Light from the Casa Branca flooded the car as we rounded the last comer and I caught a brief glimpse of two men seated on the veranda before I hunched myself even lower. The area of roughly cleared ground intended as a car park was at the far end of the single storied building, in darkness and not overlooked by any windows. Nevertheless this was the danger spot and I hustled Pepe out of the car in double time. It only needed Biddencourt or Gordinho to come to the door as a welcoming committee while I was still stuck in the DKW and my advantage was gone.
Fortunately they evidently didn’t consider a menial like Pepe rated moving themselves from their comfortable chairs. With one hand hooked in the Indian’s collar and the Nacional jammed against his spine I propelled him up the steps leading to the entrance. Not having more than a sketchy idea of the restaurant’s layout the inky darkness inside was a great help.
‘Lights,’ I breathed in Pepe’s ear, not daring to release my grip to hunt for the switch myself.
Pepe located it to the right of the door. We were in a combined lobby and cloak-room just large enough to swing a Manx cat, a rack for coats to one side and a couple of doors leading from it, both closed.
‘Lead on,’ I whispered, ‘and whichever door you choose behave sensibly.’
Without hesitation Pepe plumped for the right hand door and as he opened it I peered over his shoulder, ready to act decisively if Biddencourt or Gordinho had moved from the veranda. They hadn’t. The well lit room, once the main dining hall, was deserted, an expanse of dusty boards with chairs and tables stacked the length of one wall. At the far end of the room, a good twenty-five yards away, sliding glass doors connected with the veranda, almost as large as the dining hall itself. From where I stood no one was visible but there was no doubt where they were — Gordinho’s voice was clearly audible.
I’d always been told that fortune favoured the brave, now I discovered I hadn’t been forgotten either. Reassured, I pushed Pepe through the door and followed him into the dining hall, moving parallel to him as I hugged the left hand wall for concealment. The voice on the veranda stopped when Gordinho heard Pepe walking across the boarded floor.
‘You forgot to flash your headlights, Pepe,’ Biddencourt called out. ‘It’s a good job we were expecting you.’
Nervously Pepe glanced across to where I was silently laughing at him, much happier now I knew why Pepe had recovered his confidence. He’d been holding out on me and had neglected to mention the sub-Bov Scout recognition signal which had been arranged. Luckily no one could have taken it too seriously. With my gun I indicated to Pepe that it was only polite for him to answer when he was spoken to.
‘Coming up that blasted road there are a lot more important things to think about than giving signals,’ he said sullenly, still walking towards the sliding doors.
Biddencourt laughed, showing he was in a relaxed and jovial mood, and he was still chuckling as I had to abandon the protection of the wall for the last five yards to the veranda. A push between the shoulder blades sent Pepe stumbling through the door and I was right on his heels, relying on speed to prevent Biddencourt and Gordinho from becoming aggressive. There was no need to have worried as they both seemed to be rooted to their chairs, the expressions on their faces suggesting they’d just seen a ghost. If they were fools enough to believe what they read in the newspapers this was a natural reaction.
‘Don’t bother to rise, gentlemen,’ I said pleasantly. ‘There’s no need to stand on ceremony.’
*
Even at night the Casa Branca enjoyed a marvellous view, the veranda seemingly suspended hundreds of feet above the city. Far out over the Atlantic there was an electric storm, the diffuse illumination from the sheet lightning brightening the whole horizon. Directly below lay Santos itself, the patchwork of lights dissected by the arrow straight lines of street lamps and bounded on the seaward side by the glittering curve of the esplanade.
Unfortunately I was the only person in a position to appreciate the vista. We were all sitting sociably on the veranda, my three prisoners grouped at one table with their backs to the view and myself a discreet table away, the Nacional pointing loosely in their direction. Biddencourt was busy with his handkerchief, endeavouring to staunch the flow of blood from his nose, and in future he should show considerably more respect when he addressed me. Pepe was back in his scared witless state again, wondering whether I intended to honour my promise to him, but Gordinho seemed completely at ease, relaxed in his chair like a sack of potatoes and idly toying with an ashtray on the table in front of him. The guns I’d taken from Biddencourt and Gordinho lay in the far corner of the veranda, nowhere near enough to be a temptation.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Gordinho asked, his obsidian eyes unblinkingly levelled at me, just as they had been ever since I’d put in an appearance.
‘A good question,’ I admitted, deciding there was no reason not to answer him. ‘I keep telling myself I ought to shoot you and go home to bed but that would be too easy. Instead we’re going to wait for a friend of mine to arrive. What happens then will be entirely up to him.’
Gordinho went back to fiddling with the ashtray, Biddencourt continued dabbing at his nose and Pepe went on shaking. This wasn’t particularly stimulating to watch and I hoped Collins arrived before I died of boredom.
‘Can you be bought off?’ Gordinho asked abruptly. ‘You can name your own price.’
‘I don’t want your money.’
When Gordinho spoke again there was a tinge of regret in his voice.
‘I should have had you killed the moment you set foot in Porto Alegre,’ he said.
‘It would have saved you a lot of trouble,’ I agreed, ‘but I think Biddencourt made the biggest mistake. I can’t understand why he didn’t dispose of me at the farmhouse.’
‘Nor can I.’
Gordinho flashed a malevolent glance at Biddencourt, who was wholly absorbed with his nose, and at the same instant he threw the ashtray. It was a beautifully executed move. Our conversation had dulled my vigilance, Biddencourt was temporarily the centre of attention and the heavy, glass ashtray had struck my forehead before I realized what was happening. Belying his bulk Gordinho followed up immediately, surging out of his chair and hurling the table after the ashtray as if it weighed nothing. I managed to snap off one wild shot, firing just as the table crashed into my chest, but the bullet did no more than blast a harmless hole in the ceiling. The weight of the table knocked me out of my chair, the gun going loose on the floor, and for the next minute or so everything was chaos.
Pushing the table from my chest I was in a sitting position as Gordinho dived for the gun a couple of feet away from my left hand. To discourage him I brought a foot up into his face and my fingers were actually brushing the butt of the Nacional when Biddencourt jumped me from behind, wrapping his arms round my neck. I let him have my left elbow in the midriff to loosen his hold, then smashed my head back into his face, making the blood spurt between the hands he clasped over his face as he toppled backwards.
Meanwhile Gordinho was still intent on reaching the gun and I hurled myself at him, stretching over his shoulder to knock the Nacional from his grasp. It skittered five or six yards until it lodged harmlessly under a table, temporarily out of play. At once Gordinho started heaving beneath me so I put both hands on the back of his head and slammed his face down on to the concrete floor. This quietened him down considerably, Biddencourt was moaning softly to himself, his hands still over his nose, and I seized the opportunity to scramble to my feet.
All the thrashing around on the floor was getting me nowhere, even if I was well ahead on points, for the struggle had been notable for Pepe’s absence. In fact he’d shown far more sense and initiative than either of his bosses and while they’d been wrestling with me on the floor he’d made a beeline for the two guns I’d so nonchalantly tossed into the comer. His first shot as my head came above the level of the tables could have gone anywhere, the second was
close enough to tug at die shoulder of my shirt, and I decided not to wait for the third. Instead I took three quick steps, placed one hand on the balustrade of the veranda and vaulted straight over, not giving a damn about the twelve foot drop if this meant I didn’t get shot.
Although I landed on my feet I was unable to retain my balance, falling heavily and painfully on to one of the knobs of rock jutting through the sparse, coarse grass. Even so there was no question of staying down for a mandatory eight count, not with one gun already in Pepe’s possession and two more lying around for his employers when they felt up to using them. Hugging the wall I scuttled along the front of the veranda, hurled myself round the corner, then began the long run down the back of the building, fumbling the tiny gun Melanie had given me from my pocket, the place.
I’d transferred it to once I’d mistakenly thought I had the situation under control. My only hope was that I wouldn’t have to use it and as far as I was concerned Gordinho and company could do what they liked for the rest of the night. All I wanted was to reach the DKW in safety and head for the hills, praying that no one inside the Casa Branca was sufficiently on the ball to cut me off.
The two shots someone fired after me from the side of the veranda, ricocheting unnervingly from the wall, gave me every incentive to move faster than I’d ever moved before and I reached the end of the building unscathed, the DKW a mere twenty yards away. Nevertheless I didn’t make it.
As I rounded the end of the building, the parked cars actually visible to me, someone tried to come round the comer from the opposite direction. The force of the collision bounced me back far enough to see the dim light gleaming on the gun in his right hand. Instinctively, operating purely at reflex level, my left hand swept up, banging his wrist against the sharp edge of the building, and simultaneously, at a range of little over a yard, I fired both bullets from the gun Melanie had given me into his stomach.
Only as he folded forward with a coughing gurgle did my brain register any image other than the one of the gun in his hand, then two impressions clicked up at the same time. Pepe would have had to be an Olympic sprint champion to run the whole length of the restaurant, down the steps and along the end of the building in time to bump into me at the comer and, far more important, the man I’d just shot wasn’t Pepe in any case. Nor was he Biddencourt or Gordinho.
Collins had eventually bumped into Serge or received the message I’d left for him at the Indaia and come post haste to the Casa Branca where I’d belly shot him on arrival. Cursing fluently under my breath I dropped the useless gun and caught him under the armpits, not so much aghast at what I’d done to Collins — it was odds of thousands to one against me hitting anything vital with Melanie’s popgun — as appalled at the thought of gunning down my own reinforcements.
*
Collins didn’t stay tenderly cradled in my arms for very long. As soon as I heard someone cautiously pulling at the handle of the door at the head of the steps some ten yards away, the one I’d gone in with Pepe, I dumped him unceremoniously on the ground. With Collins’s gun in my hand, a hefty, well balanced revolver which gave me a hell of a sight more confidence than the puny thing I’d had before, I squatted against the wall, waiting for whoever it was to show himself. Not that I’d changed my mind about the getaway in the DKW, it was just I couldn’t afford to leave with this threat to my rear.
All the advantages were on my side. I had my night vision and knew exactly where the opposition would have to show themselves whereas they could have no more than a general idea of my position. Patiently I waited, the revolver held in both hands, my elbows braced against my knees, aiming at the ever widening gap of the inwards opening door. Whoever was coming out was being ultra-cautious. The noise I’d made shooting Collins would have warned the people inside that I was armed, although they must have wondered what on earth I’d been shooting at, and appropriate precautions were being taken! The door was fully opened, a dark rectangle against the grey of the wall, and I still could see nobody. On either side of the steps leading up to the entrance there was a three foot wall and if anyone had come outside he was being careful to stay behind cover. Just the same he had to expose himself sometime and until then I had nowhere else to go. My main worry was the second door, the one I’d run past in my retreat from the veranda, but so far there was no indication of any threat from this direction.
On the first occasion Pepe stuck his head above the wall it only stayed there long enough for me to recognise him and I held my fire because the whole object of this little exercise was for Pepe to see if anyone felt inclined to take potshots at him. Being of a nervous disposition he tried the stratagem a second time and again I declined to waste a bullet, preferring to wait for a stationary target.
The third time was for real, Pepe had stopped messing around and was intent on a proper survey. Before I fired I lined up carefully, not rushing myself because he was still only offering me his head to aim at. The revolver must have thrown a trifle low, chipping off a splinter of stone from the top of the wall, but not so much that this made any difference. The bullet, ricocheting upwards into his face at an angle, lifted him up to his full height, his outstretched arms silhouetted against the dark grey of the sky behind, before he folded, the upper half of his body draped limply over the wall. As I watched Pepe began to slide forward, slowly at first, then faster as his centre of gravity shifted, until his body dropped from its precarious perch, landing in a lifeless heap no more than six yards from where I crouched.
I allowed thirty seconds for any reactions from the other two men in the Casa Branca. There were none and I decided to make my try for the DKW, preferring a car I knew to the superior performance of the Mercedes parked beside it, the vehicle belonging to Biddencourt and Gordinho. This meant I’d risk exposing myself to anyone in the doorway Pepe had come through but at least I’d have Collins on my back as some form of shield. He was conscious and had been ever since I’d shot him. While I’d been waiting for a shot at Pepe he’d obligingly held his breath, now it was coming between his clenched teeth in little, sobbing moans.
‘Do you think you can walk?’ I whispered, heaving him into a sitting position against the wall. ‘I’m going to try to get you to one of the cars.’
For a man with stomach wounds Collins shook his head with surprising vehemence.
‘I’m not leaving,’ he said hoarsely, every word an effort. ‘Now we’ve started we’ve got to deal with the others as well.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ I told him. ‘With you or without you I’m going.’
‘Take a step towards the cars and I’ll raise blue, bloody murder,’ he threatened. ‘That’s a promise.’
This was a ridiculous remark to make, the obvious answer being to belt him hard on the head, and for a moment I was seriously tempted. My hostility to Biddencourt and Gordinho wasn’t, by itself, sufficient reason for me to risk being killed but the two lead pellets I’d fired into Collins’s gut did mean I had a certain responsibility for him. Otto and Reece had already been killed, Lydia was on my conscience and I couldn’t just abandon Collins. This gave me one good reason for doing my damnedest to kill Gordinho and Biddencourt.
The second reason had suddenly occurred to me quite independently. Assuming I reached the DKW there would be at least one hundred metres to cover when the car would be completely exposed to anyone inside the Casa Branca. Bullets from one side and a drop of several hundred feet on the other seemed more than adequate motives for postponing my thoughts of a drive.
‘You’re right,’ I whispered to Collins, sneering at myself in the darkness. ‘We mustn’t let the bastards escape. Just hang on for a second. I’ll be right back.’
Cautiously I crawled over to Pepe’s corpse and, after a few seconds’ scrabbling around, found the gun, still clutched tightly in his hand. To pry it loose I had to break a couple of fingers, something I didn’t particularly enjoy doing although Pepe didn’t raise any objections, and then I made my way back
to Collins. The lights had been doused inside the building, otherwise there were no signs of activity.
‘How do you feel?’ I asked as I handed over the gun.
‘I’ll survive so long as I don’t have to do any running around.’
Although he was obviously in pain I tended to agree with him. It would have taken a very lucky shot to kill him and his lucidity and alertness certainly didn’t indicate a mortal wound.
‘You won’t even have to move from here,’ I assured him. ‘Just sit here and shoot anyone who comes out of that door or tries to use either of the cars. There are two men inside, both armed, and they probably think I’m alone out here. They have to leave the building some time and when they do there’s only one other exit, the door I’ll be covering. If they should decide to slip through one of the windows or over the veranda and then hoof it down the mountain we’ve lost them. Otherwise we’re sitting pretty. OK?’
The Fall Guy Page 18