Leighton Gage - Every Bitter Thing

“So you waited until the middle of the night. You opened the compartment over your seat and took the pills out of your hand luggage. And then what?”

“I was gonna flush them down the toilet. But then, I got to thinking. What if I’d been wrong? What if it wasn’t Parente? What if it was just a guy who looked like Parente? And even if it was Parente, what if I could get off the airplane and through Customs without him spotting me? Wouldn’t it be stupid to throw all that money away for nothing?”

“So you took the Ecstasy and put it into Julio Arriaga’s hand luggage.”

“Was that the kid’s name? Julio Arriaga?”

“That was his name. What did you plan to do if he got through Customs without a hitch?”

“I had this story all ready. About how I had my hand luggage in the same compartment as his, that I was looking for something there in the dark, that maybe my stuff got into his bag by mistake.”

“Pretty thin. You think he was going to believe that?”

Sacca shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “And if he didn’t, I was gonna take the stuff from him anyway. He was only a kid, not a very big kid either. He couldn’t give me any trouble even if he’d wanted to.”

“Didn’t it occur to you that a kid that age was probably going to have someone waiting for him at the airport? Someone older, more experienced, liable to be suspicious of your story?”

“Yeah, it did. And it mighta been his father, and his father mighta been built like a gorilla, but I couldn’t think of a better idea. Doing it that way, I had a chance of getting my stuff back. If I’d flushed it down the toilet, it would have been gone for good. What would you have done, huh?”

Sacca was looking at Silva as if he actually expected an answer to the question.

“One more thing,” Silva said. “Tell me about the run-in with Mansur.”

“Who?”

“Did you have any trouble with a man on the airplane?”

“Oh. That. Was that his name? Mansur.”

“That was his name.”

“Yeah. Well, he musta told you about it, right?”

“He didn’t tell us a damned thing. He couldn’t. He’s dead.”

“Good riddance, the prick.”

“What happened?”

“He saw me stuffing the kid’s bag. He was across the aisle, acting like he was asleep, but he wasn’t. He saw the whole damned thing, and he heard me lie to the stewardess.”

“And then?”

“He waits until the stewardess buggers off, and he comes and sits down beside me.”

“And he blackmailed you?”

“He did.”

“How much did you give him?”

“Everything I had, over three thousand dollars and almost a thousand reais. The prick.”

On their way back to Hector’s office, Silva posed a question.

“If you discovered,” he said, “that it was Sacca who planted the stuff on your kid, and that Sacca was in a cell in Santo Andre, what would you do?”

“I don’t know what I’d do,” Hector said. “But I think I know what the kid’s father would do.”

“And that is?”

“Based on everything we know up to now…”

“Yes?”

“And acting under the assumption that it’s him, not Clancy, who’s our man…”

“Yes?”

“I think Julio Arriaga would try to get inside Sacca’s cell and kill him.”

“I agree. And we certainly don’t want to have that happen, now, do we?”

“So that’s why you agreed to get him a lawyer? So we can get him out of there, set him up someplace-and use him for bait?”

“Precisely.”

“What if Arriaga doesn’t come for him?”

“Then I’m barking up the wrong tree.”

“How are we going to get the word out?”

“You’re going to tell his ex-wife.”

“You’ve thought this out, haven’t you?”

“I have.”

Hector stroked his chin. “I did promise Aline Arriaga I’d call her if I found out who framed her son.”

“Yes,” Silva said, “so you told me.”

“When do I do it?”

“No time like the present.”

“While he’s still in Santo Andre?”

“Why not? But first, call that delegado, Carillo, and tell him that no one, no one, except Sacca’s lawyer gets in to see him.”

“Where do we get the lawyer?”

“I’ll talk to Zanon.”

“The public prosecutor?”

“Yes. He’s as straight as they come, and he won’t like it one bit, but he owes me, and he’ll do it. When Sacca walks out the door we’ll have people waiting.”

“At which time I call Aline again and tell her he’s on the street.”

“Exactly. But this Arriaga character, if he is indeed our man, has already proven to be very resourceful. We mustn’t underestimate him. Assign a man to cover the exterior of the jail, more than one if there are multiple exits. Provide photos of Arriaga and Sacca. As an additional precaution, put an undercover operative into Sacca’s cell and tell him to stick to Sacca like glue, never more than a meter or so away. Make it a man adept at hand-to-hand fighting. Tell Carillo what we’re up to and tell him, too, that our operative is to be the last person introduced into that cell, the very last person introduced into that cell until we get Sacca out of there. And tell him to keep the whole undercover business under his hat.”

“I knew it!” Aline Arriaga said when Hector called her. “I knew my Junior was innocent! What did you say that bastard’s name was?”

“Sacca. Abilio Sacca.”

Her next words came right out of Silva’s script.

“I want to see him,” she said. “Where is he?”

“He’s in a jail in Santo Andre.” Hector gave her the address. “I have to warn you, though. They won’t let you in unless he wants to see you, and he probably won’t. It’s his right to refuse.”

“His right? A man like that has rights? How about my son’s rights? He had a right to be locked up with other kids. He had a right to live. And who showed any concern for him?”

“I’m sorry, Senhora Arriaga. I know you-”

“Did this Sacca show any remorse? Any remorse at all? Did he even say he was sorry?”

“He’s not that kind of man.”

“When he gets out of that delegacia, where will he be going?”

“Perhaps to prison.”

“ Perhaps? Only perhaps?”

“These things are unpredictable, Senhora.”

“You’re certainly right about that, Delegado. If I’ve learned anything about our judicial system in the last three months, it’s that it doesn’t work. Will you do one more thing for me? Just one?”

“What’s that, Senhora?”

“Keep me informed of this man’s whereabouts. I’m not going to get a good night’s sleep until I meet with him, face to face.”

Although Zanon Parma was a friend of many years’ standing, his pleasure in receiving a call from Silva quickly vanished when he heard what it was about.

“For Christ’s sake, Mario, I can’t just pull the guy out of there for no reason at all.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way, Zanon. It’s vitally important that you do.”

Silence.

“Zanon?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll find a way, but Jesus, Mario-“

“Just make sure of one thing: don’t get him sprung without informing me first. I don’t want Sacca walking out that door without half a dozen men waiting for him.”

Silence again, this time more lengthy than the first.

Then Zanon said, “I’ve got an idea that will work, but it’s gonna take time to set up. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get him out of there before the weekend. Monday would be the absolute earliest.”

“Zanon says he needs another five days?” Arnaldo said the following morning. “Maybe six? What’s with that?”