Chapter 1 #3
“Would you happen to know where his habits might take him at lunchtime on a Tuesday? I will only bother him for two minutes. I need to ask him for the tiniest favor—urgent, but very quick. It’s not even enough to make an appointment really.
” She smiled, making sure to bring it all the way up to her eyes.
The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was trying to be manipulative.
It was only a question of trying to be expeditious.
Waiting two extra days to get started when the whole process could take up to six weeks seemed so wasteful.
“He’s not available right now,” he said, beginning to run the sandpaper over a section of the wall that looked freshly re-cemented.
“Are you sure?” Vilmari called up to him. “Because my friend and I came all the way from New York City at nine last night, and it’s almost twenty-four hours later. We’ve flown and driven all the way here to have a conversation with the mayor. What did you say his name was?” She turned to Lora.
“Andrea Garibaldi,” said Lora.
“Right, Andrea Garibaldi. And I will tell you something—I am hot. My feet hurt and I know it’s the wrong time of day, but I need a cocktail.
So, if you know this guy or know where to find him, can you please help us out?
Because you don’t know my friend Lora here, but she is one of the most determined people I know and will stand here until she wears you down enough to take her to him personally.
So, let’s maybe make this quicker for all of us.
Lor?” She gestured to Lora and stepped back.
Lora gazed up, clasping her hands together. “I would be really, really grateful if you would please let me know where I can find the mayor.”
He paused to look down at them again.
“Now,” whispered Vilmari behind her.
“Now would be great,” said Lora, her face upturned and smiling.
He sighed, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of it.
He then lowered himself to sitting on the platform, grabbed the crossbar next to him, and, in one smooth movement, twisted and lowered himself to hanging a couple of feet above the sidewalk.
The insufficient T-shirt lifted, revealing a swath of toned torso, and Lora heard Vilmari gasp.
He let go of the bar, dropping gracefully onto the stones in front of them. “Follow me,” he said.
Lora turned back to Vilmari as they gaped at each other.
“What was that?” mouthed Vilmari silently.
Lora’s eyes went wide as she shook her head.
They grabbed their suitcases, composing themselves enough to follow him silently as he walked toward the piazza.
He passed the main entrance of city hall and took a left down a side street, pausing in front of a normal-sized door, then pulled from his pants pocket a heavy metal ring that looked like it held keys to every building in town.
He was probably a very in-demand contractor.
No wonder he knew everyone. Unlocking the door, he stepped aside, gesturing for Lora and Vilmari to go through first.
“You can leave your bags here. No one will take them,” he said. “This way.” He nodded his head, turning left down the hall.
“This is really so generous of you,” said Lora, trailing behind his long strides. “We wouldn’t want to keep you any longer from your work. If you tell us where his office is, we can take it from here.”
“It’s OK. It makes more sense for me to stay at this point.” He turned to the right, pausing in front of another door that was closed, but not completely. Shoving against it with his hip, he gave the handle a quick twist and popped it open. “I’ve got to come back and fix this.”
“You do work for everyone in this town, I guess,” said Lora, following him inside the office.
Vilmari pulled up behind her, removing her sunglasses and blinking at the room.
It was bigger than Lora would have guessed and crammed with furniture from every decade, it seemed.
A ’60s-ish metal-and-Formica desk stood in the middle of the room, one ’70s-looking chair behind it and a couple of ’90s-looking chairs in front of it.
A giant wooden armoire from some undetermined epoch stood against one wall, its doors having lost their ability to close ages ago.
It was packed with reams of paper and booklets.
A large oil painting of a seaside landscape hung on the wall behind the desk.
“You might say that,” he said. “You can have a seat.” He gestured toward the two chairs in front of the desk, pulled an eyeglass case from the cargo pocket of his pants, and slid on the black frames.
“What did you say your name was again?” he asked as they scooted over to sit on the dark plum upholstered chairs.
“I’m Lora Brooks. And this is my friend Vilmari Colón,” she said, her eyes flicking up to the hard hat he was still wearing inside the office. His eyes drifted up as he seemed to realize it at the same moment and quickly removed it.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” he said. Walking around to the opposite side of the desk, he extended his hand to Lora. “Andrea Garibaldi. How can I be of service?”