São Paulo Noir

by Tony Bellotto

  Final Chapter

  The Mystery Solved

  As soon as Nicola saw it was Dona Estefânia who had arrived with the shopping bag, he jumped out of his chair. He almost fainted from astonishment. His initial metaphysical reaction was to think he was seeing a ghost, but from Dona Estefânia’s rosy countenance he judged her to be in excellent health. Nicola assumed his most intelligent demeanor to say: “Now I understand everything!”

  Actually, he didn’t understand anything. João da Silva came to his aid.

  “That’s right, Nicola. That’s the case. Estefânia is alive, and we’re getting married. The whole story of her death was for show because Mirtes didn’t want her to marry me. We were gonna wait a bit longer to break the news. Now we can’t hide it anymore.”

  “But there wasn’t any need to frighten everyone.”

  “It was João’s idea,” explained Dona Estefânia. “Because I wanted to take advantage of spending more vacation time here. That’s why my body disappeared.”

  “Well, looks like I’ve solved another case. Now we all go to Dona Mirtes’s place,” said Nicola.

  “To let her know?” asked Dona Estefânia.

  “And to receive my money.”

  Two hours later, they were in Dona Mirtes’s living room. Creusa, the gentle domestic, moved about in great contentment. After all, her boyfriend had cracked the case. The only person who appeared furious was Dona Mirtes, who still didn’t understand the reason for all that complication. Nicola said that this was par for the course in an investigation, which wasn’t true but served as consolation. After receiving the money owed him, Nicola suggested that a round of coffee would be welcome. Dona Mirtes thought otherwise, so the situation remained at square one.

  Finally, the famous detective thought it was time to withdraw. He rose, said goodbye to everyone, quickly kissed Creusa’s fleshy lips, and headed toward the door. When his hand was on the knob, Dona Mirtes said: “Just a minute. There’s something I don’t understand. If Estefânia really played dead, if the candy wasn’t really poisoned, why did my cat die?”

  Nicola had been waiting for this moment. Before going to the apartment he had done some fact-finding and had the answer on the tip of his tongue. “Elementary, my dear Dona Mirtes. By one of those incredible coincidences, the cat didn’t die from poison but from a heart attack provoked by fright when it saw the candy. The necropsy of the feline left no uncertainty about it.”

  “When did you find out the result of that necropsy?” asked Mirtes.

  “Shortly before coming here,” lied the detective. “Well, good luck to the engaged couple, and now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my office. Another case awaits me.” He opened the door and descended the stairs toward the street. He stopped at the building’s front door, breathed deeply, and began the long walk back to Mooca.

  A light mist was beginning to envelop the city. Nicky really did have another case to deal with. A case the landlord of his apartment had filed against him for back rent.

  Thus Nicky Nicola ended another day of work. Leaves were starting to fall from the trees, signaling the arrival of autumn, and the private investigator hastened his pace for fear that something else might fall on his head from a window.

  Teresão

  by Mario Prata

  Vila Carrão

  Part One

  Teresão is fat. Not as fat as one might imagine, just enough for her husband to spend a lot on spas and endocrinologists in Brazil and abroad. They can afford such luxuries.

  Teresão is fat, rich, and does nothing in life but eat, drink, sleep, and other necessities inherent in human beings. Like trying to lose weight.

  I would say she’s not really fat-fat. Because a fat-fat woman has fat legs. She doesn’t. She’s short, with a high stomach, as she is wont to define it. High and big enough to break in line in supermarkets, airports, and banks claiming to be pregnant, at least until she was forty. Today she is forty-five and has hit two hundred pounds for the first time.

  Teresão has been fat as long as she can remember. In primary school they called her Tubby, Hippo, and other worse fat-words. Much worse.

  As for sex, she often says: Fat women like it too. Her husband is becoming more and more deaf.

  * * *

  Teresão was in a hammock on the porch of her house, looking at the pool, thinking about not a goddamn thing, when the maid came with the tray holding a heaping breakfast. She placed it on a small table within reach. Teresão thanked her and the maid Dulcineia (extremely slim) grunted. Teresão looked at her. Dulcineia had her mouth shut and her cupped hand covered her lips.

  “Cat got your tongue, girl?”

  Dulcineia kept laughing, nonstop, until she had to take her hand away from her mouth. That was when Teresão saw. Dulcineia was wearing braces. The kind that bind together all the teeth, the old-fashioned type.

  “What new thing is this?”

  Dulcineia left almost in a run, laughing, embarrassed, and went into the house. Teresão followed her with her eyes until she disappeared. She lifted her hand to her chin. We can see that Teresão was thinking. And when Teresão decided to think, it was something else!

  * * *

  Dulcineia was picking up eggshells to put in the trash when her mistress came in, drinking chocolate milk.

  “Open.”

  Dulcineia looked at her, startled. “Open what, Dona Terezinha?”

  “Your mouth, woman! Let me see it.” She approached the maid, concentrating.

  “The braces?” She opened her mouth.

  Teresão went up very close, looked at the upper part, the lower, and, using both hands, opened and closed her maid’s mouth, as if examining a mare. She backed away and stood there looking, pondering.

  “You make me feel embarrassed . . . Do I look awfully ugly, Dona Terezinha?”

  Teresão sat down and didn’t take her eyes off Dulcineia. “Where did you have that done?”

  “Is it very ugly?”

  “Who was the dentist, Dulcineia? It’s pretty.”

  “A man there in the neighborhood. He opened an office a few months ago. I’m going to pay in eighteen installments. Vila Carrão.”

  “Call him and make an appointment for me. For today.”

  “But Dona Terezinha—”

  “It has to be today.”

  “You don’t need—”

  “Go on, make the call. I’m going to take a bath and we’ll go there. I’m going to take control of my life starting today.”

  She exited and left the maid staring at the phone on the wall.

  * * *

  “You’ll excuse me, but I can’t do that.”

  “And just why not? I’m paying, my boy,” said Teresão.

  Dulcineia didn’t understand her employer’s request. Joining all her upper teeth to her lower teeth. Practically sewing her mouth shut. Sealing her mouth.

  The young dentist: “I could be reported to the Regional Dentistry Board.”

  Teresão took out her checkbook. “Dr. Peres, your office will look a lot prettier with a chair, one of those that lie flat . . . How much does that gizmo cost? The white ones, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” She winked at Dulcineia.

  * * *

  After three trips to Vila Carrão, Teresão’s teeth were completely fastened together. No food would pass through there. She hummed “It’s Now or Never” in the fine, strident tone of a still-young Elvis.

  She was sure of it: she was going to lose weight. Nothing but vegetable soup and that’s all. She even thought of selling the idea to some spa where she had once been a client.

  She said in her tiny voice: “Dulcineia, I’ve invented the surest way in the world to lose weight. I might even have a chance to make some money from all this craziness.”

  You’re stark raving mad, the maid didn’t say but thought. And she went to make the soup.

  Between the front teeth was a small space through which a straw could pass.

  Afte
r a month, Teresão had lost only 2.2 pounds. At the same time she had discovered that the straw could also convey condensed milk. And whiskey.

  Lots of condensed milk. And lots of whiskey.

  And her husband, reading Veja magazine in bed, declared to his tipsy wife with bad breath from all the steel in her mouth: “It’s over, Terezinha! Not the spa, not medicine, not any goddamn thing! This was the final madness. Do you have any idea what that fucking dentist chair cost? Any idea?”

  * * *

  “Dulcineia!!”

  She came in running. Teresão was floating in the pool with a buzz on.

  “Call Dr. Peres. Now! We’re going over there. Today! I’m getting rid of this shit.”

  * * *

  One day, because she was afraid of staying home alone (her husband was at a convention in Geneva with their neighbor) and had been having terrible nightmares, she invited Dulcineia to sleep over that night. She said she would pay extra.

  Dulcineia thought that rather strange, maybe her boss was one of those women who like women. She had voluntarily wired her teeth shut; anything was possible. But since she needed some extra cash, she called her husband and explained. The guy was somewhat suspicious—what kind of story was that? Teresão went to the phone and he was all, “Yes ma’am, of course, Dona Terezinha.”

  Teresão liked drinking her whiskey more and more. And since what she wanted was company, she insisted and convinced Dulcineia to drink with her. Teresão didn’t know that Dulcineia drank. Not that way. In six hours the pair emptied two bottles of Black Label. And she also didn’t know that Dulcineia, when she drank, talked. Talked too much. And because she talked too much, she ended up saying things she shouldn’t. That her husband had taken part in the kidnapping of that publicity agent “a few years ago.”

  “Keep it under your hat, Teresão,” said the now-intimate Neia.

  Just look at the woman’s condition. She was calling her employer by her first name, had vomited in the service area, and wouldn’t clean it till the following day while her employer was still sleeping it off. Now she was really, really drunk. She’d never had such good whiskey. Actually, she’d never had whiskey at all.

  “Your husband was part of the kidnapping? Your husband?”

  “In person, personally. I didn’t see ’im for two months. Oh my God, we drank too much . . . I was joking. Imagine.”

  “Joking my ass! You’ve already said it. Tomorrow I won’t even remember.”

  * * *

  The next day: “My God, I talked shit,” she thought aloud, like in a TV soap opera.

  She prepared a beautiful breakfast for Teresão, which was served just before two o’clock. Dulcineia was very serious, lost in thought, dusting here and there. Teresão was slow to speak.

  “What a long night! I’m grateful for your company. If I’d known you were so agreeable I’d have invited you earlier. I sort of tied one on.” She leaned back in her chair and looked at Dulcineia through her pince-nez.

  Rich folks tie one on, noted Dulcineia, who detested those tiny glasses.

  “Did I vomit yesterday, Dulcineia?” Teresão asked, conscious of the maid’s silence.

  “No, no ma’am. It was just tying one on,” she answered after a brief silence.

  “It’s just that there’s one hell of a vomit smell,” Teresão pressed.

  “I don’t smell it,” the maid pretended.

  Teresão served herself the first glass of beer. She didn’t offer any.

  “Dulcineia, I need to talk to your husband,” she told her servant point-blank.

  That was what she had feared: her mistress remembered the foolishness that she had never, never told anyone, no one, she didn’t talk about the matter even with her own husband. At the time, she became suspicious because Cardim kept speaking half in Spanish and one day ended up telling her. Drunk too.

  She still hadn’t recovered from the surprise, when Teresão concluded: “Today! And far away from here.”

  “Dona Terezinha—”

  “Exactly! Today! Get ahold of him and let me know.”

  “Not by phone. It’s gotta be done in private.”

  “Then get moving. Is he at home now?”

  “You’re going to ruin my marriage, Dona Teresão. He’ll kill me, blabbing a secret like that. A kidnap—”

  “No I’m not.” She removed the pince-nez, placed them on the table. “I’m even going to improve your marriage. Trust me. And the next time you drink here in the house, do your vomiting in the toilet in the service area, okay?” She got up. “The service area!”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Yes ma’am what? Meeting your husband or vomiting back there?” Teresão responded, staring directly into Dulcineia’s eyes.

  “Yes ma’am to both.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Cardim. Ricardim. Ricardo, actually.”

  * * *

  After a vast amount of research on Google and having analyzed and studied thirteen Brazilian kidnappings, five Argentinean, two Bolivian, one Portuguese, and one Bulgarian, she understood more about the subject than any antikidnapping officer. She felt like the queen of kidnappings. If she wrote a book someday, she already had the title: Teresão—the Queen of Kidnapping. With a self-help subtitle: How to Lose Sixty-Five Pounds Without Getting Out of Bed.

  She wrote on the screen: Column 1, gender; Column 2, age; 2-A, height; Column 3, time held; Column 4, starting weight; Column 5, final weight; Column 6, average weight loss per day.

  Teresão was tops at Excel 2013.

  There it was, right on the screen—indisputable data: being kidnapped was the best way to lose weight. Kilos better than any diet, tens of kilos better than any spa.

  She printed out the table. In the seconds the machine was printing, she thought of the money she could make in the future, after her own kidnapping, with a firm to kidnap fat women and men. Stomach-stapling, who needs it? Why hadn’t anybody thought of this before, my God!

  Analyzing the table, using a calculator, she rapidly came to a conclusion: a woman, age forty-five, weight 190 pounds (lie!), height 5’3’’, would with absolute certainty lose a bit more than fifty-eight pounds in fifty-two days.

  Almost a model! And with a good pair of heels, Bündchen!

  Kidnapping!

  * * *

  Cardim had all the trappings of a good scoundrel, even a small scar above his upper lip. A toned mulatto, shaved head, clean sneakers, a smoker. Quite a bit younger than Neia. Thirty-five at most. Had all his teeth.

  He didn’t take long to understand everything that Teresão wanted. They spoke at a square in Vila Carrão, in the East Zone, at the other end of the city. A far cry from Jardim Europa, where Teresão was neighbor to a former governor of the state.

  Teresão asked him to repeat everything.

  “You want me and an accomplice—I don’t know why you insist on an accomplice. You’ll have to forgive me, I don’t understand.”

  She almost got irritated. “Have you ever heard of a kidnapper without an accomplice? Continue, Cardim.”

  He lowered his head. “Then we—me and another person—kidnap you and treat you the way we did that advertising guy, and the negotiations should last almost two months, and we start out asking for ten million and finally settle for four.”

  “I know he’ll pay four, just to show off at the club. He loves playing the big shot. And what’s going to happen with me, Cardim?”

  “A small nine-by-three room. A light on twenty-four hours a day, loud music, food once a day. No milk, no sugar, nothing fried, no gluten.”

  Teresão tapped him on the shoulder. “How many days?”

  “Fifty-two!”

  “Right. And even if I beg, even if you think I’m dying, you can’t change the treatment. Just like it was with him, understand? Everything has to be the same! Weren’t you the one handling his captivity? No matter what happens, I can’t leave that room.” Teresão could see that the man understood and was taking ever
ything seriously.

  “I was the one who took care of him, yes ma’am. And we didn’t go easy on him.”

  Teresão: “Every three days, we’ll meet in the holding room to evaluate the negotiations. Agreed?”

  “Right.”

  And to conclude the pact: “What do we do with the money?”

  “Divide it. Me and Dulcineia keep two million and you keep two million.” He rose and circled the park bench. “You’re not gonna tell me why you wanna put yourself through that ordeal?”

  “You’ll see. When it’s all over, you’ll see and understand.” She lightly pinched his cheek. “I’m in no hurry, boy. Just one more thing: when it’s time to take me out of there, when I finally leave captivity, I want a big goddamn mirror in the bathroom. Full-length. Got it?”

  “Leave it to me.”

  She extended her hand to seal the deal.

  “Just a minute. There’s going to be some expenses.”

  “What expenses, man?”

  “It’s a complex operation. Upkeep of the team. Me, the accomplice, and Neia. Renting a place to put you.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that . . .”

  “Yes. Buying a car, weapons, disguises, electronic equipment—”

  “That’s in advance?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Shit.”

  The square had a small pond. Teresão began playing with the water, then splashed some on her face. “How much?”

  “I calculate about a hundred grand.”

  “Fuck!”

  “My dear lady, you’re not dealing with some street mugger. Only kidnappings of vice presidents on up.”

  “Okay, okay. Tomorrow I’ll give Neia the money. I can pay in installments, can’t I? Maybe a postdated check?”

  “A hundred grand tomorrow, in cash.”

  She went back to playing with the water. An ice cream vendor passed by.

  “Would you like an ice cream?”

  “You can get three for me. Does he have vanilla?”

  Cardim got the ice cream and took it to Teresão. He stared at her. “Uh, the money?”