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“Yeah, I know, but yours keeps going off. This is the fifth time it’s gone off. You’re going to have to do something.”
“What would you suggest?”
“Well, you could disconnect the battery. That’d shut the alarm system off.”
“Gerry, if you could do that for me, I’d be happy to make it worth your while. How does ten dollars sound?”
“Sounds fine to me, Mr. Danton, but your car is locked and I have to get under the hood to disconnect the battery. You can’t open the hood from outside.”
In the background Danton could then hear the sound of a horn going bleep-bleep-bleep.
“There it goes again,” Gerry said unnecessarily.
Roscoe Danton sighed audibly.
“I’ll be right down,” he said.
Which means I’ll have to get dressed. I can’t go down there in my underwear.
There were three men watching the blinking headlights on Roscoe’s car. One of them had sort of a uniform on, and was presumably Gerry. The other two were wearing suits.
Which means they probably live here, which means I will shortly get one of those fucking letters from the tenants’ association demanding to know how I dare disturb the peace and tranquillity of the Watergate Apartments, blowing my horn in this outrageous way.
As he approached his car, the lights stopped blinking and the horn stopped bleating.
“Why hello, Roscoe,” one of the men in suits said. “Nice to see you again. But we are going to have to stop meeting this way. People will talk.”
I am actually losing my mind. I’m hallucinating.
How could Alexander Darby possibly be standing next to my car in the Watergate garage?
“My name is Yung, Mr. Danton,” the other man in a suit said, putting out his hand. “I’m glad to meet you. Alex has told me a good deal about you.”
Alex Darby said, “Gerry, we can take it from here. Thanks very much for your help.”
“Anytime,” Gerry said, and took the extended twenty-dollar bill and walked toward his booth near the entrance.
“Got your passport with you, Roscoe?” Darby asked.
In a Pavlovian reflex, Danton patted his suit jacket pocket, and immediately regretted it.
“Good,” Yung said. “If you want to talk to Colonel Castillo, you’re going to need it.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is David W. Yung. I’m Colonel Castillo’s attorney.”
“Did you find Ushuaia interesting, Roscoe?” Darby asked.
“How do you know about that?”
“Well, as the saying goes, ‘You can take the man out of the agency, but you can’t take the agency out
of the man.’”
Yung put in: “What we’re going to do, Roscoe—you don’t mind if I call you Roscoe, do you?”
“Yeah, I think I do.”
