“Why didn’t he want to?”
“He preferred to first divide the opposition, preparing the way for a coup. Oswaldo Aranha’s waiting room at Treasury was packed with people from the UDN until yesterday. But I agree that the assassination attempt changed everything. Getúlio’s been put on the defensive.”
“This chickenshit political stuff bores me,” said Clemente.
“He made a mistake for the first time in his life. He didn’t need to waste time dividing a party like the UDN. The army would have gone along with the coup, before the assassination attempt. Now that the aviator was killed it’s more difficult.”
Lomagno and Claudio took no part in the conversation, maintaining an aggressive silence that finally bothered Cravalheira. The deputy, even before his lunch companions arrived, said goodbye and went to sit at another table.
“A total cretin,” said Clemente. “I don’t know why you waste your time on an idiot like him.”
“What’s the urgent problem you wanted to talk to me about?” Freitas asked.
“It’s a private matter,” Claudio said, looking pointedly at Clemente.
“Clemente is in on everything.”
“I don’t trust the guy,” said Lomagno.
“Dear boy, as Vitor said, I’m in on everything. When push comes to shove, it doesn’t matter in the least whether you trust me or not.”
“If you call me dear boy one more time, I’ll knock the daylights out of you right here,” said Lomagno.
“Shut up, Clemente,” said Vitor, sighing. “So, what’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem? What’s the problem? The murder of Paulo!” exclaimed Claudio. “The largest shareholder in Cemtex now is Luciana.”
“That nymphomaniacal harpy?” said Freitas.
“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Lomagno, with a violence that took Freitas by surprise. “You don’t know Luciana,” Lomagno added, controlling his unexpected rage.
“Maybe I don’t, actually. . I was just repeating—”
“Let’s change the subject,” Lomagno said dryly.
“I asked Magalhães to speak with Gregório to see if he could transfer the import license to Brasfesa,” Claudio said, looking timidly at Lomagno. “The Negro refused to talk to him. Magalhães is scared to death of him.”
“Since Gregório received the Maria Quitéria Medal, he’s gotten even more arrogant. Absurd, giving the army’s highest decoration to that guy.”
“You could speak directly with Souza Dantas,” Claudio said. “As president of the Bank of Brazil he gives the orders in the Cexim.”
“The situation is very serious,” said the senator, taking another swallow of whiskey, choosing his words with care. “The country has entered a crisis that can have grave consequences.”
“The death of that aviator? It’ll soon be forgotten.”
“Lacerda won’t let anyone forget.”
“You’re avoiding the subject,” said Claudio, annoyed. “I asked if you’d speak with the president of the Bank of Brazil. Will you speak to him or not?”
“The attempt changed everything,” Freitas said. “The military is furious over Major Vaz’s death. Today there’s an assembly at the Aeronautics Club, with clear-cut coup objectives. Also today, in both chambers of Congress addresses will be given condemning the attempt. Deputy Aliomar Baleeiro, who’s coordinating this joint action and will be one of the deputies to speak, asked me to talk also.”
“He’s not going to speak to Souza Dantas. Let it go, Claudio,” said Lomagno. His irritation appeared under control.
“My friend,” Freitas said, “I’m from the Northeast. You know what that means? That I’m a survivor. I foresee anything bad that’s going to happen. Nero Moura, the secretary of the air force, and the secretary of war, Zenóbio da Costa, said there would be no assembly of military men at the Aeronautics Club. But Zenóbio put elite units like the Guard Battalion and the Military Police Battalion on stand-by alert. Truth is, the military secretaries no longer have control over the younger officer corps. When generals can only command other generals, things are bad. Very bad.”
“Are you or aren’t you going to speak to Souza Dantas?”
“He’s not going to. Let’s drop the subject,” said Lomagno brusquely.
“The opposition is going to take advantage of the situation. Souza Dantas was already a target before, just imagine now. . I’ll be frank with you: I don’t want to be involved in this business anymore. I can’t. I have to hunker down and see what’s going to happen,” Freitas said.
“You’re in this business up to your neck,” Claudio said.
“Don’t let yourself be coerced, dear man,” said Clemente.
Freitas stood up.
“Claudio,” said the senator in an obliging tone, “in my thirty years in politics I’ve never made a wrong move. It won’t be you, who besides everything else are my friend, and I hope you’ll continue to be despite this unpleasant episode, who’ll succeed in blackmailing me. You’re going to have to get out of this mess on your own.”
“You’re nothing but a corrupt son of a bitch,” said Lomagno.
“We’re all corrupt sons of bitches at this table. In this country. Let’s go, Clemente.”
Freitas and Clemente walked down São José toward Avenida Rio Branco.
“Lomagno and Claudio are a couple of bastards. You ought to break it off with them.”
“When the time comes. What’s this story about some inspector?”
“He showed up at the Senate wanting to talk to you. He didn’t say about what.”
“You should have told me.”
“I forgot. The guy’s a low-rent piece of shit. You can tell by looking at his clothes.”
“You should have told me.”
“Do I have to remember everything?! And just where were you that Thursday afternoon?”
“What’s the name of the policeman?”
“You think I remember the name of some cop who wears off-the-rack clothes?” Clemente laughed. “Two things I wouldn’t be caught dead in: cheap clothes and ready-made suits.” Changing tone: “I wrote his name down somewhere.”
“Go look for Teodoro, Senate security. He’s hoping to get a job for his wife. You can promise it to him. Tell Teodoro to find out who that cop is and what he wants with me. The whole rundown. We mustn’t leave anything hanging.”
The two entered the Senate together. Clemente went to look for Teodoro. Vitor Freitas, in his office, put the finishing touches on the speech he was to make condemning the Rua Tonelero attack.
THAT AFTERNOON, AT THE SAME TIME Vitor Freitas was speaking in the Senate—“The nation can never forget, nor ever pardon this ignominious act”—Inspector Mattos was receiving a phone call from Antonio Carlos, of Forensics.
“The hairs on the bar of soap aren’t the victim’s.”
“Are they a woman’s?”
“A man’s. A Negro.”
“A Negro? Is it possible to discover that? I have the latest edition of Soderman, from 1952, and he doesn’t mention that.”
“Soderman is out-of-date. The tests I did are based on a study published in the latest issue of The New England Journal of Medicine. I ran all the tests. A Negro used that bar of soap and probably took a bath in that tub.”
A Negro. The Aguiars’ pantryman was white.
“Thank you, Antonio Carlos,” said the inspector. He took from his pocket the gold ring he had found in the bathroom shower. A Negro with thick fingers.