“Same old. Everything is the United States’ fault. They have theNew York Timesif you want something in English.”
“I think I’d get the same story.”
“I assume you spoke to Dombroski last night.”
“Good assumption. He wanted us to go to Petare last night. I’m sure General Hackett is up his ass.” Brodie thought about sharing the info about Robert Crenshaw’s murder, but decided against it. He told himself this was not because he didn’t trust his partner, but because it was not relevant at the moment.
Their waiter, a young man named Mateo, came by and Brodie asked, “What’s a traditional Venezuelan breakfast?”
Mateo smiled. “My wife usually makes arepas with eggs, but my wife is not here, so the hotel offers huevos pericos. This is like scrambled eggs, but more… exciting.”
They both ordered the exciting scrambled eggs, and Mateo bowed and walked off to the kitchen.
Taylor said, “?‘Perico’ means parakeet.”
“I was wondering why I didn’t hear the birds this morning.”
Taylor smiled. Brodie noticed that she had dressed down for their strollthrough the slums and had traded her blazer for a windbreaker. Brodie was wearing a monochrome T-shirt and a light cotton bush jacket. It was hot enough that they should not be wearing jackets at all, but when walking around places like Petare, you didn’t want people to know you had a gun until they were looking down the barrel.
Taylor informed him, “I didn’t want to carry around the drugstore bag but I stuffed a few snacks and medical supplies in my jacket.”
“I’m not sure gangbangers around here take bribes in the form of Snickers bars, but it can’t hurt.”
Taylor replied, “I also brought the Taser and zip ties.”
“Good.” But if Kyle Mercer was coming at him, it wasn’t the Taser he would reach for. In fact, today he’d made sure to pull his extra loaded mag from the room safe, and he had noticed that Taylor had already taken the other one. She, like Brodie, knew that the only thing worse than finding yourself in a gangland shoot-out was being the first one to run out of bullets.
Taylor pulled a map from her jacket pocket and unfolded it. She pointed to a section in the northern end of Petare that she’d circled in pen. “This is the July Twenty-Fourth neighborhood.” She moved her finger down to an area toward the center of the slum. “And this is the original historic core of Petare, which actually used to be its own city. There’s an old pink cathedral there, which is probably the church Al Simpson described.”
Brodie looked at the map. The old quarter was almost a straight shot east from the Marriott, going by way of a road that passed the Francisco de Miranda Airport. “We’ll start by following Simpson’s route, then work our way north toward July Twenty-Fourth.” He added, “We’ll do a recon, and also see who responds to our presence, and how.”
“And who are we? What’s our story?”
“We are Clark and Sarah Bowman, the stupidest fucking tourists that ever lived. Maybe you’re looking to snap some poverty porn to punch up your Instagram.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yeah. Sarah Bowman completely sucks.”
“And who is Clark?”
“Clark is looking for a break from his banal life. And maybe he’s thinking about getting into some trouble tonight, minus his wife.”
Taylor suggested, “Maybe she likes trouble too.”
Brodie wasn’t sure that would fly. This city might be a hotbed of corruption and murder, but it was still a traditional Catholic, patriarchal country. Would the men who bought and sold women also accept them as… voyeurs? Or customers in a ménage, as they did in Bangkok? Brodie said, “We’ll see.”
Mateo returned with their parakeet omelets, which were, thankfully, just chicken eggs scrambled with tomatoes and scallions. Pretty good. “Get the recipe for the O Club.”
They ate quickly, paid the bill, and headed for the door. If Luis had come to his senses, he wouldn’t be waiting for them.
“Let’s make an arrest today,” said Brodie.
“Also, let’s try not to get shot or kidnapped today.” She added, “And let’s not shoot any mules.”
“Not funny, Taylor.”
They walked outside and saw Luis’ jalopy idling in the hotel’s roundabout. Brodie commented, “My bullying worked.”
