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“It says that, quote, the aforementioned officers have been directed to investigate this matter and to report their findings to the undersigned, end quote.”
Castillo considered that a minute, then asked, “What do we hear about the world of high finance?”
“There’s been a very nervous Chinaman asking about you every hour on the hour. I think he thinks he is about to be swooped upon by the IRS and carried off to Leavenworth for having too much money in his offshore account.”
Castillo chuckled. “Given all that, yeah, I better come back. I don’t know when I can catch a plane.”
“If you can fit it into your busy schedule, you have a reservation on Continental 5566 departing San Antone at five forty-five. It will put you into Dulles, after only three stops and one change of planes, at half past eleven.”
“Oh, shit!”
“Just a little jerk on your chain, Charley. Relax. It’s nonstop. Mr. Forbison got the reservation for you.”
“Okay. I will be sure to wake you when I come in, presuming I can get a cab at Dulles within three or four hours.”
“You will be met by your own personal Yukon,” Miller said. “She set that up, too. Look for a heavily armed man wearing a strained smile.”
“You can call that off. I can catch a cab.”
“Actually, Tom McGuire told Mr. F. to set it up. Get used to it, hotshot. You now really are a hotshot.”
“I’ll see you shortly, Dick. Thank you.”
He broke the connection and carried the telephone to the veranda. Everyone there was waiting, patiently, sitting with a steak on a plate before him.
“What’d Dick want?” Fernando asked.
“Enjoy your steak. You’re going to need your strength for the trip.”
“Fernando, you’re not going anywhere,” Maria announced, firmly.
“You’re going to leave him here when you go home?” Castillo asked, innocently.
“He’s not going anywhere with you, period,” Maria said.
“Who said anything about him going anywhere with me, question mark? I was thinking of the trip between here and Casa Lopez, period. What are you talking about, question mark?”
Fernando chuckled.
“You’ve been zinged, my dear,” he said.
“Jorge, comma,” Fernando M. Lopez, Jr., aged ten, asked his brother, “would you please pass the butter, question mark?”
“No, comma, I won’t, exclamation point!” Jorge Lopez replied and giggled.
Abuela, who had been frowning, now smiled.
“I don’t know why I even try,” Maria said. “I should know better. I should just sit here and let Carlos make a fool of me while my husband and children laugh at me.”
“The Gringo only makes fools of people he loves,” Fernando said.
“Please don’t call him that,” Fernando Junior and Jorge said in unison, looking at their great-grandmother. “You know I don’t like it.”
Immediately, Fernando Junior added, “I don’t like it, exclamation point!”
“My father warned me I was making a mistake marrying into this family,” Maria said, but she was smiling.
When the car came, Abuela went out to it with him.
