All Lies

by Andrew Cunningham

  I suddenly had an idea. "Suppose the stone had fallen down? After all, I think we can assume that John erected it for the purposes of the painting. Maybe he didn't put it far enough into the ground. Maybe it just fell over."

  "Then good luck with that," said Emil. "The yards around most of those houses are completely overgrown. If the tree is still there, it would be fully grown by now. But it might not even be there. A lot of the rubber trees died. Not to sound pessimistic, but if the tree died and the headstone fell over, you've got your work cut out for you."

  "We saw some houses, like yours, that have been fixed up. Maybe it was one of those houses," said Sabrina.

  "I can ask around, if you like," suggested Emil. "If so, someone would remember it. Where are you staying tonight?" he asked, completely changing gears.

  "We had hoped we might be able to solve this in one day," answered Sabrina, "but I think that was a pipe dream. We can stay on the boat."

  "Believe it or not, we have a Bed and Breakfast here."

  "Here?" I asked.

  "We do get tourists . Not a lot, but they usually need a place to stay. I've heard it's not too bad, considering the location, and the food is pretty good. I know three guys checked in yesterday, but they might still have a room available."

  We both perked up. "Three guys?" I asked. "Did you see them?"

  "No, just heard they were here." Then it dawned on him. "Oh shit. Are they looking for the same thing?"

  "It's possible," I said. I turned to Sabrina. "Could be Guidry's men. But if they knew about Fordlandia, why didn't they come earlier?"

  "It could also be the Russians. If that's the case, we could be in a lot of trouble. But they never passed us again after we disabled their boat, so it's probably not them." She added, "Whoever it is knows we're here. They probably even know that we're in this house." And like a bad movie, that's when the knock came at the door.

  "What do you suggest?" I asked Sabrina. I was suddenly having trouble breathing.

  "I guess we answer the door. It's time we confront whoever it is. Maybe we can take them by surprise." As she said it, she pulled out her revolver. "Maybe they won't be expecting this."

  "Emil, we're sorry we brought this to your doorstep," I said. "You might want to stay hidden. As I said it, I heard a shotgun being snapped shut. I looked around and saw Emil crouched behind the kitchen counter, with a double-barreled shotgun aimed at the door.

  "No need," he said. "We're pretty good at taking care of ourselves here. Let them in. I just hope it's not the woman down the road bringing me eggs. She'll never bring them again."

  The knock came again.

  "Ready?" I asked.

  "Ready," answered Sabrina.

  She yanked open the door and we stuck our guns in the faces of three very surprised men. The two bigger men we knew from the hotel room in Wahoo. The third was unfamiliar to us. He was short, maybe 5'8", and he couldn't have weighed more than 150. He was a few years older than me, with jet black hair cut conservatively. He wore an outfit that he must have picked up at the "pretend you're going on safari" store. He also wore glasses that made him look like a college professor.

  After getting over his initial shock at having guns thrust in his face, he held out his hand.

  "Nice to meet you, Mr. Honeycutt. I'm Mario Guidry."

  Chapter 32

  "I hope we're not intruding. May we come in?"

  I looked over at Sabrina, then back at Emil. Finally, I stepped back from the door indicating that he could enter, ignoring his outstretched hand.

  I'm not sure what we were expecting, but it certainly wasn't the scene before us. Chicago mobsters didn't look like … well … him. They also didn't sound like refined, cultured gentlemen. Didn't they use words like yous and joiks all the time?

  "We finally meet," he said, again holding out his hand. I just looked him and he dropped it.

  "We've already met your friends," I said.

  "Ah, yes," he answered. "I apologize for that. I will make sure you get reimbursed for the phones they took."

  Emil came into the living room, relaxed, but still holding the shotgun.

  "Have a seat," I said. Mario sat, but his bodyguards stayed standing.

  "All of you," I added.

  Mario made a motion with his head and the other two looked around, saw that there were no more chairs, once Sabrina and I sat, and hunkered down onto the floor. I could tell that it annoyed Mario to have his men in such a vulnerable position, but it said to me that he truly intended for this to be a peaceful call.

  Dead silence. Mario came to us, so he was going to have to speak first.

  "I'm sorry about your sister," he finally said to Sabrina. "I liked her."

  "Nobody liked her," Sabrina answered.

  "I was trying to be nice. In all honesty, she was somewhat unpleasant. But I'm still sorry to hear about her death."

  "So you had nothing to do with it?" I asked.

  "Heavens, no. You don't know me, but I don't kill people. I have business interests that sometimes require a firm hand," he motioned toward his men, "but never to that extreme. No, I'm afraid that was someone else, most likely the same people who killed two of my men. I was going to ask if you had anything to do with their murders, but I can see that it's an unnecessary question."

  "So why did you follow us down?"

  "Actually, we didn't. I think we had the same idea at the same time. And I assume we are all after the same thing—the elusive treasure. So tell me, how did you find out about Fordlandia?"

  "Why don't you answer it first," suggested Sabrina.

  "Fair enough. Like you I'm sure, Mr. Honeycutt, I've known about Fordlandia my whole life." He obviously didn't know much about me or my family. "But I had tucked that piece of family history away. I never had any interest in it. I had also heard rumors my whole life about treasure, but I never made the connection to this place. Nothing was ever specified, so I just assumed it was hidden somewhere in New York. Frankly, I had come to believe that the whole thing was just a tale, that is, until Ms. Worth approached me. She made it sound as if you had more of the story, so I put some men on you. I apologize, by the way, for stealing the book from your apartment. The article did me little good. I assume there was other material you kept?"

  I remained silent.

  "I'm trying to be pleasant here," he said, irritation showing in his voice.

  "Excuse us if we don't share your pleasantness," said Sabrina. "Being held at gunpoint twice has something to do with it."

  "And I apologize for that, as well." He knew we weren't going to make this easy, so he moved on. "Anyway, I've always wondered if the treasure was still in Fordlandia, but I had nothing to go on. I knew the painting contained a clue, but of course, your phone was locked and I never did see it. So I had my men watch you. When they discovered that you had booked a trip to Miami, I knew where you were going. So we decided it was time we came too. Was the painting as illuminating as we hoped?"

  "No," I answered.

  Mario waited for more, got nothing, shrugged, and continued. "I'm here to see if we can team up. Somehow, Ms. Worth must have riled the wrong people, because it seems that everyone she came into contact with is in their sights. If they are not here yet, they will be soon."

  "They're here, at least in Brazil. We were followed," I said.

  Mario showed a flicker of concern.

  "I know I'm not a part of this whole affair, but mind if I ask a question?" asked Emil. "If someone is trying to kill you, it seems to me that it has to be someone who knows about the treasure—not just knows about it, but knows where it is. I mean, if he's in the same boat as all of you and is looking for it, it would go against his best interests to kill you. After all, none of you have killed each other."

  He had our attention.

  "So if he knows what it is and where it is, why hasn't he come before now? Or, if he already found it, what use would he have in killing you?"

  As much as I hated Mario Guidr
y for his actions against us, I didn't want to see anyone else die from this. It was time for me to share a little more information.

  "There are two aspects to the treasure," I said. "From everything we've uncovered so far, we believe part of it is gold." Mario nodded in agreement. That much of it he must have uncovered or deduced. "We assume it was gold stolen from some of the managers here who were smuggling gold out of the country. The second part of the treasure we are guessing at, based on some other clues we found. We're not going to tell you what it is, except to say that we think the killers are Russians. The items—if we are right—are important enough for these Russians to kill for. And again, if our assumptions are right, they know they're here. But, like Emil said, if they knew these items were here, why didn't they come sooner?"

  "That just confirms my visit to you," said Mario. "In light of the danger we are all in, I suggest we join forces. If there is that much gold—and I would think there is by the use of the word 'treasure', there should be plenty for all."

  "It doesn't belong to us," said Sabrina. "It belongs to the Brazilian government or the people of Fordlandia."

  "Squatters, all of them. They have no more right to the treasure than we do."

  Technically, he probably wasn't wrong. Morally, it was a different story. I didn't need to ask Sabrina for her opinion.

  "We wish you well on your search—not too well, of course—but there is no way we can join forces with you," I said. "Frankly, I don't trust you. I believe you when you say you are not killers, but I don't like your tactics and I don't like you. No, we'll do it on our own."

  "So be it," said Mario, standing. His goons were on their feet in a second, ready to go into action if called upon. But Mario wasn't ready to fight. He motioned his men outside.

  "You're making a mistake," he said quietly. Then he turned and walked out.

  "Are we making a mistake?" I asked, suddenly second-guessing myself.

  "Absolutely not," answered Sabrina.

  "As I said, I'm not part of all this," said Emil, "from my perspective, you made the right choice."

  I felt better.

  Emil continued. "I don't think sharing a B&B with those clowns would be smart. If you don't mind sleeping on the couch and the floor, you're welcome to stay here."

  Sabrina said to him with relief in her eyes, "Thank you."

  "I just hope we haven't put you in danger," I said.

  "My choice," he replied, putting the topic to rest.

  *****

  The night was uneventful. Uncomfortable, but uneventful. We left word with Paulo and Luis that we'd be staying at least one night. From our trip down, they were also aware of the danger, so they moored the boat away from the dock, making it harder for someone to sneak up on them.

  The next morning there was no sign of Mario and his men. They were around someplace probably trying to come up with their own hunches. Or, they were watching to see what we would do, but we had no control over that. After they had gone that night, Emil spread the word around the town that it would be to everyone's advantage not to help them. It wouldn't be long before Mario would become a pariah in Fordlandia.

  Meanwhile, it was time for us to get started on our search. We began by taking a walk around the town. We had seen a lot of pictures of it online from its heyday. The difference was stark. We saw the remains of the paved roads, the picket fences, and the fire hydrants—middle America plunked into the center of the Amazon. How could anyone really think that just by making things look familiar to the American workers, it would appease them? And the total disregard for the lifestyle and culture of the locals was arrogance at its worst.

  It was easy to understand Emil's advice to his friends that the town couldn't be restored or turned into a resort. Simply stated, it was just a crumbling factory town alongside a river. Other than its unique history, what possible draw could it have? The millions of dollars that would have to be poured into the town just to bring it to the point of preparation for a resort would be a complete waste. If they were restoring it to what Fordlandia once looked like, what would be the sense in that? You could find the same sights walking down the main street in a small town in Ohio.

  No, the town had long since died. Everything was overgrown. Windows in the abandoned buildings were gone. The houses still standing all had sagging roofs, and in many cases the whole house had collapsed.

  There were exceptions. The houses the squatters had taken over were in relatively decent shape, ranging from the just barely livable to a few places like Emil's—fixed up with care.

  As Emil led us around, Sabrina was reveling in the experience. Her eyes were bright and almost dancing as she took notes and pictures. I could see a book coming out of this. She was in heaven. She was getting to experience the adventure and excitement that she wrote about in her books. For Sabrina, this was living. I, on the other hand, hadn't yet decided exactly what it was.

  The morning was sunny and warm, more like an early summer's day in New England than a day in the tropics. Hmm, maybe Henry Ford was onto something. A day like this one could feel like home. It almost made us forget the danger we faced. Almost.

  "I want you to meet someone," announced Emil as we approached one of the larger houses. It was midway between fixed up and falling down. Dozens of chickens roamed the yard. There was no doubt that the egg supply for the town originated there.

  "Eva is somewhere on the north side of ninety and has lived in Fordlandia practically her whole life. Her father was one of the first native workers hired by Henry Ford, and he brought his whole family. Eva was around ten at the time. After Ford left, her family stayed, and she's been here ever since. I did some calculations. If your relative and his friends arrived here around 1930 or a little after, Eva would have been in her early teens. She might have some memories of them. It's a shot in the dark, but her mind is still pretty good for her age, so you never know."

  Eva turned out to be a hoot. Funny and talkative—not that I could understand a word of it; Emil translated—Eva loved having the company. She had a large, round body, but a wizened face—like a mummy's head attached to a pumpkin.

  For about twenty minutes she regaled us with stories of her chickens and goats. When Emil was able to guide her to the early days of Fordlandia, her tone changed slightly, as she reached back into her memory. We let Emil ask the first few questions, such as what life was like there in the beginning.

  With Emil as the translator, she said, "I didn't like leaving my home to come here, but my father said we would have a good life with lots of money. It wasn't a good life. It was a life I didn't understand. The Americans were mean. I don't think they liked their life here either. They made us eat American food. I was sick much of the time. My body was not used to the food. It tasted awful."

  Emil asked her about life there after the first couple of years.

  She smiled and looked at me when she spoke.

  "The Americans were stupid."

  She had to look at me when she said that?

  "My father always talked about how the Americans didn't know what they were doing. He tried to tell them, as many of my people did, that the trees would get sick and die. But they were ignored. My people got angry, and then the Americans got angry. There was much conflict. Many fights. My father often told me to stay inside the house. He was afraid, but he was also afraid to leave to go back to our home. When the Americans finally left, we stayed. He said life would be easier after the Americans. He was right."

  Emil looked at me, indicating that it was my turn. He informed Eva that I had some questions. At first she was wary, but Emil assured her that we weren't from any government and wouldn't tell her she must leave. Once he paved the way, the worry disappeared and she was back to her jovial self.

  "Eva, I'm sure you don't remember, but maybe three years after you came here, four American men arrived on a boat."

  "Americans were always arriving" she said through Emil, "and it was always by boat."

  "These
men weren't workers. They delivered alcohol to the island, then came here for a few days or a week."

  She shook her head.

  I tried again. "I think one of them killed another."

  Her eyes perked up, so I took it a step further.

  "Their names were Tony, Bruce, Mikey, and John. I think John ended up stay…" I stopped. Her eyes had narrowed and she began to shake. There was anger there, a tremendous amount of anger.

  "Mikey," she said, almost spitting his name. "I remember Mikey. An evil man. A very evil man!"

  I looked at Sabrina. Mikey? Wasn't Mikey the "good" one of the bunch? The literate one? The one who wasn't cut out for a life of crime? Could she have confused him with one of the others? After all, it was his book that helped fill in the gaps.

  "Were we wrong about Mikey?" asked Sabrina. "Is there more to this than we thought?"

  "Are you sure his name was Mikey?" I asked through Emil. "My great-grandfather was one of those men. He never said anything bad about Mikey."

  She responded with a short comment. Emil hesitated a moment, then said, "she says he had two faces. Not quite sure … oh, I get it. He was two-faced." He said something to Eva, who nodded, then said something else.

  "Eva says she watched him with his friends. He acted one way with them, but different when he was away from them."

  "It was over eighty years ago," said Sabrina. "Why is it you remember him so clearly?"

  "Because he was the most evil man I have ever met," she stated simply.

  Chapter 33

  We waited for more.

  "I remember the four men you speak of. Not the names of the other three until you said them, but I remember them. There was another. He was from another country."

  "Vlad?" I said to Sabrina.

  "Most likely."

  "They were looking for the gold."