The moment arrived when Terry Holt realized that he was simply holding the bag for Jimenez y Cía.—Jimenez and Company—in the city of Manila. He wasn’t getting anywhere, himself. So, painfully, he prepared to wind up the company’s affairs and his own, and start over. It seemed appropriate to take inventory, consult the police—they’d been both amiable and co-operative—and then make new plans. But first it would be a good idea to go somewhere else for a while, until the problem presented by La Rubia and radar and fish and orejas de ellos had been settled. He was at work on the inventory when the door opened, the warning-bell tinkled, and the girl came into the shop.
He looked up with a wary eye, glancing over the partition separating the workshop area in which the merchandise sold by Jimenez y Cía. was assembled. There were certain people he felt should not come into the shop. The police agreed with him. He was prepared to throw out anybody who came either to demand that he build something or else, or to demand that he not build it or else. In such forcible ejections he would be backed by the authorities of the city and the Philippine Republic.
But this customer was a girl. She was a pretty girl. She was pleasantly tanned. Her make-up, if she wore any, looked natural, and she carried a sizable parcel under her arm. She turned to close the door behind her. She was definitely from the United States. So Terry said in English, ‘Good afternoon. Can I do something for you?’
She looked relieved.
‘Ah! We can talk English, ‘ she said gratefully. ‘I was afraid I’d have trouble. I do have trouble with Spanish.’
Terry came out from behind the partition marking off the workshop. The shop was seventeen feet wide and its larger expanse of plate glass said, ‘
Jimenez y Cía.’ in large letters. Terry’s now-vanished partner Jimenez had liked to see his name in large print. Under the name was the line ‘
Especialidades Electrónicas y Físicas.’ This was Terry’s angle. He assembled specialties in the line of electronics and modern physics. Jimenez had sold them, not wisely but too well. At the bottom corner of the window there was a modest statement: ‘
Orejas de Ellos, ‘ which meant nothing to anybody but certain commercial fishermen, all of whom would deny it…
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