Stay here, indeed!
He could see them now, just ahead.
But they weren’t the federal agents. There were only two of them, not three, and one of them was pointing a- Oh, God!
Joaquim, staring over the sights of his AK-47, saw a flash of color moving among the leaves. He squeezed the trigger, felt the rifle kick into his shoulder and saw a red mist appear where his target’s head used to be. The body below it slumped out of sight.
Gotcha, you fucker, Joaquim thought.
But he didn’t release the trigger. He went on to blow through the whole magazine, hosing everything to the right and left of the man he’d just shot. Then he released the catch, changed clips, and was ready for another go.
Silva threw himself on the ground at the sound of the first shot. When the echo of the last round died he raised his head and looked at his comrades. Both were prone, both unhurt. He signaled them to stay where they were and to keep their heads down. The shooter had a weapon capable of full automatic fire. They had handguns. Their only option was to remain quiet and hope for an opportunity.
It wasn’t long in coming. He could hear men crashing around in the brush, getting closer. A voice said, “Luis?”
“Yeah,” a second voice replied.
“He’s over here. He don’t look like no cop,” the first one said.
More crashing around in the brush.
“Lemme see here,” the first voice said again. “Might be that kid.”
“What kid?”
“The priest’s little friend. Tadesco.”
“Yeah?”
“Give me a minute. Yeah. It’s him.”
“Good. So that’s one down, four to go.”
Silva was sure now there were only two of them, still hidden by the leaves and only meters away. He rose to his feet, trusting that they were still distracted by the body of their victim. Silently, cautiously, Silva’s companions followed his example.
“Merda,” the man called Luis said. “His head’s all fucked up. How can you be sure it’s him?”
“I rolled him over. The other side of his face isn’t blown out.” “Well, this side sure as hell is.”
Silva could see them, now, standing with their backs toward him, looking down at Lauro’s mangled body. Silently, he cursed himself. He should have handcuffed the boy to the steering wheel to keep him out of harm’s way.
Hector stepped on a twig. It broke with a sharp crack.
The killers spun around. The taller one, a guy with a growth of beard and a face like a jackfruit, had a pistol in his hand and he raised it. Hector pumped three quick rounds into his chest. The man dropped like a stone.
The other guy, clean-shaven and round-faced, had an AK-47. Silva’s single shot, aimed at his upper body, struck the breech of the assault rifle and slammed the stock into his ribs. Roundface squealed with pain, dropped the weapon and the game was over: cops two, killers zero.
Chapter Twenty-three
“ For C Hrist’s Sake,” THE guy with the round face said, not for the first time, “get me to a hospital! My ribs are killing me!”
Arnaldo ignored the killer’s complaint and continued going through his pockets. The rib thing was no revelation. In fact, he’d be surprised if the thug wasn’t in pain. He’d given him a capoeira kick in the chest to bring him down, flipped him over, pressed a knee into his back, and leaned his full weight upon it while he was cuffing him.
The pockets contained a set of keys, some small change, a cell phone and a wallet. In the wallet were several hundred Reais in cash, a condom, a national identity card, credit cards in three different names, driver’s licenses in two, and a dog-eared photo of a woman. The woman was smiling at the camera and wearing makeup that looked like it had been laid on with a trowel. She bore a strong resemblance to the guy who owned the wallet. Even punks like Joaquim had mothers.
The national identity card matched one of the credit cards and one of the driver’s licenses.
“That your name?” Arnaldo said. “Joaquim Almeida?”
The punk stopped his litany long enough to tell Arnaldo to go fuck himself.
Arnaldo’s response involved his right foot and elicited a howl of pain from the punk.
“This one was Luis Almeida,” Hector said, reading from the sole identity card he’d found in the wallet of the guy who had a face like a jackfruit. “Brothers maybe.”
Joaquim craned his neck and tried to look up.
“Was?” he said. “You mean he’s dead?”
“Killed while resisting arrest,” Silva said, “just like you.”
“I ain’t killed,” Joaquim said.
Silva didn’t respond to that, just looked at him.
For a few seconds, Joaquim didn’t get it. And then he did. “Merda,” he said. “Okay, okay, what do you want to know?” “Who else is in the house?”
“Nobody.”
Silva twirled a finger at Arnaldo. Arnaldo used a foot to roll Joaquim onto his back. Silva bent over him.
“Look me in the eyes, Joaquim.”
“I’m looking.”
“Who else is in the house?”
“I already told you. Nobody.”
Arnaldo kicked him in the ribs.
Joaquim made a sound between a groan and a whimper. “There was just the two of us. I swear.”
“And you were waiting for us? Us, specifically?”
“Yeah. She had a picture.”
“Who had a picture?”
“The woman who hired us. She had a picture of you, that guy over there, and this gorilla here, all of you together.”
“Watch your mouth,” the gorilla said. “Otherwise I’ll put a foot in it.”
“She wanted you dead,” Joaquim said, sounding like he thought having them dead was a good idea.
“How about the priest,” Silva said. “Where’s he?”
“Luis did him,” Joaquim said.
Father Vitorio’s ancient yellow truck was parked near the front door. The priest was inside the house, lying on a carpet in the living room, his throat slit from ear to ear.
Arnaldo braced Joaquim against the wall.
“Luis, huh? Not you?”
“Luis. I swear.”
“You’d swear to anything, you little prick.”
“Go look at his shirt. Luis washed the blood off his hands, but he couldn’t get it off his shirt.”
“His shirt isn’t going to tell us anything,” Arnaldo said. “Luis managed to get his own blood all over it.”
“Talk about killing the priest,” Silva said, “How did it go down?”
“He pounded on the door like he was the fucking chief of police. Soon as we let him in, he started shooting his mouth off. Kept going on and on about exportation of little girls.”
“Exportation? You mean exploitation?”
“Exploitation, exportation, whatever. He screamed until Luis took out his knife. Then he kept on screaming, only different.”
“This woman who hired you, where is she?”
“I think that gorilla broke some of my ribs.”
“Then you sure as hell don’t want me to break any more, do you?” Arnaldo said.
Joaquim’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “She’s got a house on the river.”
“She live alone?” Silva asked.
Joaquim shook his head.
“With two capangas. Big guys. Not from here. They talk funny. Must be from down south somewhere.”
Silva looked at Arnaldo.
“Three of them,” he said. “Looks like we’re going need help from Pinto.”
Joaquim’s eyes went wide. “Chief Pinto?”
“And your point is…” Silva said.
“Keep him away from me,” Joaquim said.
“Why?”
Joaquim spit it all out. He told the federal cops about the Mainardis, about the chief letting them out, about the deal with the woman.
“Pinto will kill me if he gets a chance,” he said. “You take care of me, lock me up safe somewhere, and I’ll sign anything you want.”
“It won’t be worth much,” Silva said. “You’re not exactly a pillar of the community.”
“A what?”
“This woman? What’s her name?”
“Carla.”
“Carla what?”
“Merda, I don’t know. Just Carla.”
“Describe her.”