The Piranhas (6 page)

“Who the hell are you?” I shouted back.

“Angelo?”

“He’s not here.”

“Jed Stevens?” the man asked.

I waited for a moment. “Right,” I said.

“Vince Campanella,” the man replied. “I have the deal with Angelo to take him to Medellín.”

“You have the plane?” I asked.

“That’s my business,” he said. “Where’s Angelo? You were supposed to meet me in the next cove downriver toward Iquitos. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nobody told me.”

“Get Angelo,” he said. “We have to get moving.”

“Angelo is dead.” I didn’t want to tell him how Angelo had died. “Our crew tried to jump us.”

“Where are they?” he asked.

“Dead and gone.”

“Is the girl with you?” he asked.

“She’s here.”

“Can I come aboard?” he asked.

I kept the rifle pointed at his belly. “Only you.”

He climbed over the small railing and stood up straight when he reached the deck. He was a tall man, six feet two, with blue eyes and red hair and beard. He wore a green khaki shirt and pants. “I spoke to your uncle yesterday. He wanted to know if I had heard from Angelo. You were supposed to be in yesterday, that’s why I started out to look for you.”

Alma got to her feet. She still held the gun in her hands. “Now, what do we do?” she asked.

“We get you out of here,” he said. “We’re going to give you a tow and move into the next cove. Then we unload the cargo and I take you into Iquitos and put you on a plane to Lima; from there you go to New York.”

“Angelo had a plan,” I said. “What happens with that?”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Your uncle told me to handle it.”

“When can I call him?” I asked.

“This evening when we get into the hotel,” he said.

“What happens with me?” Alma said.

“You go to Lima with him,” he said. “You can be his tour guide.”

6

IT WAS EARLY
morning and the sun was rising over the trees as we entered the other cove. There was a rickety old dock that came out from the shore. The men jumped quickly over the side of the boat and tied up to the dock. Vince took out a walkie-talkie and spoke into it. Ten minutes later an open two-ton truck pulled up beside the dock. Right behind it came a Jeep with two men and parked next to it.

Vince called out to his men in Spanish. One of them climbed up on the cab of the truck and sat there, a light submachine gun cradled in his arm as he kept watch. Then the four men, two from the fishing boat and the other two from the Jeep, began to unload the bales of coca leaves from the boat and load it onto the truck.

He turned to me. “Get your bags together. We’re moving out of here.”

I looked at him. “But what about the boat?”

He shook his head. “Screw it. Two of my men will pull it out in the middle of the river and scuttle it. I’m not taking any chances on that boat being seen in Iquitos. I have a hunch that the captain had also tipped off customs. He would have gotten a reward if he had turned in the cargo.”

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous if we showed up there?” I asked.

“We are not going into the Iquitos airport. I have the plane on an airstrip not far from here. It’s cut out from a former rubber plantation. We’re organized. We’ve been working out of here a long time.”

I turned to Alma. “How do you feel about it?”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be happy to get home.”

“We won’t be landing in Juan Chavez International. There is too much paperwork for police and customs. We’ll put you down at an airstrip about sixty kilometers from Lima. I’ll come in low behind the mountains so that radar doesn’t pick us up.”

“Then how do we get into town?” she asked.

“Don’t worry. We’ll have a car there to take you in on the Pan American Highway. You’ll be okay.” He smiled. “Now get yourself packed. We need to be moving fast.”

He watched her disappear into the cabin, then turned to me. “Angelo told me I would collect the fare when we met.”

“Yes,” I said. “Forty grand for you to Medellín and then to Panama.”

“Sixty now,” he said.

“You’re being greedy, Vince,” I said.

“No,” he said. “Forget that we had to find you, no charge for that. That’s for the family. But to Lima from here adds another two thousand kilometers to our flight. That costs money.”

“How much?” I asked.

“An extra twenty,” he said.

“I don’t know if Uncle Rocco would like that,” I said.

“He told me if I get you out I would get a bonus,” he said. “I’m just covering my extra expenses.”

I laughed. “You’re a hustler. You remind me of my cousin.”

He laughed with me. “Do I get the money?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked.

He laughed again. “Your uncle wants you home.”

“Okay,” I said. Then I looked at him. “Who pays for the plane from Panama to Miami?”

“If you have the cash I can handle it for you.”

“After the extra twenty I haven’t got enough,” I said. “I’ll tell my uncle and he’ll work it out.”

“Good enough for me,” he said. “You can give me the money once we’re airborne.”

*   *   *

IT WAS A
few minutes after six o’clock when we began our descent toward Lima. Five and a half hours in a hard plastic seat behind the pilot wasn’t my idea of comfort. But the DC 3 wasn’t made for passengers. It was a freight carrier.

Vince looked back at us from the pilot’s seat. “We’ll be on the ground in a half hour.”

I groaned and stretched. “Thank God,” I said. “I don’t think I could take another hour in these seats.”

Vince laughed. “This ain’t no 707, that’s for sure.” He turned serious. “Do you have the fare?”

“I have it ready for you,” I answered. During our flight, while he was busy taking care of business, I managed to open the attaché case and get the sixty thousand out for him. There had been several large manila envelopes in the case, and I had put the money in two of them. I reached over his shoulder and gave them to him.

He slipped them down into the map racks beside his seat. “Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t you want to check it?” I asked.

He smiled. “You’re part of the family. I trust you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“We all have our jobs,” he said. “You just tell your uncle what I’ve done.”

“I will,” I said. We seemed to be skimming down over the mountains. Below I could see what seemed like a small town. “Where are we?”

“We’re passing Huancavelica and heading toward the coast,” he said. “If you look forward you can begin to see the Pacific.”

I stood behind him. I could see the blue waters of the ocean. I turned to Alma, who had stood up next to me. “The water is sparkling like blue diamonds,” I said.

“Better get back into your seats and belt up. It usually gets turbulent coming down from the mountains to the ocean,” Vince said. “You made it this far—I don’t want you to break your skull in the plane.”

He hadn’t been joking. The little plane tossed around like a leaf in the wind, and finally, when I was almost ready to throw up, it suddenly straightened out, and a few minutes later I felt the wheels touch the ground.

As soon as the plane stopped, he opened the door and Alma and I rushed out. The cool evening air was great. I breathed in deeply. “Jesus,” I said.

He smiled at me. “You have to get used to it.”

“Not me,” I said. “I’ll stick with the big jets.”

He gestured to his copilot. “Get their bags out.” Then he turned to one of the men standing near us. He spoke quickly in Spanish. The man nodded and ran off to the small building at the end of the runway.

He turned back to me. “He’s getting a car and driver for you and they’re bringing a fuel truck over to me.”

In five minutes an old ’65 Chevy four-door stopped in front of us. The men began to slam the luggage into the trunk.

I turned to Vince and held out my hand. “Thank you.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “When you talk to your uncle, please give him my condolences.”

“I will,” I said.

He turned to Alma and held out his hand. “You’re a good lady. Take care of him.”

She nodded and kissed his cheek. “I will,” she said. “Thank you.”

We got into the car as the fuel truck began rolling up. He waved his hand and we waved back, and the driver kicked the car into gear and moved toward the highway.

It was dark and after eight o’clock when the driver placed our valises in front of the Hotel El Gran Bolívar. Alma whispered to me. “Give him a tip.”

I gave the driver a hundred-dollar bill. He touched his hand in a half salute.
“Gracias, señor,”
he said, smiling.

“Okay,” I said and turned to pick up our bags.

She placed a hand on my arm. I looked at her. “No.” She turned back to me. “We won’t stay here,” she said. “There are always police hanging around in the lobby. And the way we are dressed they will be very curious.”

She had to be right. We were still wearing the same dirty clothing we had been wearing on the boat. “Where do we go then?” I asked.

“My apartment,” she answered. “It’s not too far from here. I have a large apartment in a new building near the Parque de Universario.” She waved to a taxi waiting at the head of the line parked near the hotel entrance.

Twenty minutes later we got out of the elevator and walked along the narrow marble corridor to her apartment. She rang the doorbell.

I looked at her. “You have someone living with you?”

She smiled, nodding. “My mother.”

I was curious. “Won’t she be upset that you are bringing a man with you?”

She laughed. “My mother is very liberal.”

I was puzzled.

She laughed again. “She’s really not my mother,” she explained. “She’s my maid, but she’s been with me so long I call her Mother.

The door opened and a small dark Indian-looking woman looked out at me. She smiled when she saw Alma. Alma hugged her and kissed her cheek. They spoke rapidly in Spanish, then the small woman held her hand out and smiled shyly.
“Encantada,”
she said.

“Thank you,” I said, reaching for the valises.

She shook her head quickly. “No.”

“You come in with me,” Alma said. “She’ll bring the bags. Let me show you the apartment.”

It was a large apartment. The living-room wall was covered with photographs of Alma and framed magazine covers with pictures of Alma. I looked at her. “You’re really photogenic.”

She laughed. “That’s how I make my living. I’m a model.”

“I didn’t know,” I said.

“You thought I was a whore,” she said wickedly.

“No,” I answered. “I just thought you were a party girl.”

“I’m that too.” She laughed. “Peruvian pussy.”

“Okay,” I said. “Whatever you say.”

The living room was furnished with modern Italian furniture, plastic chairs, long white fabric couches, milk white-shaded lamps. “Come here,” she said, gesturing to the long window. She opened a door and led me out onto a balcony.

We were on the seventh floor of the apartment house looking over a park. “It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Very,” I said.

“Are you surprised that I could have an expensive place like this?” she asked.

“That’s none of my business,” I answered.

“But I want you to know,” she said. “I like you and I don’t want you to have the wrong idea.”

I was silent.

“When I was seventeen I fell in love with a wonderful man. He was much older than I and also married. I was his mistress for almost eight years. He sent me to school and gave me an education and helped me in my career. Last year he died. He left me this apartment and some money. I was not only grateful to him for what he did, I also loved him. It’s only been in the last six months that I started going out again. But it wasn’t much fun for me until your cousin asked me to go on this trip with him. I thought it would be a wonderful change.” She looked up at me. “I really wanted to get away from here and forget my yesterdays.”

I took her hand. “And did you?”

“After the last few days, I’m beginning to think I did,” she said.

“Good,” I said.

She led me back into the apartment. “Let me show you to your room.” I followed her across the living room. “Besides,” she said, “I think you want a bath and a chance to clean up as much as I do.”

“I do,” I answered. “But do you have a telephone? I have to call my uncle.”

“The telephone’s in my room,” she said. “You give me the number and I’ll get it for you.”

I sat on the edge of her bed as she gave the operator the number. We waited a few minutes, then she turned to me. “The operator says the lines to the States are backed up. They’ll call you back in a few hours.”

“Damn,” I said.

“That happens here all the time,” she said. “You have to be patient. Take your bath and clean up, then we will have some dinner, and by that time the call will come through.”

7

I FOLLOWED HER
from her room to the bathroom. She gestured to the door on the opposite wall. “That’s your bedroom,” she said. “The bathroom is between us.” She opened a mirrored cabinet over the twin sinks set in a marble counter. “You have everything you need here. Razor, shaving cream, cologne. I’ll fill the tub for you.”

I opened the door into my bedroom. My valise was open on the bed but the clothing was gone. I turned back to her.

She anticipated my question. “Mamacita is cleaning your things. She’ll have them pressed and ready for you by the time you get out of the tub.”

“I can’t believe it. This is better than any five-star hotel.”

“It’s only the beginning.” She laughed. She turned on the faucets in the large oval bathtub, then sprinkled a handful of multicolor bath salts over the water. A strange exotic perfume began to fill the air. She found a small white wooden paddle and mixed the salts into the water, then turned to me. “Get out of your clothes,” she said, “and shave. It must be at least three days since you have shaved.”

I stared at her. “What should I do with these clothes?”

“Throw them on the floor,” she said. “Mamacita will throw them away. They’re no good for anything.”