Chapter Two
Miguel departed leaving Rodriquez to stare at the readings on the machine. Nothing had changed. In a few moments, the Nurse on the night shift would come in to make her rounds. He felt restless. The note he’d found on the dead girl had triggered off memories from his darker past and Miguel had confirmed his fears. Suddenly, he remembered the phone.
Searching frantically through the grey trench coat, he found the dead girl’s phone and switched it on. A message popped onto the phone’s green screen. Someone was still trying to reach the dead girl. His heart thumped as he read the brief message, ‘Ola bella, meet me at academia da Cachaça. Aurelio.’ A second clue. He reckoned this Aurelio was the same man who had hung up the phone the previous night. The phone message didn’t specify a time she were to meet him which posed a bit of problem but nonetheless, Rodriquez hoped he still would be able to trace the man one way or another.
It was not until nine when he heard a gentle tap on the door before the night nurse calmly let herself in. She held in her hands a metallic silver tray, syringes, needles and a bale of cotton wool. She appeared middle aged, had a round face and bubbly brown eyes. Whispering greetings to Rodriquez, she proceeded to observe the patient and take readings on the chart. She went on to administer more drugs to the patient through the plastic drip strapped to a hook above Natalia’s head. The nurse nodded her white clothed covered head at Rodriquez again and exited. It was time to move.
Throwing on his grey trench coat, he leaned forward and gently kissed Natalia on her cold forehead. He observed her breathing was slight but even. He then pressed her numb hands lightly, covering them under the white hospital bed sheet before walking to the door. He glanced at her once more, turned the door knob and stepped into the cold hospital corridor. He took the lift down to the lobby area before stepping out into the Hospital car park. Outside, he was met by silence.
A cold gust of wind accosted his lean strong features as he turned right and walked towards his police vehicle parked near the main Hospital gates. He drove out headed for the Leblon district. He knew he had to search for the Academia da Cachaça. At the Conde de Bernadotte Street, he squeezed into a narrow parking spot and stepped out onto the crowded pavement. High above him in the distance, he could clearly see the Cristo Redentor Statue- Christ the Redeemer-shining brightly in the dark on the summit of mount corcovado. He decided to move.
Edging forward through the noisy crowds, he was swamped by sounds of samba music ringing loudly into his ears. A mixture of cigarette fumes, alcohol and clouds of bangi let off a pungent stench filling the night air. He noticed a couple seated under an umbrella happily sipping on a caipirinhas. Across the street, he caught a glimpse of a group of visibly drunk young men yelling for a taxi. The Conde de Bernadotte sidewalk as expected was packed with bodies and pulsing live music, mostly samba. A few blocks further, he was met by an acoustic samba de roda group playing drums and mandolins, and then at last, he spotted the place.
The Academia da Cachaça bar and restaurant spilled from indoors to outdoors. It was parked with revelers seated on white plastic chairs and coffee brown tables. It had three wide open air entrances and from the outside, he could see the hive of activity going on inside. A sambista inside the bar was belting out a classic samba canção tune to which some very excited revelers danced along. Waiters and waitresses raced around like soldiers carrying shrimp with cheese and shredded dried meat mixed with farofa and onions. He stepped inside.
The shabby looking kitchen directly facing him a few feet away was split into two rooms, waiters kept constantly going in and out of both rooms slamming the rooms’ steel doors loudly amidst the loud music. Squeezing through the happy crowds, he chose a table in the darker part of the bar. He wanted to have a clear view of everybody in this place. He ordered for a cold Brahma Chopp beer and sat to observe the crowds.
As he quietly sipped on his drink, he noticed a man walk into the bar. The man had a cold expression, dark eyes, a long nose and black curly hair. He was dressed in a black sports jacket and tight blue jeans. Rodriquez reckoned he probably was in his early thirties. The man’s dark eyes kept scanning every one that came and went passed him. He looked anxious. Walking directly towards Rodriquez, the man chose a seat right across the table and ordered a drink. Soon, another man dressed in a black cotton shirt, a black tie loosened from the collar, and a thick moustache plastered to his bulky face joined the first man and the two dived into a serious conversation. Rodriguez kept himself absorbed in his drink. He noticed from their gestures, they were angry with something or at some one. Soon, he caught a few words.
‘I told you she couldn’t be trusted.’ the curly haired man snorted. ‘Where is she now?’ He spoke with exaggerated hand gestures. ‘I knew it, she is a snitch. I could even smell it on her!’ His voice had grown loud, his tone angry and his hand gestures growing even more animated.
‘Calm down Romero.’ his buff companion chipped in ‘she will come. She always does. My guess is she’s with Marcelo. Now speaking of Marcelo, you know about the policeman Rodrigo? The one whose daughter Marcelo murdered?’
‘Yeah, why you ask?’
‘Word on the street is, the policeman is hunting for him.’
‘Those are just rumors, plain rumors.’ The angry one replied.
‘No amigo, believe me. Marcelo needs to watch his back now more than ever. Anything can happen you know.’
‘You think the cop might take him out?’
‘All I am saying is Marcelo needs to be more careful, stay low.’
‘Anyway, there is no way of proving this.’ the man called Romero said shrugging his shoulders. Rodriquez knew he was onto something. These two sods hadn’t recognized him but having mentioned Marcelo’s name, they had picked his interest. Maybe they were members of Marcelo’s gang. His friend Miguel often said that half of Rio was in Marcelo’s gang. These two also knew about the murder of his daughter, but so did everybody in Rio. However, what alarmed Rodriquez most, was they knew he was going after their leader.
Gesturing to a waitress, the thick moustache placed another order. A few minutes dragged by, the intermittent conversation between the two men drifting to other seemingly calmer subjects which Rodriguez couldn’t make out. More names were dropped into the conversation but not once did the name Aurelio suffice. More drinks were ordered, phone calls were made or received, Rodriquez wasn't very sure amidst the ever growing loud conversation.
Then for a split moment, Rodriquez almost fainted. Right in front of him, stood a woman in a long red elegantly flowing evening gown. She wore gold earrings which peered through her jet black hair. It was the dead girl from the Rocinha.
Rodriquez could have sworn he was witnessing an apparition. Her radiant face glowed in the disco lights that beamed from a pixel round globe spinning above their heads. She casually walked past Rodriquez barely acknowledging his presence heading straight to where the two men sat.
‘Ola gentlemen, Missed me?’ She announced merrily.
Her accent was soft and distinctly southern. Unmistakable too was her fragrance, the same lemon scent Rodriquez had smelt off her corpse the previous night. A chill run through his veins making his entire body shiver. He felt his heart pelt rapidly within. Seeing Isabella walk towards them, the two men rose up almost on cue, hugs and peeks were exchanged. A perplexed Rodriguez looked away trying to avoid any direct eye contact with the trio.
'Where is Aurelio?' Rodriquez heard her ask. 'He said I was to meet him here.'
'He’s had a change of heart. It’s not safe here.' The thick moustache answered, but he’s waiting for you, you know where.'
Before Rodriquez could fully internalize what was playing out before his very eyes, one of the men drew out a brown envelope.
'Everything is inside,' the man said, 'give this to only him.' His crooked smile revealed a gold tooth in his lower jaw. She took the brown envelope sticking it into a small red hand bag and without saying another word, she turned
to leave.
'Poppy,' the curly haired man called out to her, 'No silly games.' He said.
'No silly games.' She replied and briskly walked out of the bar.
Still in shock, Rodriquez straightened himself, placed his bill money under the half empty beer bottle, squeezed his way through the crowd and hurried out of the bar. He had one thing on his mind as he burst onto the Conde de Bernadotte just in time to catch a glimpse of the young woman disappear into the back of a yellow Moto-taxi. He hurriedly edged through the crowds back to where he had parked but was sickened by the sight of his vandalized police car. Turning back, he called for a Moto-taxi and climbed into its rear seat.
‘Quick, follow that cab.’ Rodriquez said pointing to the fading red taxi lights in the distance ahead.