Stained River (17 page)

The son of a bitch is trying to make me sweat. He knows I'm bullshitting him.

“They will be here day after tomorrow. Better late than never, but it has caused delay. Can I get you something?”

Castelo Branco said nothing, but continued his wry smile. He used the pregnant pause so effectively. This time he spoke first. He wanted something.

“Sit down. I have something to discuss.”

De Santana reached in the chest, grabbed a warm beer and removed the twist off cap.
It must be serious for him to come all this way.
Taking a long swallow, he wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve.

“What about?”

“I have a job for you.”

“I know.
Things are a little behind, but you must realize…”

“That's not what I'm talking about.”

“What then?”

“
Senator Reyes.”

“You are fortunate to have
him on your side.”

“I want him killed.”

De Santana ceased studying the beer label and looked up, not sure he heard correctly.

“You
mean…?”

“
You heard me the first time. I want him killed. And I want it done by tomorrow evening, as only you can do it, Paulo.”

De Santana had done
that kind of dirty work in the past, plenty of it. On a few occasions, he was Castelo Branco’s hit man, but this was senseless, off the chart. He needed Reyes. What was the point?

“But he's a senator
. A very high profile one at that. If you have him killed there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Nevertheless.”

“You want me to do it?”

“
Yes, or rather, you will arrange it, Paulo. I have complete confidence.”

“Senhor, I have done work like that for you, but a senator? There will be officials, investigations, and…?”

Castelo Branco grew steely eyed. His demeanor changed from patronizing to intimidating.

“I don’t want to hear it!
Excuses! Besides, there will be a sizable payment for you as always. I have depended on you to do the difficult tasks.”

“Why
him?”

“He knows too much and thinks I am unaware of what he's up to. He's a snake
, and there will be a lot of influential people glad to hear that he is no longer around. He has played me for a fool for too long.”

“How will it be done?”

“You will arrange to make it look like one of the Indians is responsible.”

De Santana remained silent.
Any protests or arguments he might have, would be ignored. In the end, he consented, as he knew he would.

“When is he coming?”

“He'll fly in by two this afternoon. I want him dead by tomorrow night with no doubt left in anyone's mind that an Indian was responsible. He will be here supposedly to improve their working conditions. That's the way he promotes himself, champion of the oppressed. It's perfect for us. Whatever sympathy the Indians have gained from those who support them will be gone by tomorrow when they find out they murdered a senator. There will be no repercussions when you begin mining in their “sacred” territory. What's more, he will never be able to blackmail me. It’s time for this to happen. And it will. You will see to it.”

De Santana's mind spun as he listened.
A senator
? If it wasn't done right, he'd pay with his life.

“Where will he be staying?”

“He'll be in the room where I stay when I'm here. I'll be on my way back to Brasilia when he makes his speech tomorrow at three. The rest I leave to you. A word of caution. Don't make any mistakes! Oh, and by tomorrow night you will be twenty thousand
reals
richer. Get some rest. Put your plan together. The next time I want to hear from you is when Reyes is dead.”

All discussions ended that way
.
End of story, fix it Paulo, I will arrange a generous payment for you.
He went to his room to think about how he would make it look like the Indians were responsible. There was little time. His mind was a blank, but after several beers, it came to him. He knew exactly who to blame it on and how it would be done. The senator was as good as dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY
FIVE

Yeharau fell further into the grip of alcohol after De Santana forced Lateri to become a company prostitute. Whatever little he earned he spent buying liquor, but there was never enough to erase his shame. His daughter was ruined, and his family went hungry because of his alcoholism. He was a failure and owed the company more than he could repay. In his lucid moments, which were few, he was a bitter and broken man.

He
sat alone under a plantain tree pondering his situation, but every time he thought about it, the need for a drink seized control, diverting his thoughts. Caked mud covered his body. Tears streaked a face lined with despair. He finished work that day, barely making it through the twelve hours. Almost all he had earned, held back to pay off his debt. Now he had to face his wives with no food except a few plantains. In other days, he would have gone to the forest and hunted until he brought back enough to feed them for days.

When he saw De Santana his eyes narrowed
. He loathed the man but feared him more. He expected to be told once again how worthless he was.

“What are you doing here?”

Yeharau remained silent.

“Well, I've been looking for you, I want to talk.”

The calm voice took him by surprise. He thought
what does this cockroach want of me?

“Let’s go to the saloon and I will buy you whiskey.
Hurry up! Before I change my mind.”

Yeharau ran his tongue over parched lips.
He wants something from me, or else he would never make such an offer
. He tried to resist, knowing the outcome, but every alcohol-starved nerve in his body cried out for the drink he needed desperately. It was no use to think otherwise. He got to his feet and followed De Santana to the saloon.

Inside the frond-covered building, several men huddled with two
camp prostitutes, laughing and making lurid jokes. From somewhere in the smoke filled room came the sound of a Creedence hit from fifteen years earlier. The Indians tapped their feet to American music they had grown used to. It was an ethnic change into its second decade that shaped a people unconstrained by old tribal laws, yet clinging to them in many ways, their culture torn from them in a mad stampede for gold and other resources.

De Santana pointed to an empty table
, then motioned the barkeep to bring a bottle of cheap bourbon and two glasses. He let Yeharau eye the bottle longingly. At last, he slowly filled his glass half way. The Indian could hardly wait for the feel of the amber fluid running down his throat, into his blood stream, into a deadened heart. A few minutes later he eased into the familiar sensation. He couldn't have waited any longer. He gulped the bourbon. De Santana filled the glass again.

“You've been working for me for a while now, Yeharau
, and I've had to get rough with you on a few occasions.  You see, it's my job to keep everyone working here so they have money to buy food and tobacco, maybe enjoy the women I’ve provided. If there wasn't any work, you'd be picking bananas. Ha! Think of that, Yeharau. Where would you be? Here, have another!”

Yeharau
, content to drown in his stupor, paid no attention. Then he heard the words:

“As I said, I'm trying to keep everyone happy here. Take that little girl of yours, what's her name? Lateri?”

At the mention of his daughter's name, Yeharau tensed, sat straight up and looked De Santana in the eye.

“She's done a real fine job keeping the men around here entertained and in a good state of mind
. I'd like to keep her here, except for one thing.”

“What you mean?”

“Well, you know we had a senator fly in today. Maybe you saw him, his name is Reyes. He's a powerful man in Brasilia who gets what he wants.”

Once again, De Santana filled Yeharau's empty glass. He
felt the liquor course into his brain but had enough of his faculties to know he was about to learn something that would make his blood boil. De Santana skillfully pulled the trigger.

“You see, we're moving some of the boys and equipment down river
, deeper into the interior to mine ore. The senator has seen your girl. He wants me to send her there. I said no, she should stay here. But he insisted, so you'll have to get her ready to leave day after tomorrow.”

His words were like an ice pick
. Yeharau pushed aside his chair, upset the table and shattered glasses. A stream of spilled liquor from a nearby table puddled the floor. The whites of his eyes were veined red. Sweat streamed from his forehead as he reached for the near empty bottle. Years of mistreatment and frustration exploded in a violent rage. He swung the bottle at De Santana's head, narrowly missing, rambling almost incoherently that he would kill him and the senator if he tried to take his daughter. Several in the saloon heard him repeat the threat several times.

De Santana tackled Yeharau
, slamming him to the floor. He called for help. Two men responded and pinned his arms and legs as he struggled violently.

“Help me, you fools! He's threatened to kill Senator Reyes!”

The plot worked perfectly. Others would verify it. He would be the one arrested after Reyes was murdered. De Santana got up, brushed the dust from his clothes, then raised his fist and smashed it against Yeharau’s temple.

“That'll teach him! Get him back to his hut. I’ll deal with him in the morning.”

Three men dragged the limp figure across the floor to the outside where they loaded it into the back of a pickup.  A short while later, the truck pulled up to the Indian’s hut where he lived with two of his wives and three of his children. The men opened the tailgate, dumped Yeharau’s battered body and sped off. Lateri ran from the hut, sobbing. She bent, held his head and wiped his bruised, swollen face.

“What have they done to you? It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

There was no response, and they placed Yeharau into a hammock.

De Santana played his hand well once he set the scene. He was actually enjoying it
, despite his resentment towards Castelo Branco for making him complicit in the murder. Now all he had to do was execute. Finish off the senator. Castelo Branco would be placated, and he’d be 20,000
reals
richer. This job, however, was unlike the others; it could backfire unless he was extremely careful. Even if he used extreme caution, his knowledge of who instigated the murder could get him killed. As usual, he would be paid well, and when he did get to the big cities, live lavishly; the best penthouse suites visited by the best looking, highest priced call girls for his evening's entertainment, exotic foods, money to gamble. But those dalliances were becoming fewer and far between. Most of his time was spent in a steamy hellhole where he ate poorly prepared food, slept with Indian women and drank at the run down saloon. He compensated for his dull life with his favorite past time, humiliating the Indians. It was so easy, and it gave him a feeling of power.

The morning after the saloon incident, he rose early, checked to make sure the high-powered water cannons were operating
without interruption then walked to the secure compound where Senator Reyes stayed. He knocked on the door, greeting his intended victim with disarming solicitude.

“Good morning, senator. I trust you were able to sleep well. I arranged for breakfast
. Was it satisfactory?”

Reyes was in an unusually sour mood.

“About what I would expect in this pigsty. I'll be leaving first thing tomorrow morning; would have left today, but you can't get a plane in here if your life depended on it. What do you want?”

“I was wondering if you would like a tour of our operations.”

“If it's all the same, I'll pass on your mud pits and dirty brown rivers, thank you. I know what you do. I'll make my usual pitch to the Indians this afternoon. They'll think I'm working hard for them at the capitol.  Until then I'll do some reading. Oh, see if you can have something decent for dinner this evening. What did you feed me last night? Monkey meat?”

“I'm sorry it wasn't to your liking, senator. Tonight, I promise something better
. By the way, I will have one of our best girls sent to your room. You will like this one. I guarantee it. Is nine o'clock all right?”

“I suppose.”

“Fine, she will be here at that time. Good day, senator.”

De Santana left the compound quarters
smirking. '
You fat, old fool. I kissed your ass to make sure you will be where I want you. Enjoy yourself; this will be the last time you get laid in this life. You can't accuse me of not giving you a good send off. Ha!'