The Lisbon Crossing (13 page)

“Send him up in ten minutes.” I replaced the receiver and turned
to Lili. “Catela’s here,” I said. She pulled herself off the sofa and found herself looking into a mirror.

“I need a new face,” she said softly.

S
tanding in the hallway, hat in hand, commiseration plastered across his worried brow, Catela wasn’t too happy to see me. He dropped the sad countenance and pushed his way in.

“Where is she?” he said curtly.

I offered him a drink, which earned me a sharp look.

“Please inform her that I am here.”

“She’ll be out in a minute…Scotch?”

He didn’t try to hide his pique at finding me in the middle of his big scene. “I’ve come on official business.”

“Well, I’m gonna have one,” I said. Heading for the bar, I refilled my glass while Catela stood in the center of the room.

“Hello, Captain…”

Catela’s face lit up as Lili swept in, once again the image of beauty and grace, in complete control of the room. It was a remarkable transformation.

“You should have given me some warning,” she said, breezing past to retrieve a cigarette from the rosewood box that sat on the coffee table. “Instead of surprising me like this.”

“I’m sorry, I…” His face fell back into mourning. “I’m afraid I have the unpleasant duty to inform you of some very unfortunate news…I have information regarding your friend…”

“You really must remember her name, Captain. It’s Eva. Eva Lange.”

“Yes, of course…I…”

Lili placed a cigarette between her lips. Catela reached for his lighter, but she turned to me.

“Give me a light, darling.”

I lit her up and she swung back around on Catela.

“Jack’s already told me that she’s dead,” she said, turning a sneer
into a cold smile. Catela threw a look my way. He must’ve trusted Popov more than I did.

“But thank you for coming all this way to deliver the news,” she continued. “I’m sure you must have more important things to occupy your time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must make arrangements to leave Portugal…As soon as possible.”

“Please accept my condolences,” Catela whined. “I have come myself because I would like to consider you a friend and of course, as such, I am concerned of your feelings…”

“How very sensitive of you,” Lili mocked.

“But there is another reason, as well,” he confessed. “I…I’m afraid I must ask that you come with me…”

“For what purpose?” she said, taken aback.

“As you know, your friend…er, Eva Lange…was wanted for questioning in the murder of a diplomat at the German embassy. I’m afraid, therefore, that I must ask you to identify the body.”

Lili froze.

“Is that really necessary?” I said, stepping forward.

Catela gave me a butt-out look and addressed his response to Lili. “You are the only person in Lisbon who knew her. If there was any way in which to avoid it, I assure you—”

“All right,” Lili cut him off. “When?”

“If you please, I will take you with me now…”

“Jack will take me.”

“I would prefer…”

“Thank you, Captain, but Jack will take me.”

“Of course,” he relented. “I can meet you there in one hour.”

“As you wish,” Lili said, dismissing him with a puff of smoke. Catela performed an awkward bow and backed his way out the door.

“Bastard…” she snarled as the door closed. I was sure he heard it, and I was even more sure that Lili meant him to.

W
e were two hours late. Lili made sure of that by ordering room service and sending it back twice—once because the steak was undercooked and then because it was overseasoned, which was a pretty good trick on her part because she didn’t even pretend to taste it. I nibbled around the edges and flipped through magazines while she soaked in the bath to the mournful sounds of Billie Holiday on the Electrola. When Lili finally reappeared she was stunning in black from head to toe.

It was a long, silent drive into Lisbon. Lili stared out the window at the gathering dusk, lost in her past, I presumed, while I mulled my future. There wasn’t much to think about, really. I was free to go anywhere and do anything I wanted, but I had no real desires on either score. Hollywood had come to an end, that was clear, and it wasn’t because I was afraid of Charlie Wexler, either. I figured that I’d fallen off enough horses for one lifetime, and it was time to move on. But where? Damned if I knew. Hell, I thought, I hadn’t planned anything in the first twenty-five years of my life, why start now? The future would find me soon enough.

“She wouldn’t have…” Lili whispered.

“What?”

She turned to face me.

“She wouldn’t have jumped. Eva would never do that.”

S
enhor Baptista and his parlor had undergone a makeover, too. A small, nervous man in his midfifties with jet-black hair forming a perimeter around a shiny bald top, he’d changed from his day wear into a trim black suit and tie with a white carnation carefully displayed in the lapel. The previously drab room, which Eva had shared with four other unfortunate souls when I first saw her, was all hers now and decked out with an arrangement of fresh white orchids and a couple of dozen candles. Her pine box had been replaced with a polished oak casket lined with white satin.

Lili betrayed no emotion as her eyes fixed firmly on her dead
friend’s face. Baptista had used all his talent—along with a fair amount of lipstick and rouge—to put some life back into the poor girl, but his efforts had produced the opposite effect. She was like a porcelain doll, with features painted on cold, hard glass, and thick auburn-colored hair that looked dull and brittle. It was hard to imagine this lifeless form, cold and empty, as the spirited young girl whose picture had been taken in a rowboat on a sunny, summer afternoon fifteen years earlier.

Lili approached the body. As she stood there, head bowed, gazing onto the casket, time seemed to stand still. Baptista lowered his head, too, and folded his hands over in prayer, but he kept glancing up at Lili, unable to keep his eyes off the famous actress. Catela simply watched. After some time, Lili pulled her veil back, leaned forward, and kissed the girl’s forehead. When she turned toward us her eyes glistened in the candlelight, and a tear fell across her cheek.

“Yes,” she said softly. “This is Eva Lange.”

“I extend my most heartfelt condolences,” Catela said, stepping forward. He tried to take her hand, but she pulled away, meeting his plaintive gaze with a sharp, penetrating look. You could sense the venom rising inside her and for a moment I thought it would spill out in a blistering rage, releasing all the bitter contempt and worldly scorn that she kept bottled up behind her matinee idol smile. But it didn’t come. Instead, Lili drew a long breath and, in a little-girl-like gesture, wiped the tear off her cheek.

“She deserved better,” she said. “I only wish…” She trailed off, unwilling to reveal a quivering voice.

“You must not blame yourself,” Catela said gently. “It is a sad result of the times, I’m afraid.” He seemed genuinely moved by Lili’s tears. She nodded and offered her hand now, which he held tightly.

“If there is anything I can do…” he said. “Anything at all…”

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s very kind of you.” She dabbed her eyes with a silk kerchief. “Please accept my apologies if I was harsh with you earlier…It was…”

“There is no need to explain.” He bowed chivalrously and kissed her hand. “I am forever your servant.”

She nodded and looked to me. I took her by the arm and escorted her to the car, which was waiting outside.

“I
’ll look into the next passage to New York," I said once we'd put distance between us and the funeral parlor.

“Not yet,” she said as she lifted her veil and provided me with an impish smile. “How was I?”

“What…?”

“Do you think I overdid it?”

“Overdid it?”

“I was going to do angry, but my instincts took over and led me into heartbroken. I was worried that the tears would be too much, but I think it was quite effective, don’t you?” She leaned back and smiled. “Yes, I was good. I was very good.”

“Lili…?”

“But damn it, Jack!”

“What?”

“The best performance of my life and there’s not a camera within miles! That should have been my Oscar!”

“Lili…Are you saying…?”

She handed me her purse. “Light me a cigarette, will you, darling?” I removed the pack of Rothmans, lit one up and gave it to her.

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “Are you saying that that woman—”

“I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

I fell back into my seat, grinned, and shook my head. “I’ll be damned,” I chuckled. Lili was right. It was an Oscar-winning performance.

I’d certainly gone for it. Hell, we’d all gone for it. Hook, line, and melodramatic sinker.

I told Alberto to stop the car.

Senhor Baptista
wasn’t expecting company. The front door was locked with the shades drawn, so I slipped down the back alley and in through an open window. I found the undertaker, along with his doltish assistant, in the middle of moving the Eva stand-in (so to speak) from her temporary eternal resting place back into the more modest accommodation of a pine box. Baptista gasped when he saw me and threw his arms up, letting his end of the poor lady hit the floor with a
thud.
The auburn wig tumbled across the tiles, revealing the impostor’s short black hair.

“Senhor…!”

I stepped into the room and picked up the wig. “I guess she won’t need this anymore,” I said. The assistant was dumbstruck, standing there with a empty look on his face, hanging on to the dead lady’s thighs while the top half lay splayed out across the floor. It would’ve looked risqué if she hadn’t been so dead.

“Please, senhor…” Baptista retreated toward the wall as I moved toward him. “I can to explain…” He was starting to sweat.

“Don’t you think you’d better pick her up first?” I said.

“
Sim, Sim…
yes, of course, senhor…” He gingerly moved for
ward and, after some fumbling around, was able to slip his hands under the lady’s armpits and gather her up off the floor. He looked to me for further instructions.

“Put her away,” I said.

He nodded, passed the instruction on to the dolt, and they carried her over to the waiting box. Baptista was grunting and sweating so badly now that the dye in his hair was starting to run down his forehead. Pitiful.

Once they’d finally dropped her into the coffin, Baptista wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief, staining it black, then turned to the dolt and mumbled something. I didn’t get the specifics, but I understood enough to know that it wouldn’t be a good idea to let the guy disappear, so I grabbed him by the back of the shirt as he tried to pass and yanked him back into the room. His legs flew out from under him and he fell into a heap of gangling knees and elbows.

Baptista tugged on his collar, cleared his throat, and let out a nervous chuckle. “How may I be helpful, senhor?”

“Who was she?” I said, looking over at the anonymous corpse.

“Er…No one in particular…Just a lady…” He flinched at the sudden movement of my arm coming toward him. I was just offering him the wig, which he accepted once he realized that he wasn’t under attack.

“You did a good job,” I said. “Fooled me, anyway.” He accepted the compliment with a nervous smile. “You must’ve been well paid, to risk lying to the Guarda Nationale…What do you think would happen to you if Captain Catela found out?”

“Oh, senhor…That would be—”

“Were you paid in advance?” If they’d made arrangements to meet afterward, there was still a chance I could get my hands on the weasel. But Popov had covered that base.

“
Sim,
senhor…In advance.”

My first instinct, after putting Lili in a taxi back to the hotel, had been to go after the little shit, but I told Alberto to change course
when I realized it was pointless, he’d be long gone. You had to give the guy credit—the idea of using a corpse to pose as Eva showed a creative flair that I couldn’t help admiring, in spite of wanting to wring his scrawny little neck. It was a simple enough ruse. All he needed was a passport and a cooperative mortician—which was why I’d decided to drop in on Baptista.

“Let me see her passport,” I said.

I’d checked it out the first time, but I wanted to take a closer look. A fake passport wouldn’t have presented a problem for Popov—the forgery business was booming in Lisbon and he certainly would’ve had his greedy fingers in that pie—but if it was a phony, it was a damn good one. It was one thing to be fooled by a heavily made-up corpse lit by a few candles, but the photo I’d seen sure as hell looked like the girl Lili had photographed in a boat fifteen years earlier. If the passport was for real, the conclusion was inevitable—Popov had actually found Eva and I’d been outbid by Ritter. If that was true, she would already be on a train to Berlin, or worse.

“Senhor?” Baptista looked perplexed.

“The passport.”

“I’m sorry, senhor,” he trembled. “I…I…I…”

He got stuck as I moved closer and placed a helpful hand on his shoulder. I hadn’t had to strong-arm anyone for quite a few years, but Senhor Baptista made it easy, almost fainting at the mere suggestion of physical coercion.

“I…I…I…” he continued.

“Take a deep breath,” I said. He took my advice and it settled his nerves enough to allow him to continue.

“I no longer have the passport, senhor.”

“You no longer have it?”

“Yes, senhor…I mean, no, senhor…I…I…I no longer have it, senhor.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“I promise you…”

“You lied before.”

“Yes, senhor…”

“So why should I believe you now?”

“I lied before…But not now.”

I was pretty sure that he was telling the truth. Catela would’ve taken Eva’s passport in order to hand it over to Major Ritter, but I wanted to be positive, and besides, the undertaker deserved to be roughed up, just a little. I grabbed his wrist, spun him around, and pulled him into an easy half nelson.

“Please, senhor!” he screamed. “I tell you the truth!”

“Are you sure?” I tightened the grip.

“
Sim, Sim!…
I give passport to Senhor Popov!…Please! I can give to you money, senhor! Please, it hurts! Aiiee!”

I released him. “What did you say?”

He gave me a pained look and nursed his arm. “I say I give you money.”

“Not that…”

“Senhor?” He brightened.

“You said that you gave the passport to Popov.”

“
Sim,
senhor…”

“Why would you do that?”

Baptista shrugged. “Is part of the agreement.”

“I don’t follow,” I said. “Didn’t Popov give you Eva Lange’s passport?”

“
Sim…
Yes.”

“Then you gave it back to him?”

“No, senhor. Capitão Catela takes this passport.”

“Catela took it?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you say you gave it to Popov?”

Baptista furrowed his brow. He was as confused as I was. “I give to Captain Catela the passport of Eva Lange,” he explained. “I give to Senhor Popov the other passport. The one of this dead lady…” He gestured toward the woman in the coffin.

“Popov took
her
passport?”

“Yes, senhor…It has been most important to him to have this.”

I
was feeling upbeat as I headed out into the night air to rejoin Alberto. It was clear now that Eva was still alive, and that Ritter didn’t have her. There was even a reasonable chance that, with the right kind of help, I could get my hands on her before she could make her exit. I was so buoyant, in fact, that I almost missed the Buick sport coupe with a cracked windshield that was parked a bit further up the road. On first glance, the car looked empty, but upon closer inspection, I could see that my would-be killer was hunkered down behind the wheel. Waiting until I passed, no doubt, so he could step out and shoot me in the back.

I ducked into the nearest doorway, which landed me in a gloomy little tavern called Paraiso. The barman, who looked like he hadn’t seen daylight in a while, gave me the once-over as I stepped up to the counter and ordered a bourbon. It was a dank, cheerless place, empty but for me and my sullen host. The wall calendar was stuck on March 1934.

I was sipping my drink and considering my options when the answer walked out of the back room, looking for a fresh bottle of whiskey. He was big and ugly, and had a tattoo of a giant python running up one arm, across his shoulders, and down the other arm. He gave me a look—like the one you’d give a slug while you were deciding whether or not it was worth stepping on—then he took possession of the booze and disappeared back to where he came from. I followed.

The snake man was just sitting back down at a table, where a serious game of cards was in progress. He and his fellow players—three equally ugly hulks—wouldn’t have looked out of place unloading cargo on the Jersey docks, so I approached with caution.

“Boa tarde,” I said, and got a round of grim looks in return. I decided to get right to the point. “Anybody speak English?”

The snake man, who had started dealing the hand, placed the deck back down on the table, lifted his head, and narrowed his eyes at me. I thought he was about to stand up again, so I quickly reached into my pocket, removed a hundred-dollar bill, and tossed it into the
ante. The snake man gave me a second look, then reached across the table to pick it up, giving it a thorough inspection before returning his gaze to me.

“I speak English,” he rasped.

“Good!” I smiled. “Ever hear the expression
easy money
?”

T
he grayish piece of soap that sat on the side of the sink wasn’t too inviting, so I made do with a splash of cold water on my face. The greasy hand towel wasn’t very appealing, either, so I dried off on my sleeve and headed back downstairs, arriving just in time to see my stalker being airlifted onto a bar stool by my newly hired employees. A couple of them held him in place while Ramiro—which turned out to be the snake man’s name—patted him down and came up with a .38 Smith & Wesson, which he handed over to me.

I couldn’t help laughing when I got a look at the guy—he was a two-bit hood, straight out of central casting. The only thing missing was the toothpick.

“What’s the big joke?” he said. Christ, he
was
out of central casting. Then the penny dropped…Of course!

“The joke is that with all the money in the world, and with all that power, you’re the best that Charlie Wexler could come up with.”

“Charlie who?” He sneered. I shook my head and turned my attention to the .38.

“You know,” I said. “A pistol like this is no good from a distance. You’d have to get pretty lucky to hit somebody three stories up.”

“I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You have to get in close. The closer the better.” I pushed the barrel up against his nose and cocked the hammer. “Like this.”

“Hey, listen, pal…I…I’m just doin’ a job. This is between you and Wexler.”

He was right, but I enjoyed watching him sweat a little. Once he looked sufficiently chastened, I uncocked the hammer and removed the gun from his nostril. “I guess I should consider myself lucky that
Wexler doesn’t know the difference between a real killer and a dime-store hood. What’s your name?”

“Joe.”

“Joe what?”

“Joe Bolognese.”

I laughed. “Is that your real name? Joe Bolognese?”

“What about it?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s perfect.”

I asked for a phone, which the barman produced from under the counter. Bolognese started to look worried when I told him I was going to talk to my friend, the deputy chief of the National Police.

“What’re you gonna do?” he said.

“It’s not what I’m gonna do, Joe, it’s what you’re gonna do. I thought two years—no, on second thought, let’s make it three. One for every time you tried to kill me. And I wouldn’t count on time off for good behavior. They don’t go in for that sort of thing around here. In fact, they might just forget all about you in there. It’s not like home, you know, where they keep track.”

Bolognese looked a bit sick to the stomach as the party broke up. The boys decided they’d call it a night when they heard that Catela’s men were on their way, so I left the barman holding the gun on Joe and said my good-byes.

Climbing the hill to meet Alberto, I composed the wire that I decided to send off to Wexler the next day, explaining why he hadn’t heard back from his hit man. I thought I’d end the telegram by asking him to convey my very warmest regards to the missus.

I
found Brewster in a dark corner of an out-of-the-way bistro, sharing a table with a stunningly attractive blonde—a woman of a certain age who sparkled with diamonds from every angle.

“Hiya, Dick,” I said, sliding onto the banquette beside her.

“Teller…?” He almost dropped his fork. “What the hell…?!

What are you doing here?” He was more amused than angry, which
was a pleasant surprise. The lady, on the other hand, was a long way from amused.

“Some coincidence, huh?” I turned to her and smiled, but the icy response told me not to bother. Brewster was starting to look a little less jolly himself.

“I’m kind of busy at the moment, Jack, in case you didn’t notice.”

“As a matter of fact, I did notice,” I said. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“She doesn’t speak English.”

“That’s convenient,” I said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I can tell you to get rid of her without hurting her feelings.”

Brewster squinted across the table at me. “How the hell did you find me?”

“Your butler.”

“Luiz?”

“I didn’t get his name.”

“I’ll have to have a word with him.”

I shrugged. “He tried to tell me that he didn’t know where you were, but it was obvious that he did.”

“What did you do?”

“I scared him a little, that’s all. Nothing serious.”

“You really take the cake, Teller, you know that.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“What do you want?”

“Your country needs you.”

“My country will have to wait until tomorrow morning, in my office.”

“Your country needs you
now,
Dick.”

“Get the hell out of here, Teller,” he said. I thought I noticed a hint of a smile on the ice queen.

“You mean that?”

“From the bottom of my heart.”

“Okay,” I said, getting to my feet. “I can take a hint. It’s just that you seemed so eager to help, that’s all. Can’t say I blame you, I guess. I’m sure it’ll be worth it.” I looked the lady over. She didn’t mind, but Brewster did.

“Well, thanks for stopping by,” he said.

“Sure. And I wouldn’t worry. You can always get a job as a banker…or in the insurance business. It can’t be as boring as it sounds.”