by Luke Murphy
“I agree. Talk to me.”
Dale sat down. “There’s only one guard, from that night, who has yet to show up after the escape. We’ve interviewed all the others and got their permission to look into their lives. But Steve Sullivan hasn’t even been heard from, in person or by phone. So, we’ll have to do everything by the book.”
The sergeant’s face wrinkled. “Do you think Sullivan’s in on it?”
“I’d like a little leeway to look into him.”
The sergeant nodded. “What do you want?”
“Well, if we can’t contact him, I’d like access to his bank accounts. Then a search warrant for his house.”
“No idea where he is?”
Dale shook his head. “Warden said he’s on holidays. Could have left the country with his family. Jimmy and I will talk to neighbors and friends and try to get a little more information.”
The sergeant nodded. “Okay, you talk to Sullivan’s known associates and hopefully you’ll get some probable cause. We should get your search warrants. Fill out the applications.”
Dale left the office and grabbed Jimmy. “Let’s go.”
He was pulling his jacket off the back of the chair when Jimmy said, “Hey, isn’t that your old partner?”
Dale turned around and spotted her. Josie Walker. His former partner. His former lover. His vice.
The moment he saw her, he fought memories that came flooding back in vivid, snapshot images. His rookie year, a sting operation gone bad, he and Josie taken hostage, fearing for their lives. The brush with death flamed a spark that had always been there, but had been dwindling in the embers of ashes.
One incredible night.
It had been a mistake, a line that he should never have crossed. Not just professionally, but personally. He and Betty had been newlyweds, but it wasn’t going well. He should never have done it, and never forgave himself either. Betty was the only one who knew about it. Not even Jimmy knew.
Josie had transferred the following day, and he hadn’t seen her since. He hadn’t tried to contact her and she hadn’t tried to contact him. That was years ago. As he looked at her now, he noticed that she hadn’t changed a bit.
Jimmy whistled. “What a body.”
Dale still hadn’t looked away. His saliva dried up.
Josie glanced in their direction and threw them a thin smile. Then she waved. Jimmy waved back, but Dale was frozen in time.
“Hey, Romeo,” Jimmy said. “You gonna wave back?”
Dale stirred from his fog and nodded to Josie.
Then she made her way towards them. Her body still looked lithe, hidden under a midnight-blue pantsuit. Her pale blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail to reveal her honed features, short nose and smooth forehead.
Dale could feel his heartbeat quicken and his palms grow sweaty. He wiped them on the leg of his pants.
“Good afternoon, Detectives.” Josie smiled at them, then she gave Dale a sage look. “Dale.”
Dale’s mouth was still dry. “What brings you by, Detective Walker?”
She looked at him, and Dale stared into her blue eyes. “It seems we have a cross-departmental investigation going on. I was just meeting with a couple of your colleagues, cross-referencing our information. I also wanted to meet with your department’s cryptologist.”
A cryptologist was a decoder skilled in the analysis of codes and cryptograms.
Jimmy kept looking at Dale, and then finally said, “I’m Detective Mason.” He stuck out his hand and Josie shook it.
“Nice to meet you.” She looked back at Dale. “How have you been, Dale?”
Dale nodded. “Good.”
“How’s the family?”
Dale felt a lump in his throat tighten. “Okay,” he was barely able to mutter.
“A rough patch,” Jimmy broke in. “But they’re trying to work it out.”
Dale looked at Jimmy, wondering why he’d tell Josie that. He was supposed to be on Dale’s side, his rock.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Josie said.
Dale looked into her eyes, studying her expression, and thought he saw a smile somewhere in the back of them. It was the way she looked at him, so subtle, almost invisible. Was Josie really sorry to hear that?
“Take care, Detectives. See you around, Dale.”
Josie turned and walked away.
Jimmy elbowed Dale in the ribs. “Check out that ass.”
Of course, he looked, and the sight of Josie in her tight-fitting pant suit brought back more memories. He hated himself for thinking it, but Dale wondered if Josie’s body was still as tight, compact and muscular as it had been all those years ago.
She’d always been a fitness buff, entering competitions throughout the country. She looked like she still frequented the gym.
“I hate to tell you this, Dale, but I’d give you up for a partner like that any day.”
“Thanks a lot, Jimmy. And I thought we had something special.” Dale smiled.
“What about you?”
Dale eyed Jimmy. “What about me?”
“Anything ever happen with Detective Walker?”
“Don’t be absurd. She was my partner, and Betty and I were married.”
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t blame you if it did. I’d just like the details, that’s all.” Jimmy smiled.
Dale shook his head. “You’ve got problems. Let’s go.”
Walking out, Jimmy smirked. “You know, you’re both single.”
“How do you know she’s single?”
“No ring on her finger.”
“Do you always look at a woman’s ring finger?”
“Absolutely. I’m married, quite happily, but I’m not dead.” Jimmy smiled. “I can look at the menu, I just can’t order anything.”
“You’re sick. And I’m not single. Like you said, Betty and I are working things out.”
“I don’t think you two will be renewing vows any time soon.” Jimmy winked. “Might as well enjoy life while you can.”
♣
By the time he reached his destination, sweat lubricated Calvin’s skin. He’d been constantly on the lookout for cops or a revenge attack from more thugs. There was no telling who those two had been acquainted with.
He waited ten minutes in line outside the bar before having his pockets and jacket searched by the security staff. Then he paid the cover charge and followed a steep set of stone-chipped steps into a basement. When he pushed open the doors, the disco-themed spotlights filtered through.
The Porão do Alemão was packed. A local rock group jammed on a small black stage surrounded by a throng of young and loud fans. The decibel level was near deafening.
The men dressed gino-style—collars up, shirts unbuttoned halfway down their chest. The ladies scantily clad.
He pushed his way to the bar and saw his cab driver slinging beverages behind the counter. He sat down on a stool and checked the crowd as he waited.
“You made it,” a sultry voice said.
Calvin swiveled back around in his stool and stopped, as if seeing her for the first time. She no longer had a hat covering her pulled back hair or her casual cab-driver attire. Her hair was down, and if she dressed to turn heads it worked.
“You clean up nice!” Calvin found himself yelling over the noise of the band and crowd, and maybe staring a little too long.
She smiled, and did a little pirouette. “What can I get you?”
“Surprise me.”
She gave him a sexy look and then grinned. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Be right back.”
She gently slid her hand under his arm and moved it to the side, sliding a napkin on the bar in front of him. She pivoted on one foot, her long hair swinging in the air, and trotted away. Calvin couldn’t help but check her out as she left.
The waitress wasn’t shy to flaunt her sex appeal. He didn’t think it was a confidence issue, and they both had “knockout”
bodies, but Rachel was more subtle, not openly seductive. Calvin was drawn to the quiet reserve, the mysterious sensuality that Rachel portrayed. Still, he was human.
“Hi, Mr. Watters.”
Calvin turned back to find Gabriela, the woman who’d served him at the hotel. She smiled from ear to ear. Without her uniform on, and with her hair now in pigtails, she looked a lot younger in a revealing outfit—a mini skirt, with fishnet stockings and five-inch heeled boots. Her short crop-top revealed a barbell, captive bead-ring naval piercing.
“Gabriela, right?”
“You remembered.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “I saw you come in.”
She squeezed up to the bar, pressing firmly against him, lodging herself between Calvin and the wooden top, looking totally comfortable and content. She turned, rubbing her firm buttocks against Calvin’s leg and wiggling it slightly. She ordered a drink and then turned back.
“Do you want to dance?” her voice was seductive, her tone suggestive.
“I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Come on.” She held his waist and turned him on the stool.
He pulled her hands off. “Not right now.”
“Later then?” She looked hopeful.
He feigned interest for her benefit. “Maybe,” he conceded.
The other tapster set Gabriela’s drink on the bar. She grabbed it and dropped her hand in Calvin’s lap accidentally-on purpose, brushing over his midsection.
“I’m going to dance with my friends. I’ll see you later?”
Calvin didn’t want to let the poor girl down, so he said, “Sure.”
She stirred the ice in her drink with her fingertip. “Later, then.” She smiled, giggled and bounced away. Calvin watched her leave to join her friends, who all wore glittery eye shadow and didn’t look old enough to drive a car, let alone be in a bar.
“Looks like you already made a friend.”
Calvin turned to find that his bartender/cab driver had returned.
He grimaced. “What’s the drinking age in this country anyway?”
She revealed her infectious smile. “Eighteen.” She set down a plate-bowl and a tall glass in front of him.
Calvin smiled. “So, what did you bring me?”
“The drink is called a Hellraiser. Part Black Sambuca, part Midori melon liqueur, part Strawberry liqueur.”
“And what about this?” Calvin asked, stirring what looked like stew in a large round bowl.
She smiled slyly. “If you’re going to be in Brazil, then you have to eat the feijoada.”
“Feijoada,” Calvin echoed.
She laughed at his poor pronunciation. “It is our national dish. A hearty stew of black beans, sausages and cuts of pork. It’s a labor of love here because we make it the old-fashioned way, takes twenty-four hours, between soaking beans and desalting pork.” She pointed at the plate. “Rice, kale, orange slices, farofa and pork scratchings are served on the side, with a tipple of cachaça to ease digestion. You’ll think you died and went to heaven.”
“Sounds delicious.”
She grabbed her bottled water and raised it up. “Here’s to raising a little hell tonight.”
Calvin picked up his drink and clinked her plastic bottle. “Cheers.” He took a drink and looked at the glass. “Not bad.”
“I thought you’d like it. So”—she leaned on the bar, smiling—“I heard that you’ve already been raising some hell tonight.”
“What do you mean?” Although he was pretty sure he knew.
“A big, black American broke up a kidnapping attempt in front of the ATM on Futuro. I kind of put it together.”
“News travels fast around here.”
“This is the technology era.” She twirled a lock of hair. “You better watch it. The cartel doesn’t like intruders, especially those who stick their nose in their business.”
“So that’s common around here?”
She nodded, threading her fingers through her hair. “There’s still a lot of poverty in this country. Street crime is big. It’s called, ‘quicknappings’. Someone being abducted and taken to an ATM to pay. Unfortunately, Brazil is known for it.”
“How do you live like that?”
“You adapt. If you mind your own business, they leave you alone. Let’s change the subject.”
Calvin nodded, looking around. “So, is it always this busy?”
She shook her head. “This is nothing. By 1:00 a.m., there will be twelve hundred people in here.”
Calvin’s smiled. “Is it always this loud?”
Her head tilted back in a laugh, a sweet, genuine laugh that shook her whole body. It was like music. “You’re not that old, are you?”
Before he could answer, she looked down at the end of the bar where a long line of patrons had gathered, waiting to be served.
“I’ll be right back.”
Calvin dipped his spoon into the stew, took a healthy bite and chewed.
“Well look who it is. Calvin.” He turned his head and saw the woman from the airplane, Chantal.
“Hey, Chantal.”
She turned and acknowledged a Latino-looking man beside her, the same man she’d been standing with outside the airport. He was short and had a distinctive widow’s peak. “This is my husband, Luiz.”
Calvin swallowed and stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Luiz.”
Luiz’s handshake was strong and firm. He nodded.
Chantal looked at his food. “The feijoada, nice choice. Looks like you’re blending right in.”
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It was recommended. It’s lucky that I see you out here. I was going to call you in the morning to arrange a boat tour.”
Chantal smiled. “It’s not luck.”
Calvin looked at her, knowing there was surprise on his face.
“Look around. This is where all the locals come to let off some steam. Actually, the bartender knows we run a tour business and just told us there was a tourist over here. So, I came down and saw you.”
“Really? Which bartender?”
“Oh, that cute little thing over there.” She pointed to Calvin’s cab driver.
“Do you mind if we join you?”
“If you don’t mind watching me eat.”
Chantal snorted a laugh. “Please, go on. That was a long flight. I’m sure you’re tired as well.”
“A little.” He took another bite. He could see Luiz eyeing him through the bar mirror. Did Luiz think Calvin was flirting with his wife?
Chantal ordered a drink and one for her husband. She turned back to Calvin. “Have you enjoyed our country so far?”
He swallowed. “Beautiful place.”
“So, you’re interested in a tour tomorrow?”
“Yes, very.”
“Any specific areas? The Amazon River is huge, with many outlets. Was there something in particular you wanted to see?”
Calvin had thought about an answer. He needed to make his request without sounding alarms or giving away why he was really there. Surely these people had heard about the plane crash, and probably were already suspicious when Americans came to town. But these people made their money from tourists.
Good thing he had a cover story. “I’m interested in the upper stretches of the river. I visited Peru last year and fell in love with the country. A lot of people I met there went on and on about the Solimões Region. If possible, I’d like to follow the Solimões River drainage basin as far up as we can.”
Chantal looked impressed with Calvin’s knowledge of her territory. She looked at her husband, who nodded.
“That should work.” She grabbed his bar napkin and removed a pen from her purse. She wrote down some numbers and slid the napkin to Calvin. “These are our rates.”
Calvin inspected the numbers and nodded. “Sounds fair.”
“So, it looks like we have a date for tomorrow. Where are you staying?”
He handed her the card he’d received and told her the name of his hotel
.
She whistled. “Nice spot. How about we meet you in the hotel lobby tomorrow morning at nine?”
Calvin was surprised. “You mean you’ll pick me up right at the hotel?”
Chantal smiled. “We’re here to impress. Plus, it’s the slow season around here. So, you might be our only customer anyway.”
Calvin shrugged. “Okay, how about eight? I’m a bit of an early riser.”
Chantal looked at her husband, and again he nodded.
She looked at Calvin. “Sounds like a plan. See you tomorrow.”
She handed her husband his drink, took hers, and the two left. Calvin watched them head towards the dance floor, before Chantal pulled a phone from her purse and put it to her ear. They made a quick turn and headed for a corner table.
“Friends of yours?”
His bartender/driver returned. She had a damp cloth slung over her shoulder and her hair was slightly wet from perspiration. Calvin considered it mildly attractive.
“Thanks for sending them over.”
She smiled. “Since you went to the zoo, thought you’d like a tour of the river.”
“They seem like nice people.”
“Uh-huh,” she snickered.
“What does that mean?”
But she’d already turned and was serving another customer.
Calvin watched her, wondering what the bartender implied. The former collector had always been known as an intuitive and aware guy, which had kept him alive and successful on the Vegas streets all those years. But the words of advice she’d whispered in his ear since he’d landed in Brazil, had him on edge and feeling that everyone in this country was against him. He was probably just tired from jet-lag.
Calvin shook his head, finished his stew and drink and ordered a beer.
When she served him his second beverage, she nodded towards the dance floor. “Looks like you’re getting some serious eyes.”
Calvin followed her gaze and saw Gabriela waving him over.
“You make friends easily, Mr. American Tourist.”
When Calvin looked around hoping to be saved, Chantal and Luiz had already vanished. Their drinks were still on the table, untouched. That phone call must have been an emergency.
Chapter 12
