His daytime hours had been spent in complete boredom, for while he disagreed with his instructions, he still had no intention of jeopardizing his fee by going contrary to them. In addition, it would not have surprised him a bit if Sebastian had put a tail on him to make sure his instructions were carried on during the day. At night, of course, he was under the cold and sterile inspection of Sebastian’s girl. As a result life was monotonous. The Zoo, which he visited several times, certainly had no denizen more restless than he, nor one who paced the edges of his cage with more growing frustration.
Nor had the hours spent at the Serrador done anything to ease the situation. While Nacio was by nature a man who could control his emotions, including passion, where it served his purpose, the fact was that he had been without a woman for a long time, and living and sleeping in the same room with Iracema did nothing to help. However, any ideas he might occasionally have had regarding the girl had instantly been scotched by Iracema herself; and although she left a flimsy nightgown on a bathroom hook to be discovered by the room-maid in the morning, she actually slept in a severe pair of slacks and a full blouse, topped off by a long and sexless robe that, together with the uncompromising and slightly superior look in her dark eyes, successfully defied violation.
Many times in those days — and even more in the long and increasingly sleepless nights — Nacio had considered disregarding his instructions to the extent of visiting his old hangout at the Maloca de Tijuca on the beach. He had spent many happy hours there in better times, and for the first time was beginning to appreciate just how happy they had been. Certainly a drink there could do no harm; nor, he was sure, could any of the girls in the rooms back of the bar present any great threat, since they changed frequently, and it was doubtful if any of the old ones would still be around to remember him. Still, it would be a chance, and therefore each time the thought came to him, he thrust it away. Time for these things when the fee was earned and paid. Still, it was a shame...
On the Monday night before the day of the fateful motorcade, Nacio slumped in a soft chair before the television set attempting to concentrate on an old movie that had little to recommend it when it had first been produced by Vitagraph, and had not been improved by its more recent translation into Portuguese. It was no use; he bent over and twiddled with the knob, and was rewarded in quick succession by a woman either explaining or apologizing for a recipe, a busty and brave singer whose élan did not slacken as technicians dragged cables between her and the camera, and a man who kept searching confusedly through a stack of papers before him for the latest news.
It was too much! He leaned down and switched the set off, coming to his feet to prowl the room impatiently. Thank God tomorrow would see an end to this nonsense! His steel-rimmed glasses were on the dresser, as were the uncomfortable cheek-pads; he continually wore his mustache and gloves, and now he scratched at the heavy brush, irritated as always by the itching of the gum arabic, and even more irritated by the difficulty of doing a proper scratching job while wearing surgical gloves.
He glanced at his watch. Where on earth was Iracema? She was usually here long before this; as a matter of fact he normally found her in the room when he returned from having his evening meal. Could anything have happened to her? And, as a result, to the scheme? Which would have made his week of sacrifice a mockery? He shook his head violently, putting the thought aside. If anything were to have happened to the plan, it would have happened before this; nor would he still be free and undisturbed. No; the plan was safe. By now their routine was well-established and accepted at the hotel; on the few times they entered together the room clerk handed them their key automatically, and the elevator operators carried them to their floor without a second glance. Or at least a second glance at him; occasionally their second glances at Iracema had resulted in passing the proper floor.
There was a faint tap at the door, followed in a few seconds by the sound of a key in the lock. He hurriedly slipped his glasses into place and swung about to face the door, his gloved hands jamming themselves into the pockets of his dressing gown. Iracema pushed the door wide, smiling at him brightly, but he knew the smile was really for the benefit of the small bellboy who followed her into the room worshipfully, his arms loaded with gaily wrapped packages all bearing the mark of Mesbla’s, the leading department store in the city. The boy placed his load on the bed, accepted his tip and a grateful smile from the girl with a blush that clearly demonstrated which he considered the more valuable, and closed the door softly behind him. Nacio took off his glasses and glared at the girl, his irritation compounded by the fact that her smile had disappeared the moment the door had closed.
“Well?” His voice was harsh. “Where have you been? Out shopping? Is that all you have to do? You were supposed—”
Her abruptly raised hand cut off his complaint. She walked over, swaying, bent and switched on the television set. When the volume had risen enough to form a proper cover for any conversation, she straightened up coolly and looked at him.
“Yes?”
Nacio bit back the anger that automatically rose at the snub. He forced himself to speak calmly. “You were supposed to bring the rifle here tonight.”
She tilted her head toward the bed, her eyes mocking. “The gun is in those packages.” The sarcasm that tinged her voice brought a slow flush to his sallow face. “I couldn’t very well march through the hotel lobby with a rifle on my shoulder.”
He disregarded her sarcasm, moving toward the packages. Her voice stopped him.
“And don’t unwrap them now. Everything’s there; they’ll keep until tomorrow. Put them away in the dresser drawer.”
“I’ll do what I—”
He might just as well have kept silent. Her voice went on, curtly, as it always seemed to be when she spoke to him. “And I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”
Nacio clamped his jaws on the angry words that rose in his throat. It was a good thing the affair would be over and done with tomorrow; another day or another night with this — this — iceberg, and he would not want to be responsible for the results. He would either throttle her, or rape her! Or both! Good God, what an impossible woman!
She walked to her suitcase, her full hips swaying as usual, unlocked it and brought out her slacks and robe. Her eyes came up to study him evenly; she might have been looking at a piece of furniture. “And don’t play the television too loudly. I want to sleep.”
“Wait.” The word seemed to come from Nacio’s lips without volition. He took a deep breath. “Why do you talk to me the way you do? And look at me the way you do? As if I were some — some animal or something? You’re in this business as much as I am!” The anger that had been building in him for days threatened to come to the surface. “Who are you to act so much better than me? Or to act as if Sebastian is so much better than me?”
The expression on her face did not change at all. “Sebastian and you? There is no comparison.” She leaned back against the dresser, the robe folded over her arm, pressed against her bosom. “Sebastian is a man...”
“A man?” Nacio stared at her. “Sebastian? Sebastian is a coward, a big, fat, good-looking coward. Who makes a living getting commissions for killing people, and then doesn’t have the nerve to do the jobs himself. You call this a man?”
“Yes.” Iracema looked at him evenly. “I know he’s a coward. That’s what makes him a man.” For the first time something approximating pity touched her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand that.”