“How?”
“God knows. What did you do with her girlfriend?”
“Andrea?”
“Yeah, Andrea. What did you do with her?”
“You already know what I did with her. I passed her on to some friends in Europe. Why?”
“Because your friends in Europe snuffed her, that’s why.”
“What?”
“Those federals had a picture of her, too. Said they have a video of her getting fucked and murdered.” The Goat narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. “You didn’t have any idea that your friends were going to do something like that, did you, Carla?”
“The cops are lying. They’re just trying to pressure you.”
The Goat stared at her for a moment. Then he moved on.
“You’ll never be able to get that little bitch, Marta, on an airplane. Not now. They’ll be watching the airports like hawks. Use your boat. Go upriver. Hook up with Osvaldo and leave her there.”
Carla snorted.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you telling me what to do with my property?” She looked at her Viking, who went into Rottweiler mode, lowering his eyebrows and making a growling sound.
The Goat ignored him.
“Do it,” he said.
“No,” Claudia said.
“Don’t be stupid, Carla. Listen to what I’m telling you.”
The Goat was getting red in the face.
“She’s promised to someone,” Claudia said. “It’s a done deal. I’m not sending her upriver, I’m sending her to Europe.”
“How the fuck do you think you can get her out of the country?”
“That’s my problem, not yours.”
The Goat’s eyes went cold.
“If the federals get their hands on her,” he said, “it’s our problem, Roselia’s and mine. We’re the ones who snatched her; we’re the ones who held her for the longest time. She’s seen both our faces. She’s not afraid of anything, so threats don’t work. If she squeals. ..”
“I’ll take care of it,” Claudia said, “but it won’t be by sending her upriver.”
The Goat poured himself another shot, drank it off in one draught, and stood up.
“All right,” he said, “do it your way, but do it-and soon.”
Claudia bristled.
“I’m getting tired of your threats,” she said.
“I don’t give a shit whether you’re getting tired of them or not,” he said, “but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take them to heart. Don’t fuck with me, Carla. Don’t ever fuck with me. I’ll make you sorry if you do.”
When the door closed behind The Goat, Claudia picked up the bottle of cachaca, poured a hefty dose into her coffee cup and took a ladylike sip. If Hans and Otto hadn’t been watching her, she would have gulped it down.
“We have to find out,” she said, “how Silva and his pals knew Marta was at The Goat’s place.”
“Maybe they didn’t know,” Hans said. “Maybe they were bluffing. Maybe they told the same story to everybody.”
Sometimes he surprised her.
“Good point,” she said. “How many other people do you know who run brothels?”
“Hell, I don’t know. I musta tried every one in town some time or another. Maybe a hundred?”
“Call around. See if the federals told anybody else the same story.”
“And if not…”
“We’re going to have another talk with The Goat.”
“No way,” The Goat said three hours later.
They were in his bar, sitting at one of the tables. The front door was open, allowing some light to spill in from the direction of the parking lot, but the room was otherwise dark. They would have been there sooner, but two of the three hours had been spent in making sure they weren’t being followed and that The Goat’s boate wasn’t under surveillance.
“No way,” he repeated, shaking his head.
“Had to be,” she said. “No other explanation makes sense.” “I can’t believe it. There’s no way one of my own girls would talk to somebody about what happens in this house. And, even if she did, she’d come to me and tell me.”
“You’re acting like they’re your daughters,” Claudia said. “They’re not. If you don’t think they have their little secrets, you’re a fool.”
“Watch out who you’re calling a fool.”
“I take it back. Let’s ask them a few questions.”
“All right,” he said, then raised his voice: “Roselia, turn the lights on and bring the whole gang out here.”
The questioning went on for an hour, first communally, then one by one.
“Satisfied?” The Goat said when the last of them, tears running down her face, was allowed to go back to her room.
“With them, yes,” Claudia said. “You said you’re keeping the others on a boat. Where’s the boat?”
“I don’t know exactly,” the Goat said. “Somewhere in the Anavilhanas.”
“The what?”
“The Anavilhanas Archipelago. This time of the year, the water goes down and you get sandy beaches and canals. Some of the cruise ships go there, but they don’t go very far in.”
“How long would it take to find them?”
The Goat shrugged. “With luck, maybe a few hours; without it, a couple of days. Why?”
“Because,” she said, “We’re going to pay them a visit.”
Claudia’s boat wasn’t as big as The Goat’s, but it was faster and more comfortable: twin diesels, air-conditioning, two staterooms, a saloon, and a hot-water shower with an electric pump.
At first, The Goat was reluctant to go along, but when he saw how eager Hans and Otto were, he decided it might be a good idea. He didn’t want the two thugs getting among his girls unsupervised.
Claudia had never been to the Anavilhanas Archipelago, but she’d been around boats since her childhood. And it wasn’t as if the river posed any navigational problems. All she had to do was to keep the bow pointed upstream and stay close to the bank to minimize the effect of the current. She decided someone had to stay behind and keep an eye on Marta. Hans and Otto drew straws. Otto lost.
They planned their departure for two thirty in the morning. Any earlier, and they’d find themselves among the islands in the dark.
Marta awoke to the ringing of an alarm clock. It was on the other side of the wall, and it wasn’t very loud, but she’d always been a light sleeper. She threw off her sheet, got out of bed, and walked to the window. The moon was still high in the sky, almost full. With her cheek against the side of the glass she could see it sparkling on the river, a thin band of silver painted on the black water.
A light in the neighboring bedroom went on, illuminating the grass. She heard a toilet flush and footsteps in the corridor. She put an ear against the door.
“I don’t know how long it’s going to take to locate the damned boat.” Carla’s voice. “Don’t expect us back before dark, and don’t forget to feed the girl.”
“Feed the girl. Feed the girl. Caralho, Carla, how many times you got to say it? You think I’m stupid or something?” That was the one with the bags under his eyes. He sounded sleepy, maybe a little drunk.
“Don’t be impudent with me, you imbecile.”
Still sniping at each other, they moved off in the direction of the kitchen.
What they were saying became indistinct, but she could hear the rattle of cutlery. A little while later she smelled coffee. When the back door slammed, she returned to the window. Carla and the big man were walking toward the boat. Just before they vanished from her line of sight, she heard Carla say something about picking up The Goat at his dock. A minute or so later, the boat’s engines came to life, loud at first, then fading, fading until they were gone. The house was silent again, the only sound the nightly chorus of insects in the nearby jungle.
It was the chance she’d been hoping for. She didn’t think she’d get a better one. For a while, she sat on the edge of the bed, getting up her courage. All that time she could feel her heart pounding, feel the sweat on her palms. She tried controlled breathing, taking the air in through her nose, four seconds for every breath.
Finally, when the moon was down, and the darkness as deep as it was going to get, she stood up, put on her clothes and attacked the door. She left the middle pin for last, broke a nail getting it out. There was a squeak, then a thump when the door disengaged from the frame. She caught it on her shoulder, got a hand on either side, and lowered it gently to the floor. Once it was down, she paused to listen. The thug was still snoring.