Taylor had no comment, but Brodie felt her eyes rolling. The clerk gave Brodie a receipt for the briefcase, and Taylor said to the clerk, “We should be back around seven tonight. Could you ask the concierge to make us a dinner reservation for eightP.M. at a restaurant of his choice?”
Brodie added, “We don’t eat rabbits.”
“Sí, señor… señora.”
Brodie gave him an American five and headed for the door with Taylor. He said to her, “We’re really good at this bullshit, aren’t we?”
“Speak for yourself. I have trouble being duplicitous.”
“Really?”
She didn’t reply.
They exited the hotel. The rain had stopped, but it left an oppressive humidity behind. The deserted roundabout was under a foot of water and the air smelled as though the sewers had overflowed. More importantly, the police and SEBIN might be closing in on them. Or Worley’s people might be lying in wait. “I won’t miss this place.”
“You will when we’re in the jungle.”
“Thanks.”
The doorman noticed them and hurried over. “Taxi?”
“I think we need a boat.”
The doorman smiled. “Sí. Big pour-down.”
“Right. We’ve ordered a taxi.”
“Sí, señor. He waits your coming.” The doorman blew his whistle and signaled to a black Honda SUV, which moved slowly toward them, leaving a wake of water behind.
The doorman looked at them curiously and asked, “Do you go where?”
Taylor replied, “The Marina Grande Yacht Club.” She added, “Fishing.”
“Ah, good fishing.”
Brodie said to her, “It’s always good to create a few witnesses to your bullshit.”
She had no reply.
The SUV, a Teletaxi, stopped at the curb, and Brodie gave thedoorman a dollar as Taylor climbed in and slid over so he wouldn’t have to walk through the water.
The doorman called out to the driver, “Los Marina Grande.” He said to his guests, “Have a good fish,” and closed the door.
Brodie said, “That guy should come with subtitles.”
“Relax.”
They exchanged greetings with the driver, who introduced himself as Gabriel, and who seemed to speak better English than the doorman.
As they passed through the security gates and onto the street, Gabriel asked, “Why you go Marina Grande?”
Why is everyone so fucking nosy? “Fishing,” said Brodie. “But first we have to pick someone up at Francisco de Miranda Airport.”
Gabriel nodded.
Taylor said to Brodie, “You’re the expert at impromptu bullshit.”
“I’ve had a lot of experience.”
