Bossa Novas, Bikinis, and Bad Ends Page 15

  “Of course. You’ll get your share as soon as we get there.”

  “You better be sure I do,” Natalia said, her voice hard. “What did you do with Ramon? I thought he’d be with you.”

  “He didn’t want to go to São Paulo,” Yasmin said. “He went back to the favelas where he can hide out with his druggy friends. The police will never find him.”

  “OK, let’s get out of here,” Natalia said. “Don’t take your eyes off our American friend. She’s a tricky one. Remember, she got away from you once today.”

  She started the engine and backed the car out of the hotel parking lot. There were other people in the lot getting in or out of their cars, but nobody noticed us. Natalia expertly steered the car onto the crowded street and headed south.

  My brain went into emergency mode. How was I going to get out of here before they pushed me out onto the highway? When in doubt, ask some questions, I decided. I didn’t know what else to do.

  “So, Natalia, how are you involved in all this?” I asked her.

  She was weaving in and out of the heavy traffic and didn’t answer me. “Yasmin,” I said, “tell me how Natalia got involved in this whole thing.”

  She looked first at her mother to be sure she was all right. Her mother’s eyes were closed and she seemed to be breathing more easily.

  “You don’t need to tell her anything,” Natalia said, passing cars on the right.

  I don’t know why—maybe she was bored—but Yasmin decided to talk to me.

  “Well, if you must know, she wanted to get out of Rio and go to New York to get a job singing there, but she needed money to get there. She knew I must be doing some fancy accounting. Natalia is very smart. She figured out there was no way the hotel was losing money. She knew someone was taking some of the income. She figured it had to be me since I was in charge of the hotel’s finances. After I got rid of Maria, she figured I had something to do with her death and told me I had better split the money with her if I wanted her to keep quiet. I told her to get lost, that she had no proof that I was taking any of the profits or that I had gotten rid of Maria. Actually I was going to bump her off next.”

  Natalia laughed. “I was fooling around with Souza. I knew Maria was killed with that anesthetic he always uses on his patients. He told me Yasmin was the only one who had the key to the cabinet where he kept the drug. He was going to tell the police, but he turned up dead before he could do it.”

  She snaked the car into the right lane to pass another slow car in the left lane and concentrated on her driving.

  “I was all ready to get rid of Natalia too,” Yasmin said. “But I realized she could help me get rid of Sumiko who was nosing around. I told her I’d give her enough money to get to New York if she’d kill her.”

  “Why are you telling that Hoofer all this stuff?” Natalia said when the traffic had cleared enough for her to speed up and get on the main highway to São Paulo.

  “Who is she going to tell?” Yasmin said. “She’ll be dead soon. It doesn’t matter what she knows.”

  “When my friends call the police to tell them I’ve disappeared,” I said, “and the police find out you’re gone, too, don’t you think they’ll come after you?”

  “By the time that happens we’ll be in another car and deep in the heart of São Paulo where I have friends,” Natalia said.

  “How will you get another car?” I asked. I was trying to keep her talking so they’d forget about throwing me out of the car.

  “I have friends everywhere,” she said. “It’s none of your business anyway.”

  My mind was racing. How was I going to get out of this car without being shot or killed on the highway? Not a clue. This was it. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep.

  When I opened them we had been driving along the highway for about an hour according to the clock on the dashboard.

  “Yasmin,” I said.

  “What do you want,” she said.

  “I’ve got to go to the bathroom. Could you please stop at a gas station?”

  “We’re not stopping anywhere,” she said. “Hold it in.”

  “I’m not kidding,” I said. “I’ll get the seat all wet if you don’t stop.”

  “It’s all right,” Natalia said. “We can stop. I want to get a bottle of water anyway, and we could use some gas.”

  “Didn’t you fill up the car before we left?” Yasmin said, sounding annoyed.

  “There wasn’t time. When I found out what you were planning, it was too late to fill up the car.”

  “Oh, all right,” Yasmin said, not at all pleased. “Stop at the next station.”

  She glared at me. “And don’t get any funny ideas about getting away when we get there. I’ll be right there next to you with my gun.”

  Her mother moaned. Yasmin turned to her, the gun still against my side.

  “What is it, mãe?” she asked.

  “Sick,” her mother said holding her stomach. “Sick.”

  “Stop the car, Natalia,” Yasmin said. “My mother is going to throw up.”

  Natalia cut through the lanes of traffic and stopped in the emergency lane on the right. Yasmin handed her gun to Natalia.

  “Watch her while I help my mother,” she said.

  Natalia leaned over the front seat pointing the gun at me. “Don’t even think about it,” she said.

  Yasmin helped her mother out of the car and led her into the wooded area next to the highway. They moved very slowly. I tried desperately to figure out a way to get out of there. I had to try. It was my only chance.

  “Natalia,” I said, “you don’t need me anymore. I’m just a burden to you. Why don’t you let me get out of the car now? You can leave me here. By the time I get back to Rio, you’ll be safe in São Paulo.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you clever little Hoofer?” she said.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because you know too much,” she said. “We need you dead.”

  After about twenty minutes, Yasmin brought her mother back to the car.

  Natalia looked away for a minute to make sure Yasmin could lift her mother into the backseat. I ducked down on the floor and lunged at Yasmin to knock her down on top of her mother. Natalia couldn’t shoot at me without the chance of hitting one or both of them. I ran out into the lane of cars and waved my arms wildly at the automobile speeding toward me. The driver veered sharply into the next lane and pulled over to the emergency lane to stop. I ran to his car, jumped in, and said, “Quick, get me out of here. I’m being kidnapped. Get me to the nearest police station please.”

  The man driving the car didn’t ask any questions at first. He just sped off, and I collapsed on the seat in the back.

  After a short distance, he asked, “Who are you? Why were you kidnapped?” he asked.

  I was relieved to hear him speak English.

  “I’ll explain it all to you when we get to the police,” I said. “Could you get off at the next exit and find the nearest police station.”

  I looked out the back window and saw Natalia’s car gaining on us. I could see her fierce little face through the windshield.

  “Oh, hurry, they’re right behind us,” I said.

  He accelerated the car and took the next exit. Natalia followed us. The man stopped at the small police station on the main street of the town. Natalia came up right behind us and got out of the car and ran to him.

  “Oh, thank you, sir,” she said. “My aunt has been having hallucinations and she thought she was being kidnapped. I’m so grateful to you for helping her. She’ll be fine now. We’ll get her back to the institution.”

  The man looked totally confused. He got out of the car and I was sure he was going to hand me over to her.

  “Don’t believe her,” I said. “Please don’t believe her. She’s trying to kill me.”

  “Well, I . . .” he began. I’m sure he didn’t know whom to believe—this well-spoken, attractive young woman driving the other car or the w
ild-eyed, disheveled woman he picked up in the middle of the highway.

  He looked like he was just about to hand me over to Natalia so I jumped out of the car and ran into the police station.

  The police officer behind the desk stood up. I must have been a mess. Hair falling in my eyes, a crazy look on my face, a desperate person.

  He said something to me in Portuguese.

  “Do you speak English?” I said

  “Yes, senhora,” he said.

  “Help me,” I said. “I’ve been kidnapped by that woman out there.”

  “Kidnapped?” he said. “Senhora . . .”

  “Oh, please, senhor, call the chief of police in Rio. Senhor Pereira. He knows me. He knows they took me out of there. He must be looking for me now.”

  “Senhor Pereira, the chief of police in Rio?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes, do you know him?” I said.

  “I know who he is,” the police officer said. “I’ve never met him.”

  Natalia and Yasmin burst into the station. My rescuer followed them. He clearly still didn’t know whom to believe.

  “Thank God you’re all right,” Natalia said to me, putting her arms around me. “We were so worried.” She looked like the most respectable person on earth, concerned about her beloved aunt who had gone off her rocker.

  There was a rapid exchange in Portuguese between Natalia, the man who saved me and the police officer.

  The police officer said to me in English, “I think you’d better go with your niece. She’ll take good care of you.” I couldn’t blame him. I would have believed her too.

  I clung to his desk. “Just do one thing for me please, Officer. Call Chief Pereira. Please. I beg you. It will only take a minute.”

  He hesitated, looking back and forth between Natalia and me.

  “She was running out on the highway,” the man in the car said. “I believed what she told me.”

  The police officer hesitated once more and then picked up the phone. “It won’t hurt to call Pereira,” he said.

  “Chief Pereira,” he said after a moment. “Police officer Fernandes calling.”

  He waited a couple of seconds and then told my story to the chief.

  “Yes. She’s with two women,” he said.

  He opened the door of the station and gave the chief the license plate number on Natalia’s car.

  “I understand, sir.” he said. “We’ll hold them here for you.”

  Yasmin grabbed Natalia’s arm and pulled her out of the station into the car. The police officer dropped the phone and ran after them, but they were too fast for him. They were in the car and headed back toward the highway before he could stop them.

  He picked up the phone and told Pereira what had happened.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll send out my men immediately,” he said. He hung up and sent out an all-points bulletin to his officers.

  I fell on the floor. I had not one ounce of strength left. My rescuer and Fernandes carried me to a bench in the station. The police officer poured me a cup of coffee.

  “Try to tell me what’s happening here,” he said. “Who are you? Who are those women? Why were they trying to kidnap you?”

  I took a sip of the coffee, which revived me a little. “They’re involved in the murders at the Copacabana,” I said. “You must have heard about them.”

  “Everyone has heard about them,” he said. “It was in all the papers. Three murders in the most exclusive hotel in Rio. You mean those women had something to do with the murders?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I found out that they had done it. They abducted me and were using me as their hostage. I managed to jump out of their car and this man stopped for me.” I looked at him and realized I hadn’t ever thanked him. “I am so grateful to you, sir,” I said.

  “I’m just glad you’re safe,” he said. He obviously wanted to get out of there. “May I go?” he asked Officer Fernandes.

  “Yes, you can go. But leave me your card please so we can get in touch with you later.”

  The man pulled out his wallet and handed the officer his business card.

  “How can I ever thank you?” I asked him. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “I’m Luis Lima. Try to stay out of trouble,” he said with a smile. He shook my hand and left.

  “You are very lucky, senhora,” the officer said. “If that man hadn’t stopped for you, you’d be dead now.”

  I started to shiver. “I know, I know,” I said. “Do you think you’ll be able to catch them?”

  “I’m sure we will, senhora,” he said. “Do not worry.”

  I didn’t tell him that “worry” was my middle name.

  “I have no way to get back to Rio,” I said. “Did Captain Pereira say anything about sending a car for me?”

  “Yes, he did,” Fernandes said. “It may take a while, but someone will come. Would you like to rest for a while until they get here?”

  “That sounds wonderful, Senhor Fernandes. I really need some sleep.”

  “If you don’t mind sleeping in a jail cell, I can put you in one of those. They’re actually fairly comfortable.”

  “I can sleep anywhere,” I said. “Thank you.”

  He led me to a cell, put a blanket over me, and I fell asleep almost immediately.

  Pat’s Tip for Traveling with Friends: If you’re

  spontaneous and she wants to plan every

  minute, compromise. Teach her the fun of

  doing something totally unplanned.

  Chapter Seventeen

  One More Time and I’m Out of Here!

  I woke up in the backseat of a car. It was daylight. I must have slept in that jail cell all night. I remembered Officer Fernandes saying, “They’re here for you, Senhora Keeler,” but I was still half-asleep and let them carry me to the car. I couldn’t wait to get back to the Copacabana.

  I opened my eyes. I had no idea what time it was. I said to the uniformed back of the person driving, “Bom dia, senhor.”

  The driver turned around slowly, a smile on his face. “Bom dia, senhora.”

  I jumped up, startled. It was Ramon. How could it be Ramon? Where was the policeman?

  “How did you . . . ? What are you doing . . . ?” I managed to say. I could not believe this.

  “I got rid of the police officer who was coming to get you,” he said, “and took you out of the jail.”

  “But how did you know where I was? I said. “Yasmin said you were back in the favela.”

  “I was,” he said, “but Natalia called me and told me you had escaped and she needed another car. They had to abandon hers because the police were after her and Yasmin so I borrowed this one.”

  “Where are they?” I asked. The thought of them still at large made me shudder.

  “Not far. They’ll be so glad to see you again!” He laughed. “Don’t even think of jumping out of the car, senhora. I’m going about eighty-five and you’ll end up in little pieces in the road.”

  I could not imagine how I was going to get away this time. My escape valve was definitely clogged. I would have to talk my way out of this one. And fast.

  “Ramon,” I said, “do you really want to get mixed up with those two women again?”

  “They have money for me,” he said. “As soon as I get it, I’m going back to Rio. They just want you. They don’t care what I do.”

  “I know a way you can get a lot more money than they have,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said sarcastically. “How’s that?”

  “I can get you a job driving cars in New York,” I said. “I know people there who are always looking for drivers. And they’ll pay you a lot. You’ll have a much better life in the States than back in the favelas.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said. “You can’t get me a job. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “I mean it,” I said. “Just pull off the highway at the next exit and park somewhere. I’ll put in a call to a friend of mine in New York. He’ll tell you
about a job and how much money you’ll make. What can you lose?”

  “You can’t really do that, can you?” he asked. I could hear the doubt in his voice. There was the smallest chance that I might be able to help him.

  “Try me,” I said. “If you don’t like what my friend says, you can just say no. If you like it, we can go right to the airport and fly to New York.”

  I didn’t really think he would buy this at all. I didn’t believe any of it myself.

  He drove on in silence. As we approached the next exit, he slowed down and took the ramp into a small town and stopped in the parking lot of a restaurant.

  “You better be telling the truth,” he said. “Go ahead. Call. You have ten minutes.”

  I dialed Alex Boyer, Gini’s boyfriend in New York who worked for the New York Times. He was brilliant and I knew he’d know what to do.

  Please let him be there. Please.

  He picked up right away. When I heard his familiar voice, I said, “Hello, Alex. It’s Pat Keeler.”

  “Pat!” he said. “How are you? Is Gini all right? Is everything OK?”

  “Not really, Alex,” I said. “Remember you told me you needed drivers?”

  “Drivers?” he said. “What are you talking about?”

  “I knew you were looking for drivers,” I said. “I’m here with someone who is looking for work in New York. I told him I would call you, and he said he would consider it.”

  “Are you in some kind of trouble, Pat?”

  “Yes, that’s right, Alex, very big.”

  “Let me talk to him,” Ramon said, grabbing the phone out of my hand. “I don’t trust you.”

  “What are you paying?” he asked Alex, his Portuguese accent very strong.

  Alex must have caught on immediately and quoted some huge number.

  Ramon handed the phone back to me. “Tell him OK.”

  “Alex, we’re going to the airport in Rio now, and we’ll get the next American Airlines flight to New York.”

  “I’ll call the Rio police the minute you hang up,” Alex said. “I’ll tell them where you are. Hang in there, Pat.”

  “That’s excellent,” I said. “I know Ramon will be pleased.”