Tracks by Niv Kaplan Page B

desk.
    Ortega showed her his Spanish
police credentials and that seemed to do the trick.
    “There was an under-aged child
in that party,” Julia recalled, “but I could not tell if it was a boy.  Of
course they could have given a false name.”
    “First initial, which is all I
ever need, was H. Rio,” she said and turned on the table, stretching to reach
the desk drawer on the other side.  The men swallowed hard, exchanging
glances.              
    She managed to open the drawer
and grab a printout of the train tickets, which she handed Ortega, an
apologetic smile on her face as she straightened her almost non-existent skirt
over her thighs.
    The itinerary included four names, the only full name showing belonged to Louisa Rio,
with her Madrid address.  The other initials M. and R. stood for Maria and
Reuben Rio, her parents from Segovia.  Initial H. remained a mystery.
    “Can we talk to the delivery
boy?”  Sam asked, speaking for the first time.
    Julia looked him over. 
“I suppose,” she said, “when he’s around.”
    “When would that be?” 
Ortega pressed.
    “You can wait around here for
a few hours.  He’s usually back by day’s end.  Or you can come back
tomorrow morning, bright and early.”
    “How
early?”  
    “Eight is a good time,” Julia
said, sliding off the desk.  “I must be going now.  I got clients
waiting.”
    She kissed both men, each on
both cheeks, rubbing her firm breasts against them, and led them back to the
front office.
    “We’ll wait for the boy,”
Ortega said in Spanish.
    “Suit yourselves, there’s coffee
in the corner,” Julia said, blew them another kiss and slipped out the door.
    The remaining two agents, both
ladies, laid upon them a forced smile and resumed their work.  Sam and El
Chino poured themselves coffee and slumped into adjoining guest sofas to wait.
     
    The delivery boy, Javier,
appeared two hours later, promptly at five.  Sam was napping by
then.  They cornered him in the back office.
    “Describe the Rio party you
delivered tickets to at the Eurobuilding three days ago.”  Ortega
commanded in Spanish.
    “I had a guy ask me about
them,” Javier said.
    “I know,” Ortega said. 
“Now describe them to me.”
    “Are they in some kind of
trouble?” the boy inquired stubbornly.
    “No trouble.  We just
need to find them.”
    “They were two old folks, a
nice lady, and a boy,” Javier said.
    “Did you see the boy? 
Can you describe him?  How old was he?” Ortega asked, taking a photo from
his shirt pocket and handing it to Javier who studied it for a long moment.
    “He was in the shadows. 
I did not pay much attention.  The woman took the tickets and gave me a
nice tip.”
    He looked thoughtful a moment,
looking at the photo in his hand again, then added, “He was not big.  Might have been twelve or thirteen.   I did not see his
face.”
    “Did you notice what he
wore?  Anything special?”
    “I think he wore a hat. 
I think it’s why I didn’t see his face.”
    “You sure it was a boy?”
    The boy hesitated then
nodded.  Sam and Ortega exchanged glances again.  The resource had
been exhausted.  They thanked him and went out into the street.
    “He’s with her.  I know
it,” Ortega said, flexing his hips in the middle of the street.
    “Why did they cancel the trip,
is what I want to know,” Sam mused.  “They didn’t even ask the travel
agency for a refund.”
    “They may still,” Ortega
pitched in.
    “Make sure we know about
it.”  Sam said.
    “Anything for another look...”
Ortega remarked.
    “She may eat you alive,” Sam
observed drily.
    They halfheartedly cackled at
one another.  In truth they had reached another dead end.
    “Have you checked the
Eurobuilding?”  Sam asked.
    “They have no record of any of
them.  The lady is smart.”  Ortega said.  “It was just a
rendezvous place.  They left the same day they were supposed to go to
Barcelona, only they went somewhere