Desafinado
I seem to have a leaning towards the Bad Guys; Agamemnon, Adhemar, Frank, even Petruchio is more than a little wayward , so I couldn't stop myself falling for Jonathan Parker, anti-hero of The Deadly Game ( AKA All Things To All Men).
I saw Rufus Sewell's interviews on You Tube giving his amused alternative to Parker's ending although I didn't agree that Parker was such a klutz as Rufus seemed to think but I suppose he would know better.
Parker stepped in and I was away.
Then, Nell, my friend and moderator of The Rooftop, added her idea of what he would be doing, adding more colour. Thanks Nell!
I had thought of calling this story 'The Deadly Game' or 'The Girl From Ipanema' but having decided on the song, I knew that 'Desafinado ' was the right title too.
Jonathan Parker belongs to George Isaac, though Rufus Sewell played a part in my story's re-creation of what happened. I am only playing with him for a while, but I send my thanks to them both.
.
George Michael and Astrud Gilberto have recorded a wonderful soft smooth sexy version of Desafinado in Portuguese, which fits this story like a glove, but the earlier English words by Jon Hendricks and Jessie Cavanaugh suit it even better.
.
Desafinado
Love is like a never ending melody
Poets have compared it to a symphony
A symphony conducted by the lighting of the moon
But our song of love is slightly out of tune
Once your kisses raised me to a fever pitch
Now the orchestration doesn't seem so rich
Seems to me you've changed the tune we used to sing;
Like the Bossa Nova love should swing.
We used to harmonize two souls in perfect time
Now the song is different and the words don't even rhyme
'Cause you forgot the melody our hearts would always croon
And what good's a heart that's slightly out of tune
Tune your heart to me the way it used to be
Join with me in harmony and sing a song of lovin'
We're bound to get in tune again before too long
There'll be no desafinado
When your heart belongs to me completely
So you won't be slightly out of tune
You'll sing along with me
.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.
DESAFINADO
Wednesday
I crossed the road from the beach into the Fasano Rio Hotel's stepped gardens and he was sitting on the upper terrace, in the shade of a small palm tree, ankle crossed over his knee, mojito in hand. He was wearing a white tee shirt, navy shorts, navy deck shoes and a Panama hat tilted over his eyes. Their simplicity did not deceive me, they screamed designer expensive, besides he was wearing a Patek Phillippe and Ray-Ban Wayfarers.
I sat under a sun umbrella at the far side of the terrace where I could observe him without him being aware of it.
A waiter approached me. "Ah, senhora! It is good to see you again."
The Fasano Rio is a small exclusive expensive hotel in the exclusive expensive Ipanema area of Rio. I have been coming here regularly since I was a child.
"Thank you Henrique. You are well? "
"Indeed, thank you! What may I get you?"
"Mmmm, a mojito please."
While I waited, I got my I-tablet out of the large handbag that accompanied me everywhere, and sorted through my notes.
.
Jonathan Parker
Male
Londoner.
Age... 42
Height... Six ft.
Build... broad frame but slim to thin
Weight...approx 165 lbs.
Dark curly hair beginning to grey over the ears.
Small flat ears.
Long straight nose.
Large vivid green eyes.
High prominent cheek bones
Wide, well defined mouth
Scars
Two, visible.
Facial, 1) Large, 2ins+ slicing through left eyebrow.
2) Small, above right side mouth.
Possible, 1 v. large to right side of stomach
1 v. small to right side of back.
Cosmetic surgery… Possible but thought to be unlikely,…lack of time?
Money
Access several accounts? In region of £4+ millions … + bonds to value £23 million?...Likely to be spread in off shore accounts.
Remainder £23 millions bonds? ? Riley? Connection?
Possibly in the southern hemisphere?
Wanted on charges Larceny , Extortion, Corruption, Murder.
Dresses well, elegant designer clothes.
Likes expensive cars.
Womaniser.
intelligent , articulate, charming, unscrupulous
totally amoral,
will stop at nothing to achieve his own ends .
.
The last two assessments were mine and I had underlined them.
I was unable to see much of his face but the most of the description fitted and my information had led me to believe he might be in Rio.
It had been easy enough to trawl the better hotels.
"Senhora." Henrique placed my drink on the table.
"Thank you, Henrique. Hmm," I leaned close to him. "Henrique, the man over there, the one in the Panama? Is he staying here? "
He nodded discreetly.
"His name?"
"Senhor Quarry. Alexander Quarry."
"He is English?"
Again he nodded.
"Staying long?"
He raised his shoulders. "I do not know, Senhora. I do not think he has decided."
"Is Senhor Marcelo on duty tonight? I would like a word with him sometime. "
Marcelo was the Maitre d' ; what he did not know was not worth knowing; what he could not do was not worth a light.
"Yes, he is. I will tell him."
I finished my drink and gathering my things, I went through reception, out onto Avenida Vieira Souta and back to my apartment.
I sorted out some glammy dresses , a few bikinis and sarongs , a couple of pairs of pants and shirts and packed them into a couple of bags and rang the Fasano .
.
Thursday
.
I had checked into the Fasano late last night and breakfasted early this morning on the balcony of my room.
The next time I saw him, he was crossing from the beach into the gardens. He had been running and his grey jogging pants and vest clung damply to him.
He was fit in more ways than one.
Well endowed too.
He came up the terrace steps two at a time; I was sitting on the terrace at a table near to the steps. As he passed, I looked up from my tablet and his eyes flicked over me. I was wearing a white linen shirt with one of Alessandra Cassuolo's floaty maxi skirts, wraparound sunglasses and my hair was tucked well up under a big floppy hat.
I looked Money.
Hmm! Black curly hair, two facial scars. I think I might be right but official photos are none too great; everyone looks like a low life. This guy borders on drop dead gorgeous.
He went on up and I e-mailed the office for further info and asked if they had more recent detailed pics, just to be sure; and I went shopping .
I decided not to eat in the dining room that evening.
.
Friday
.
I had gathered from Marcelo that Senhor 'Quarry' ran early each morning while it was still fairly cool and swam before lunch when the pool was usually empty.
The Fasano had two pools; I guessed Senhor 'Quarry' (I smiled at that) would swim in the infinity pool on the rooftop. It was rather nice, large with a shaded poolside bar and cushioned loungers along two sides.
I chose a bikini, wound my hair up around my head in a scarf and went up to the pool.
It was empty except for the bartender and him.
He was lying on his stomach on a lounger half way along the poolside.
He did not turn. I chose lounger three places away from his.
I could see two tiny round puckered scars between his waist and right hip; still red and shiny, they had to be fairly recent.
I left my wrap on the lounger and slid quietly into the pool.
After ten lengths, I swam to the edge of the pool and asked the barman for a sanguinella and swam another five. .
I adjusted my bikini carefully before getting out. Black and consisting of three tiny triangles attached by bits of string. Not very much at all. I don't mind miniscule beach wear on the beach ; in fact I was strutting my stuff on Copa when I was fifteen, but not for a while now; and I have never flaunted it to an audience of one. Perhaps, maybe in private but never in public and never, never to a total stranger.
This bikini is minute, with a Brazilian thong bottom, and from the rear you might think that it consisted of one spaghetti strap across my back and two over my hips.
There are smaller cozzies on the beach but not many.
I dabbed myself dry with the towel on the bar stool and knocked back a good half of my sanguinella, managing to see if he had turned over.
He had!
I finished my drink, slung the towel back down on the stool and strolled around the pool past the bottom of his lounger to mine.
He was almost wearing black trunks; in fact they might be considered budgie-smugglers. He certainly believed if you've got it flaunt it but I am hardly in a position to talk. He had draped his towel across his midriff; if he had a scar there, I couldn't see.
As I sauntered past, I tugged at the scarf around my head and my hair fell down past my shoulders. The bane of my life, heavy and curly, its colour infuriates me although a lot of men are attracted by it. Not auburn, not Titian, not even copper! It can only be described as orangey red. My father's fiery vivid red.
I am tall, five eight. I train and run. I am well toned so I am not bothered at Senhor 'Quarry' seeing my bum. However, I suppose my superstructure could well be described as voluptuous and, after nine years in my chosen profession where my male colleagues comment regularly and supposedly humorously on it, I suppose I have become rather self conscious about it.
However! Needs must!
I went around the far side of my lounger and bent to stuff my scarf into my bag and pick up my wrap. Was he looking?
You bet he was.
Oh! He was discreet. You might be forgiven in believing he wasn't looking but he was.
I pulled on my wrap and departed.
I had my dinner in my room that night too.
.
Saturday
.
I took myself out of the hotel for the day.
I had business to complete.
Things to sort out.
In the evening, I had a long soak in Penhaligon's Bluebell bath oil and squirted myself all over with the cologne. A reminder of England maybe but this was not for me.
I had chosen my dress very carefully; dark green and skimpy, it had a polo neck and long sleeves and reached half way down my thighs. The surprise was that the back was missing; from the nape of my neck where it fastened to the dimples just above the base of my spine.
I piled my hair high to tumble artfully down.
I met Senhor Marcelo at the door of the dining room. He greeted me warmly and asked after my parents, then led me across the room.
"Excuse me, Senhor." He spoke in English. "Would you be so kind as to share your table? We are so busy tonight."
Senhor Quarry looked pointedly around at three unoccupied tables and raised his eyebrow.
Marcelo followed his eyes.
"Pardon Senhor, they are reserved."
Senhor Quarry looked at me and nodded graciously. Yes! His eyes were green.
Marcelo ushered me into my seat and handed me a menu.
A timid little waiter, who reminded me of 'Fawlty Towers' Manuel, brought Senhor Quarry's starter, took my order and scurried away.
"Excuse me." The waiter looked back.
Senhor Quarry raised a finger.
"Por favor?"
"I did not order this." This was in English.
The waiter looked blank. "Qual?"
"I did not order this."
"Sim, Sim, senhor."
"No! I did not order this." This was a little more forcible and the little waiter, flustered, cowered a little, looking around for Marcelo.
He was really very good.
I really must remember to give Marcelo a few extra Reals for him.
I leaned forward.
"Excuse me." I said in English. "Can I help?"
"Only if you can speak Portuguese. I did not order this; I cannot eat shell fish. I'm allergic to them."
"Ah!" I turned to the little man and explained to him in Portuguese. "There has been a mistake. The Senhor did not order this. The Senhor cannot eat shellfish."
" Aahh! Entendo."
"He will sort it out."
"Thank you."
"De nada." I searched in my bag for my tablet, cutting short any conversation and buried myself in it till his and my meal arrived.
We ate in silence.
I had dessert and refused coffee.
I stood and we 'Boa Noite'd each other and I went to sit out on the terrace.
And waited.
A clink of glass. I looked up.
"I took the liberty of buying you a drink. To say thank you. A mojito. Is that Ok? "
He smiled. He really had the most delightful goofy little boy smile. A little thrill shot down my back.
"Thank you but it is not necessary."
"Yes, it is. My Portuguese is almost nonexistent." He hesitated. "May I join you, or perhaps you are busy?"
I snapped my tablet shut."No. Please do."
"I'm Alexander Quarry." Again that flashing smile."But I'm usually called Alex."
He held out his hand, I took it. Something like an electric shock shot through me.
"Alys Fitzgerald."
"Ah! I thought your English was good, but then, so is your Portuguese. What are you doing down here?"
"I grew up here, though I went to school in England. My mother is Brazilian and my father is English. My full name is Alys Fitzgerald y Costa."
"How did that happen? Your mother and father, I mean?"
"My father's firm sent him down here to do business with my mother's family business and that was that."
"What is the family business?"
"They grow coffee."
"Coffee? Costa?"He raised his eyebrow. "The Costas?"
I smiled ruefully.
"There's no escape! What are you doing down here? Holiday?"
A hint of laughter in his eyes.
"I 'm on the run."
I laughed.
"Who from? The police?"
"The Fuzz, a couple of London gangs…some assorted friends and enemies."
"Aah!" I laughed again and he laughed with me but behind it, his eyes were watchful.
"I'm kind of retired. I made a killing from a spot of business." he smiled a little wryly. "I am having a holiday while I look around to invest it. I came down here, liked it, thought I might stay. So I'm sort of looking for a house."
Was that a London accent there?
"Are you a Londoner? I work there and you know how it is, your ear picks it up."
"A touch of the old 'Saarth Lunnun' still there, is there? Yes, Bermondsey born and bred. Got out as soon as I could."
He shrugged.
He had beautiful eyes but they were ... cool and guarded, cynical.
My father always said 'Watch their eyes! No matter what they say, watch their eyes.'
"What do you do?" he asked. "Are you in the family business?"
"God no! I'm a head-hunter for a London firm, specialising in security, IT and financial intelligence. "
"How on earth did you get into that?"
"I went to university in the UK and went straight into the firm from there."
"Are you based in Rio?"
"No, I'm based in London but I get sent around. I'm down here on a project." I touched my tablet.
"And I am stopping you from working?"
"No! No, it's just … oh, if I am on my own, I am forever fiddling with it. I am waiting for some information at the moment. My firm, we are sync'ed up; it sends me odds and ends as they come in. Things are a bit slow at present, so I can get in a little recreation as well."
I smiled dazzlingly at him.
"I am glad to have someone to distract me for a while."
I touched it again.
"I am expecting a call from London at 10.30 so you will excuse me if I have to dash off ..."
"Of course,"
I sipped my drink. "How long have you been here, Alex?"
"In Rio? Five -six days.
"And you think you might stay?"
"Yes. Yes, I think I might but who knows what might happen."
A little pause.
"So tell me, Alys, where should I be looking for a house?"
"Around Rio? Well, first you have to decide city or country, the plain or the mountains."
"And which would you choose?"
"Me? Shouldn't that be for your wife to say?"
Again the charming smile but the eyes above were sardonic. And watchful; always watchful.
"I'm not married. Footloose and fancy free. What about you?"
"Oh, no! Never had the time. My career has come first."
His eyes were speculative now. "So you're fancy free too?"
My tablet click -clacked.
"I 'm afraid I have to go." I stood picking up my bag and tablet.
"Before you do, if you have time to spare, would you care to come out with me tomorrow? For a drive? Show me around. Give me some ideas."
"Sorry." The surprise was immediate and obvious. Mr 'Quarry' was not used to women saying no.
I relented.
"It is Sunday tomorrow. I have lunch with my parents."
I paused again.
"Monday, perhaps?"
God! His smile is devastating.
In the lift, I switched off the reminder alert I had set on my tablet when I was sitting out on the terrace.
Yes!
.
Sunday
.
I left early the next day and drove out in the soft morning sun, through the low foothills, home to my parents' plantation.
After a long lazy lunch, I sat out on the shady verandah with them, a light breeze together with the soft hum of bees lulling us into a siesta.
I lounged beside them, my hand resting on my tablet.
"Are you expecting something? On a Sunday?"
"Oh." I slipped it onto the wicker table beside me. "Oh no, Daddy. Force of habit I suppose, to have it within reach."
My mother looked over her spectacles at me.
"You are very quiet today, querida."
"Am I, Mamma? Just relaxing."
My father cleared his throat.
"Is it this case of yours? You're concerned about it?"
"Oh no, Daddy! Not at all."
"And your team? They have arrived?"
"Yes, they arrived yesterday morning. We talked things through and then they crashed out to catch up with their sleep. "
He smiled gently.
"You know we worry…"His voice trailed off.
Yes, I knew they worried about me, their only child; and about my career choice.
They had worried about my cases before. I try not to tell them too much about my work because they worry, but this one was different. I had not been sent to Rio before.
They had been concerned.
They would worry more if they knew what I intended.
"Nothing to worry about, Daddy; purely routine."
.
Monday
.
There had been a message waiting for me when I had arrived back last night.
'About tomorrow -Meet you in the foyer, 11am? If this does not suit you, ring me Room 504.
Alex.'
A coffee coloured maxi shift with a vest neckline and slits to mid thigh, my hair again under the floppy hat, amber drop earrings and wide bangle to match. High platform wedges and the ubitiquous bag, and I was ready.
He was waiting.
A maroon Ralph Lauren polo shirt, immaculately tailored oatmeal pants, cream Italian shoes: he looked pretty damn scrumptious.
His eyes flickered over me; I could not make out what he was thinking but I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
He had a bundle of papers in his hand.
"I picked up these from some real estate agents . I thought we could have a quick browse through these later."
His car keys clinked as he opened the door for me and led me out to his car.
Mother of God! A Ferrari!
And top of the range.
He does like expensive cars!
He opened the door for me and handed me the real estate details.
"Well, where do we start?"
"Have you decided what you are looking for? The beaches, the mountains?"
"Well, I think … the outskirts of the city but quiet. I'm not bothered whether it's modern or traditional. Not necessarily large but with enough land to make it private. "
"Right! We'll start in Ipanema and move out."
The urban spread thinned out and there, the Lagoa Roderigo de Freitas began to open out to our right.
"The forest around the lagoon has been thinned out , the undergrowth has been cut back and laid out with walking trails. There are some nice houses around the northern tip of the lagoon and the main road that leads to the Jardin Botanica completely bypasses them ."
A flick of his wrist to look at his watch.
"Nearly time for lunch. There's a place around here somewhere."
Something, something shifted at the back of my mind.
"That paperwork; I thought we could have a quick look while we wait. You could give me your opinion. What do you think?"
He turned and smiled a flashing naughty smile. The electricity jumped between us.
Careful!
Yes, there was a long low restaurant which could serve us a light lunch. Now, how did he know about that?
Hmm! Well, I had been warned not to underestimate him.
Afterwards, we sat out on its verandah with our coffees to let the heat of the day cool down and we flipped through the papers and the' something' was becoming edgy.
It was building up into 'something ' not to be ignored.
Like an elephant in the room, I thought.
Mmm no. . . . not that.
More like 'Quarry' and hunter.
I had set a trap.
Did he know?
No. I didn't think so. The vibes were wrong.
We read the brochures the agents had given him. Separately: exchanging them; then discussing them. We discarded some, retaining others.
Occasionally our fingers brushed. Bolts shooting through me with each touch. So we lounged on that verandah, sipping our drinks, and indulging ourselves in small talk and my mind relaxed to absorb the vibes that slipped back in.
I began to enjoy his cynical wit that was quick, sharp and outrageously funny.
The small talk became more flirtatious.
Eyes meeting more often.
No, the elephant in the room analogy was totally wrong.
And Quarry /Hunter too perhaps.
No, it wasn't that.
The Hunter/ Quarry roles had altered somehow.
Yes, that was it.
I was so intent on my role, that I had almost missed it.
There were now two hunters and two quarries. So Mr 'Quarry' was stalking me!
A shiver of excitement ran through me
Well then Mr 'Quarry', we shall see, I thought almost gleefully.
"Time to make our way back." I said.
"Already?"
" 'fraid so."
A little nod of resignation.
"Work?"
"Uh -huh."
"And after?"
"After?"
"I presume you will be eating later. Will you have dinner with me?"
"Are you pursuing me, Mr Quarry?"
"Very much so, Ms Fitzgerald." His eyes danced, flickering green laughter.
As we drove back through the late afternoon to our hotel, the tension between us in that lovely low fast car was almost palpable and I was very conscious that my dress with its slits did not cover my thigh and that his hand on the gear stick was very close to that thigh.
And that he was as aware of that as I.
We pulled into the hotel car park and went through the gardens, his hand cupping my elbow.
My spine was like jelly.
"Dinner," he murmured. "Nine?"
A little nod of my head.
A long shower with lashings of Bluebell. Wrapped in a bath sheet, I did my face and caught my hair up in a ring comb. My mother's dark Latin eyes stared nervously back at me from the mirror.
I had never done this before.
I've had lovers. Of course I have! I am thirty one!
But I have never set out to seduce a man.
Black lace little boy shorts went on first and I lifted my dress and slithered into it.
A Carlos Miele little black shift with a heavily beaded bodice and spaghetti straps, it was beautifully constructed so that even with my boobs, I didn't need to wear a bra.
It dropped to three inches below my behind. Carlos's art is that it looks as though it might show everything when it shows nothing. At least nothing too important.
Black, strappy, killer heel sandals. My grandmother's jet dropper earrings and I was ready.
Dinner!
He was waiting for me in the bar.
Black tie, dinner jacket; I like a man who dresses well and so few do.
We ate at a table in a corner of the smaller dining room, with Marcelo's careful attention.
The food was light and delicious, the wine the same.
We said little, it wasn't necessary. We were generating enough electricity to light up Rio. We had long, slow coffees and liqueurs.
A combo started up in the larger bar. It had a handkerchief size dance floor.
He jerked his head towards it. I nodded.
We found a table and ordered drinks.
"Dance?" he mouthed.
Sambas, mambos, salsas! He wasn't a particularly good dancer but he wasn't bad either and he was enthusiastic.
At last, the combo took a break and someone put on some discs: the beat segued into a slow Bossa Nova and we moved closer to each other, his hands slid around me to rest on my hips and I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers twisting into his hair.
George Michael breathed a soft Portuguese duet with Astrud Gilberto.
'Love is like an never ending melody'
His mouth was against my neck and my knees were feeling weak.
"Shall we go?" he murmured.
" Mmm."
I retrieved my bag as we passed our table and we managed to get to the lift quite decorously.
"714." I murmured as the doors shut and his mouth closed on mine.
I saw us reflected into infinity in the bronze mirrors around and above us, before my eyes closed. We were still kissing as it stopped. Kissing as we crossed the corridor to the room and I realised it was his room only when he took the key out of his pocket.
Shit! I meant it to be my room.
No problem, I can sort that out.
I dropped my bag next to a flight bag on the luggage bench, and just kicked my shoes off. We undressed our way across the room, knocking a chair over, bouncing from wall to wall, our clothes thrown anywhere.
We fell on the bed, an enormous, stark, modernistic, four poster piled high with white cushions and pillows. We proceeded to toss most of them across the room .
"Wait, wait! My earrings ." I gurgled with laughter. I slipped them out and gave them to him to drop onto the bedside table.
The faintest breath of a breeze drifted over us from the open balcony doors.
" Alex! What about next door?"
"Don't tell me it would bother you. I wouldn't believe you. No problem anyway, the room's empty."
His mouth was against my throat, his hand feather light on my body.
God, he was beautiful.
I was floating in a sea of exquisite sensations.
I swam up into sensibility for a moment.
"We need ... Um"
"Yeh, it's ok. I've got some. In the drawer."
I dragged his mouth back to mine and let him take me wherever he wanted.
And again.
I woke.
I lay still holding my breath, listening. Yes, he was asleep. I spooned into his back, my mouth just below his ear.
"Jonathan, " I whispered. He stirred slightly.
"Jonathan." I murmured again.
"Mmmm?" He turned, wrapping his arms around me, just drifting up out of his sleep to find my mouth and start the magic again.
Long, slow, intense, breathtaking in its delicacy, explosive in its climax.
He was asleep again, with his arm across my ribs tucking me tight against him.
I waited until his breathing deepened again.
I began to slide out.
"Where are you off to?"
"Bathroom."
"Don't be long."
I looked in the mirrored wall above the hand basin. My hair tumbled around my face and down my back in wild curly tangles like some latter day Medusa.
Love bites, stubble burn in places you would not expect.
On my breasts, my navel, in the valleys to my crotch.
My lips looked bruised and swollen.
My eyes heavy and loved up.
Everything about me said sated.
I splashed some cold water onto my face
I went back and stood beside the bed.
Was I ready for this?
"Christ, Alys! You are magnificent!"
I whipped the sheet from him. The moonlight streamed through the open patio windows onto him. I had expected to see a scar but not the size of the one I could see; a scar like a starfish, almost the size of my hand between his ribs and his right hip.
"God Almighty, Alex! How did you get that?"
He shrugged.
"Accident. Some clown missed his mark. But never mind that."
He ran his hand up my arm. A judder went through me.
"Get in."
The want ripped through me again.
God! When I planned this honey trap, I didn't intend to get caught in it myself.
This is not the time to weaken, I told myself sharply.
But I got in anyway.
I knelt over him and nibbled his lower lip and ran my hand down his belly.
He was spectacular.
I whispered "Soixante -neuf? ".
I could see the faint smile and with the English mastery of understatement, he said, "That would be very nice. Who's on top?"
"Me." I said and threw a pillow across the room
When I woke again, it was still very early; the air was still, the light filling the room with that post dawn glitter.
He was in the bathroom.
'Tall and tan and young and lovely'
I could hear him singing and half whistling.
'When she moves, she's like a samba… di da di da dum...'
The sound of the shower, his singing again. "'I smile but she doesn't see… She looks straight ahead, not at me.'
I slipped out of bed and pulled on one of the hotel's big white fluffy bathrobes, tying the inner ribbons tightly so that they wouldn't come loose, then its belt. I put on my shoes. Bare feet are a disadvantage where as shoes can be an excellent weapon.
I got the three things I needed out of my bag. I put two in the left pocket, the third in the right, holding tightly to it.
And I waited.
He came out of the bathroom, his hair close to his head in tight damp curls, his face taut and freshly shaved: he smelled delicious. . . Gucchi's 'Guilty'?
He was dressed; a black silk knit tee shirt, black narrow jeans and a pair of black Reeboks.
He looked good.
Alive, alert.
"You're up."
I brought my standard issue Glock 17 out of my pocket and jerked it for him to raise his hands and flashed my warrant card with my other hand.
"I am Detective Chief Inspector Alys Fitzgerald, of the Metropolitan Police."
I dropped the warrant card back in my pocket.
"Jonathan Parker, I am arresting you on charges of murder, larceny, extortion and corruption. You do not have to say anything….."
"Come on, you know as well as I do there is no extradition Treaty between Brazil and the UK"
"…. it may be taken down and used against you."
"No Treaty." he repeated.
"No! No Treaty but the Brazilian police will not prevent the performance of duty of British officers and may even give assistance."
I brought out handcuffs from where I was holding them in my pocket. As I did, his hand flashed forward like a cobra and chopped my other wrist.
I dropped the gun; he kicked it across the room and took the cuffs from me.
"It was useless anyway" he said. He took his hand out his pocket and jangled a handful of bullets, carelessly tossing them onto the bed.
"Did you really think I wouldn't search your bag?"
"When?"
He snapped a cuff on my right hand folded it around the cross rail at the foot of the bed, and snapped the other over my left hand.
"Last night when you were in the bathroom."
I moistened my lips.
"Before we…?"
Raised eyebrows and a tilt of his head.
"Before 69?" A little smile. "You made me an offer I could not refuse, and so delightfully too."
I felt the colour rise in my cheeks. I met his eyes .They sparkled mockingly. He was enjoying this. I tried to rub my wrist. Uselessly.
"If you had unloaded it, why did you have to do this?"
"You might have hit me with it."
He went around the bed to where my bag lay and emptied it out on the bed amid the rumpled sheet.
My mobile, purse, card case, keys, small hairbrush, tissues and make up bag.
"God Almighty! Why didn't you bring the kitchen sink?" He rummaged in the clutter, tossing them around the bed, and then he picked up my makeup bag and shook that out.
Compact, lippy, mascara, blusher, Tampax. He picked up a small foil packet and held it up twisting between his fingers, his eyebrow raised. A condom.
"Government issue? And only one ?" he said sardonically. "Someone did you an injustice. Good job one of us was prepared! How many was it? Four to my memory!"
All the time, that faint sweet mocking smile.
He threw it back down and picked up a small key.
The cuffs key.
He tossed it, caught it and threw it out of the open window.
"How did you do it?
"What?"
"Get away."
"Dixon wanted my patch: I didn't want it anymore. I needed to get away. He looked the other way to get it. I thought he might shoot me. To make himself look good. I wore a Kevlar but he'd never shot anybody; target practice isn't the same, is it? And his hand shook, hence…."
"How did you get from Battersea?"
"Riley. He is a union man so as to speak. He does what he's paid for. No more, no less. He owed me from way back, for his brother. He knew Dixon shot me; he watched him go and he came back. Got me to his boat. How he did it, I don't know. He was in as much of a bloody mess as I was. I knew a doctor down on Canary Wharf. Patched us both up. He took me back up river to Windsor. Easy jump from there to Heathrow. I gave him a share of the bonds. Where he went from there?"
He shrugged.
"Did you have to kill Sands?"
" Sands? He's not dead!" A little cough of laughter. "We set it up for Dixon."
"But they buried him ... Full honours, Chief Constable…..
"Don't know who they buried but it wasn't Sands. He's out in Indonesia somewhere with his share."
He came back to stand in front of me. In my heeled shoes, our eyes were level.
His lying, mocking, cheating, beautiful green eyes.
We looked at each other.
He brushed my chin with his knuckle.
"I thought we were good together. We could have been good, but there was always something … "He shrugged again."Slightly out of tune."
"Yeah! You're a bent copper and I'm not."
"We're too much alike."
I started to deny it but he continued.
"Both unscrupulous."
I opened my mouth again."I'm not "
The raised eyebrow and again the cynical smile."You don't think last night showed a singular lack of scruples? Or are you telling me you couldn't help yourself? And with a bent copper?"
He leaned close, so close I could feel his breath against the corner of my mouth.
"Bent or not, you loved it."
I met his eyes, they were sardonic and guarded. He whispered the last two syllables.
"Oh Yes!"
I jerked my head away forcing my eyes wide to keep back the tears that stung. Tears!
Were they tears of rage, humiliation or something else?
I stared back insolently.
Whatever!
I was buggered if I was going to let him know.
"Now, if you will excuse me, the bathroom calls."
.
He seemed to have been gone some time or did it just seem that to me?
My back ached.
I tried to stretch to ease it a little and looked around the room. Holy Mother! It looked like a war zone. A chair and a small table overturned, clothes , his and mine strewn from door to bed, a sheet tossed on the floor where I had whipped it off him, pillows thrown across the room, the bed crumpled where we had.. .
God! Don't go down that road.
.
Bloody Hell! Was I just going to stand here?
Think!
Do something before he comes back. I pulled and tugged at the rail but the only result was raw wrists. My team. They were in room 716. Surely they would have the sense... start to think, woman …. God, I told them my room. Not his.
Phone! If I could knock the receiver off, then reception would answer… wouldn't it?
I could try. Shit! I knocked it off the night table. I couldn't reach. Didn't matter anyway. He had pulled the jack out.
My mobile! It was up at the head of the bed.
If I could reach it … Maybe with my feet?
I lifted one leg over the rail onto the bed, then the other. Well now I was on the bed. What now? I slithered until I was flat on the bed. Thiiiiink!
I started to drag the sheet up with my feet; perhaps it will bring the mobile with it.
They hurt. My wrists.
I was gasping, crying but it was nearer, nearer.
I dug my shoe heel in to the sheet and dragged and yes, at last the phone was near my face.
Oh God, what can I do now? Mark's number was on fast dial. How could I fast dial?
My tongue: and it worked!
I heard Lucas answer.
"Guv, Guv? Is that you?"
I mustn't shout.
"Lucas! You and Mark get your arses up here. Room 504"
I could hear them.
"Come on... 504"
"She said 714."
I couldn't shout.
" No! No! 504 NOW!"
They clicked off.
I lay gasping for breath.
I listened for him. Had he heard?
It was quiet.
The quiet of emptiness.
He had to be in there! There was no way out. Except through this room.
There was a knock at the door.
Thank God.
"Come in!" I called.
"Guv " They knocked again."Guv"
"Kick the fucking door down!" I yelled. They burst in, stopped and looked around.
"Geez, Guv, you had a bit of a rough night?
"Didn't know you was into bondage?" Lucas sniggered.
"He's in the bathroom, one of you, and get me out of this."
Mark had found his cuff key and I was rubbing my wrists when Lucas called "Guv, he's not here."
"He must be. There is no other way out and It's six stories up. "
I was cuffed up in the bedroom. He could not have gone.
How could he?
The flight bag that had been on the bench last night, was gone.
How?
"Guv! Look at this. The utility well."
The mirrored panel that covered the utility well in the bathroom had been taken off and stood propped up against the wall.
"But it's six floors down!" I said again.
"No, Guv, look!"
The well served the next door bathroom too and the panel on the other side was in pieces on the floor.
He had kicked it through, then swung through it into the next room and just walked out.
"With his bloody bag too!"
"He was lucky there was no-one in there, Guv."
"Oh! He knew."
I ran to pick up the house phone and shoved its jack back into the socket.
"Alys Fitzgerald here. Senhor Quarry is on his way down. Will you please stop him leaving."
"I'm sorry, Senhora Fitzgerald, but Senhor Quarry checked out a few minutes ago."
"He checked out? You mean he paid his bill?"
"But yes, of course."
Cheeky sod! Showing me he had the time to pay his bill. Taking the mick of course! I moved fast out onto the balcony. I could see his red Ferrari, solitary, in the hotel car park.
"His car is still outside. Will you send security to detain him until my team can get there?"
As I was watching, the hotel security guards ran out; they looked at the Ferrari and around at the empty car park and shrugged.
Too late!
I sagged against the balcony rail, leaning on my hands.
"Guv? You OK? Did that bastard hurt you?
"No, Mark. No he didn't hurt me."
No, he didn't hurt me.
Not where you would know.
He had made everything sparkle and crackle with life.
He was gone and the brightness had gone out of the lovely day.
I had set a trap, he had sprung it and I was the one caught in the honey.
.
.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.
The Girl From Ipanema
Tall and tan and young and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes, each one she passes goes, "Ah"
When she walks, she's like a samba that swings so cool and sways so gently
That when she passes, each one she passes goes, "Ah"
Ooh But he watches so sadly
How can he tell her he loves her?
Yes he would give his heart gladly
But each day, when she walks to the sea,
She looks straight ahead, not at he
Tall, and tan, and young, and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes, he smiles but she doesn't see
Ooh, but he sees her so sadly
How can he tell her he loves her?
Yes he would give his heart gladly
But each day, when she walks to the sea,
She looks straight ahead, not at he
Tall, and tan, and young, and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes, he smiles but she doesn't see
She just doesn't see
No, she doesn't see…
.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Note.
In the 1960's Ronnie Biggs, convicted British Train Robber, escaped from Wandsworth Prison to France where he had plastic surgery. He continued to on Australia and from there to Rio de Janeiro.
At that time there was no extradition between the UK and Brazil
In 1974, Det. Chief Superintendent Jack Slipper and his team arrested Biggs in Rio, but the Brazilian authorities refused to extradite him.
Det. C. S. Slipper made two further attempts over the following years with equal lack of success.
In the late 1990's a treaty was signed between the two countries but Biggs still remained free because he was the father of a Brazilian child.
In 2001 Biggs voluntarily returned to the UK, due to ill health.
Though my story is set in the present time, in the interests of my story, I have unashamedly ignored the signing of the treaty.
.
.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.
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