“Professional courtesy,” he said. “That’s why journalists and lawyers feel safe swimming in shark-infested waters.”
She laughed again.
The waiter delivered two enormous martinis.
She touched the rim of her glass to his.
“Here’s to you, even if you won’t show me your story and think I’m a shark.”
“I didn’t say you were a shark,” he said.
“That was the implication,” she said.
“I meant to imply nothing of the sort,” Castillo said.
“The hell you didn’t,” she said.
“I know that you’ll find this hard to believe, but on more than one occasion I’ve had a story stolen from me by women nearly as good-looking as you. I’ve learned that when a woman—a good-looking woman—bats her eyes as me, I’m putty in her hands.”
“You’re outrageous!” she laughed. “I can’t believe that any woman has ever taken advantage of you, Karl.”
“I expected you would say something like that,” he said. “While you were batting your eyes.”
“I was not,” she protested.
“If you weren’t, then I can only hope you won’t,” he said. “I’m not sure I could resist.”
She shook her head.
“So what do you think happened to the 727?” she asked.
“It was stolen by parties unknown for unknown purposes, ” he said. “It is alleged.”
“You’re not going to tell me what you found out, are you?”
He shook his head.
“Tell me about Mr. Wilson,” he said, changing the subject. “Where is he now, home with the kiddies?”
“No kiddies,” she said. “Do I look like the motherly type?”
“Let me think about that,” he said.
“I’m not,” she said.
“And Mr. Wilson’s not the fatherly type, either?”
“No, he’s not,” she said. “He’s somewhat older than I am. It was too late for us when we got
married.”
“Somewhat older? How much older is ‘somewhat’?”
“That’s none of your business!”
“What does he do? Doesn’t he have a hard time with you rushing off to the four corners—in this case, to darkest Africa—in hot pursuit of a story?”
“None at all,” she said. “He has his professional life and I have mine, and mine requires from time to time that I travel. He’s very understanding.”