‘Don’t look so worried,’ I told him. ‘I’m not going to get rid of you just yet. First I want a ride in your car.’
I’d always been told that lying was wrong but I was only being kind, allowing Collins a second’s relaxation before the stiffened fingers on my left hand caught him in the diaphragm region. He went back against the wall, all the steam taken out of him, and I bent my gun round his ear to put him out of his misery. Grabbing him under the armpits I dragged his unconscious body into one of the cubicles, locked it from the inside and left by clambering over the door. With me I took the contents of his pockets, including the keys to the DKW.
Serge was lounging around outside the stadium and he was surprised when I walked up to him, looking over my shoulders as if he expected to see Collins behind me.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked.
‘Our friend has a bad headache,’ I explained. ‘He’s decided to rest for a while. He should put in an appearance in about fifteen minutes. When he does, carry on as before, I still want to know everything he gets up to. To make things a bit easier for you I’m going to borrow his car. If I can find where he parked it, that is.’
‘It’s over here,’ Serge said, turning to lead the way.
On the spot I decided to double the amount of money I’d intended to pay Serge for his assistance. Not because he knew where the DKW was parked, this was only to be expected, but because of the stoical calm with which he greeted every new turn of events. He was exhibiting the most remarkable lack of curiosity I’d ever come across.
Sticking to form, Serge watched me appropriate the car without a flicker of expression. Once the engine was ticking over I rolled down the window and stuck out my head.
‘Don’t forget to ring in later tonight,’ I told him. ‘Try me at midnight. If I don’t answer the phone in every half hour until I do.’
The Russian nodded phlegmatically and I drove the DKW the two hundred yards back to the stadium, hoping Pepe wasn’t one of the early birds who were already straggling away. The longer I had to wait the more I worried but my concern died a natural death when Pepe appeared in one of the last dribbles of spectators to leave the ground. If he’d opted to walk wherever he was going I would have had to abandon the car, as it was he lived up to my expectations by preferring to take a taxi. At the prices cab fares were no one with money in his pocket was likely to walk farther than a quarter of a mile.
Pepe had no reason to suspect he was being followed and, to guarantee his continued ignorance, I stayed a discreet distance behind the taxi as it cut through the residential back streets. Considering my streak of good fortune since returning to Santos it was a bit much to expect to be led directly to Gordinho’s headquarters, too much in fact. When he reached the junction with the Ana Costa, where the taxi turned left towards the beach, I allowed three cars to slip between the DKW and the taxi but the precaution was wasted because Pepe’s destination, one of the city’s better pizzerias, was less than three hundred yards distant. I drove past, parked and settled down to wait him out, doing my best to ignore the anguished distress signals from my own stomach. A square meal would have done something to sop up the excess alcohol I was shipping inside.
Shortly before ten Pepe reappeared, not bothering with a taxi this time as his new objective was a cinema three minutes’ walk down the street. The film showing was Direito de Nascer, an ancient, sloppy tear jerker which made Coronation Street seem like a pure art form, and I wasn’t tempted to follow him in. Nor did I fancy remaining cooped up in the car for a couple of hours. So far Pepe had displayed every indication of being engaged in the aimless pursuit of pleasure and, with the show not finishing until midnight, I didn’t think it likely he’d be seeing anyone I was interested in before morning. He’d had his quota of football, followed up with a good meal and was now goggling at the wonders of the silver screen. Putting myself in his shoes, it was a fair bet he wouldn’t object to rounding off the night with an enjoyable, health giving screw and I’d always fancied myself as a ponce. With this in mind I moved the car from the Ana Costa, where it was a trifle too conspicuous for my liking, then phoned through to Max at the Zanzibar.
‘Philis here,’ I said to break the glad tidings. Tm going to ask you to do me a favour.’
‘You surprise me,’ Max answered, displaying undue cynicism. ‘That’s all you ever do, ask for bloody favours. What is it this time?’
‘Relax, it isn’t going to cost you a cruzeiro. All you have to do is send someone round to Rosa’s place. Tell her I’d like to speak to her.’
‘She’ll be with a customer at this hour,’ Max protested.
‘You’re probably right. Tell her it’s urgent, a matter of life and death. She’ll come.’
Max mentioned something about me having a bloody nerve but he did send someone off. There was time to finish one cigarette and start on another before Rosa picked up the phone, sounding out of breath. If she’d been with a customer she didn’t mention it.
‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a bastard, Philis?’ were her exact words.
‘Now you mention it I do remember the odd occasion,’ I admitted, ‘but it was only in fun.’
‘I bet. You’d better make your story good.’
‘It’s one of my best, far too good to waste over the telephone. Doll yourself up in your Sunday best, hop into a taxi and I’ll tell all. I’m on the Ana Costa in a bar opposite the Carioca cinema.’
‘You’re sure it’s important?’
‘Vitally,’ I assured her.
‘OK,’ Rosa said, still sounding doubtful. ‘When you say Sunday best what do you mean?’
‘Exactly what I said. To give you a hint of the goodies to come I can tell you there’s a man I want you to solicit for me.’
‘That should make a lovely change,’ she said drily. ‘I’ll see you in half an hour.’
On this slightly bitter note she hung up. All the same there was one very nice thing about the line of business I’d been involved in for the past few years. I might spend my life associating with tarts and criminals but their friendship was worth a hell of a sight more than the kind to be found in the upper echelons of society.
*
Rosa showed up in a sexy, little white mini-dress which did absolutely nothing to conceal the fact that she was the biggest and the best in town. Her faith in me still wasn’t unquestioning and, as there was an hour before Pepe should be leaving the cinema, I turned the famous Philis charm up to full blast, determined to allay her misgivings. To achieve this I explained partially, and not wholly truthfully, what had happened in Rio Grande do Sul, concentrating chiefly on Lydia. Maudlin sentimentality was something I’d exploited before and the quickest way of removing Rosa’s doubts so the lies were more than an intellectual exercise. When I finished Rosa had tears in her eyes and I only hoped I hadn’t laid it on too thick — everything would be ruined if she took a knife to Pepe herself.
‘Just tell me what I have to do,’ she said, her voice husky.
I squeezed her hand appreciatively, marvelling at the depths I could sink to when I really put my mind to it. Playing on the sentiments of someone who was more than half in love with me herself by telling her about my relationship with another woman was a form of emotional blackmail even I had never resorted to before.
‘Thanks, Rosa,’ I said quietly. ‘The man I’m interested in is at the Carioca. I’ll point him out to you when he leaves. Do you think you’ll be able to hook him?’
‘It’s my job, isn’t it?’ she replied, showing I’d inspired a touch of self-pity. ‘What do I do with him once he’s in tow?’
‘You take him to my apartment on the Rua Maranhao. Here’s the key.’
‘He might want to go somewhere else,’ Rosa pointed out, accepting the key.
‘In that case use your powers of persuasion, though I can’t see you having much difficulty on that score. If he’s interested enough to be picked up he’s not likely to quibble
over whether he plays at home or away.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ Rosa persisted. ‘Some men are funny that way.’
‘Go with him anyway,’ I decided. ‘You’ll just have to find some way of letting me know where you are.’
Rosa nodded her agreement and belted back a man-size shot of whiskey. It was scotch, not the Brazilian rubbish, but her palate didn’t seem to be up to appreciating it.
‘What are you going to do when I’ve delivered him?’ she asked curiously.
‘I was thinking along the lines of a quiet man to man chat.’
‘It should be worth watching,’ she said, pushing forward her glass. ‘I might sit in.’
Despite Rosa’s confidence I wasn’t sure the scheme was one of my better ideas. She was the type of woman any normal hetero male would want to drag on to the nearest bed but, off-hand, I could think of about seven hundred and thirty-five reasons why Pepe might not be agreeable to falling in with my plans. Like a double rupture, for example.
The permutations of what might go wrong were so endless Rosa’s success in one minute flat gave me as big a lift as winning the national lottery would have done. Personally, I thought her technique was dead corny, although whatever it lacked in sophistication it certainly made up for in effectiveness. Pepe came out of the cinema with the rest of the audience, making things easy by stepping to the kerb in order to flag down a taxi, I pointed him out and Rosa steamed off across the road. She reached the far pavement no more than a yard from Pepe and when she dropped her handbag it virtually landed on his foot. She’d been holding the clasp open so all the bric-a-brac inside spilled on the ground and Rosa bent down to retrieve it. Within seconds every red blooded male in the vicinity had been attracted to the scene, the mass movement close to qualifying as a stampede, with Pepe bang in the centre of the scrum. The dress Rosa was wearing could hardly be described as modest at the best of times, with her squatting on the pavement it must have concealed all of a square centimetre round her navel.
When the melee eventually sorted itself out Rosa and Pepe came up together. For a second they stayed at the kerb chatting, then Pepe took her arm and they walked off. Although he was walking away from me he was leering so much he had a crease in the back of his neck.
I didn’t wait to see whether steam started to come out of his ears, wanting to be back at the apartment to catch Serge’s twelve-thirty phone call. In the event I had ten minutes to spare.
‘Make it snappy, Serge,’ I said when the call came through. ‘I’m expecting company.’
‘That’s easy,’ Serge answered, ‘because there isn’t much to tell. He left the stadium about ten minutes after everyone else, looking as though he still had a headache, and he didn’t seem particularly surprised to find the car gone. He only spent a couple of minutes searching for it, then he began walking. All the way back to Indaia Hotel. He’s been there ever since. If he’s got any sense he’ll be in bed.’
‘All right, I can take a hint. Just make sure you’re back at the hotel bright and early in the morning.’
‘Sure. I’ll phone you then.’
With this out of the way I settled down in the darkened apartment to await the arrival of Rosa and Pepe. I also wondered whether I’d made the right decision in coming to the Rua Maranhao. Reece had learned about my bolthole there and would undoubtedly have passed the information on. On the other hand, Collins would be aware that I knew he knew about the apartment and should also have guessed I was intent on avoiding him. This being the case he should expect me to be hiding somewhere else. I hoped my assumption was correct or, alternatively, that Manuel gave me plenty of warning if I was wrong.
I’d instructed Rosa to stop off for a drink on her way to the apartment, to make sure I had time to take Serge’s call, but she and Pepe must have had a bottle apiece because it was nearly two in the morning when I heard the lift ascending, its laboured creaking a testimony to Brazilian engineering efficiency.
They made a lovely couple, Pepe’s hand resting familiarly on Rosa’s buttock as they came in, about as high as he could reach considering Rosa topped him by a good six inches in her high heels. It was almost a kindness to clamp my left arm across his throat and jam the barrel of my gun up his right nostril. If the randy little Indian had tried what he was thinking of Rosa would probably have broken his back.
‘If you’re thinking of shouting forget it,’ I said, my Lon Chaney accent not quite coming off in Portuguese. ‘I don’t want blood on the carpet.’
Pepe guessed it was his blood I was talking about and didn’t make a sound. My forearm was pressing so hard against his Adam’s apple he couldn’t have done so anyway and one glance at my face over his shoulder was all the extra incentive he needed. Perhaps he remembered what he’d helped to do to me in that farmhouse kitchen.
‘I’m going to release you now,’ I told him, ‘but don’t get any silly ideas.’
Releasing my grip on his neck I pushed his away. In all the westerns I’d seen the Indians had remained impassive whatever the circumstances but apparently this didn’t hold good for Brazilian Indians because Pepe was giving a superb imitation of being scared stiff. Rosa, on the other hand, had parked herself in an armchair and was casting longing glances at the well-stocked cocktail cabinet.
‘What do you want with me?’ Pepe asked, his voice so unsteady it must have ranged through three octaves.
Although this was understandable under the circumstances it was still a damn stupid question. I suppose I could have played along, thrown out a few blood-curdling threats for effect, but I couldn’t be bothered.
‘Leave the questions to me,’ I said curtly. ‘Just take off your clothes.’
‘Take my clothes off?’ Pepe echoed, his voice control not improving at all.
Rosa sniggered rather unkindly from her armchair.
‘That’s right,’ I said patiently. ‘And make it snappy. It’s late and I want to get to bed.’
Until I waggled my gun under his nose Pepe had a lot of other questions on the tip of his tongue but the threat had him removing his clothes with an alacrity which would have put a professional strip-tease artiste to shame. Not that anyone would have paid to see what he had to offer and, if there’d been any sand handy, I’d have probably kicked it in his face.
‘You’re offending the lady,’ I told him, once he was stripped to the buff. ‘Lie down on your face with your hands behind your back.’
He obeyed without hesitation, a gratifying reaction. It seemed he might forget the mock heroics, an attitude which should save us both a great deal of trouble.
‘Rosa,’ I continued. ‘I left a length of clothes line in the kitchen. Be a love and fetch it for me.’
She smiled happily to show how much she was enjoying the performance and wandered off to do as I’d asked. When she returned I gave her the gun, making her hold it close to Pepe’s head while I practised a few Boy Scouts’ knots on him. Not that he seemed disposed to make a fuss. The spreading damp patch beneath him was ruining my carpet but it did show he was in the right frame of mind to answer a few polite questions. None too gently I used my foot to turn him over on his back.
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he started gabbling once his face was out of the carpet. ‘It was all Biddencourt’s doing. I didn’t want to hurt…’
‘Shut up,’ I ordered, silencing him with a quick boot in the ribs. ‘From now on you only speak when you’re spoken to. Understood.’
Pepe was so effusive in his compliance I almost risked damaging my foot some more. Instead I turned to Rosa.
‘Thanks a lot for your help, Rosa, but I don’t think there’s any need for you to stay now. It may not be very pretty to watch. Use the phone to call a taxi.’
Rosa shook her head decisively.
‘You’re not going to kick me out at this hour in the morning. I’ll stay here.’
After all she’d done for me it would have been churlish to argue with her.
Rosa came over, affectionately draped her arms around my neck and treated me to one of her slow bum kisses.
‘Exactly why do you think I’ve been trotting around all day obeying your slightest command?’ she asked when we surfaced for air.
‘You’re a slave to my irresistible charm,’ I suggested modestly.
‘You’re so right,’ Rosa agreed. ‘That’s why I shan’t be using the spare room.’ She kissed me again. ‘Don’t be long. I’ll be waiting for you.’
*
Once he’d finished emptying his bladder over the carpet I dumped Pepe on the sofa and he sprawled across it twitching uncontrollably, almost as if his entire nervous system had broken down. Surprisingly the spectacle didn’t provide me with any particular satisfaction, indeed his pathetic defencelessness even inspired a momentary twinge of pity. Two or three days before, given the same circumstances, I’d probably have worked him over with a baseball bat, now I lit two cigarettes and stuck one of them between Pepe’s lips. He needed the nicotine badly, the way the smoke came through his nostrils in small puffs instead of a continuous stream bearing testimony to his nervousness. I straddled a chair and looked at him over the back, my chin resting on my forearms.
‘I’ve had a long, hard day, Pepe, and I want to get to bed.’ My voice was controlled and reasonable. ‘I definitely don’t want to waste a lot of time messing around with you.’
At this Pepe gulped so hard he nearly swallowed his larynx, the cigarette falling from his mouth. I retrieved it from the sofa and stubbed it out in an ashtray.
‘The way I see the situation I’ve two alternatives,’ I went on. ‘I can take a leaf from your book and use persuasion to make you talk, just stick a piece of plaster over your mouth and keep on hurting you until I decide you’re ready. That’s the first alternative.’
The Fall Guy Page 16