Chapter 46
Cafe de los Papagayos offered papier-mâché parrots, painted in bright colors. They hung from perches attached to the ceiling, interspersed between the lazy rotating fans. Eying the torn booth seats with their duct tape repairs, he opted to sit at a one of the Formica tables and placed his Panama hat on the vacant chair beside him. The radio at the bar belted out a romantic ballad, something to do with a thousand broken hearts. When his waitress arrived with a menu, he ordered a cold Carta Blanca beer to start with and then a huevos rancheros plate.
When she returned with his food he asked her a question in his halting Spanish. She gave him a sloe-eyed gaze as she sized him up, and then twisted the ends of her long, raven hair as she formulated an answer.
"No, señor. No hay nadie con ese nombre aquí, Americana o Francais."