Tracy?” “Yes.” “Do you know a Koko?” Dexter, the desk clerk, sniffed down the sizable length of his nose as he asked the question. “Yes. Nestle’s and Bosco. I like Bosco myself, but Nestle’s is easier to travel with ’cause Bosco is like a mush. I broke a bottle of Bosco once in my suitcase and it ruined all my underwear.” “No, no, this is a person.” “Koko?” Trace said. “Chico?” “It might have been. A woman.” “Yeah, Chico is a woman, all right. And if she caught you sniffing her name like that, she’d have a dirk between your ribs so fast your heart would stop before you knew you were cut. What about her?” “She called and said she would call again at precisely five-thirty P.M. I think I should tell you, Mr. Tracy, that she was very insolent.” “What did she say? Be accurate. You may be called to testify at her deportation hearing.” “Well, she called me Buster for one thing.” “She calls everybody Buster. Go on.” “And she—Well, very rude—She said, I think she said that I was the dumbest person she ever talked to.”
