Vamoose.”
Scarface looked at Brodie, then at the bill. Without hesitation, he grabbed the cash and headed for the door. Raúl yelled something after him in Spanish, but he kept walking.
Brodie turned back to Raúl. “Now we have some privacy.”
Raúl did not look happy. He took a long drag on his cigarette, then stubbed it out on the arm of the couch. “Please sit.” He motioned to the couch across from him.
Brodie replied, “I haven’t had my tetanus shot. We’ll stand.”
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.
“Because…” He made his hand into the shape of a pistol and put it against the bridge of his nose. “They will shoot you in the face, and then they will burn your body, and no one will be able to identify you when they dump your pieces on the side of the highway for the dogs to devour.”
There was a long silence.
Brodie said, “Just tell us where. A street, a neighborhood.” He reminded Raúl, “Five hundred dollars.”
Raúl looked at him, then at Taylor. “These days no one cares about a whore in Caracas. We are all whores now, doing what we must to live. But this thing with the children brings attention. This crime must stay in the dark.”
“Why is that?” asked Taylor.
Brodie thought the answer was that child prostitution attracted international attention, but Raúl said, “The regime.”
“The regime is cracking down on child prostitution?” asked Taylor.
Raúl seemed to think that was funny. “No, señora. People in the regime work with the local gangs. They bring drugs from Colombia, stolen food and medicine from the ports. They sell weapons taken from the military. And the young girls, this is another part of their business. The women and the girls.”
Brodie and Taylor exchanged glances. There didn’t seem to be any bottom to the pit that this country had fallen into.
Raúl added, “It is mostly the government oilmen. PDVSA. The scum of the