Read Online The King's Gold by Yxta Maya Murray - Free Book Online
Authors: Yxta Maya Murray
Ads: Link
is. Couldn’t let Tomas’s kid get creamed like a coconut pie—especially if she might be able to find this Montezuma whatsis. I just mean that I thought it would be terrific if you wouldn’t get dead—and, at the same time, well, you might also help make me some money! By finding this gold what-have-you, the Aztec stash—”
“Marco said you knew Tomas.”
“Did I ‘know’ Tomas— hell yes. An awful man. Good client—terrible human being. But—it has to be said, a genius. An absolute genius. Master of seven languages, disappearing acts, disguises, political organizing, archaeology, and womanizing. And — An absolute ass. Look how he treated your mother, the fair Juana, whom he abandoned to the spindly arms of that Manuel person, that bald little curator—”
“My father—”
“And then we can’t forget how he treated that daughter of his—your sister.”
“Yolanda.”
“Yes, right. Yolanda. Yolanda de la Rosa. Oh, he was the worst to her, your sis. Wasn’t he? Always testing her mettle, as it were—didn’t he once drop Yolanda in the middle of the jungle when she was twelve years old and tell her to find her way home? And he was always disappearing—she’d hear reports of his death—and then he’d pop right back up months later. Poor little cabbage. No wonder she’s so quirky. And she always wears that ghastly black hat, doesn’t she? Like her father did. I think she’s touched in the head.”
All of this rather weird family history was, in fact, true, but as I had a two-ton thug guarding my door and a possible maniac returning to my room at any moment, it didn’t seem an appropriate time to get into a lengthy discussion about the many foibles of the de la Rosa clan.
“Yes, yes, but—hold on, Señor Soto-Relada, please—stop—talking—for a second. I have a lot of questions for you. First, about this letter—it’s turned out to be a forgery.”
A pause here, some panting. “Has it?”
“I was wondering if you had any more—”
“Now that’s odd—”
“—information about it.”
“Information? Do I have any? No. Though I can tell you that there was a time when your father was interested in it.”
“Marco said the letter used to belong to Tomas.”
“Yes, he bought it from me fourteen years ago! Old Tom spent a good amount of time trying to solve the thing, and was close to doing so—but then, you know, he went crackers and died. And so I...liberated the letter, if you will, from his estate, and sold it—again—to our friend, Moreno. I have a rather unorthodox business model, gets me into a lot of trouble—at the moment, in fact, I’m currently trying to avoid a date with...what do you Yanquis call it? The ‘fuzz’?”
I was so galled I just clung to the phone with my mouth open.
“But why dwell on that nasty detail? On the other, much less self-incriminating subject, Tomas was like that—the crackers part—you must have heard. Something of a melancholic. Given to moods. Like the daughter. Yolanda. And his war—his experiences in it—did not help his sulks much. So it didn’t surprise me much at all to hear that he might have died in Italy—it was just like him to race off and not say anything about it to anyone...wait, did you just hear something? A siren—something like that?”
“What? No.”
“Are you sure? Someone hyperventilating on a megaphone?”
“You’re saying he did die here, in Italy. How?”
“Oh—blagh—so you’re saying you don’t know. Well, I won’t tell you. Look, I’m very sorry that your family has had things so hard, but you really should thank me, as you would be floundering around with the fishes if I hadn’t recommended your talents to Sir Marco. And as to the letter—well, I’m sure it’s not a forgery. Your father would not have been interested in it if it were.
And, if you are a de la Rosa, then...well, you’ll figure it out. The de la Rosas always do. That’s what will keep you healthy with Mr.
“Marco said you knew Tomas.”
“Did I ‘know’ Tomas— hell yes. An awful man. Good client—terrible human being. But—it has to be said, a genius. An absolute genius. Master of seven languages, disappearing acts, disguises, political organizing, archaeology, and womanizing. And — An absolute ass. Look how he treated your mother, the fair Juana, whom he abandoned to the spindly arms of that Manuel person, that bald little curator—”
“My father—”
“And then we can’t forget how he treated that daughter of his—your sister.”
“Yolanda.”
“Yes, right. Yolanda. Yolanda de la Rosa. Oh, he was the worst to her, your sis. Wasn’t he? Always testing her mettle, as it were—didn’t he once drop Yolanda in the middle of the jungle when she was twelve years old and tell her to find her way home? And he was always disappearing—she’d hear reports of his death—and then he’d pop right back up months later. Poor little cabbage. No wonder she’s so quirky. And she always wears that ghastly black hat, doesn’t she? Like her father did. I think she’s touched in the head.”
All of this rather weird family history was, in fact, true, but as I had a two-ton thug guarding my door and a possible maniac returning to my room at any moment, it didn’t seem an appropriate time to get into a lengthy discussion about the many foibles of the de la Rosa clan.
“Yes, yes, but—hold on, Señor Soto-Relada, please—stop—talking—for a second. I have a lot of questions for you. First, about this letter—it’s turned out to be a forgery.”
A pause here, some panting. “Has it?”
“I was wondering if you had any more—”
“Now that’s odd—”
“—information about it.”
“Information? Do I have any? No. Though I can tell you that there was a time when your father was interested in it.”
“Marco said the letter used to belong to Tomas.”
“Yes, he bought it from me fourteen years ago! Old Tom spent a good amount of time trying to solve the thing, and was close to doing so—but then, you know, he went crackers and died. And so I...liberated the letter, if you will, from his estate, and sold it—again—to our friend, Moreno. I have a rather unorthodox business model, gets me into a lot of trouble—at the moment, in fact, I’m currently trying to avoid a date with...what do you Yanquis call it? The ‘fuzz’?”
I was so galled I just clung to the phone with my mouth open.
“But why dwell on that nasty detail? On the other, much less self-incriminating subject, Tomas was like that—the crackers part—you must have heard. Something of a melancholic. Given to moods. Like the daughter. Yolanda. And his war—his experiences in it—did not help his sulks much. So it didn’t surprise me much at all to hear that he might have died in Italy—it was just like him to race off and not say anything about it to anyone...wait, did you just hear something? A siren—something like that?”
“What? No.”
“Are you sure? Someone hyperventilating on a megaphone?”
“You’re saying he did die here, in Italy. How?”
“Oh—blagh—so you’re saying you don’t know. Well, I won’t tell you. Look, I’m very sorry that your family has had things so hard, but you really should thank me, as you would be floundering around with the fishes if I hadn’t recommended your talents to Sir Marco. And as to the letter—well, I’m sure it’s not a forgery. Your father would not have been interested in it if it were.
And, if you are a de la Rosa, then...well, you’ll figure it out. The de la Rosas always do. That’s what will keep you healthy with Mr.
Similar Books
