Every Bitter Thing (22 page)

“We've got bigger fish to fry, Sacca. You play ball with us, we'll play ball with you.”

“I'm still not sure I can trust you.”

“You're going to be happily surprised. Let's go outside.”

C
LANCY'S THREE
brothers had opted for the secular life, but his parents, religious people to the core, had always dreamed of having a son who'd embrace the priesthood. They worked hard to steer him away from his sweetheart, Petra, and toward the Church.

“I wanted to please them,” he said. “I managed to convince myself that there was something romantic about giving up the love of a woman to serve God. I began to see myself as a kind of hero, sacrificing his own happiness for a greater good.”

Petra looked down at his hand and squeezed it. “When he first started talking about becoming a priest,” she said, “I thought he'd get over it.”

“What she
really
did,” Clancy said, “was refuse to believe it.”

She smiled at him and then at Arnaldo. “He's right,” she said. “And I kept refusing until the day he entered the seminary. It wasn't far from my home. I hid behind a telephone pole and watched when his parents brought him to the front door. Then I hugged the wood, trying to make believe I was hugging him. I hugged it so hard that, when I got home, I found splinters in my cheek. I locked myself in my room, and I cried for hours and hours. I wasn't interested in other men. The prospect of spending my life alone frightened me. I decided to join a religious order.”

“A convent?” Gonçalves asked.

She raised her eyebrows. “Goodness, no,” she said. “That wouldn't have suited me at all. I joined a small order. We help refugees in London, street kids in Nairobi, migrant workers in Florida. Here, in Brazil, I work—worked—with the rural poor.”

“Meanwhile,” Clancy said, “I was ordained. I'm not cut out to run a parish. I was doing social work. One day, I ran into Petra's sister, Heidi, on the street.”

“She wrote me afterwards,” Petra said, “told me what he was doing, gave me his address. By then, I was in this little town up north, São Bento. I doubt you've heard of it.”

Arnaldo shook his head.

“No,” Gonçalves said. “I never have.”

“It's in Tocantins, near Miracema. Dennis and I began a regular correspondence. His work. My work. Nothing that you might call really
personal
.”

“Not in the beginning,” he said.

“In one letter,” she said, “I referred to what we'd shared as ‘puppy love.'”

“But I didn't think so,” he said, “I thought it was much deeper, much more profound than that. And, in my next letter, I shared the thought with Petra. It was the hardest thing I ever wrote.”

“And when I read it, I started crying again.”

“The situation was driving me crazy,” he said. “Most people go to psychiatrists when that happens, but I was a priest. I went to another priest.”

“Damon O'Reilly,” she said. “We'd known him all our lives.”

“Damon died in Boston a month ago,” he said. “Otherwise, I wouldn't tell you this: there was a girl, in Ireland, when he was young. They exchanged a kiss. One kiss, and in more than sixty years, he told me, a month hadn't gone by when he hadn't thought of that girl at least once. He'd learned to live with it, he said, but if he had his life to live over again, he wasn't sure he'd do the same. He told me to come down here and talk to Petra, get it out of my system one way or another. One way or another, he said, but I think he knew what was going to happen. I wrote her straightaway.”

“And I,” she said, “told him not to come. I didn't think I could stand losing him twice.”

“Damon,” Clancy said, “was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He spent his last days in a hospital. I went to visit him, morning and night. Toward the end, he pushed himself up on his elbows and asked me what the hell I was doing there. He wanted to know why I wasn't in Brazil.”

“Delirious?”

“Not at all. Sharp as a tack. Right up to the very end. I told him she wouldn't have me. He said he'd only kissed a girl once in his life, but he knew more about women than I did. He told me to go catch a plane.”

“And you did?” Arnaldo said.

“Not until he died. He was the kindest man I ever knew. I wanted to be there for him at the end. I performed his last rites, and left for Brazil on the evening of his funeral.”

“We traced you,” Arnaldo said, “as far as Miracema. Then you dropped off the map.”

“There are no hotels in São Bento,” Clancy said. “It's a tiny place, a church, a few shops, no hotel. No airport, either, and no train, but there's a bus from Miracema. Petra fixed it so I could stay with a family.”

“He showed up on my doorstep,” Petra said.

They smiled at each other.

“There were classes to teach,” she said, “and they had to find someone to replace me. I didn't want to scandalize my Sisters any more than I already had. We took care not to be alone together, not until we left.”

“We got married in Palmas,” Clancy said. “I called my mother to tell her. She hung up on me. Petra's family has been more understanding. They're supporting what we've done. Tomorrow we're going to leave for Boston and try to put things right with my folks.”

“And then?”

“And then, Agente Gonçalves, we're going to have three kids.”

“Four,” Petra said. “And now, officers, you've heard our story. We'd like to hear yours. Why are you here?”

Chapter Thirty-Five

T
HERE WAS A WOODEN
picnic table in the courtyard. Hector and Silva sat on one side, Sacca on the other. The federal cops asked to be left alone with the prisoner.

“It was like this,” Sacca said when the guard was gone. “I'm in a bar in Freguesia. You know Freguesia?”

Freguesia do Ó, once a hilltop village, had long since been absorbed by its expanding neighbor. These days, it was simply one of São Paulo's many neighborhoods, with little to distinguish it except for the old central square with its church and cemetery.

“I know it,” Silva said.

“So I'm up there,” Sacca said, “in this bar, and a guy I know comes to me with a proposition.”

“What guy?” Silva said.

“You don't have to know that, do you?”

“Maybe not. What was the proposition?”

“Carry a package to Miami.”

“What was in the package?” Silva said.

“I got no idea. It was none of my business.”

“None of your business?”

“Look, he doesn't tell, and I don't ask, okay? He's like, you want to do this? And I'm like, how much? And he's like, ten thousand dollars, American.”

“Guy wants to give you ten thousand dollars to take a package to Miami, and you think it's on the up-and-up?”

“I never said that. I'm not stupid. I just said I didn't know what was in there.”

“Uh-huh. So then?”

“So I tell him I've never been out of the country, and I don't have a passport, and, with my record, there isn't much chance of me getting one. And he says no problem. He's gonna get me a passport, and he's gonna furnish the ticket, and I'm even gonna travel business class. He'll pay me half of the ten grand before I leave. The person I deliver it to in Miami will pay the other half.”

“All right. So you agreed, and….”

“And he tells me to be ready to leave on Friday, meet him in the same place at seven o'clock, and bring a suitcase with what I need for a couple of nights in Miami.”

“And you did.”

Sacca nodded. “And I did. And he gives me the package, and a ticket, and a reservation for a hotel, and a passport.”

“And the passport was in the name of Darcy Motta?”

“Yeah. And the photo in it was from one of my mug shots. But the background was different, and they took out the sign they make you hold on your chest.”

“You think this guy is a cop?”

Sacca shrugged. “How else would he get one of my mug shots?” he said.

“And the passport? It got you into the States with no trouble?”

“Uh-huh. There was a visa in it and all, good for five years with multiple entries, if you can believe that. Multiple entries means—”

“I know what it means. If you don't overstay your welcome, you can keep going back and forth. Go on with the story.”

“Yeah, okay. Well, it must have been a real visa because it had one of those holo … holo….”

“Holograms?”

“Yeah, one of them on it.”

“Where did you deliver the package?”

“He gave me an address. It was typed out on a piece of paper, and he told me I'd better not lose either the address or the package, because if I did, he'd cut my balls off. ‘Just show it to a taxi driver,' he says. ‘It's a bar,' he says. ‘Get there at ten the day after tomorrow. Take the package with you. Leave it out on the bar where people can see it, and have a drink. Somebody will contact you.'”

“And somebody did?”

“A woman. An ugly skank, name of Maria.”

“Maria what?”

“There you go again,” Sacca said, showing peevishness for the first time. “Don't you get it? You do this kind of stuff, you don't ask people to tell you things like that. And even if you did, they'd lie. Maria, just Maria, okay?”

“Okay. Blond? Brunette? Redhead?”

“Blond. But not really. Her eyebrows were dark.”

“What else can you remember about her?”

“She was old enough to be my mother. And she had rough hands, I mean really rough, with calluses and all, probably worked as a maid somewhere.”

“Hang on. You're in a bar, right? It was ten at night. It was dark. And you notice her hands.”

“Hell, yes, I noticed her hands. I didn't look at them; I
felt
them. She wanted to shake on the deal.”

“What deal?”

“I'm getting to that,” Sacca said.

Sacca asked for a cigarette and got one. Then he asked for a Guaraná, and Hector went inside to get one from the guards' canteen. By the time Sacca had finished drinking it, he was back into single tics.

“You're gonna get me a lawyer, right?”

“I'm going to get you a lawyer,” Silva said. “I promised, didn't I?”

“Cops don't always keep their promises.”

“This cop does,” Silva said. “Keep talking.”

“All right, all right, keep your shirt on. So this Maria coughed up the money, the other five grand. Then she asks me if I want to earn more. Sure, I say. How? So she spells it out. It's Ecstasy. You know Ecstasy? It's that pill kids take when they go to—”

“I know what Ecstasy is,” Silva said. “Go on.”

“This Ecstasy stuff, she tells me, used to come from Holland, mostly. But now, with a lot of kids there in the States into it, she knows a Dutchman who makes it right there in Miami. And there's another guy in São Paulo who will buy everything she can send him. That's where I come in.”

“She wants you to carry Ecstasy from Miami to São Paulo?”

“Yeah. But there's a catch. She's not about to put the stuff in my hands and just let me walk away with it. What's to prevent me from stealing it, right?”

“Right. So what did she suggest?”

“This: I buy the stuff from her. She can get it really cheap, and she's already got the guy lined up to buy it. She marks it up fifty percent to me, I mark it up fifty percent to the guy in São Paulo, he marks it up a hundred percent to the kids who distribute it in the clubs, and
they
mark it up god knows how much. Everybody wins.”

“Except the kids who consume it,” Silva said.

“Hey, nobody's standing with a gun to their heads. It's a free country, right? They want to take the stuff, it's their decision.”

“Finish the story.”

“I'm getting there. So she makes the proposition, and there are two problems with it.”

“She might be lying about the numbers, and she might give you sugar pills instead of the real stuff.”

Sacca looked at Silva with something approaching admiration.

“Right. Exactly right. Although, to tell you the truth, I didn't come up with those problems on my own. While I'm sitting there, turning the deal over in my head, she does it herself. And then she gives me the solutions. She tells me to call somebody in São Paulo, anybody I want, and check on the street value of the stuff. That'll prove she's not lying about the numbers. She even offers to pay for the call.”

“And to make sure she was selling you the real stuff? How were you going to convince yourself of that?”

“By trying it. She says she'll meet me at the airport, says I can put my hand in the cookie jar, pick out any pill I want, and pop it. If it works, odds are the other pills are gonna work too. And I don't hand over the money until I taste the goods.”

“It didn't worry you that you were only going to try
one
pill, that she might have mixed some duds along with the real article?”

“I thought about it. But then I thought why should she? That's like killing the chicken with the gold eggs. She's talking about a long-term relationship here and, by this time, she knows I'm fixed up with a phony passport that will take me through customs like shit through a snake.”

“And how does she know that?”

“Because I told her, okay? She's selling the deal to me, and I'm selling
me
to
her
. I'm interested, see? If it all checks out, I can make easy money.”

“So you did what she suggested? Called São Paulo? Got a fix on the street price?”

“I did. And it was just like she said. And I got to the airport early and met her. Early, so the pill I was gonna pop would have time to work before I paid her the money.”

“And?”

“And she's got the pills.”

“Which are in containers labeled as vitamins?”

“Yeah, that's right, labeled as vitamins. I choose one of those containers, break the seal, mix around with my finger, and choose a pill.”

“And?”

“And I popped it.”

“Right there in the airport?”

“Right there in the airport. Anybody who sees me, they think I'm popping a vitamin, right? It was cool. I never had Ecstasy before. I had my MP3 player with me, and I can see why the kids—”

“Get on with it.”

“Okay. So I paid her.”

“How much?”

“A thousand dollars. Not much, but then there weren't that many pills either. It was gonna be a trial run for both of us.”

“And then?”

“And then she takes back the container I opened, pours the pills into a plastic bag and fills the empty container with some other pills from another bag. ‘What are those?' I say. ‘Vitamins,' she says, ‘just an extra precaution. If the Customs guys want a closer look, they'll stop here instead of opening the two that are sealed.'”

“All right. What happened next?”

“I went through security, which gives me no trouble at all, and I took a seat in the departure lounge. That's when I saw the cop.”

“Cop? What cop?”

“This detective, from Santo André, named Georgio Parente. I didn't notice him at first because I've got the buds from my MP3 player in my ears, listening to Chitãozinho and Xororó and grooving on the music. But then I look up and there's Parente with some lardass, who must be his wife, and a couple of kids almost as fat as she is. The kids are wearing hats with ears. I practically fell off my chair.”

“Hats with ears?”

“Mickey Mouse ears. I figure Parente took the family to Disney. I put my hand over my face and sink down in my seat like I'm sleeping. Every now and then, I look through my fingers. Parente's kids are running around yelling and stepping on people's toes. The other passengers don't like it a bit. They're whispering to each other and shooting nasty looks at lardass, who's got her nose in a magazine and isn't doing a damn thing to stop it. But Parente is, and he's got his hands full, so he doesn't notice me.”

“What makes you think he would have recognized you?”

“He's busted me three times. The last time wasn't six months ago.”

“All right. What did you do then?”

“I sat right where I was until they called the flight. By this time, I'm thirsty as hell. That's another thing that Ecstasy stuff does to you: it makes you thirsty. I'm still buzzed, but I can't groove on the music because I'm worried about Parente. They call the first-class passengers. They board. Then they call business class. I get up, keep my back to him, and line up. On my way to my seat, I grab a newspaper off the rack. The paper's in English, and I can't read a word of it, but I buckle up and hold it in front of my face until we take off. He musta walked right by me on his way to economy.”

Silva had an intimation of what was coming. “You were afraid of running into him during disembarkation?”

“Goddamned right I was. My tic was acting up like you wouldn't believe. He woulda taken one look at me and known something was up. If he'd asked to see my passport, I woulda been fried. Then they woulda gone through my baggage for sure.”

“So,” Silva said, “you decided to get rid of the evidence.”

“Wouldn't you? It was the last thing I wanted to do. Those damned pills cost me a grand. But I figured it was either lose them or go down.”

“So you waited until the middle of the night. You opened the compartment over your seat and took the pills out of your hand luggage. And then what?”

“I was gonna flush them down the toilet. But then, I got to thinking. What if I'd been wrong? What if it wasn't Parente? What if it was just a guy who looked like Parente? And even if it
was
Parente, what if I could get off the airplane and through Customs without him spotting me? Wouldn't it be stupid to throw all that money away for nothing?”

“So you took the Ecstasy and put it into Julio Arriaga's hand luggage.”

“Was that the kid's name? Julio Arriaga?”

“That was his name. What did you plan to do if he got through Customs without a hitch?”

“I had this story all ready. About how I had my hand luggage in the same compartment as his, that I was looking for something there in the dark, that maybe my stuff got into his bag by mistake.”

“Pretty thin. You think he was going to believe that?”

Sacca shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “And if he didn't, I was gonna take the stuff from him anyway. He was only a kid, not a very big kid either. He couldn't give me any trouble even if he'd wanted to.”

“Didn't it occur to you that a kid that age was probably going to have someone waiting for him at the airport? Someone older, more experienced, liable to be suspicious of your story?”

“Yeah, it did. And it mighta been his father, and his father mighta been built like a gorilla, but I couldn't think of a better idea. Doing it that way, I had a
chance
of getting my stuff back. If I'd flushed it down the toilet, it would have been gone for good. What would
you
have done, huh?”

Sacca was looking at Silva as if he actually expected an answer to the question.

“One more thing,” Silva said. “Tell me about the run-in with Mansur.”

“Who?”

“Did you have any trouble with a man on the airplane?”