The Aztec Avenger

CHAPTER THREE

By the time I flew the Cessna 210 back to the EI Paso airport, turned in the key, and paid my bill, it was midafternoon. I had to walk about two hundred yards from the flight shack to the main airport terminal building.

In the lobby, I headed directly for the bank of telephones. I stepped into a booth, closed the door of the booth behind me, and emptied a pocketful of coins onto the small, stainless steel shelf. I put a dime in the slot, dialed zero and then direct-dialed the rest of the Denver number.

The operator came on.

“Collect call,” I told her. “My name is Carter.” I had to spell it out for her.

I waited impatiently while the chimes pulsed in my ear until I heard the telephone ringing. After the third ring someone answered.

“International Data.”

The operator said, “This is the El Paso operator. I have a collect call from a Mr. Carter. Will you accept?”

“One moment, please.” There was a click and in a moment a man’s voice came on.

“Well accept,” he said

“Go ahead, sir.” I waited until I heard the operator disconnect

“Carter here,” I said. “Have you heard from Gregorius yet?”

“Welcome back,” said Denver. “We got the word.”

“Am I switched on?”

“You’re switched on and being recorded. Go ahead.”

“I want a printout on Carmine Stocelli,” I said. “Everything you’ve got on him and his organization. Personal data first, including a telephone number I can reach him at.”

“Coming up,” said Denver. There was another short pause. “Ready to copy?”

“Go ahead.”

Denver gave me the telephone number. “There’s also a code you have to use to get him,” said Denver, and explained it to me.

I hung up on Denver, then dialed the New York number.

The telephone rang only once before it was picked up.

“Yeah?”

“My name is Carter. I want to talk to Stocelli.”

“You got the wrong number, feller. There ain’t nobody here by that name.”

“Tell him I can be reached at this number,” I said, ignoring the voice. I read off the El Paso phone booth number. “It’s a pay phone. I want to hear from him in ten minutes.”

“Bug off, Charlie,” growled the voice. “I told you, you got the wrong number.” He hung up.

I put the telephone back on the hook and sat back, trying to make myself comfortable in the cramped enclosure. I took out one of my gold-tipped cigarettes and lit it Time seemed to creep by. I played with the coins on the shelf. I smoked the cigarette almost down to the filter before I dropped it on the floor and crushed it out with my shoe.

The telephone rang. I looked at my watch and saw that only eight minutes had gone by from the time I had hung up. I picked up the receiver and immediately put it back on the hook without saying a word. I watched the second hand of my wristwatch tick around in spasmodic jerks. Exactly two minutes went by before the phone rang again. Ten minutes from the time I’d hung up on New York.

I picked up the receiver and said, “Carter here.”

“All right,” said the heavy, rasping voice that I recognized as Stocelli’s. “I got your message.”

“You know who I am?”

“Gregorius told me to expect a call from you. What do you want?”

“To meet with you.”

There was a long pause. “Gregorius gonna agree to my proposition?” Stocelli asked.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” I said. “Where and when can we meet?”

Stocelli chuckled. “Well, you’re halfway there now. I’ll meet you in Acapulco tomorrow.”

“Acapulco?”

“Yeah. I’m in Montreal now. I’m going down to Acapulco from here. I’ll see you down there. You check into the Hotel Matamoros. You got that name? My boys will get in touch with you and we’ll get together.”

“Good enough.”

Stocelli hesitated and then growled, “Listen, Carter, I heard things about you. So I’m warning you. Don’t play no games with me!”

“I’ll see you in Acapulco,” I said and hung up on him.

I fished another dime out of my pocket and called Denver again.

“Carter,” I said, identifying myself. “I want a printout on the operation out of Acapulco. Who’s tied in with Stocelli down there? How big is it? How does it operate? Everything you can pull out on them. Names, places, dates.”

“Got it.”

“How long will it take?”

“You’ll have the information by the time you get to Acapulco, along with the other material you asked for. Is that soon enough? Anything else?”

“Yeah. I want a Telecopier air-shipped to me at the Hotel Matamoros. And I want it waiting for me when I arrive.”

Denver began to protest, but I cut him off. “Goddamn it, charter a small jet if you have to,” I said brusquely. “Don’t try to save pennies. It’s Gregorius’ money, not yours!”

I hung up and went outside to hail a cab from the rank. My next stop was the Mexican Tourist Bureau for a visitor’s permit, and from there I headed across the border to Juarez and the airport I barely had time to catch the Aeromexico DC-9 to Chihuahua, Torreon, Mexico City, and Acapulco.