jealous.”

“You don’t sound jealous.”

“Or curious.”

“That’s more like it, she said. “Curious about what?”

“Devoe. Garel. Miquello.” I let the names drop with a slow drip. “And better than that, Nina Duna, lady liar.”

She pulled away now. She tried to scramble to her feet, but she couldn’t quite make it. I had her arm and held on. Tight.

“Now you’re being too nasty,” she said icily. “Take your hand off me.”

“Not until you tell me you’re a liar.”

“I might scream for help.”

“Scream,” I told her. “But before you uncork your first yell, why not tell me how you managed to reach the Cosmos Gallery in a straight line from the boat?”

Nina laughed long and loud. It was pure enjoyment, a release that shook her handsome torso in the nicest places. She leaned back and let herself go. I waited for the last gasp of merriment. When it came, she leaned into me and showed me she bore me no malice. She ran her long fingers up my cheek. She tweaked me.

“You are the strangest man,” she commented. “I thought you’d be clever enough to figure that one out.”

“You got your directions from the jerk at the baggage counter, is that it?”

“Of course that’s it, silly. How else?”

“Experience,” I said. “You could have been here before.”

“That just isn’t so, Steve.”

“Then I apologize.”

“Accepted.” She laughed, glad that the friction had worn away between us. “And now, little Nina must go up to her room for a snooze. I’m going to take a warm shower and then let myself go, all the way. I don’t care when I wake up.”

“I do. Wake up at eight. I’ll take you for a ride out to Santurce. There’s a place I’ve got to visit. We can have dinner there.”

“It’s a date,” Nina said.