Lovers and Gamblers (82 page)

He had cleared out of his room, she had gone there on Sunday. He had vanished… What a
filho da puta!
But she would fix him. She would tell Carlos Baptista everything she knew. And she would get the fifty-thousand-dollar reward. Probably.

Jorge sat in a corner of the office smoking a long thin Havana cigar. He looked drawn and haggard. He had not slept since his daughter’s disappearance.

Carlos was at his desk, wearily interviewing the applicants who had answered his call for information. Fifty thousand dollars appeared to have attracted every nut in Rio. They filed in, one by one, with their unbelievable stories.

One woman, apparently well-dressed and respectable, claimed that Al King was under her skirt at that very moment fucking the life out of her. ‘If you want him I can open my legs and reveal him,’ she confided. ‘But you must hand me the cheque first.’

The young secretary, taking copious shorthand next to Carlos, blushed to the roots of her hair. The police chief sitting on Carlos’s other side chewed complacently on a pencil stub and ordered, ‘Next one in.’

In three hours they had not received one piece of relevant information.

Then the girl came in, thin, nervous, wearing spectacles. She stated her name and address and place of work. She told them her story.

Jorge leaned forward at the mention of Nino’s name. The secretary took notes. The police chief chewed on his pencil. Carlos picked his teeth with a wedge of paper.

‘Is that all?’ the police chief asked when she had finished.

‘It’s all I know. But I can assure you that Nino will lead you to Al King.’ She stood anxiously. ‘Do I get the reward?’

‘
When
we find this Nino,
if
he leads us to Al King,
then
you get the reward,’ the police chief replied.

She looked disappointed. ‘I’ll probably be fired…’

Carlos intervened. ‘I’m sure you’ve been most helpful. Stop by my secretary on the way out and she will give you fifty dollars for your trouble.’

‘Fifty? But I thought the reward was fifty thousand?’

‘For information leading to Al King. If your information finds him, then you get the money.’

Didi shrugged and left.

The men looked around at each other. ‘It looks like Nino is the one we want…’ the police chief said. ‘At least we have a lead on him now.’ He reached for the phone and issued instructions to a minion on the other end.

Jorge was not surprised. As soon as he had heard the description of the ‘mechanic’ on the plane he had known it was Nino. He had known he was involved. But he had been unable to tell the police anything. He was ashamed to admit that he had allowed his daughter to keep company with a boy about whom he knew nothing. Now at least they had an address.

The next person was ushered in. A plump girl in a floral dress.

‘My name is Juana Figlioa,’ she said, ‘and I work at the airport. I helped a boy called Nino get aboard the Al King plane…’

Finally they were getting somewhere.

* * *

Of course the party in Doris Andrews’s honour had been cancelled.

‘I’m sorry…’ Evita had apologized.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Doris had replied. ‘As if you could host a party at a time like this… And anyway I didn’t come here for parties. I came to see you…’

She was by Evita’s side constantly, comforting and sustaining her. It suited Jorge perfectly. He wanted to be alone with his own personal grief. He didn’t want to share the misery and uncertainty he felt. He did not want to share the feeling that somehow it was all his fault… That if he had listened to Evita… taken more care of what Cristina was doing… who she was seeing… heeded Evita’s intuition about Nino instead of laughing at her fears…

In the event the two women were left alone together, and by Monday Evita was convinced she had only got through the long weekend because of her friend’s support.

‘How is your husband?’ she finally remembered to ask.

‘I am divorcing him,’ Doris announced simply. ‘It’s not enough that he has had me watched and followed throughout our entire marriage. It’s not enough that he had been unable to engage in sex. I understood. I was the perfect wife. But last week he became frighteningly violent towards me. He came home from the studio one day and beat me up. Yes – physically beat me. I don’t know why. I moved out immediately. Let him have the mansion and cars for now. My lawyer will see I do not suffer. My trip here was already planned, so I came here anyway.’

‘I’m glad you did,’ said Evita. They sat in the conservatory, a glass-walled, plant-filled room, overlooking the swimming pool. ‘What will you do when you leave here?’

Doris shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps a trip to Europe. Would you like to come with me?’

‘I can’t make any plans.’

‘Of course not.’ She reached for Evita’s hand and squeezed it gently. ‘But when you can…’

Evita allowed her hand to remain in the older woman’s. It was so comforting… It made her forget…

‘Why don’t you lie down?’ Doris asked. ‘You must be tired.’

Evita nodded. She
was
tired. The doctor had placed her on tranquillizers – a heavy dose.

Doris led her to the bedroom. ‘Jorge told me he would be home late,’ she remarked. ‘He asked me to stay with you.’

‘You don’t have to…’ objected Evita.

‘I know I don’t have to. I want to. We’re friends… I want to help. Turn, let me unbutton your dress.’

Evita did as she was told. She knew what was going to happen but was powerless to stop it… She didn’t want to stop it…

The dress slipped from her body, fell to the ground. She stepped over it and walked to her bed.

She closed her eyes and waited for Doris to join her.

She didn’t have to wait long.

* * *

‘Do you want to fly to Rio?’ Cody asked.

‘No. What good would that do?’ Linda replied.

‘I just thought it might help to be on the spot.’

‘Would you come?’

‘If you wanted me to.’

‘I can’t eat this.’ Linda pushed the salad plate away and stared around the restaurant. ‘Look at them all stuffing their faces – as if they care.’

‘They probably don’t even know Dallas and Al.’

‘Why do you always say Dallas and Al?’ Linda snapped. ‘Paul’s on that plane too, you know. Paul and Evan. Bernie and other people. You’re as bad as the goddamn television – Dallas and Al – as if no one else is with them.’

‘You don’t have to get mad at me. You know how I feel…’

She was contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Cody. I shouldn’t be taking my feelings out on you. It’s this not knowing… It’s so awful. It would almost be better if they were all dead. If the plane
had
crashed and been found – at least we would
know
.’ She touched his arm. ‘I don’t mean that. I don’t know what I mean any more. I’m so mixed up. It’s all such a shitty game. Do you know I am making more money out of this than I ever made in my life? My pictures of Dallas are selling time and time again – the same with my stuff on Al. It doesn’t seem right to make money on it.’

‘That’s the way it goes.’

‘Oh, Christ, Cody, isn’t there anything we can
do
? I feel so helpless sitting here.’

‘We can go to Rio. Say the word and I’ll get the tickets.’

‘I don’t know… What do you think?’

‘I think we should go.’

‘You’re right. Let’s do it. But I want to pay my own way. Understood?’

‘If you say so.’

* * *

Jorge went with the police to Nino’s miserable one-roomed apartment. The two girl informants had been able to furnish them with the address.

They busied themselves taking fingerprints and searching for information. The only things Nino had left behind were a broken pair of black sunglasses, and a filthy T-shirt. The sordid room yielded few clues. A cracked ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, hairpins scattered over the dirty grey sheet on the bed – obviously not his. And a single gold earring was discovered under the bed. A rough hoop for pierced ears – the kind Cristina used to wear.

‘Does it belong to your daughter?’ the police chief asked, thrusting it into his hands.

Jorge hesitated, weighing the earring gingerly. He was sure that it was Cristina’s. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I can’t be certain.’

How could he admit that his daughter had been in this dirty little room? It was unthinkable that she might have lain on that filthy bed.

‘Perhaps you can ask your wife,’ the police chief said. ‘Yes’, agreed Jorge. What did it matter anyway whose earring it was? The important thing was finding Cristina. Alive or dead, he had to know.

Sunday night was the worst yet.

Nino kept everyone awake with his unearthly screams and agonized writhings. As if that was not enough, sometime before dawn, the rain started again. A heavy torrential rain that poured down spilling through the blown-out windows.

A meal of tinned caviar, maraschino cherries, and champagne seemed to have disagreed with everyone, and the toilet was occupied all night. Since the wastes could not be flushed away, a horrible stench was coming from the tiny bathroom off the bedroom.

‘We’ll all get sick,’ Dallas told Al. ‘We should never have used that bathroom.’

‘So what else was there to do? Jump off the plane every time you wanted to pee?’

‘Al. We’ve got to face facts. I don’t think anyone’s going to find us here.’

‘I told you – tomorrow I’ll search for the rest of the plane. With luck we’ll be able to radio for help. If I hadn’t have had to drag Cristina and Nino back I would have found it today.’

‘And if you don’t find it? If the radio doesn’t work?’

‘We’ll think again.’

‘We’ve been here two days and only seen one plane fly over. I don’t think anyone’s looking for us – not here anyway. We’ll have to make an attempt to get out of here ourselves.’

He laughed drily. ‘Are you kidding?’

‘No, I’m not. I think it’s our only hope. We’ll all die if we stay here.’

‘Worry about it when we can’t use the radio.’

‘But we’re wasting time.’

He groaned and held his stomach. ‘Christ! Remind me never to eat caviar again.’

‘You don’t want to listen to me, do you?’

‘What makes you think you know what you’re talking about?’

‘I keep on telling you. I never had much education – the only kind I
did
get was about animals and survival. We have to find water – a river. If we do that and follow it, eventually we’ll find people.’

‘Tell me tomorrow.’

‘We’re not getting any stronger, we should set off soon.’

‘What about the others?’

‘We’ll find help and send it back for them.’

‘You’re kidding. That lot alone out here wouldn’t last five minutes.’

She sighed. ‘Since when did
you
start thinking about other people?’

‘Since I found you.’

* * *

By morning the rain was heavier than ever. Al had set out any receptacle they had to catch it in, and it enabled everyone to have a wash.

‘Shit – I always did hate Monday mornings,’ Bernie complained, as Dallas bathed his wound. It didn’t look too bad. The skin was beginning to pucker and close up.

Cathy’s leg was very infected and Dallas was convinced it would have to come off. Impossible. They didn’t even have a knife. The only cure for gangrene was amputation. Cathy could barely open her eyes.

‘What shall we do?’ Dallas whispered to Al.

There’s nothing we
can
do. Even if we cut the leg off she’d die anyway.’

‘Yes, but we would have tried.’

‘And put her through a terrible scene – for what?’

‘I know you’re right, but I can’t help feeling so helpless.’

He put his arm around her and held her close. ‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘Whatever happens I love you. I’ve been using women all my life – good for a fuck – nothing else. And then came you. I’ve waited for you thirty-eight years – don’t feel helpless. You’ve made my life worth living.’

‘For how long? Another week? Because if we stay put that’s about all we’ll have. Maybe two if we’re lucky.’

‘You ever tried positive thinking? I’m going to see if I can find the other half of the plane.’

‘In this rain?’

‘You wouldn’t want me to just sit around.’

* * *

He found the front half of the plane two hours later. The vultures led him to it – huge, decadent scavengers, circling above the wreck, taking their time between sweeping down and pecking at the remains of their human victims.

There was a strong smell of petrol mixed with burnt flesh. So strong that Al found it difficult to approach.

He forced himself to do so in the hope that there would be something of use he could salvage. Certainly no radio could have survived, that was obvious. But he had to look.

The nose of the plane was dug deep into the ground. Al walked around it, peering through the front aperture. What he saw made him sick to his stomach. Something that had once been a human being, now a crawling maggotty mass of open flesh and bone. He moved closer – the interior was just a charred wreck, and more maggot-ridden bodies. Oh Christ…

He turned and threw up, retching on an empty stomach. Then suddenly he saw a huge snake. He backed away, still sick to his stomach.

No fucking radio. What next?

The image of the maggot-ridden bodies danced before his eyes. Christ! That was one hell of a way to go.

He stumbled on through the dense undergrowth, then sat down at the foot of a giant tree and tried to shut out what he had seen, but the image would not leave him. He closed his eyes, but that made the vision worse.

It was all so frigging hopeless. Dallas was right. The only way out was if they did it themselves. Nobody was going to find them. Nobody was going to rescue them. It was yesterday’s news already.

Do you remember Al King?

Who?

* * *

The rain lasted until midday, crashing through the trees relentlessly, marooning the plane in a sea of mud. Then it stopped, quite suddenly, and the sun appeared almost immediately, and soon the heat was back – the humid, steamy jungle heat, which could render you exhausted in a matter of minutes.