Honor Bound (Honor Bound 1)

Nestor had a 1939 Buick Special Coupe parked in a garage near the Banco de Boston Building. The right fender and door bore red splotches. A body job was obviously in progress.

Apparently my new boss has not been able to adjust to driving on the left. Either that, or these people are as crazy behind the wheel as they seem. Or both.

Halfway to the Plaza Hotel, Clete concluded that it was both. Nestor was an inept, nervous driver, and a substantial percentage of the other drivers seemed to be insane.

“Well,” Nestor finally asked, “how are things going?”

“Either today or tomorrow Pelosi is moving into an apartment on Avenida Corrientes. Mallín tells me the ‘negotiations’ for my apartment should be completed either today or tomorrow and that I should be able to move in as soon as they are.”

“Where did you say that was?”

“Posadas 1354, Piso sexto”—sixth floor.

Clete had the strange feeling that a mechanical recorder had just started running in Nestor’s brain: Once hearing that address, he would never forget it, and he would spew it back with perfect accuracy whenever called upon.

“And the telephone number?”

“I don’t have that. One of the reasons the ‘negotiations’ are going so slowly was a disagreement over the price of the telephone.”

“Yes,” Nestor said.

“Where is Ettinger staying?”

“At the bank’s guest house. An apartment near Recoleta. I’m working on an apartment for him. When I have an address and a phone, I’ll pass it to you.”

“Am I permitted to ask questions?”

“Yes, of course.”

“What do you do if one of your agents doesn’t have an independent income?”

“You mean for money?”

“Yeah. Mallín told me the man who owns the apartment wanted two hundred fifty dollars for the phone, and he was trying to get it down to two hundred.”

“They’ve gone for as much as five,” Nestor said. “And then there will be a bribe to the telephone company, probably for at least that much, to activate the line. You’re lucky to have Mr. Mallín handling it for you.” He paused and then turned and smiled at Clete. “We try very hard to recruit young men of independent means.”

“Pelosi and Ettinger don’t have independent incomes.”

“Their expenses, within reason, for their telephone or to purchase automobiles, for example, will be reimbursed. I have funds for that. It’s important, you see, Frade, that no questions are raised about whence the money, beyond a reasonable salary, cometh. In your case, of course, that’s not a problem. Your middle name is Howell, as in Howell Petroleum. You can buy any kind of a car you want, and I suggest you do so as quickly as possible.”

“I’ve shipped my car from New Orleans,” Clete said. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t. Something ostentatious, I hope?”

“You tell me. It’s a ’41 Buick.”

“Splendid. A convertible coupe would be even better.”

“It’s a convertible,” Clete said.

I don’t believe this conversation.

“May I call you ‘Cletus’?” Nestor asked.

“I’d rather you called me ‘Clete.’”

“The thing is, Clete, the way to avoid suspicion is not to act suspiciously. The word will gradually get around who you are, which is to say the heir apparent to Howell Petroleum…”