The Piranhas

by Harold Robbins

  The captain looked over the railing. A faint thump came up from the street. The captain turned to us. His face was expressionless. “Clumsy, stupid son of a bitch,” he said noncommittally. “He landed on the roof of a new car and ruined it.”

  We didn’t say anything.

  The captain replaced his revolver in his holster. “He would have killed all of us,” he said.

  “I know,” I said.

  “Do you want to take a look?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I saw enough of that in Vietnam.”

  He nodded. “Very well. Let us go back inside. I will call for more men, and while we wait for them, I will check your papers.

  * * *

  THERE IS NOTHING like a police escort to take you to the airport. Two motorcycles with sirens wailing in front of a black-and-white police car, then we, in the captain’s car, with another black-and-white behind us. People watched us curiously as we sped through the streets.

  Alma and I were in the back seat, a uniformed policeman drove the car, and Captain Gonzales sat beside him in the passenger seat. The captain turned back to us. “I think we’re okay,” he said. “There’s no sign of the Colombianos.”

  “I wonder where they went,” I said.

  “Who knows?” he answered. “My men lost them in traffic when they took off after the accident.”

  “Accident” was a polite way of expressing it. Especially since he had pushed the bastard over the railing. He checked his watch. “You missed the Braniff flight already,” he said. “It took off at two o’clock and their next flight won’t be until tomorrow.”

  “Shit,” I said.

  “Nothing to worry about,” he said comfortably. “Air Peru takes off for New York at four o’clock. I can get you on that.”

  I looked at Alma. She nodded. “It’s a good flight. They have a first-class section. I’ve taken it a number of times.”

  “Okay,” I said to the captain. “We’ll take it.”

  “You’ll have to buy a ticket,” he said. He reached his hand back to me. “Give me the money and your papers. I’ll arrange everything.”

  I took my hand out of my inside jacket pocket. I laid two one-thousand dollar bills on him, and with it I gave him my passport and exit visa. “Get a ticket for Alma while you’re at it.”

  “Of course,” he said and shoved it into his pocket. “It’s three o’clock now. I’ll set you up in the VIP lounge.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He looked at Alma. “When are you expecting to come back?”

  “I haven’t thought about it,” she answered. “I might go over to Paris for a quick visit.”

  “That’s very nice,” he said politely. “Send me a telex when you’re ready to return. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

  “You’re very kind, Felipe.” She smiled. “I’ll let you know.”

  He left us with a detective in the VIP lounge as he went to arrange the formalities for the flight. Alma lit a cigarette and a hostess brought us two glasses of champagne. “Excuse me a moment,” I said. “I have to go to the john.”

  “Hurry back.”

  I went to the toilet and pressed myself against the urinal as I opened my fly. I was doing real good until I looked in the mirror in front of me; then I almost lost it, narrowly avoiding pissing on my pants. Quickly I zipped up my fly and turned. Vincent was standing behind me, leaning against the door.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought you would be gone.”

  “I had to stay over,” he said. “Did you talk to your uncle?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Good,” he said. “Then you told him what I did?”

  “Of course,” I answered. “He was very pleased.”

  “Okay,” he said. He took an automatic fitted with a silencer from his pocket. “Then you’ll never be able to deny that you and Angelo were screwed over the coca, that it was all tobacco leaves.”

  “You’re crazy,” I said.

  “Twenty million dollars crazy,” he said moving toward me.

  I saw the door open behind his back. Then there was a cough of another silencer, and I was quick enough to get out of Vincent’s way as he pitched forward, his gun falling to the floor, the back of his head torn open, with blood and brains falling into the urinal.

  Captain Gonzales was standing in the doorway. “One of the Colombianos,” he said.

  I couldn’t talk. I nodded.

  “Now, get out of here,” he said. “I’ll have one of my men clean this up.”

  I was still silent.

  He half smiled. “You’re a lucky man,” he said. “It’s time for you to board the plane.”

  10

  CAPTAIN GONZALES GESTURED to one of his policemen as we stepped from the men’s room. The policeman came toward us. The captain spoke to him quickly in Spanish. The policeman nodded and placed himself in front of the men’s room door so that no one could enter.

  I looked at Captain Gonzales questioningly.

  “I want to get you and Alma on the plane before we have to bring the airport police into this. Once they get here, they’ll drag in Immigration, and you’ll be tied up in formalities, and it might be two or three days before you could leave. I’m sure you’re anxious to get home.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “After all, you saved my life back in the apartment.”

  “And you saved mine,” I said.

  “That is my duty,” he said. “To protect innocent people.”

  I held my hand out to him. “But thank you again.”

  We began walking to the lounge where Alma was waiting. “Strange,” he said. “I don’t understand why the Colombianos followed us.”

  “They probably had the same information that your department received. The only problem is that I was not the man they were searching for,” I answered.

  “You didn’t recognize the man in the toilet?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “But he was going to kill you,” he said.

  “I don’t know why,” I answered. “But thanks to you, he didn’t.”

  He nodded solemnly. “I will have two more men with me to take you on the plane. I don’t want anything to happen to Alma and you.”

  “I feel safer already,” I replied.

  He laughed suddenly. “Do you plan to return to Lima again?”

  I laughed with him. “I don’t think so. I’ve had enough excitement with this visit.”

  He nodded. “I think that is wise of you.” He glanced at me as we began to approach Alma. “There is no reason for you to tell her anything about the incident in the bathroom. She has been frightened enough over this affair.”

  “You’re just in time,” Alma said. “I just ordered a bottle of champagne.”

  The captain smiled at her. “You won’t have time for it. I arranged to preboard you.”

  “What’s the hurry?” she asked. “We have forty minutes before takeoff.”

  “I want you on the plane before any other passengers get on. We will escort you aboard the plane. Then I will have my two detectives at the foot of the ramp checking the other passengers boarding. They saw three men in the car with Colombian plates.”

  “You don’t think they would be here?” she asked.

  “I don’t want to take any chances,” he said. He picked up her compact valise and the other small valise that she was carrying on board. “Come,” he said.

  We left the airport through the employee door. Alma and I walked across the crossway to the plane, the captain leading us, and two detectives, one at our side and one following behind. Silently we climbed the steps into the plane. It took a moment for my eyes to get adjusted to the dark after the bright sunlight outside.

  A stewardess smiled at us. “Bienvenido, Señorita Vargas and Mr. Stevens. Estoy Señorita Marisa.”

  Alma smiled at her. She spoke in Spanish. The stewardess nodded. Apparently they knew eac
h other. The girl led us forward to our seats. We were seated in the last row of first class with our backs to a bulkhead.

  “You should be comfortable,” the stewardess said. “There are only two other passengers in first class.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “May I serve you some champagne?” she asked.

  “Yes, gracias,” Alma responded. Then she looked up at Captain Gonzales as she slipped into the window seat. “Will you join us, Captain?” she asked.

  He shook his head as he placed her valises in the overhead rack. “No, thanks, I’m still working.”

  “I’m sure that there is nothing to worry about now,” she said.

  “I’ll stop worrying when you’ve taken off,” he said. “Enjoy your champagne. They’re starting to board the passengers and I want to check them out with my men. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  The stewardess placed a bottle of champagne and glasses before us. Quickly she filled our glasses, then walked out to the entrance to greet the new passengers.

  I held my glass to Alma. “We’re getting great service,” I said. “Gonzales is keeping a close eye on us. I wonder what he knows that we don’t.”

  “He’s a policeman,” she said. “They like to make themselves important.”

  “It’s more than that,” I said, thinking about how quickly he had followed me into the toilet. “But I’m not complaining. If it weren’t for him we would be in the shithouse.”

  “It’s over now,” she said. “We’re on our way to the States.”

  “Yes,” I said, then cursed. “Damn, I didn’t have time to call my uncle. He’ll be worried.”

  “You’ll be in New York in ten hours,” she said. “You can call him from JFK.” She refilled our glasses. “Relax. We’ll have a pleasant flight. Air Peru’s DC 8s are more comfortable than Braniff’s 707s, even if they are a little slower. We’ll be able to stretch out.”

  “I’ve never been able to stretch out on a plane,” I said.

  She smiled. “That’s because you’ve never flown with me. I’ll hold your prick all the way. I’ll powder it with a little cocaine and you’ll be flying on your own.”

  “You’re a real cunt,” I said.

  “No.” She laughed. “Peruvian pussy.”

  We touched glasses again. I looked up as another couple were escorted up the aisle to their seats. They were middle-aged, very well dressed. The woman wore a mink coat, and her hands sparkled with diamonds. The man took off his homburg, revealing thin curls of white hair; his eyes were hidden by shaded French-type eyeglasses. I watched as they seated themselves and the stewardess served them champagne.

  Captain Gonzales returned. “Everything’s in order,” he said. “The passengers are all boarded. It’s a very light flight. There are only forty-seven passengers in the back.”

  “Maybe you can now join us in a glass of champagne?” Alma said.

  “No, thanks again,” he said apologetically. “I will have to fill in papers at headquarters for hours.” He held out his hand to me. “Good luck, Mr. Stevens. It is an honor to have met you.”

  “The honor is all mine, Captain Gonzales,” I said, pressing his hand. “Thank you for everything you have done for us.”

  “Por nada,” he said, then reached for Alma’s hand and kissed it respectfully. “Hasta luego, Señorita Vargas.”

  Alma nodded to him. “Mil gracias, Capitán,” she said. “Is there one more favor I can ask of you?”

  “Anything,” he said.

  “We will arrive between two and three in the morning in New York. Would you be kind enough to send a telex to my hotel and have them send a limousine to the airport?”

  “I will attend to it immediately, Señorita Vargas,” he said, then, touching his hand to his cap in a half-salute, he turned around and walked off the plane.

  I heard the click as the doors closed behind us, and the whine of the jet engines began to whistle in my ears. I turned and watched her. Her face was turned toward the window and she was looking at the ground. I leaned over her shoulder and could see the captain and his men walking back to the terminal. The voice came through the intercom explaining the safety instructions in both Spanish and English as the plane rolled slowly onto the runway.

  The plane turned slowly onto the head of the runway. The brakes held the plane, and the jets began to rev up. Suddenly Alma’s hand held mine. Her grip tightened as we began to race down the runway. There was a faint whine, and then we were airborne. She turned to me, her face pale. “It always frightens me,” she said.

  But I wasn’t thinking about what she was saying. I was thinking about her asking the captain to telex her hotel. It was just now that I realized she had never told the captain which hotel. She placed her hand on my thigh. “The Hotel Pierre,” I said.

  She looked at me. “What about it?”

  “You never told the captain its name.”

  She laughed. “I told you that we had been old friends. He knew many years ago that my partón had given me an apartment there.”

  * * *

  IT WAS SLIGHTLY more than three hours and two bottles of champagne into the flight, and I was dozing, when the stewardess placed her hands on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and looked up at her.

  She held a fresh bottle of champagne. “Congratulations,” she said. “We are just passing over the equator.”

  I turned to Alma. “Did you sleep?” I asked.

  “A little,” she answered as the stewardess poured the champagne and went forward to the other passengers. Alma held her glass to mine and leaned over and kissed me.

  “Congratulations to you, too.” I smiled and kissed her.

  “I have a special present for you,” she said laughingly. She pressed something into my hand.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Smell it,” she said.

  I held it to my nose. “It smells like pussy and perfume.”

  She laughed. “You guessed right. It’s my bikini panties. They are still damp. I slipped them off after you fell asleep. Put them into your breast jacket pocket. Everyone will think you are wearing a handkerchief.”

  I stuck them in my pocket. “You’re crazy,” I said.

  “Not really,” she answered. “I just want to give you something that will remind you of when we crossed the equator at thirty thousand feet.”

  “You took me higher than that without a plane.” I smiled.

  The stewardess came back. “Dinner will be served,” she said.

  11

  I FELT HER hand on my shoulder and I rolled over in the comfortable bed and opened my eyes. Daylight poured in through the window. She was already dressed. She looked down at me and smiled. “You were sleeping pretty good,” she said.

  I shook the cobwebs out of my head. “What time is it?”

  “Twelve-thirty,” she answered.

  I bolted half out of the bed. “I have to call my uncle.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I already called him. I told him that you were sleeping. He asked that you call him at two o’clock.”

  I stared at her. “Where did you get his number?”

  “Don’t you remember?” she asked. “You had me call him from Lima. I never forget telephone numbers.”

  “How did he seem?” I asked.

  “Okay, I guess,” she answered. “Kind of sad though.”

  “Was he surprised that it was you that called?” I asked.

  “No,” she answered. She gestured to a table near the bed. “We have orange juice, coffee, and real American Danish.”

  “I’ll have the coffee,” I said, swinging my legs off the bed. The coffee felt good. Strong and hot. My head began to clear. “What time did you wake up?”

  “Eight,” she said.

  “Why so early?” I asked. “It had to be after four in the morning before we fell asleep.”

  “I had some things to do, calls to make,” she answered.

  A chime rang from the apartment door. “Th
at must be the valet,” she said hurriedly. “I have a number of things that need pressing. I’ll get that arranged while you grab yourself a shave and shower.” She picked up two of her medium-sized valises and took them into the living room, closing the door behind her.

  I filled my coffee cup again and took it into the bathroom with me. I drank it as I opened the medicine cabinet for a razor, but couldn’t find one. I thought a moment, then wrapped a bath towel around me and walked to the door that led to the living room.

  Her back was toward me as I opened the door. Two men were standing across the table from her. There were two leather valises on the table next to her Louis Vuittons. Her valises were open, and she was handing cellophane packages of white powder to the men, who were placing them into their own valises.

  “Twenty-two kilos,” she said, and then one of the men saw me and took an automatic from his jacket.

  She turned to me.

  I felt stupid. “I was looking for a razor,” I said.

  “Put your gun away,” she said coolly. “He’s Di Stefano’s nephew.”

  The man looked at me. “The one that went with Angelo?”

  “Yes,” she said, then turned back to me. “The razor is in the drawer at the side of the sink.”

  I nodded and closed the door behind me. I went back to the bathroom. Suddenly I felt sick and threw up into the toilet. Nothing made sense to me anymore.

  I turned to the sink and stared at myself in the mirrored sliding doors of the medicine cabinet. I looked like shit, pale and sweating, and my mouth felt sour. I slid open the mirrored door and took out a bottle of Lavoris I had seen earlier.

  I emptied the bottle before I was able to gargle out the taste in my mouth. I found the razor, an old double-edged Gillette, but there was no shaving cream, so I covered my face heavily with the faintly feminine soap on the basin. The razor blade was not too bad, but my hands were a little shaky, so I wound up with a few nicks. I held a hot washcloth against my face to take off the small spots of blood, then placed little pieces of damp toilet paper on the nicks to stop the bleeding.

  I sat on the toilet until the toilet paper dried, then went into the shower and hit myself with ice-cold water. I was shivering when I stepped out and wrapped myself with a heavy Turkish-towel bath sheet. I looked at the mirror again. I didn’t look too bad this time. Quickly I combed my hair and opened the door to walk back into the bedroom.