I guess they make their own down here. Why not?
While the pistols themselves functioned identically to the Colt he’d carried in the Pacific, they were not exact copies. He couldn’t put his finger on the difference, but there was a difference.
The grip safety? The horn, or whatever it’s called, looks longer. And the safety on the side of the receiver. That’s shaped differently, too, I think.
What does it matter, so long as it goes off when you pull the trigger?
He stripped and then reassembled both pistols. Both were dirty and required cleaning and lubrication. And there were pits in both barrels. He used a handkerchief and a toothbrush to clean them. And for lubrication he used what was left of the jar of gray U.S. Navy Medical Corps paste he was sure was Vaseline.
He had just about finished with the pistols when there was a knock at the door.
“Sí?”
“Teléfono, Señor.”
That must be Nestor, who’s remembered I didn’t sign the expense money receipt.
“Gracias,” he called. He stuffed everything back into Nestor’s briefcase and then locked the briefcase in the enormous wardrobe that covered just about all of one wall. He then unlocked the door with a loud clank and went quickly downstairs to the sitting room, to the nearest telephone.
The Mallíns were there, Mommy, Daddy, and the Virgin Princess.
“It’s a woman,” Mallín said, somewhat indignantly. “She wouldn’t give her name.”
A woman? Ah. Nestor’s secretary. I was right.
He sensed the e
yes of the Virgin Princess on him. She looked either angry or hurt or both.
What’s that? She doesn’t like the idea of a woman calling me?
You want to keep your Older Gentleman Friend to yourself, do you, Princess, and not share him with the other virgins at the Belgrano Athletic Club?
He went to the telephone and picked it up.
“Hola?”
“Señor Frade?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Sí.”
“Un momento, por favor,” the woman said.
A man came on the line and asked, “Cletus? Cletus Frade?”
“Who is this?”
“This is your father.”
Jesus Christ! What do I do? What do I call him? “Dad”? “Father”?
Nestor was right. He did find out that I’m here, and quickly.
“I don’t know what to say,” Clete said.
There was a chuckle, a deep one.
“Now that I have you on the line, neither do I. What about ‘Hola, Padre’?”—Hello, Father.