Free Every Bitter Thing by Leighton Gage Page B

photos?”
    â€œI saw the photos. Unlikely, huh?”
    â€œVery. But it won’t be long before we know for sure. I should have the ballistics results on those bullets by tomorrow at the latest. Is Babyface back from Rio?”
    â€œShould be by now.”
    â€œSend him over to that bar.”

Chapter Ten
    T HE B AR DO E LIAS was a shabby establishment with a sign in the front window offering beer for two reais.
    Haraldo Gonçalves wasn’t about to miss out on a deal like that. He bellied up to the bar and rapped his knuckles on the wood.
    â€œA Cerpa,” he said.
    â€œBeer’s only for folks old enough to drink.” The bartender grinned.
    His attempt at humor failed miserably. “Take a good fucking look,” Gonçalves said, flourishing his warrant card in the bartender’s face.
    â€œBrahma or Antarctica?” the bartender said.
    â€œI told you. Cerpa.”
    â€œNo Cerpa. We only got Brahma and Antarctica.”
    â€œAntarctica, then.”
    The bartender reached into a cooler, pulled out a cold bottle, and poured half of the contents into a glass. He set the glass and the bottle on the bar between them.
    â€œYou look too young to be a cop,” he said.
    â€œNo shit. Elias around?”
    â€œElias sold me this place back in 1997. I never got around to changing the name.”
    â€œAnd yours is?”
    â€œRenato Cymbalista, but nobody calls me that. They call me Gordo.” The word meant fatty, and it was appropriate.
    â€œGordo, huh?” Gonçalves said, eying Cymbalista’s vast midriff. “I can’t imagine why.”
    He was still miffed about the fat man’s attempt at humor.
    â€œYou in my place on business, or pleasure?” Gordo asked.
    Gonçalves looked around him with distaste and curled his lip. “What do you think?” he said. “Were you working the night João Girotti was murdered?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œHow well did you know him?”
    â€œI didn’t know him at all. Why he chose my place to drink in, and the alley out in back to get killed in, I couldn’t say.”
    â€œDid you talk with him?”
    â€œJust to take his orders.”
    â€œWhat was he drinking?”
    â€œBeer with Dreher chasers.”
    Gonçalves wrinkled his nose. Conhaque Dreher, cachaça flavored with ginger, was just about the cheapest distilled spirit you could buy.
    â€œGot pretty drunk, did he?”
    â€œHe got wasted.”
    â€œThink back. Did he talk to anyone else?”
    â€œI don’t have to think back, on account of I already told the story twice. By now, I got it memorized. First, I told it to the uniformed guys who showed up just after Graça found the body. Then I—”
    â€œWho’s Graça?”
    â€œOne of the girls.”
    â€œShe works for you?”
    â€œNone of them work for me. We got an arrangement. They use the place to pick up customers, and the customers buy them drinks. Like that, see?”
    â€œHow did Graça find the body?”
    â€œThe women’s toilet is out there.” Gordo shot a thumb in the direction of the rear door. “She walked out to use it, and she stumbled over him.”
    â€œThis was how long after he left?”
    â€œTen minutes? Fifteen? Not long.”
    â€œBack to my question: did he talk to anyone else?”
    â€œJust the girl who was sitting at his table, the one he left with.”
    â€œAnd that would be?”
    Gordo shrugged. “Some blond,” he said. “I never saw her before. She shoulda come over and talked to me first, but she didn’t.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you talk to her ?”
    â€œThe guy was buying anyway, and I was busy.”
    â€œSeen her since?”
    Gordo shook his head.
    His eyes now accustomed to the dim light, Gonçalves checked out his surroundings. Standing at the bar, just a few meters away, an old man with bleary eyes was staring straight ahead