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“My laptop. I’m a journalist. I need it to take notes.”
“Not past this point. You got cellular phone, organizer, butane lighter?”
“Guilty on all points.”
“You got or not got?”
“I got,” Roscoe said, and then put them on the counter.
“Keys set off wand,” one of the rent-a-cops said. “You got keys, better you leave them, too.”
Roscoe added his key chain to everything else.
One of the rent-a-cops came from behind the counter, waved the wand around Roscoe’s body, and then gestured toward the glass door.
This time it opened.
A U.S. Marine in dress trousers and a stiffly starched open-collared khaki shirt was waiting for him outside the main entrance to the embassy building. He had a large revolver in a holster suspended from what looked like a patent-leather Sam Browne harness.
“Mr. Danton?”
“Thank God, an American!”
“Mr. Danton?”
“Roscoe Danton, an alumnus of the Parris Island School for Boys, at your service, Sergeant.”
“If you will come with me, Mr. Danton?”
The sergeant led him into the building, through a magnetic detector, and down a corridor to the right.
He pointed to a wooden bench.
“If you will sit there, Mr. Danton, someone will attend to you shortly. Please do not leave this area.”
Roscoe dutifully sat down. The Marine sergeant marched away.
There was a cork bulletin board on the opposing wall.
After perhaps thirty seconds, Roscoe, more from a desire to assert his journalist status than curiosity—he had been thinking, Fuck you, Sergeant. I ain’t in the Crotch no more; you can’t order me around—stood up and had a look at it.
Among the other items on display was the embassy Daily Bulletin. It contained the usual bullshit Roscoe expected to see, and at the end of it was: UNOFFICIAL: ITEMS FOR SALE.
His eyes flickered over it.
“Bingo!” he said aloud.
Immediately after an offer to sell a baby carriage “in like-new condition”— Like-new condition? What did they do, turn the baby back in?—was an absolutely fascinating offer of something for sale:
2005 BMW. Royal Blue. Excellent Shape. 54K miles.
All papers in order for sale to US Diplomatic Personnel or Argentine Nationals. Priced for quick sale. Can be seen at 2330 O’Higgins. Ask doorman. Alex Darby. Phone 531-678-666.
Five seconds after Roscoe had read the offer, the paper on which it had been printed was off the wall and in his pocket.
He sat back down on the bench and trimmed his fingernails.
Maybe they have surveillance cameras.
