The Street Angel

by Robert Gollagher

  “You’ll find it, General,” Richards said lamely, trying to sound relaxed.

  “Of course I will. Of course I will. But perhaps it will take more time than I want it to take. That is why I have summoned you.”

  Richards couldn’t help putting a finger in his collar. “Oh?”

  “You procured the original necklace for me. You can find me another.”

  “Another?”

  The general took a seat in one of the cane armchairs. “Another. You must understand, this whole business is a public embarrassment for me. The longer it takes to retrieve the necklace, the more ... impotent my police seem. And I take pride in my police, Mister Richards.”

  “Naturally,” Richards replied, wondering where this was going.

  “And there is my niece. You know how much this gift meant to her.”

  “Right.”

  “So you will procure a second necklace for me. One that is identical to the first. That should not be difficult for a man with your contacts.”

  “Wait a minute, General. You don’t know what you’re asking. The necklace is an antique. They don’t make items like that any more.”

  “Come now, Mister Richards, surely at the right price ...”

  “Look, I wish I could help, but I don’t know anyone who could forge a necklace like that, not quickly. We’d have to go foreign. I could ask Pierre, but I know what he’d say. This is a famous necklace. There are records. You try to forge it and somebody’s going to notice. It wasn’t made yesterday. It’s aged forty years. That’s hard to simulate. And just getting replacement jewels would take time. Those rubies ...”

  “My niece wants the necklace. I want to give it to her.”

  “And what if you give it to her and she has it valued, or checked? Someone’s going to notice the glue’s hardly dry. Do you want that?”

  Del Campo paused. “No. She must not know it is not genuine.”

  “I’m sorry, General, but it can’t be done. At least, I can’t do it for you. I’m a broker, not a jeweller. Maybe there’s someone who can.”

  “No. Perhaps you are right. It is an antique.”

  “Couldn’t you get your niece something else?” As soon as he said it, Richards knew it was a mistake, so he added quickly, “Maybe?”

  Del Campo looked at him blankly. “No. No, I could not.”

  “Well, you’ll find it. It’s just a matter of time.”

  The general did not reply. Instead, he stood up, slowly removed his pistol from his holster, and turned it over meditatively in his hands. It was a nine-millimetre automatic Beretta, the finest money could buy.

  Richards considered getting up and running for the gate but it was nearly a hundred yards away, past the pool and down a long, exposed garden path. He’d never make it. He looked at the gun nervously.

  The general held up his gun. “You see this gun? There was a time when this could solve all of my problems. Someone crosses me, he disappears. Someone steals from me ... you understand. This gun, and the guns of my soldiers. Solved it all.” He prepared the weapon, turned towards the swimming pool, and suddenly fired a single shot. The bullet made a sickening whizzing noise as it smashed into the distant water.

  Richards nearly jumped out of his chair but he quickly made himself sit down again. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer. He wished he could be more like Humphrey Bogart and less like a terrified stockbroker. Somehow he managed to keep the fear out of his face. It was an effort.

  Two soldiers came running into the garden from the rear guard tower but they turned and left, whispering into their radios that it was no alarm, when the general waved them away. Apparently they were used to him occasionally firing his unsilenced weapon just to blow off steam.

  Richards wondered if the general knew he had the necklace. If the general knew, Richards was dead. But he was still alive. Maybe he didn’t know. But then again maybe he did.

  Suddenly the general pointed the gun directly at him and grinned.

  Richards’ life didn’t flash before his eyes. He wasn’t filled with sudden regrets about all the quality time he had missed. The only thing he saw was the short barrel of a very accurate Beretta pointed directly at his forehead, and the general’s sick smile behind it. Only two thoughts came to mind. The first was something about what a complete idiot he was. The second was just six words – Oh, shit. I’m gonna die here.

  After a few seconds, the general spoke. He did not lower the gun. “Now, Mister Richards, I could pull this trigger. Easy as pie, I believe you Americans say. All I have to do is move my finger just a little. Huh?”

  Richards managed to speak in a level voice. He held up the palms of his hands. “I’m just a broker. I’m just the little guy.”

  The general nodded. “Yes, you are. And that is my problem. Pulling this trigger won’t solve my problems. For once. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “What?” said Richards, confused.

  “I just lost two million dollars. But that is nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Richards’ heart sank. The general was crazy, waving the gun around like a lunatic. Richards realised he was going to die here, after all. Beads of sweat appeared on his face.

  “I might lose the woman I love over this,” the general hissed. “Do you know what that feels like? And pulling this trigger won’t help. Not even a little.”

  To Richards’ great surprise the general then put the gun away.

  “That is what love does, Mister Richards. It leaves us powerless. Do you really mean it when you say you cannot obtain a good forgery for me?”

  Richards was still too shocked that he was not dead to form a coherent reply. Eventually he said, “Uh ... yeah. I mean, no. I can’t. Not quickly.”

  The general sat down again. “That is what I thought. Do you love a woman, Mister Richards? Do you have a wife, children?”

  “No. I had a wife. A long time ago.”

  Del Campo looked at him. “She betrayed you?”

  “You might say that.”

  “Hmmm. I thought I could see it in your face. And now you prefer to stay away from women? Too much ... trouble?”

  “I’ve got my share of women,” Richards said flatly.

  “But none that you love?”

  “No.” Richards hoped the general did not know about Susan.

  “Then you are a wise man.”

  “Maybe,” Richards said absent-mindedly. He was busy hoping the general wasn’t going to take out the gun again. Richards wasn’t too interested in discussing the general’s wacky philosophy of love.

  “Hmmm. Well, my friend, I am not so wise. I am in love. And I will kill to protect that love, you understand, when anything interferes with it. But do not worry, it is not your head I want. Not yours. It is the head of every one of those filthy street kid bastards. I will exterminate every one of those little cockroaches, one by one by one. That is love, Mister Richards.”

  Richards tried to sound like he didn’t care. He had no idea – until now – of just what a lunatic del Campo truly was. “Right.”

  The general grunted and stood up. “Hmmm. Well, Richards, I think I have wasted enough time for one morning. It is a pity you cannot make a forgery for me. I shall have to resume my search for the real thing.”

  Richards stood up. “Good luck.”

  Del Campo stared at him oddly before replying. “Luck, Mister Richards? Luck has nothing to do with it.” He patted the holster of his pistol. “Here in Recife, I am God. This gun says I am. You understand?”

  Even Bob Richards was disgusted by this final comment. Staring down that gun barrel must have done something to him. He stood there, looking at the general, and felt pure, cold hatred. You’re not God, Richards thought. And you’re the cockroach, not those children, you murdering bastard. But out loud all he said was, “Whatever you say.”

  The general laughed loudly. “That’s right. Whatever I say.”

  Richards walked away.

  Chapter 20

  Susan looke
d at the Stars and Stripes. She wondered how much Bob must miss his country to hang its flag on the wall of his living room, how much a patriot or how much a dreamer he must be to think he would return there one day, hounded by the IRS or not. She had never really been able to relate to the outspoken patriotism of her American friends, although she liked and admired the United States very much. It was just that as an Englishwoman her pride in her country was something she kept quietly, not something she declared loudly at parties. She wondered what Bob’s Brazilian friends must think of the display. Brazilians, from what she could tell, were on the whole just as ardent patriots as the Americans, if not more so. And in the long history of the region there had developed some minor animosity towards America, which the locals often spoke of as an interfering power which should keep its nose in its own business. But nobody seemed to take all this too seriously. American or not, the locals would still invite you for a beer and a game of beach volleyball. Susan liked that about Brazil.

  Susan thought some more about the flag. She was an idealist, she knew that much about herself, and as much as she got ridiculed for that fact at fashionable tea parties she still believed it was a better way to live, better than the cold indifference of someone like Adrian. Why had she married him? she wondered. She could almost hear the voices of all the society wives declaring, “Oh, darling, I just can’t understand why you bother with all that charity work, really I can’t.” There was no point trying to explain to them about loving thy neighbour as thyself. And certainly no point trying to explain that she believed it was something that God wanted us all to do. Their idea of church was somewhere to wear fashionable outfits, not somewhere for spiritual contemplation. And now here she was in Brazil, working in an orphanage, meeting an American man she had fallen hopelessly in love with, and looking at the flag upon his wall. She decided she liked the flag, and liked Bob more for having it there. Beneath his cynical exterior there must beat the heart of a believer, she supposed, to display a flag that stood for a two-century struggle for freedom and democracy. She supposed he must really love his country, and miss it.

  “Why did you put that flag there?” she asked Richards, as he returned from the kitchen with a tray of coffee and toast.

  Richards sat down next to her on his old sofa and took a sip of his coffee. He seemed to ignore her question. “Brazilian coffee. The best in the world. I love this stuff.”

  “No, really. Is it because you’re homesick?”

  “Homesick? Yeah, I guess.” Richards seemed unwilling to open up.

  Susan prompted him. “And?”

  “It’s home. You know. It’s where I grew up. It’s where I had all the dreams that got me into this mess in the first place.”

  “Stop joking,” said Susan. “Come on, I mean it.”

  “You want a serious answer? I miss my country. I miss it, Sue. I have to hold on to the idea that I’m going back there one day.”

  Susan put a hand on his knee. “I thought so.”

  “I love my country, you know. I love America. I even love the goddamned farmland I grew up on, the farm I couldn’t wait to leave.”

  “What about your life? What about Wall Street?”

  “Maybe that wasn’t right for me. I don’t know.”

  Susan smiled at him. “I’m sure you’ll make it back.”

  “Yeah,” Richards replied unconvincingly. “Bankrupt and washed up.”

  “Is that really so bad, Bob?”

  Richards looked at her with genuine affection. “I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but can we change the subject?”

  Susan thought he seemed nervous. “If you like.”

  Richards looked at the new day flooding in through the open windows of his living room. The pale sky was brightening. “You better get dressed, don’t you think? You’ve gotta be at the orphanage by eight.”

  “Maybe I like sitting around in my pyjamas with a sexy man,” Susan replied. Richards was not wearing a shirt. She patted his chest.

  “When did you become so uninhibited all of a sudden?” Richards replied with a grin. “I thought you weren’t supposed to enjoy sex.”

  “Why on earth not?” Susan said, taken aback.

  “You religious types. It’s all Catholic guilt and self-loathing.”

  “I’m not a Catholic, Bob.”

  “Ah,” said Richards, as he kissed her briefly. “That would explain it.”

  “Do you want me to explain it some more?” Susan whispered.

  Richards sat back from her. “Maybe later. Look, we’ve gotta talk.”

  “About what?” Susan said, not sure what he could be getting at.

  “I didn’t want to tell you last night.”

  “Tell me?”

  “About the general. I ... uh ... nearly got myself killed yesterday.”

  Susan frowned. “Killed? What are you talking about?”

  “Del Campo called me to his house. I’d been there about ten minutes when he pulled out his gun and pointed it at my head. Told me a whole lot of stuff about how upset he was about the necklace, how much he wanted somebody’s blood for the heist.”

  “You should have told me...”

  Richards held up his hand. “No, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know we have it. I thought he did. I was sure he was going to pull the trigger, but he didn’t. He was just horsing around.”

  “Horsing around? With a gun at your head?” Susan put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed. “Bob, if something happened to you, I’d ...”

  “No, Sue, you’re not listening. He said he wants blood for what happened. He said he’s going to kill the street kids.”

  Susan let him go. “Kill them? But I thought you said ...”

  “He’s real pissed. He says he’s going to kill every last one of the children … ‘exterminate’ them. And I think the son of a bitch means it. I think he’ll go through with it.”

  “But the reporter, the newspapers. You said he wouldn’t.”

  “I thought he wouldn’t, but he’s a goddamned madman. He told me he was God, that whatever he said goes. He means it. I’m sorry.”

  “And what about you, Bob? Are you safe?”

  “Yeah. He doesn’t know we have the necklace. I’m sure of it.”

  “Well then, we can’t give up. We have to think of something. We can’t let all those children die. I’ll set up cameras. We’ll watch them.”

  Richards shook his head. “Listen to me. He’s not going to make the same mistake twice. He’ll have the kids taken off the streets quietly, and he’ll execute them where there are no cameras.”

  Susan stood up. She raised her voice. “What are you saying? Are you saying we just give up?”

  Richards let out a sigh. “No. I’m saying there’s nothing we can do. There is nothing. Unless you want to try and assassinate a general.”

  Susan yelled. “Damn you, Bob, don’t make jokes! You’re talking about the lives of dozens of children. What if the police come to the orphanage?”

  “They won’t. Just keep a low profile. They’re not after the orphanage children. It’s the ones on the streets they want.”

  “And that makes it all right, I suppose? Does it?”

  Richards stood up and yelled back. “Goddamn it, Sue! No, it doesn’t make it all right. You think I want to see those kids murdered? You think I don’t give a damn? You think I don’t hate del Campo, that I don’t hate that slimy, murdering son of a bitch? What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to care, Bob. I want you to care about those children.”

  At this, Richards exploded. “You think you’re the only one who cares, Sue? That’s it, isn’t it? You think you’re not like the rest of us, that your holier-than-thou, goddamned naive attitude makes you special? You think none of us ordinary folk down here in the gutter give a damn? You think you’re the only person who ever broke down and cried at what goes on? Don’t you think I’ve cried? Don’t you think I’ve seen friends killed?”

  Susan stood w
atching him, hardly able to comprehend his tantrum.

  “Coz I have, Sue. I’ve seen friends killed by these bastards. I’ve known people, good people, who I never saw again. Have you ever seen that?” Richards was panting from the shouting. His face was brick red.

  “No,” Susan said quietly. “No, I haven’t.”

  Richards led her back to the sofa. “You don’t want me to tell you the stories, believe me. You don’t wanna know. But I’ll tell you what keeps people alive down here. Friendship. I’ve got friends I can rely on when everything’s gone to hell, people I can trust. Brazilians. These people know what a friend is. And I’ve lost friends.”

  “I’m sorry,” Susan whispered.

  “You’ve gotta believe me. I do care about those kids, but unlike del Campo, I don’t think I’m God. Sometimes there are things you just can’t change, not without getting yourself killed, and this is one of those times.”

  Susan looked at him without speaking.

  “We’ve tried, Sue. We tried everything. We’re lucky we haven’t already gotten ourselves killed. I’m telling you, when del Campo had that gun at my head, it was time. I knew if I took this thing any further, I’d be dead. We both would. You’ve gotta believe me. I care about those kids, but it’s game over. There’s nothing more we can do. Do you understand?”

  Susan spoke very softly. “I think so.”

  “We’re just two little people in the middle of all this crap. We can’t work miracles. But we can stay alive. We can stay alive.”

  Susan hugged him. “Bob, I’m sorry. I should never have gotten you into this in the first place. You might have been killed. And it’s my fault.”

  Richards looked at her gravely. “Tell me you understand what I’m saying. Tell me you know we can’t do any more. Do you understand? Because if you don’t, if you try to do anything stupid, you’ll get yourself killed. I’m not kidding. These guys play for keeps. Promise me you won’t do anything.”