“Little one. No elevator. Fourth floor,” the man told him.
“There’s a shower?”
“Sim.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Cash only.”
“That will work.”
The price of the room was way higher than it should have been. River didn’t care. He paid the man and made his way up the creaking stairs. He checked out his bare-bones room first—it had a bed and a chair. It appeared, at least, to be clean.
With his backpack in hand he found the door to the hallway bathroom. There was no one there—whatever other guests shared the floor, they were out partying still.
He allowed himself the luxury of a long shower. He realized he still bore the scratches and bruises from his leap from the train.
That didn’t matter. His ankle didn’t hurt—and he could barely feel the scratches.
He donned clean clothing. His ripped things were back at Guillermo’s house. He realized that he’d been wearing the man’s oversize clothes all day.
He hoped that Guillermo didn’t miss his own clothing or that at least River had left behind more than enough money to pay for it.
After he showered, he felt better. He set his mask on top of the outfit he had taken from Guillermo’s house. Tomorrow, he would just leave the pile in the room.
He headed to bed; he wanted to try to sleep. He warned himself that Natal might not have made it back yet.
But she would have made it back; she would have just taken the train south again.
The drapes on his window were thin. He could see that fireworks were still painting the sky when he lay down. The noise thrummed in his ears.
He didn’t care.
He slept.
And that night, for the first time in as long as he could remember, anticipating his reunion, he didn’t dream at all.
CHAPTER 20
The city of Rio de Janeiro was in full swing.
Usually, mornings were a quiet time. Rio was a late-night place—a haven for night owls.
But this was it—the last day of “sinning” and feasting on carne, or meat, had come to an end; tomorrow the period of Lent would begin, and while the world was changing and there were different beliefs worldwide, Rio remained a city where the population was heavily Catholic. Tomorrow, many would begin to abstain. They would give up meat—and perhaps alcohol or smoking or some other enjoyed vice—for Lent.
That would be tomorrow. This morning …
The city was already awake; there was a lot of partying to be done on the final day.
From his window he saw that street entertainers were out; a troop of comic “dolls” was performing for those sitting at a coffee shop; a giant “bird” on stilts was walking down the street. A lone violinist played on a sidewalk, and a dancer was entertaining children where they sat about a block away, waiting for a parade.
He thought he’d be the true early bird; he had underestimated the ability of many to get in their last flings.
He smiled as he watched. Somewhere out there, of course, would be those taking advantage of those just in love with the day—with life. Pickpockets would abound. There would be trouble. People would drink too much and pick fights. Bad things would happen.
He hadn’t dreamed during the night, nor, did he think, he daydreamed then. But he heard the sound of explosions again; in his mind’s eye, he could see the world collapsing. He could see hatred in the eyes of those he fought when the combat became hand to hand.
But he could also see both the fear and the compassion in the eyes of those who had pulled American soldiers to safe havens when they’d been outnumbered.
He could see the eyes of the children who were allowed to play with the American soldiers. He had killed people he didn’t know—because it was war. And he knew that men had killed men throughout history over doctrines they didn’t fully understand.
But, even in war, the goodness in people could win out. He smiled at himself, an inner voice mocking him. What? Are you a philosopher now?
No. He had to believe. And it was easy to believe when he thought he would find Natal again today.
He was quickly out of the poor place he had found for his night’s lodging. It was too early for the first cog train to head up to the Christ the Redeemer Statue—he would love a good cup of coffee.
He wandered toward the cog train station, looking for a convenient café as he went. He saw one just down a side street and slipped in. There was a back courtyard to the place—a little quieter, as drums and music had already begun to pound from other venues.
He found himself a wrought-iron table and chair with an umbrella overhead and took a seat. When the waiter came, he ordered coffee and a “Continental Breakfast”—written in English on the menu for all the tourists who thronged to the city.
He hadn’t thought to ask if the café sold newspapers; he noticed that a woman sitting at the next table from him was reading one; it was a Brazilian paper written in English.
She must have felt him watching her—or her paper. She looked up. She was a middle-aged woman with a nicely sculpted face and light hair and eyes—and a nice smile.
“Good morning,” she said. “You’re American?”
He nodded. “Yes. Good morning.”
“Ex-serviceman?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
“Ex-military?”
“Uh—yes. How did you know?”
“A handsome young man looking a little scruffy,” she said, smiling. “How rude. Forgive me. I’ve just seen it before. Men need time to shake out—well, men and women these days. My daughter served in the military. She joined the National Guard and wound up in Afghanistan driving a truck. She came home, thank God. She’s in Peru right now—climbing mountains. I guess I’m talking too much; forgive me.”
“Not at all,” he told her. “Where is home for you?”
The older woman smiled. “Nebraska—Lincoln, Nebraska. It’s still home and I love it, but I love to travel too. My daughter will meet my husband and me here next week, when Carnaval is over. She likes things a little quieter.”
“She certainly has the right,” River said.
“Me—I love the costumes and dancing and the spectacular floats.”
“Me too,” River said.
He added, “I didn’t mean to stare at you. I’m sorry. I was just thinking I should get a paper.”
“Oh, you can have mine—I just wanted to finish this article. It will just take me a minute.…” She flashed him another smile. “My husband and I are spending about three months a year down here. We’ve become involved with the schools and the severe drug problem they’re having in some areas. I hope that what I’m reading is going to prove to be a very good thing for us—especially Brazilian children. They’ve arrested one of the city’s richest men—Reed Amato—and I’m praying that they really get the bastard. But…”
River’s heart sped into overtime. They’d caught him. “But?”
“Well, his lawyers have finagled something. He will go to trial—and I do think they’ll get him, and that it will be so publicized and world pressure will be so heavy that he will have to go away and do serious time. But…”