“‘Clinics like mine,’ you said. Are there other kinds of clinics?”
Sylvie put down her fork and wiped her mouth with her napkin.
“At the Hospital das Clinicas,” she said, “we had an aver-age of six young men die of gunshot wounds every single day. Most of them, the ones who weren’t shot in the chest, would have made pretty good donors. Those victims, alone, would have generated over two thousand hearts a year. You know how many hearts were donated last year?”
“No idea.”
“One hundred and forty-seven. I’m not talking about the city of Sao Paulo, Gilda, or even the state. I’m talking nationally. One hundred forty-seven hearts donated in the whole damned country. You know how many people are on the waiting list as of this morning? Three thousand two hun-dred and twelve.”
“Most of those people are going to die?”
“Yes.”
“Because they can’t get a heart?”
“Yes. So that brings me back to your question. There have to be other kinds of clinics. Personally, I don’t know of any, but I know this country. I know you can pay to have some-one killed. It happens all the time. And, if you can buy death. .”
“What if a clinic was doing both the implants and the. . harvesting?”
“Killing people to get at their hearts? It wouldn’t surprise me at all. Someone could earn a bundle of money. Someone probably is. Hey, are you going to eat your fish?”
Chapter Thirty
“About time,” Silva said. “Where are you?”
Arnaldo mumbled something. Silva stuck a finger in the ear that wasn’t covered by his cell phone.
“Speak up. I can hardly hear you.”
“I said God knows where I am.” Arnaldo raised his voice only a little. “Can you hear me now?”
“Yes,” Silva said. “Go ahead.”
“The Argentinian handed me over to some guy with a van. He made me sit in the back on the floor. No windows. After about an hour, the van stops and we’re in a garage. The driver takes me to a bedroom. No, not a bedroom, more like a dormitory. It’s full of other people. They assign me a mat-tress on the floor. I sit around for a while making small talk with my fellow emigrants, or maybe it’s immigrants, I always get those two words mixed up. And then the driver comes back. He wants a blood sample.”
“A blood sample?”
“Claims it’s for the Mexican visa. All the other guys nod. He’s done it to them, too, so I decide not to make a fuss.”
“It’s crap. The Mexicans don’t ask for a blood samples.”
“You know that, and I know that, but the other guys don’t. They’re simple people by and large, laborers mostly. When the driver leaves, I ask if anybody tried to make any calls, and they look at me like I’m some kind of nut. They all paid five thousand American dollars to get into the States, and that’s a fortune for them. They’re gonna follow the rules. They’d finger me in an instant if I pulled this cell phone out of my sock and started to use it. You see why I didn’t call?”
“Who’s that talking in the background?”
“Television set. I turned it on to cover the sound of my voice.”
“How come you can get away with calling now? What happened to the others?”
“The driver came back this morning and picked them up. They’re on their way.”
“How come you’re not?”
“They said there wasn’t time to get the visa.”
“You believe it?”
“Why not? I can’t think of any other reason to send them on and keep me here. One other thing: remember that post-card of South Beach? The one you showed me? The one Maria de Lourdes got from her son?”
“I remember.”
“That guy from the agency was here, the Argentinian. He gave me one just like it.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, uh-oh, is right. He told me it was part of the service.”
“Part of the service?”
“He said that family members tend to get worried, and that they’d come up with this system to put their minds at rest. I could fill it out as if I’d already arrived, address it to anyone I liked. They Fedex all the cards to Miami, mail them as soon as they get word their customers are safely across the border.”
“I don’t like the sound of this at all.”
“Me neither. Still, you told me the card Maria de Lourdes got was mailed from Miami, right?”
“Right.”
“So maybe he told the truth. Maybe it is part of the service.”
“How many other people got cards?”
“I don’t know. By the time they gave me mine, everybody else had been cleared out of here.”
“And you have no idea where you are?”
“None.”
“No windows in that room?”
“Boarded up. Same thing goes for the bathroom down the hall. There’s a space between the boards and I looked out, but all I can see is a row of houses on the other side of the street. Looks like we might be in Vila Madelena or some-place like that, but there’s no way I can say for sure.”
“You locked in?”
“No. But I’m supposed to confine myself to the dormitory, the bathroom, and the hall. They told me I can back out any time, but if I did, I wouldn’t get my five thousand back.”
“How about we triangulate the location of your phone?”
“Why bother? If I discover anything, it’s not gonna be here; it’s gonna be further down the road. Might as well leave it off and conserve the battery. Gotta go. Footsteps in the hall.”
Arnaldo barely had time to get the telephone back into his sock before the door opened.
“Your visa came through after all,” the driver said. “Get your stuff together. You’re gonna be able to go with the group.
I fly out tonight?”
“I don’t know that. It’s not my department. What I do know is that your guide called from the Mexican consulate. He’s on his way over here to pick you up.”
“Guide?”
“Your guide goes along on the trip to Mexico, makes sure you guys don’t get into trouble along the way.”
“And then?”
“He puts you in touch with the coyote. The coyote brings everybody across the border.”
“This guide, he’s a Mexican?”
The driver shook his head. “A carioca.”
Arnaldo had the back of the van all to himself, win-dowless like the first one. The carioca handed him a bag of sandwiches and a thermos of lemonade.
“Better eat now,” he said. “It’s all you’re gonna get until much later. And you don’t want the bread to get soggy.”
Once the doors were closed and the vehicle was rolling, Arnaldo took the cell phone out of his sock, turned it on, and punched the speed dial. Silva picked up on the second ring.
“I’m on my way,” Arnaldo said.
“Tell me.”
Arnaldo did, finishing with a description of the carioca: “Big as I am, but fat.”
“Fatter than you? Man must be a hippo.”
“I think you must have me confused with someone else. Maybe you’re thinking of that lardass Silva. He’s a federal cop, too.”
“No, I know Silva. Nobody would ever confuse you with him. Silva is smart.”
“Enough of this badinage, this carioca-”
“Badinage?”
“Badinage. Look it up. This carioca has the accent of oth-ers of his ilk-”
“Ilk?”
“You want a description or not?”
“I want.”
“Like I said, about my height, one meter ninety or there-abouts; maybe a hundred twenty, a hundred thirty kilos; dark complexion; oily, black hair; dark-brown eyes; big, bushy mustache like a Mexican bandit. No tattoos that I could see, no scars. But he’s wearing a gold chain with a big, fucking medallion from Flamengo.”
“Flamengo? Did you remind the asshole where he was?”
“I didn’t have to. I did a double take on it and he just smiled. I think he likes to fight. Probably pretty good at it, too.”
“You got a name for this character?”
“I got one, but I don’t know whether it’s his or not. He introduced himself as Roberto Ribeiro.”