And then, miraculously, he heard her voice.
I’m dreaming, he told himself. He wanted her so badly that he was dreaming.
But, no.
He turned. Natal was racing toward the train, a brilliant smile on her face, a small bag in her hand. She’d gotten her work, her precious writing. She had gone to Amato’s house, gotten what she needed, and gotten out. And then she must have stopped to say goodbye to a friend or to run some other last-minute errand before coming to the station. She looked well, and beautiful and excited.
He reached out a hand to her; the train was starting to move.
She leapt aboard and into his arms. His eyes met hers and he knew that even if he had told her what had happened, what he had done, they were together.
The adventure between them was just beginning.
“I’m late,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry; it’s me. I tend to be late.”
He shook his head. “That doesn’t matter at all. You’re here.”
“Truly a free spirit now!”
As the train left the station, he kissed her and held her.
He’d never felt as if his own spirit was quite so free.
CHAPTER 17
The train was moving and they hadn’t found a seat. River noted Natal’s hand. The knuckles were scraped and raw—bloodied.
“Natal,” he said, looking at her anxiously.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s something,” he persisted.
She shrugged. “I went in to get my belongings and of course, Tio Amato was there and he accosted me. He said I was a fool—well, he called me much worse, but he also said that I’d burned all my bridges and that he’d never support me again so that I could write. That was it, you know. When I made myself believe that he was a good man who built fountains for poor children and meant to help the world. I pretended, even to myself, that I did not see so much that made me uneasy. You see, I wanted to write. I believed that I needed to be able to write. And I’m good—they took my articles. But my articles were really all lies. I said I was free—but I wasn’t. I just dreamed of being free.”
“Your knuckles, Natal, what happened?”
She grinned. “He tried to stop me. I clocked him one.”
“And he?” River asked, feeling his muscles tighten. He wasn’t sure why his anger rose so swiftly. Tio Amato had to be at a police station by now. Unless, of course, the fire had spread so quickly that the massive amounts of what he had suspected was cocaine had burned to the ground with the house.
No, the man had to be in a prison or a hospital.
“He just looked at me. He was astounded that I had the nerve to strike him. I hurried then. I picked up my computer and other belongings and walked right out of the house,” she recounted gleefully. “Such a victory—but he seemed preoccupied and said only ‘good riddance.’”
She was so happy, so proud of herself.
“Where did you go when you left? You almost missed the train,” he reminded her.
“Oh, well, I said goodbye to my friend Jacinto at the coffee shop and I stopped by to do the same with Anna, at the newsstand. I never meant to take so long.” She frowned, looking at him. “How did you know that I left the house so quickly?”
He froze, looking down at her.
“You went to the house,” she accused him.
“I had to—I had to see that he didn’t hurt you,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “You went in? You accosted him? But … you’re here.”
“I didn’t exactly accost him,” River said.
“What did you do? You were not to avenge me,” she reminded him. “You promised.”
“Well, now, wait, I promised not to get myself killed by trying to get revenge for what he had done to you,” he told her. “And I did not go there to take vengeance on Tio Amato. I went to observe—just to make sure that he didn’t hit you again.”
“I told you I could take care of myself,” she said. “And I did. River, my darling River, you must look at the bigger picture of our lives. He might have hurt you—killed you. And then where would we be?”
He shook his head. “I had no intention of letting myself get killed—trust me. And we both have lessons to learn, Natal. No one can really just take care of himself. Look at Reed Amato—surrounded by thugs, goons, or henchmen, whatever one would call his men. The strongest man needs others at his back.”
“You had no one at your back!” she reminded him.
“That’s true, but, honestly, I was keeping my promise to you. I didn’t expect to see what I saw. They had a man in the house—they were beating him to death.”
“And you thought to stop them?” she asked incredulously.
“What else could I do and still live with myself?”
“So many reasons that I love you,” she murmured, but then she added with distress, “Oh, River, what did you do?”
“I killed no one, I swear it. I simply drew them all out to the front—Amato’s men first—and then, while Amato went out to see what was going on, I slipped around to the back and told the man they were beating up to get out. And then … well, I lit the house on fire,” he said.
She stared at him, slowly arching her exquisite brows.
In that moment, he prayed desperately that he hadn’t ruined everything with her.
“You … set the house on fire?”
“The police and the firemen would have to come. And I was pretty sure that he had all kinds of guns and ammunition—explosives—in the house. And there was so much of what seemed to be cocaine in there, Natal. No matter how corrupt some officers might be, they’ll be forced to bring him in.”
As she watched him, he felt as if he were composed of stone—as if the world stood still while he awaited her reaction.
To his amazement and relief, she smiled slowly and then laughed. “Oh, I can only imagine. Amato—he will be furious. He will be explosive himself.”
“But behind bars,” River said.
“He’ll find a way to come after you.”
“He may already be coming after me.”
She looked at him gravely. “The men in the blue suits? But I thought you believed that they were the police?”
“I have never seen a uniformed officer paying the least attention to me,” River explained. “Yes, they may be the police. But they may also be Tio Amato’s men. Whichever—I believe it’s best to be gone from Rio for a while. If Amato isn’t already after me, for stabbing his man in the restroom, then he doesn’t know who I am—by name, at least, though, of course, the goons I knocked out have seen my face. But, they don’t have a name to go with my face so it will be hard for them to know who I am and to follow me. I pay cash for everything—I can’t be traced by credit cards. I don’t use a computer and I don’t have a cell phone.”
“I have a computer.”
“But you use it to write—to express the joy and freedom of life and your thoughts. You’re not online talking about people every day.”
“I have an e-mail account,” she said, worried. “But I don’t think that means much. I don’t do Twitter.” She smiled and flicked a dismissive hand in the air. “I don’t even have Facebook.”
He chuckled a little. “Neither do I.” His laughter faded and he looked at her earnestly. “I’m so sorry, Natal. I never meant to lie to you. And, I swear, I wasn’t spying on you, and I didn’t go to the house because I had to prove that I was—or could be—tougher than Reed Amato. I just couldn’t let him get away with it. Natal, forgive me. I know that I saw his men dump one body. I couldn’t let him kill another man.”
She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek and jaw, meeting his eyes. “No, you couldn’t let him kill another man. He is all right, this man?”
“I believe so.”
“I’m sure they came to put the fire out quickly,” she said. She paused and looked at her bruised hand. “Well! We are both fugitives, right?”
“Just like Bonnie and Clyde,” he said.
>
The train jolted, throwing them together. He felt the soft pressure of her body against his. She giggled, steadying herself on him.
“Just like Bonnie and Clyde—except that they didn’t fall off a train.”
No, they went down in a hail of bullets, River thought, wishing he hadn’t.
No one was going to shoot them down. Reed Amato would go to jail. Whoever the men in the blue suits were, they hadn’t been on the platform. No one knew his name—and no one knew which train he’d chosen to take. Or, for that matter, if he’d take it all the way north, or get off early.
She was with him.
He allowed himself to smile.
“Let’s find a seat, then, huh?”
Taking her hand, he moved deeper into the car.
The train was crowded. He found a seat toward the front where they could sit facing forward.
There was one woman in the opposite seat, looking at them.
Natal smiled at her and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes.
The woman didn’t smile back. She looked at them both oddly, muttered something, and rose to change her seat.
River thought that she’d seen Natal’s bruised and reddened knuckles. Maybe she was afraid that Natal would pounce on her.
That was fine; he couldn’t help it if the woman wanted to sit elsewhere.
“Grouchy old woman,” Natal said.
“Well, I guess … maybe years of other people being judgmental and rude have made her old and grouchy,” River said.
“Maybe she works for a mean employer,” Natal said. “Yes, poor thing. That’s it—her husband died, leaving her with five little children. And she has to work so much … and her oldest daughter went off with the first man she met. A stranger who did not love her—but who promised her the world.”
“Then the daughter came back with a baby in her arms and the poor old woman has six people to support and she scrubs floors all day,” River suggested.
“Go on,” Natal encouraged him.
“I think she has a job in a shop during the day. And rich people come and treat her very badly and tourists take apart all the clothing on the shelves and throw it all over everywhere,” Natal said. “And then, to support everyone, she has to have another job at night—that’s when she has to scrub all the floors.”
Natal nodded. “That’s it—of course. She’s put up with wretched people all day and they are rude and careless with her. Then she has to scrub floors. And then, when she goes home, the children are all hungry—and squabbling. Terrible. We should feel sorry for her.”
“Poor, poor woman,” River said.
Natal turned to him, lacing her fingers through his. “People can behave so badly to one another.” She paused. “Would that they had taken pictures or videos of Reed Amato when the house was ablaze and the firemen and police came.”
“I’d have liked to see his face.”
“Me too.” Her smile faded slightly. “I will just be glad when some time has passed—when we don’t have to be afraid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“But it couldn’t be any other way—you couldn’t watch them kill a man.”
“No.”
They were silent for a time.
“One day, you’ll meet Beluga,” River murmured, stroking Natal’s hair. “He’s a kind man, one of the best friends I have.”
“I would like to meet him.”
“And my friend Theo. He’s a scrounger, but he’s always cheerful.”
“I’d love to meet Theo too,” Natal assured him. “In the meantime, where are we going?”
River dug through his backpack and produced his map.
Natal studied it over his shoulder. “There are so many places that I haven’t visited in my own country. At some point, we must go to Punta Negra—the beach is amazing. It’s where the surfers go. Do you surf?”
He laughed. “Um—no. But that doesn’t mean I’m not ready to try.”
She snuggled against him. “Yes, the beach at Punta Negra. We must go there.” She broke away and looked up at him. “But we are on the train headed to Natal. What made you pick Natal? Because it’s north?”
“Because it’s your name. A place called Natal has to be beautiful.”
“Perhaps I was named for Natal.”
“You don’t know?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps it was a name in our family history. I don’t know.”
Then she rested her head on his shoulder.
As the hour grew later, River realized they hadn’t slept much.
“You tired?” he asked her softly.
“Mm,” she murmured.
“Me too.”
“I like you beside me.”
“Do I make a good pillow?”
“I’m sure you will.”
With a slight grin, he leaned against the side of the train; she eased herself against him.
No one else came to sit in the seats opposite them, so they were able to stretch out their legs.
It wasn’t the most comfortable bed in the world—but at that moment it was the most wonderful, because they could doze together, because she rested against him, because he felt her warmth and listened to the rhythmic sound of her breath.
By the time he awakened, most of the people on the train seemed to be sleeping.
Using his pack, he created a pillow for Natal and he slid carefully from his seat, stepping over her legs. In the aisle he stretched and went in search of the facilities. They were at the rear of the car. He headed down the aisle quickly and was glad to find the restroom unoccupied.
The train switched tracks just as he was exiting. It jolted wildly to one side, pitching him against a man standing there.
The passenger began to curse at him wildly and furiously in Portuguese.
River didn’t really have a prayer of following, but it didn’t matter—he seemed to know exactly what the man was going on about.
Cursing seemed to translate well into any language.
“Hey—sorry! I’m sorry, okay?”
The man stared at him, then launched into another tirade, gesturing wildly.
River switched to Portuguese. “Desculpe tȇ-lo incomodado—desculpe!” he said, apologizing for having troubled the man.
That didn’t help either—not a bit.
It didn’t matter that River had tried to use the man’s native tongue. The fellow reeked of sour wine.
River shook his head, at a loss, ready to walk past him. But the drunk just wasn’t going to allow that to happen. The man flung an arm back and caught River with a sound right hook to the jaw.
Stunned, River stared at him.
There had been a time in his life when he’d spent too many days going house to house, well aware that insurgents could be around every corner, behind every door.
A man died if he didn’t react to an attack with instant reflexes.
In the back of his mind, the sound came again.
The sound of bombs whistling in the air, the sound of the explosions …
And he reacted.
He turned on the drunk, his fingers winding around his neck, his fury giving him an almost inhuman power.
“I—said—I—was—sorry!” River emphasized.
The man sputtered incoherently as he struggled against River’s grip, fighting for breath. His face was starting to turn purple before River came to.
The veteran blinked and shook his head, releasing the man. He realized that if he’d held his position just a few seconds longer, the drunk would be dead.
The drunk had sobered up; he stared at River with wide, terrified eyes.
“Just leave me be,” River said.
The drunk didn’t move.
Before River could turn and head back for his seat, one of the conductors came hurrying down the aisle.
He was pointing—and he was angry.
River closed his eyes, hating how quickly he’d launched into military mode. But he hadn’t hurt the man, not really—he’d be fine
as soon as he caught his breath. His own jaw throbbed viciously. As the angry conductor stormed toward him, River found himself praying that the man spoke some English so that he could try to explain.
To his amazement, the conductor wasn’t angry with him—he was furious with the drunk. With River looking on, the conductor pulled at the other man’s shirt and ranted on. Then he turned to look at River.
“You’re hurt badly?”
“No, no—just sore.”
“You want to file some kind of charges?” the conductor asked.
“Charges?” River repeated. “Um, no, no.” He realized then that the conductor had seen the man strike River—he hadn’t seen River respond in an explosive manner. That was because, he realized, he’d pushed the drunk into the well by the train car’s exit, out of sight. “No—no charges,” he said. “He’s drunk.”
“Drunk too often. Get yourself a towel, sir, and some cold water. Hold it against your face. This idiot is lucky—he will drink too much and get himself killed one day, but it will not be on my train.”
River nodded blankly, wondering what—if anything—Natal had seen. He slipped back into the toilet and soaked some rough paper towels in cold water.
When he came out, the conductor was waiting.
“You have your ticket, sir?” he asked.
River reached into his pocket. He produced two tickets.
“You only need one,” the conductor said.
“The other is for the lady—up in the front?”
The conductor frowned, looking back down the aisle. He looked at River.
“She’s there—she must be sleeping with her head down,” River said.
The conductor shrugged and punched holes in both tickets. He looked at River. “You are certain, sir, that you’re all right?”
“Absolutely.”
“And you’ll file no charges?”
The last thing he wanted was any exchange with the police.
“No—no charges.”
“He will be off at the next stop!” the conductor promised.
The drunk remained in the well, eyes closed. River told the conductor, “It’s up to you.”
He hurried back to his own seat, dismayed to see that the conductor had been right; Natal wasn’t there.
His heart sank. She had seen him—and she was afraid of his violence. She knew that he had stabbed a man and knocked out two of Amato’s goons. And now this …
American Drifter Page 17