“Of course. And you’re going to call him now and give him the good news. He must be at this telephone.” Clemente gave Teodoro a piece of paper with the number.
“Me?”
“Tell him you saw me hand over the hundred thousand to your brother for the job. I don’t want him to think I kept the money. There’s a phone booth over in the corner. Tell the senator that I’ll stop by the Seabra later to give him the details.”
twenty-six
IN THE GÁVEA CLINIC, Ilídio received the visit from an emissary of Eusébio de Andrade. The numbers game high command wanted to know whether he was involved in the death of the inspector. The emissary added that the peg-leg lawyer had been let go and that Eusébio de Andrade’s personal lawyer, Mr. Silva Monteiro, a member of the Brazilian Bar Association and professor at the National Law School, was taking over the case and had met with Commissioner Ramos that morning, who had assured him that with the death of Inspector Mattos the investigations would be suspended. Ilídio could relax.
Ilídio thanked Andrade’s emissary. He ordered his bodyguard Alcebíades to phone his driver to come for him. The clinic was situated at the top of a hill, in a beautiful isolated location surrounded by trees. In the days that Ilídio had been in the clinic, Alcebíades had slept in his room, which was permissible under the hospital’s rules.
Alcebíades had been recommended by Moscoso, who had told Ilídio that it was time for him to have a bodyguard “from the first team.”
Ilídio felt protected with Alcebíades at his side. Unlike his old bodyguard, Miro Pereira, a lair and a braggart who talked too much, Alcebíades was a quiet man, attentive and polite, as the best bodyguards are. He never uttered a swear word. He could frequent Ilídio’s home without offending his wife and children with vulgarisms and gutter language.
“We should leave here in two cars,” Alcebíades said. “You would go in the second one.”
“It’s not necessary. That goddamn cop who was after me already bit the dust. All the other cops are on my payroll. All of them. Uniforms, detectives, investigators, commissioners. If it wasn’t for me, the wives and daughters of most of them couldn’t buy a new dress for their birthday.”
“Sorry, Mr. Ilídio, caution and chicken soup never hurt anybody.”
“Believe me, Alcebíades. There’s no danger.”
Ilídio’s driver arrived with his boss’s Packard.
Ilídio had taken to the clinic only a small bag with some undershorts. He didn’t mind wearing the same shirt or pants for several days, but shorts he had to change at least twice a day. He felt repugnance at the smell of what he called the pudenda.
The three men got into the Packard. In front, the driver and Alcebíades. Alcebíades had said, “I should go in back with you.” But Ilídio believed that an important numbers man shouldn’t ride in his Packard with his bodyguard in the same seat.
In the middle of the highway, a Chevrolet sideswiped Ilídio’s Packard. Alcebíades managed to take out his revolver and fire at the occupants of the Chevrolet before he was killed by a bullet to the head. The same man who killed the bodyguard shot and killed the driver. The attackers’ actions had been very fast. No car had passed them on the road during the slaughter.
Ilídio had crouched down on the floor of the car as soon as the shooting began.
He felt himself being grabbed by the collar and yanked from the car. A man put handcuffs on him.
“Murilo, take their car to that valley near the brook. I’ll follow you.”
Murilo grabbed the two dead men from the Packard and put them in the back seat. He got behind the wheel, turned on the ignition, and left.
Ilídio was dragged inside the Chevrolet by the man who had handcuffed him.
The Chevrolet followed the Packard.
“Know where I was this morning? The morgue. I went to visit my friend Mattos and his girl, who you ordered killed,” said the man driving the Chevrolet.
“It wasn’t me. I swear it wasn’t me, by the light of my eyes.”
“Having Mattos killed because he gave you a kick in the ass, that I can understand. But why did the girl have to be eliminated?”
“May I see my mother dead if it was me. Listen, sir, I’ll give you anything you want if you let me go.”
“Do you know me?”
“You’re Inspector Pádua.”
“Then you ought to know, I don’t take numbers money.”
“I’m innocent, I swear it.”
“What about Old Turk?”
“I canceled the order. Mr. Andrade and Mr. Moscoso commanded me to cancel the order, and I did. But I couldn’t locate Old Turk in time. Ask them.”
“I don’t talk to numbers kingpins.”
“Nothing happened to the inspector.”
“So you hired another guy. Who did the job? We know it was a black man, he was seen by a neighbor of Mattos’s leaving his apartment. I want his name.”
“How should I know? It wasn’t me.”
The two cars were now in a deserted wooded area near the brook.
Murilo came to the Chevrolet. The three men sat in the back seat.
“I don’t like hurting people, isn’t that right, Murilo? But I’m going to break all your teeth, one by one, starting with the front ones, of course, until you tell me who did the job on Mattos and the girl.”
Pádua got a flannel cloth from the car’s glove box, wrapped it around his knuckles and, after flexing his muscles, began to pound Ilídio in the mouth.
Ilídio moaned so loudly that it seemed to reverberate through the forest.
Pádua took a handkerchief from his pocket. “You got a handkerchief, Murilo?”
Murilo took the handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to Pádua.
“Later I’ll buy you a new one. Now stuff them both in the fucker’s mouth,” said Pádua.
Murilo stuffed the two handkerchiefs into Ilídio’s bloody mouth.
Pádua hit him again.
Now the moan emerged hoarse and muffled.
Ilídio desperately tried to remember the name of a black man to give Pádua, but in his panic he couldn’t recall even one, despite knowing many. When he took another traumatic punch to the mouth, he remembered a name. He nodded his head frantically.
Pádua took the bloody cloths from Ilídio’s mouth.
“What’s the name?”
It took Ilídio a moment to regain his breath. He first spat out the broken teeth. “Sebastião Mendes, nicknamed Feijoada Completa.”
“You know the guy, Murilo?”
“There’s a Feijoada Completa who works for the smugglers at the docks.”
“Is it him?”
Ilídio moaned that it was, while he spat blood.
“You could’ve given me the guy’s name right away. You didn’t need to cause us all that work. You’re a stubborn man, Ilídio. But your suffering is over.”
Pádua removed the revolver from its holster. He rested the barrel against the back of Ilídio’s neck. “You’re lucky, Our Lady of Good Death is protecting you.”
Ilídio shuddered, a brief convulsion, when Pádua’s weapon fired.
Pádua grabbed the body by the legs, Murilo by the arms, and they carried it to the Packard, placing it next to the other corpses.
“Isn’t it better to take off the cuffs?” Murilo asked.
“Leave the cuffs. So the son of a bitch’s friends’ll know it was a police job. To teach them they can’t kill a cop just like that.”
They went back to the Chevrolet. On the trip back Murilo asked when they would pick up Feijoada Completa.
“Day after tomorrow, Saturday. The day for feijoada.”
THE CITY EXPERIENCED A DAY OF CALM. Business was considered very good by the Federal District Shopkeepers Union. Government offices, banks, factories, and commercial offices also functioned normally. Movie theaters enjoyed a great influx of customers, more than usual for a Thursday.