The Street Angel

by Robert Gollagher

  As the car bumped slowly over the winding dirt road that led back to the highway, Susan began to laugh. Richards took his eyes off the road for a moment and glanced across at her, before swerving the car a little to avoid a goat that had wandered out from one of the neighbouring properties.

  “Sorry,” said Susan. “I’m just nervous, I expect.”

  “You laugh when you’re nervous?”

  “Well, it is funny. I felt like everyone was watching me, watching you, as if everyone knew. It’s a bit like being a naughty schoolgirl again.”

  Richards laughed at this. “You? A naughty schoolgirl? I don’t think so.”

  “How do you know I wasn’t one?”

  “You were straight. You probably brought the teacher an apple.”

  “Well, I still felt like a naughty schoolgirl this morning.”

  Richards pulled up at the junction with the highway, looked left and right, then turned onto the blacktop and accelerated. It would be a long drive back to Recife. “Is that what we were doing last night? Misbehaving?”

  Susan ran the fingers of her left hand through his hair. “No.”

  Richards looked lazily at the fields of sugar cane that drifted by, at the brick red, wet soil by the sides of the highway, at the horse-drawn carts they occasionally passed. He was happy.

  Susan looked often at Richards, at his tanned face, his wavy black hair, his strong neck. He was so different to Adrian, so much more alive. She was attracted to him physically, very much, but it was more than that. He fascinated her. He was in many ways the kind of free spirit that she herself would have loved to be, free from everything which chained her down.

  “Have you ever had an affair before, Sue?”

  “Am I having one now?”

  “You tell me.”

  “No. Never before.”

  “In fifteen years, not once?”

  “No.”

  Richards nodded. “Me neither. When I was with Emily, I mean.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Richards pointed at a small, green, stone building by the side of the highway. It was just sitting there by itself, surrounded by farmland, isolated at the side of the road. “See that? Assembly of God.”

  Susan looked at the building as they sped past it. It was a flat building, not much to look at, but there was a white cross at its front which stood out against the lime green of the building itself. “A church?”

  “Yeah. A little different to your Catholic variety.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Hocus pocus. Black magic. You walk past one of those places some nights and you hear people yelling in joy, possessed by spirits. You find the whole congregation standing up and shouting. You should see it.”

  “I don’t think my vicar would approve.”

  “I don’t know, I kinda like it. They just let it all hang out.”

  “It sounds crazy to me.”

  “Doesn’t this world sometimes make you want to shout, Sue? It’s such a goddamned crazy planet. A little shouting’s gotta be good for the soul.”

  “Have you tried it?”

  “Who, me? I do my shouting in silence. There’s a little voice in the back of my head that spends most of the day yelling his lungs out.”

  “What does he say?” said Susan, bemused.

  “He just yells, ‘Get back to Kansas!’ Over and over. All he says.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. One day I’ll figure out what it means.”

  Susan laughed. “You think it’s a message, then?”

  “I tried clicking my heels together, but I’m still right here in Brazil.”

  Susan ran her hand through his hair again. “I’m glad you’re here, Bob.”

  “That makes one of us,” said Richards, deadpan. Then he laughed.

  “You know, Bob, I really care about you. This isn’t just ‘an affair.’ ”

  Richards shook his head and spoke softly. “Oh, no. Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong with saying it?”

  “People find something good. Maybe they have it for a little while. Maybe they have it forever. But they go and put words on it. They have to give it a fancy name. Only maybe it doesn’t live up to the name they give it, or maybe it does. Either way, it’s better without a name.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Bob.”

  “You know how you told me you felt alive again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you mean it?”

  “Of course. You know I did, Bob.”

  Richards smiled at her, then looked back at the road. “So did I.”

  Susan felt a wave of affection for him, when he said that.

  “Well, Sue, don’t try and give that a name. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Susan said softly. “Okay, I won’t.”

  When they stopped at a little town for some gas, Susan kissed him. She hadn’t felt this way about a man for twenty years. It was strange and new, and she loved the feeling. She could hardly believe it was happening.

  An hour later, Richards had dropped her off at the orphanage. He was genuinely happy, a feeling of which he was at once both appreciative and deeply suspicious. But even with all of his world-weary paranoia, he could not have guessed how very soon the bubble would burst. Two uniformed military policemen were waiting for him at his apartment building.

  As he drove through the gates into the underground parking lot, the two soldiers waved him to a stop. Richards wound down the car window.

  “Senhor Hichards?” said the closest of the men.

  “Yes.”

  “You will park your car and come with us.”

  “All right. No problem. Just give me a minute.”

  “Very well, Senhor.”

  Richards wondered what the hell was going on. He had never had soldiers waiting for him at his apartment before. Something had to be up, probably something very bad. He had no idea what it might be. He parked the car and walked slowly towards the soldiers. They each had a sub-machine gun hanging from their shoulders. Richards wasn’t going to make any fast moves that might upset them. The military police had a bad habit of shooting first and asking questions later.

  “All right, Senhor Hichards, you will come with us.”

  “What’s this all about?” said Richards, as they frisked him.

  “General del Campo wishes to see you urgently.”

  “He could have just called,” Richards said sarcastically.

  “Let’s go. Move it,” the second soldier barked.

  The soldiers drove him to the general’s mansion. It was separated from adjacent houses by an eight-foot concrete wall topped with razor wire, and there were two small guard towers, one at the front and one at the rear of the property, each of which contained two soldiers at all times. Richards knew that a man like the general might find himself the target of assassination attempts by powerful rivals. Kidnapping, however, was less likely. The military police would slowly crucify any lowly kidnappers.

  The house itself was a rambling mansion, built in a Spanish style. The garden at the back was lush and large, leading up marble steps to an open entertainment room filled with cane furniture and huge potted plants. There was an enormous swimming pool, more of a lake than a mere pool, but on this particular morning it was devoid of swimmers. None of the general’s large family were visiting. He was in full uniform, rows of ribbons and medals on his chest, and he was not in the mood for company.

  Richards was escorted through the rear boundary gates and marched into the large garden, past the pool, and up the steps to the seating area where the general waited.

  “Leave us,” the general grunted to the two military policemen. Then he spoke in English. He seemed to be trying to contain his volcanic temper, and was only just managing to do so. “Richards, have a seat.”

  Richards sat down.

  The general remained standing. “Do you have any idea what this is about? Hmmm? Any guesses, Mister Richards?”

  Richa
rds shook his head. “I’m sorry, General. I don’t. No.”

  “You don’t? Where were you last night?”

  “I was out of town, for the festival.”

  “I see. Well, while you were out having a good time, your friend Pierre Fontaine arrived in Recife. You know this, yes?”

  “Of course, General. He was due to meet with you this morning.”

  “There will be no meeting.”

  “What?”

  “My men found Senhor Fontaine gagged and bound in his room last night. He had been robbed, Mister Richards. Do you understand?”

  “What are you talking about? Is he all right?”

  “That is not my concern. My concern is the necklace he was to bring for me. The necklace that my ... niece wanted so much. The necklace I told you I had to have. Do you know where that necklace is?”

  “With Fontaine.”

  “No, Mister Richards. I ask again, do you know where it is?”

  Richards dared not stand up. The general was leaning over him, barking his questions out like he was in some dark interrogation room, not in his luxurious home. “What are you saying, General? How should I know?”

  “The necklace is stolen. Don’t you think it is a coincidence that this happens only hours after Senhor Fontaine arrives at the hotel? Don’t you think it would be rather difficult for a thief to know exactly when he was due to arrive? And that he should have such a valuable necklace in his room?”

  “Look, General, I told you I was out of town. What happened?”

  “What happened? For your information, three armed bandits raided the hotel after two this morning. They tied up the guards, went to Fontaine’s room, and stole the necklace, along with a number of lesser jewels which are of no concern to me.”

  “Jesus,” Richards hissed. “It sounds like a mafia job.”

  “Yes, that is what it sounds like. And how did they know?”

  “Maybe a crooked hotel clerk. Or a spotter at the airport. Could have been anything. Fontaine’s a well-known jeweller. Goddamn it.”

  The general turned his back on Richards and walked a few paces. Then he turned around and spoke again. “Or perhaps it was an inside job. Hmmm? Perhaps someone wanted to make a quick buck, Mister Richards? I believe your sales commission is five percent. Twelve thousand dollars. How much more profitable it would be to get, say, twenty-five percent? I believe that is the common reward for a valuable informant to the mafia. Sixty thousand dollars, all for one little piece of information, the date and time that Fontaine would be in that hotel with the necklace. Hmmm?”

  Richards stood up now, ignoring the risk. He was a dead man if the general thought he was in on it. “Just wait a minute. Pierre Fontaine is my friend. He might have been killed. I’m just as pissed as you are, General, believe me. I’m not going to sabotage my own deal. You ask anyone in Recife who’s done business with me. I deliver. I’m straight. And I don’t have anything to do with the mob. I’m a broker, and that’s all I am.”

  “Really? Then where is the necklace? You have not delivered.”

  Richards tried again. “Look, General, I’m a washed-up stockbroker. My sofa’s got holes in it. I drive a rust-bucket car. I’ve never fired a gun in my life. My idea of excitement is taking a girlfriend out to the Little Napoli for spaghetti marinara and a couple of beers. Do I look like somebody who’s on the take for the mob? Come on, General. I know you’re pissed about this, but give me a break. I’m just the little guy caught in the middle.”

  “What you are lucky not to be, Mister Richards, is a dead man.”

  Richards stood there looking at the general, thinking fast.

  “No one steals from General del Campo and lives to tell the tale. The thief learned as much, when we found him near the hotel. Now he is in the morgue. And that is where you would be, if it were not for Senhor Fontaine.”

  “Pierre?”

  “Yes. It seems he has vouched for you. He said he would trust you with his life. And perhaps that is exactly what he has done.”

  Good old Pierre, Richards thought.

  “But, Mister Richards, although I am prepared to believe him, if I find one shred of evidence that you are involved in this theft, I will have you executed. And I will be looking. Do you understand?”

  “I wasn’t involved, General. Believe me.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Forgive me, General, but if the thief is dead ...”

  “Where are the jewels? Good question. He had most of them with him, but not the necklace. We only found him because he had been shot.”

  “Shot? Who shot him?”

  “Street kids. At least that is what he told Captain Sollo. He claimed to have been shot by some little bastard with an old revolver who then took the necklace from him. I find the story ridiculous.”

  “There are a lot of street kids in that area,” Richards replied.

  “Granted. That is true. And they sometimes are armed.”

  “Maybe it’s the truth. Maybe the kids did shoot him.”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps his accomplices have the necklace. There were two other thieves we did not catch.”

  “Hmmm.” Richards was pleased the focus of the general’s anger had shifted away from him. “So what now?”

  “Sollo believes this story about the children. He says he was convinced the man was telling the truth, before he executed him. And Sollo has much experience in these matters. So, we find the little bastards.”

  “And then?”

  “We kill them, Mister Richards. And you had better hope one of the little runts has that necklace, or it will be your head next.”

  Richards didn’t want to see any kids getting murdered, but this was no time to try and argue the finer points of morality with a homicidal maniac like the general. “You’ll find it, General. I’m sure you’ll find it.”

  “You had better hope we do, for your sake, my friend.”

  The first thing Richards did after leaving the general was go to a public telephone and call the Golden Beach Hotel. Fontaine agreed to see him immediately. Sitting in the taxi on the way to the hotel, Richards could not believe his predicament. The whole thing was supposed to be a simple jewellery sale – a simple sale – and now all hell had broken lose.

  Fontaine met him on the second-storey terrace of the hotel. The beach was filled with happy people enjoying the brilliant weather, as usual, but Richards didn’t look.

  “Jesus Christ, Pierre, you might have been killed.”

  “Tell me about it, my friend,” said Fontaine.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “They were professionals. They came into the lobby with concealed weapons, tied up the guards, and forced the clerk to reveal my room number. The whole thing took less than fifteen minutes.”

  “Did you have a gun?”

  “No. It is too much the easy way to get me killed. I am a jeweller, not a gunman. These thieves would shoot me dead before I would even take aim.”

  Richards noticed Fontaine’s hand shaking as the Frenchman drank his vodka on the rocks. He reached across the table and patted his old friend on the shoulder. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t get hurt, Pierre.”

  “So am I, Bob. So am I. When the light in my room went on, I turned over in bed and what do I see? A man in a black balaclava with gloves. He had a Luger pistol trained on my head. I thought it was a bad dream.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What could I do? I got out of bed, like he told me, let him handcuff me and told him the safe combination. Then I listened as he took all my merchandise. But it is just money. I have insurance.”

  “Did you think he would kill you?”

  “At first, yes. But then it became clear he was a professional, a thief, not a murderer. So then I knew I would be safe.”

  “Any idea who he was?”

  “No. Mafia, probably. They must have had me followed.”

  “Did you hear what happened to him?”

  “No. Del Campo didn�
��t say.”

  “The general had him executed. But even when they found him, he was already injured. He gave them some cock and bull story about being robbed by street kids while he was getting away from the hotel.”

  “This is ridiculous. A professional, robbed by children? No.”

  “That’s what I thought. But one of the general’s henchmen interrogated him before they had him executed. Just like the old days of the military regime. Most people don’t lie under that kind of torture.”

  “No, he must have lied. His accomplices must have the necklace. He would lie to protect them, lie until the end. A brave man.”

  “Maybe, Pierre. But the general is going to round up the children and have them killed. I think he’s serious about it.”

  “Ah, he is a pig, this man, the general. You know, Bob, this thief did not touch one hair on my head. He took only the jewels and did me not one piece of harm. I am sorry for his death. There is too much killing. Too much.”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean. And I might be next.”

  “You?”

  “The general thinks I was an informer.”

  “Bah! This is even more ridiculous. I told him you were clean.”

  Richards said soberly, “Thanks, Pierre. That saved my life, you know.”

  “It is nothing, my friend.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “The general says he does not want me to leave town until the necklace is found. So I am a prisoner in this hotel. But at least I am safe.”

  “Shit. This is a goddamned nightmare, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. And you must take care, Bob. This general is angry. He wants blood. Be careful that blood is not yours.”

  “I’ll be careful, Pierre. I always am.”

  “I hope it is enough, to be careful,” Fontaine said cryptically.

  Richards smiled weakly. “So do I.”

  Chapter 10

  Bob Richards was used to dealing with his problems alone. So at first he didn’t say anything to Susan about the theft of the necklace, despite the fact that someone had leaked the news to the press. Maybe the hotel manager had confided in a reporter, but whatever the reason there it was on page three of the morning newspaper, three days after the heist. ‘Tears of Angels Stolen.’ This was just the kind of publicity that Richards didn’t need. Looking at the large photograph of the necklace only depressed him further. In disgust, he had thrown the newspaper in the trash on the walk back from the corner newsstand. He didn’t even want the story in his apartment.