Free Jailbreak by Giles Tippette Page B

nothing had happened. We had some supper sent up and then, about nine, went wandering around the town. Ever’ so often we’d see a policeman slouching against a post, looking like a soldier with his carbine slung over his shoulder. I finally sent Jack over to see if he could find out where Davilla was or where he lived. After a few minutes Jack came back. He shrugged. “Man says he don’t know where Davilla is. Says he’s probably out arresting a gringo. Wasn’t all that friendly. Says he thinks Davilla has got a ranchero out south of town somewheres.”
    We wandered into a few cantinas, but all we got was what we’d got before—suspicious looks and overpriced whiskey. The high-class cantinas were full of businessmen in suits whispering together. The cheaper joints were full of drunk peons and charros who looked at us resentfully. I reckoned in the latter it wouldn’t have been no trouble at all for a lone Texan to get in a fight. But there was four of us and that kind of balanced out the odds. We saw few Americans, and since they didn’t pay us any mind, we replied with the same courtesy.
    We got back to the hotel about eleven. I said, “Let’s get to bed.” I looked around grimly. “Tomorrow we’re going to make something happen. I don’t know what, but something.”
    Jack said, “Go slow, Justa. Remember what I said earlier.”
    “I remember,” I said.

4
    Obregon’s clerk said we’d have to wait, but I wasn’t in a waiting mood. We shouldered him out of the way and Jack and I opened the door to the lawyer’s office and went in. Obregon was leaning over a mirror on his desk, a pair of scissors in his hand, trimming his mustache. He looked up in astonishment as we came in. “Perdone ustedes. ” That was kind of a strange thing to say considering it was us doing the busting in and, by rights, us who ought to be asking his pardon.
    But right then I wasn’t in any mood to worry about the niceties of the situation. I put my hands on his desk and leaned into his face. I said, “Señor Obregon, where is my brother? He should have been released yesterday.”
    Wasn’t no need for Jack to translate. I reckon the good señor had been expecting us. He said, “Es complicaciones. Muy malo.”
    I said, “It’s gonna get much more than very bad if you don’t produce my brother. You got my money, now keep your word. Tell him, Jack.”
    I’m sure Jack did it a good deal more diplomatically than I’d stated the case. Señor Obregon just leaned back in his chair and then made a short reply.
    Jack said to me, “Would you like some coffee?”
    “Hell no! I want my brother.” I was having a good deal of trouble keeping my temper in check.
    Jack said, “Well, Señor Obregon generally has some ’bout this time. He hopes you’ll forgive him if he goes ahead.”
    Sure enough, about then the clerk came in with a pot of coffee and three of those small cups they drink that stuff out of. I waved him away, but Jack took a cup. I said, “Jack, get after his ass.”
    He gave me a warning look and said, quietly, “Take it easy, Justa.”
    I finally sat down and waited for them to finish their coffee. and get to talking. Jack said, “Señor Obregon says he’s sorry ’bout the hold up, but Davilla is giving him some trouble.”
    “I’ll bet,” I said dryly. “What comes next?”
    “Wahl,” Jack said, “he claims Davilla has done got his honor upset again because we ain’t come across with all the money.”
    “I’ll bet on that, too.”
    “That’s what he claims.”
    “Ask him when he saw Davilla.”
    When he came back to me he said, “He says him and Davilla had a long talk yesterday afternoon and then again last night at Davilla’s place.”
    “Davilla is supposed to have come here?”
    Jack pulled a face. “That’s what he claims.”
    “Then this place must have a back door we don’t know nothing about.” I looked around the whitewashed walls. “I don’t see a back door, nor a side door. You