Carioca Fletch

Gabriel Campos’ eyes flickered. He looked at the crowd and back at Fletch.

His smile came and went like a flashing light.

Slowly, Fletch raised his hand.

He pointed his index finger at Gabriel Campos’ nose.

Fletch already had checked the ring the man was wearing. It had a black center. Intertwined snakes rose from that center.

Instantly, Gabriel Campos ducked. Throwing back his elbows, he darted backward through the circle of young men, children, knocking over a child.

Idalina Barreto shrieked.

Others began to yell, move forward.

Two of the young men grabbed for Gabriel Campos.

Campos kicked one in the stomach; the other in the face.

It seemed everyone was trying to lay a hand on Campos. With tremendous skill, ducking and dancing, he kicked free of the crowd.

He turned and ran up the path.

Shouting, young men ran after him. Tripping over each other, almost all the men and children who had been following Fletch joined the pursuit. Yelling, some lifting their skirts up, many of the women pursued Gabriel Campos as well.

Shrieking Gabriel Campos! Gabriel Campos! tall old Idalina Barreto went after him in her rapid, sturdy pace, losing ground in the midst of this marathon.

Fletch sat on a nearby rock.

Dor de estomago … de cabeca … febre … nausea.

A few meters away, Laura Soares was in a group of women from the favela. They were all talking at once. Most of them were pregnant and therefore could not join in the pursuit of Gabriel Campos.

Laura was asking questions. She kept looking across at Fletch.

Higher up in the favela, the chase was still going on. On a road along a ridge, Fletch saw Gabriel Campos running between the houses. Easily one hundred people were streaming after him. He had a good lead on them.

Idalina Barreto’s high, shrill shriek dominated all other sounds. “Gabriel Campos! Gabriel Campos!”

From somewhere down in the depths of the favela came the sound of a samba drum.

After a while, Laura came over to Fletch. She stood over him a moment without speaking.

Fletch said, “I’m awfully tired. And I still have to call Sergeant Barbosa of the Rio police.”

Laura said, “His name is Gabriel Campos.”

“I heard.” He looked up to where Idalina Barreto was. The old lady had climbed far fast. “I hear.”

“The women say he was your friend when you were boys. He, one other boy, and the Gomes brothers. Who are the Gomes brothers?”

“Idalina’s brothers.”

“See?” she said. “You do know.”

“I was told, Laura. Yesterday. I was told.”

“You taught them all the skill of capoeira. Of everyone, Gabriel learned the best. After you were killed, he was master of the capoeira school of Escola Santos Lima. For years, he was famous for it. One year, he was even Mestre Sala.”

“I see. He wanted Janio—his teacher—out of the way.”

“He was placed on the board of directors of the samba school.”

“He would never have had such honors if Janio were alive.”

Laura made some sign in the dust with the tip of her sandal.

“I must get sleep.” High in the favela, the pursuit, the shouting continued. Fletch said, “I wonder what they will do with him.”

“I don’t want to know. How, why did you pick out Gabriel Campos? You must tell me.”

“You mean, did Gabriel Campos murder Janio Barreto forty-seven years ago?”

“Did he?”

“I don’t know.” Beyond exhaustion, Fletch stood up from the rock. “But I do know that, disguised as a goat, last night he tried to slit my throat.”

Thirty-four

“I forget if you said if you have ever been to New Bedford, Massachusetts.” Sergeant Paulo Barbosa asked.

“No,” Fletch said into the phone. He sat heavily on his bed in The Hotel Yellow Parrot. “I have never been to New Bedford, Massachusetts.”

Laura had gotten Sergeant Barbosa on the line. Placing the call had seemed too complicated to Fletch in his sleepless condition.

“It is very nice in New Bedford, Massachusetts,” Sergeant Barbosa told him again. “Much too cold, of course, for me. When you go back to your country, you must visit New Bedford, Massachusetts.” Fletch noticed the presumption that sooner or later everyone does go back to his country. It was the same presumption Idalina’s father made of Janio Barreto. “You must visit my cousin’s gift shop in New Bedford, Massachusetts. She has everything in her gift shop that every other gift shop has.”

“All right.” Fletch’s head was nodding. “I promise.”

“That would be very nice. Now, about that North American woman you lost…”

Fletch’s eyes popped open. “Yes?”

“I don’t think we have found her.”

“Oh.”

“What we have is a telephone call from the mayor of a very small town on the coast, south of here three hundred kilometers. The town of Botelho. It is very nice there. Very sealike. It is on the ocean. You should visit there anyway.”

“Yes,” Fletch said drowsily. “I’ll visit there, too. I promise I will.”

Laura was pulling the drapes closed against the sunlight. She had already stripped for bed.

“The mayor of Botelho said that on the weekend, Saturday, I think it was, a North American woman showed up there in Botelho.”

“Perhaps somebody told her she should visit.”

“Very likely. It is a nice place. I have taken my wife and children there.”

“Did you have a nice time?”

“A very nice time.”

“Good.”

“The mayor said this woman just wandered around for the afternoon by herself, on the beach and so forth, you know?”

“An American tourist—”

“After dark, she went into the very excellent seafood restaurant they have there. I brought my wife and children to eat there.”

Kneeling before him, Laura was taking off Fletch’s sneakers and socks.

“Was it good?”

“Excellent. This woman ate her dinner.”

“A North American woman tourist went to a small resort town—”

“Botelho.”

“Botelho, yes. Spent the afternoon on the beach and then had dinner in a seafood restaurant.”