Dying Gasp cims-4

by Leighton Gage

The girls started looking at each other.

  “If whoever it was tells me all about it,” Slap “nobody’s gonna get hurt. But if she doesn’t step forward right now,” Slap “and I mean right now,” Slap Slap “all of you are in for the beating of your lives.”

  Now they were looking at one girl in particular, Vileini Rabelo, the girl who called herself Topaz.

  Vileini put her hands over her face and started to cry.

  “It’s that priest,” The Goat said when they were on their way back to Manaus. “He’s behind all this. Got to be him.”

  “What priest?” Claudia said.

  “Vitorio Barone. He runs a school for slum kids in Sao Lazaro. When he’s not in the school, or sleeping, Barone is shooting his mouth off. He’s got a thing about young girls.”

  “He likes to fuck young girls?” Hans asked.

  “Hell, no,” The Goat said. “Just the opposite. Barone doesn’t want anybody to fuck them.”

  “Fucking Nazi. What’s it to him?”

  “He’s tried bitching to Chief Pinto, the mayor, and the governor. They all blew him off. Now, he musta gotten into bed with the federals.”

  “How do you figure?” Claudia said.

  “This Lauro kid, what did Topaz say his last name was?”

  “Tadesco.”

  “Tadesco. Yeah, that’s it. Lauro Tadesco. He’s too young to be a cop himself, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And he’s a local. He has the accent, knows the town. Topaz said so. How could they recruit him? Tell me that. They couldn’t start asking around for someone to take a risk like that without Chief Pinto hearing all about it. But Barone, the priest, he’d know a kid like that.”

  “Hmmm,” Claudia said.

  “Something else too,” The Goat said. “Lauro didn’t want to fuck, he only wanted to talk. He coulda done both, fucked and talked, but he only talked. And he let Topaz wrap him around her little finger. If that doesn’t smell like priest, I don’t know what does.”

  Claudia recalled Topaz’s tearful confession.

  The kid had asked Topaz if that was her real name. She’d told him it was. Then she’d asked him for his.

  “Lauro,” he’d said.

  He wasn’t bad-looking, she’d said, so she played the coquette, fished for a return visit, said she didn’t believe his name was really Lauro, said that a lot of guys lied to the girls they met in boates.

  And just like that, the kid pulled out his identity card.

  Lauro Tadesco.

  Topaz even remembered his last name, probably due to some kind of fantasy on her part, a fantasy of getting out of the life, seeing herself as Senhora Tadesco, set up in a house of her own with a couple of kids. Well, that was behind her now. She wouldn’t be talking to Lauro Tadesco anymore.

  The Goat shook his head at the gullibility of both of them; Lauro’s even more than Topaz’s.

  “Who the hell needs to impress a whore? Who even cares what a whore thinks? This Lauro, he must be some kind of religious freak.”

  Claudia mulled it over. If Lauro was feeding information to Silva, there might be a way to use him to bait a trap. She thought about discussing her emerging plan with The Goat, then rejected the idea. He wasn’t as threatened as she was, and he wouldn’t be as likely to consider extreme measures.

  Marta Malan had been talking for almost an hour, first to the couple who’d picked her up, now to the fat guy who wanted her to tell the whole story all over again. Everything she’d said was true, but she’d left a few things out. For one thing, she didn’t feel obligated to explain the true nature of her relationship with Andrea. That was nobody’s business but their own. She said that Andrea had been sold off because she was too old, but didn’t mention that it was also because she was no longer a virgin. She did mention her grandfather. That had impressed the first two, and it seemed to impress the man who was interrogating her now. His eyebrows had gone up when she said it.

  She took another sip of her third cafe com leite. He didn’t press her, just sat there, silently, waiting for her to go on.

  “I turned left on the main road,” she said. “There wasn’t much traffic at that time of the morning. The first set of headlights I saw, I panicked. They were coming from behind me, and I thought it might be that brute I’d left back at the house. I crawled into the brush to hide.”

  She looked down at the old-fashioned cassette recorder he was using to take her statement, felt her eyelids drooping. Now that the danger was over, adrenaline was no longer keeping her awake. Any moment now, she was liable to fall asleep right there at the table. Her throat was dry from talking. She took another sip of coffee and continued. “When daylight came, I went to look for a stretch of road where I could see the cars coming from a long way off. As soon as I was sure it wasn’t that woman, or her capangas, or The Goat, or his girlfriend, I’d step out and try to flag them down. Nobody stopped. They must have thought I was a thief, or a prostitute, or something. I got so sick of it that when I saw that couple coming, I went out and stood in the center of the road. They had to either stop or drive over me. They stopped. And they brought me here.”

  The fat man pushed the button to stop the tape.

  “They did the right thing,” he said, “and so did you. Now, why don’t you lie down in my office and get some rest while I get busy and do my job?”

  Marta felt a glow of satisfaction. They were in trouble, all of them, and they were going to pay for what they did to her and to Andrea. She thought about asking the fat man if she could use his telephone.

  But she was tired, so very tired, after her long ordeal. She’d have a short nap first. Then she’d call her mother.

  Otto was on the dock, waiting for them. While Hans was still tying off the mooring lines, he climbed on board and rushed up to Claudia.

  “It’s the little bitch,” he said. “She’s gone. Escaped. Took the fucking door right off the hinges.”

  “And where were you?!”’

  “Sleeping.”

  “Sleeping it off is more like it! How long has she been gone?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I told you, I was-”

  She wanted to scratch his eyes out, tell him what a stupid, incompetent bastard he was, but there was no time to lose. She swallowed her anger and said, “Come along, both of you.” She jumped onto the dock and started hurrying toward the house. They followed a few paces behind. “We’ll take the boat,” she said, without looking back. “You, Hans, take some plastic garbage bags and fill them with food from the kitchen. You, Otto, get the camera, lights, recording tape, anything else that looks incriminating. I’ll get my papers and the cash I’ve got on hand. Hurry, both of you.”

  The telephone was ringing when they opened the back door. Hans stopped to pick it up. Claudia rushed toward Marta’s room to see things for herself. She was standing there, cursing, when Hans handed her the wireless phone.

  “Chief Pinto,” he said. “Says it’s urgent.”

  Claudia took the phone and put it to her ear.

  The chief was in the best of moods. “Hello, Carla,” he said, “I hear you lost something.”

  “You heard what?”

  “Yeah,” the chief said. “Listen to this.”

  She heard a click then Marta’s voice: “As soon as I was sure that it wasn’t that woman, or her capangas, or The Goat, or his girlfriend, I’d step out and try to flag them down. Nobody stopped. They must have thought I was a thief, or a prostitute, or something. I got so sick of it that when I saw that couple coming, I went out and stood in the center of the road.”

  There was another click.

  “Where is she?” Claudia said.

  “Sleeping in my office. She’s gonna have, as they say, a rude awakening.”

  “ That’s really funny,” Hans said.

  He pushed aside the bag he’d half-filled with canned goods and reached for the bottle of cachaca. Otto shoved his glass forward for a refill.

  “It’s not funny at al
l,” Claudia said. “It’s sheer luck. What if the little bitch had run into the federals first? What if she’d made a telephone call before they dropped her off at the delegacia? Where would we all be then? Tell me that!”

  “We’d be in deep shit,” Hans said. “But she didn’t, so we’re all right.”

  “We’re not all right. We’ll only be all right when those federal cops are no longer a threat. I want them dead.”

  “If we kill them, the feds are gonna go ballistic. They’ll send ten more.”

  “But it won’t be Silva or Costa, because they’ll be dead, and that’s the way I want it.”

  Lines creased Hans’s forehead. He rubbed his chin.

  “It’s something personal between you and them, isn’t it?” “That’s none of your damned business.”

  “Killing a few whores is one thing,” Hans said. “Killing a federal cop is heavy, really heavy. Why don’t we just clear out and go somewhere else?”

  “And have them on our trail forever? No, we’re going to kill them. Then we’ll clear out and go somewhere else.”

  Hans polished off his drink and cast a glance at Otto. Otto didn’t open his mouth, didn’t even move his eyes, but Hans nodded as if he’d voiced an opinion. He turned back to Claudia.

  “We’re not gonna do it,” he said. “You can’t kill three federal cops and get away with it. Those fuckers are re… rel…” He furrowed his brow. He couldn’t think of the word, so he said it another way. “They don’t give up. And when they catch up with you, they don’t just slap the cuffs on you. They get payback. And then they kill you. Get somebody else to kill the federals. Then Otto and me will kill them. Make the trail a dead end.”

  Claudia taunted him. “Scare you, do they? The federals?” Hans didn’t bite. “You’re goddamned right they do.”

  He would have said something else, but just then the doorbell rang.

  “There they are,” Claudia said.

  The chief looked rumpled, as if he’d been awakened far too early, but there was a broad grin on his face.

  Not so Marta. She was in handcuffs, her face pinched and pale, her eyes bloodshot.

  “Welcome home,” Claudia said.

  “ Vai tomar no cu, ” Marta snapped. Go fuck yourself.

  Claudia would have slapped her for her insolence, but she didn’t want to give the chief the satisfaction of seeing her lose her temper. Pinto rubbed a thumb against his forefinger, making the sign for money.

  “I think you have something of mine,” he said.

  “I do,” she said. She turned to Hans. “Take her back to her room. Cuff her to something. And fix the goddamned door.”

  Hans stood up and held out his hand. The chief dropped the key to the handcuffs into the center of his palm.

  “Otto,” she said, “fetch that twelve-year-old whiskey the chief likes, then go out and buy hasps and padlocks.”

  When she and the chief were alone, she said, “I need some people to do a job.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Hell, Carla. I’m already taking a big risk here, what with those federals being in town and all. Tell you the truth, the only reason I brought the girl back is because I know I can trust you to take care of her.”

  “You can. And to make sure there’s even less risk for the two of us, I need some people.”

  “How many?”

  “Two should be enough.”

  The chief picked up his glass of whiskey, put it under his nose and sniffed at it before taking a sip.

  “You’re going after those federals, aren’t you?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  The chief didn’t reply to that. He took another sip and looked at the ceiling, debating the wisdom of getting involved.

  “Cost you,” he said at last. “Cost you a bundle.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty.”

  He was just trying it on and Claudia knew it. Fifty thousand Reais was outrageous.

  “Twenty-five,” she said. “Reais, not dollars.”

  “You’re busting my balls, Carla,” he said and raised the glass to his lips. This time he swished the whiskey around in his mouth before swallowing it.

  She didn’t say anything, simply waited him out.

  “It just so happens,” he said, “that I got just the people: real nice guys, Joaquim and Luis Almeida. And when I say got, I mean it literally. They’re in a cell down at the delegacia. ”

  “What are they in for?”

  “Killing an old couple by the name of Mainardi. The wife was eighty-four, the husband was eighty-six. There was a rumor the Mainardis were keeping their savings under a mattress. I don’t know how that kind of shit gets started. You got to be an asshole to believe it. Anyway, the old guy told them it wasn’t true, but the Almeida boys didn’t believe him. Not at first, anyway. Not until they’d killed the old lady in front of him. Then they believed him, but by then it was too late. They figured they had to kill him too. And they might have gotten away with it, if they hadn’t been drinkers. Joaquim shot his mouth off to someone in a bar.”

  “You think they could stay sober long enough to do this job?”

  The chief nodded. “Here’s the deal,” he said. “You give me the twenty-five. I have a little talk with them. I tell them I’m gonna let them loose, but on one condition: they have to do a job for you.”

  “And they’ll buy that?”

  “In a heartbeat. I’ll tell them I get a cut. Being greedy bastards, they’ll relate to that.”

  “How much do I offer?”

  “Not too much.”

  “How much?” she insisted.

  The chief shrugged. “Best way to work it is this: You explain the situation and ask them to set a price. Don’t agree right away. You’re not going to pay them anyway.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No, you’re not. But you don’t want them getting suspicious. Keep it simple. Plan it for them, otherwise they’ll probably fuck it up.”

  “And afterward?”

  “Afterward, you kill them. The Almeidas are scum. They’re also broke, so there’s no other way I’m gonna earn money off them. And there’s no sense in letting them shoot their mouths off about this, or go back to being dangers to the good citizens of Manaus.”

  “What good citizens?” Claudia said.

  When the chief left, he was carrying a substantial part of her ready cash, twenty-five thousand Reais for the Almeida brothers and an additional five thousand for returning Marta Malan.

  Two hours later, he dropped the two felons off at Claudia’s door. Joaquim was the elder of the two and the one who did all the talking. Luis sat and stared at Claudia out of a pair of thoroughly emotionless brown eyes. The eye color was about the only characteristic the two brothers shared, that and their willingness to kill people for money.

  Joaquim was short, so short that he didn’t quite come up to Claudia’s chin. Luis, taller by a head, and with much broader shoulders, still had all his front teeth. Luis’s face was elongated and shriveled by some kind of a disease. He obviously hadn’t shaved in several days. The overall effect reminded Claudia of a jackfruit with hair.

  Joaquim, in contrast, was clean-shaven and round-faced. The few front teeth he had left were stained with tobacco. He only showed them when he smiled, which wasn’t often, but he was smiling now, even after hearing that three of the people they were being asked to kill were federal cops.

  Or maybe because of it. It wasn’t every day that somebody asked you to kill a federal cop. A “service” like that was worth a bundle.

  “I’ll give you a group rate,” he said, “twelve thousand for all three of them.”

  “Four thousand each,” Claudia said. “The cops might be worth that but a priest and a kid aren’t.”

  “Wait a minute,” Joaquim said. “The chief didn’t say anything about a priest and a kid.”

  “I’m saying it now,” she said. It had always been her intention to kill Father Vitorio and Lauro Tade
sco as well, but Chief Pinto didn’t have to know that. If he did, he’d ask for more money. “A priest and a kid. How much?”

  Joaquim ran a hand over his chin. “Three thousand sounds about right for a priest,” Joaquim said. “How old is the kid?”

  “I don’t know. Eighteen? Nineteen, maybe. But he isn’t going to give you any trouble. I have the impression he’s rather naive.”

  “Okay. A thousand for him. How much is that altogether?” “Sixteen thousand,” Claudia said. “I’ll give you thirteen.” “Make it fifteen and you got a deal,” Joaquim said.

  “Fourteen, or you can go back to jail.”

  Joaquim’s eyes hardened.

  “Chief Pinto wants half,” he said. “So how much does that leave for us?”

  “Seven,” Claudia said, “but since he doesn’t know about the priest and the kid, you can tell him I’m only paying you twelve. You give the chief six. That way you’ll walk away with eight.”

  Joaquim might have been lousy at math, but the idea of screwing Chief Pinto obviously appealed to him.

  “Done,” he said. “How do you want to do it?”

  “We have to get them away somewhere. Not too far from town, but isolated enough not to attract any attention while you’re busy.”

  Joaquim smiled. “I got just the place,” he said. “Little house off the main road. Dirt road to get to it. Brush and banana trees all around. Deserted.”

  “Deserted?”

  “Used to be owned by a couple of old farts named Mainardi, but they’re dead now.”

  “All right. Now, do you know the favela of Sao Lazaro?”

  “Yeah. That slum? What’s that got to do with the federals?”

  “If you shut up and listen, I might tell you.” She waited for him to look suitably chastened, but it didn’t happen. He just kept staring at her out of those emotionless eyes of his.

  “You go there,” she said. “You ask around until you find a school run by a priest by the name of Vitorio Barone.”

  “Barone. That’s the priest you want dead?”

  “That’s him. You want to write it down?”

  “Uh… yeah. Maybe I’d better.”

  She pushed a pad and a pencil across the table. He licked the point of the pencil and made a careful note.