Raúl remained seated. “What do you want?”
“What did our mutual friend tell you?” asked Brodie.
“He said you wanted women.” His eyes flashed to Taylor. “But you already have a good one.”
Taylor asked Raúl, “What do you do for him?”
“Mr. Hunt’s business is his business.”
Mr. Hunt. Naturally, Worley would not use his real name or military rank, though Brodie wondered if this was a deliberate Mission: Impossible reference—which would be consistent with the juvenile humor that afflicted a lot of the Intel guys he’d known.
“Here’s the deal,” said Brodie. “I’ve got someone coming to town, and I want you to help me get him into a blackmail situation. Comprende?”
Raúl stared at Brodie for a moment, then nodded. “This is something I can do, yes. I have nice girls for this.”
“Hopefully not too nice,” said Brodie.
Raúl flashed a crooked grin. “No, señor. Not too nice. And easy to trust.”
“And then what?” asked Taylor. “Rooms with hidden cameras?”
He looked at Taylor. “Sí.” He seemed a little uncomfortable discussing this topic with a woman, thought Brodie. This pimp was a true gentleman. Raúl assured them, “We have places for this.”
“Good,” said Brodie. “But a tape of him banging a hooker is not enough. I need something more extreme. Understand?”
Raúl looked at Brodie. “Some of the ladies, they are trained to do this. To push the man into other things. Things maybe he does not ask for, things he does not even know he wants.”
Right. One minute you’re in bed with a slightly bored hooker, the next you’re on all fours wearing a pig mask and getting whipped.
“I’m thinking of younger girls,” said Brodie.
Raúl gave him a look. “How young?”
“Very young,” said Brodie. “Children.”
Raúl’s eyes darkened. “This is not something I do.”
“But this is something I need,” said Brodie. “For the blackmail.”
“No, amigo,” said Raúl, growing heated. “I tell you on the soul of my mother this is not something I do. I arrange ladies in hotel rooms, clubs, houses, this kind of thing. What you are saying, this is something else.” He added, “I cannot help you.”
“Raúl,” said Taylor softly. “Look at me.”
He made eye contact with her.
“We just want information. We want to know where this happens.”
Raúl shook his head. “Not my business.”
Brodie said, “Five hundred dollars.”
Raúl stood, took off his baseball cap, and ran his hand through his stringy hair, then paced over to the open-air window that looked out over the dark city.
Brodie moved close to him. “We’re looking for a place, and we think it’s in Petare. A place where they have very young girls.”
Raúl turned to him. “Do not go to Petare looking for this,” he advised.
“Why?” asked Brodie.
