We keep driving. Leaving Pembroke Parish, we cross a bridge. I take the pistol from my lap, make a hook shot over the car. I don't see it hit the water, but it's a high-percentage shot.
And the look on Andrade's face tells me all I need to know.
"That was brand new, I just got it."
"Yeah, I know."
"So, why?"
"Don't like guns," I say.
69.
After we reach Flatts Village and Ferreira Grocery, I follow Barros, Moraes, and Andrade to the back of the store. There's someone leaving the back room-the young man I saw outside, playing dominoes, on my first visit here, the one who works with Michael Frazer. He eyes me. I eye him. Neither one of us says anything as we pass each other in the aisle.
We step inside the back room. Papi Ferreira sits behind his desk, eating from a big white bowl. The smell of garlic mixes with old cigar smoke. It is not unpleasant.
Andrade speaks, says something in Portuguese. Ferreira barks a response. Andrade stammers a meek reply. Ferreira grunts something. Then Andrade, Barros, and Moraes step out of the room and leave me with Ferreira.
Ferreira ignores me, goes in with his spoon for another slurp of soup.
I feel too much like a supplicant, standing up as I am. I sit down in a chair by the desk.
Ferreira watches me, slurps more soup.
"Smells good," I say. "What is it?"
"Sopa alentejana" Ferreira says. "My wife, she makes."
"What's she put in it?"
He shrugs.
"The garlic, the chicken broth, a piece of toast, some cilantro, and two eggs."
"Eggs, huh? They get stirred around like egg-drop soup?"
"No, no stir. See?"
He tilts the bowl so I can see inside. There's one egg left in the yellow broth.
"Oh, like a poached egg."
"Yes, poached," he says. "Is good for breakfast."
"I'll have to try that sometime."
Ferreira dabs his lips with a napkin, pushes the bowl aside. He swallows a burp. He looks at me.
"Where is my money?"
"Where is Brewster Trimmingham?"
Ferreira shrugs.
"That I cannot tell you," he says.
"Can't tell me, or won't tell me? Where is he?"
Ferreira turns up his hands.
"I cannot tell you because I do not know. I send out those three babacas to find you and Trimmingham, and they come back just with you. I know they are not telling me everything," he says. "I think maybe you knock them around again some, eh?"
"Didn't take much knocking around," I say.
Ferreira studies me.
"So, Trimmingham. You cannot find him?"
"No, I can't. He's not at the hospital. Not at his office, not at his home."
Ferreira shrugs.
"So, he is missing," Ferreira says. "But you see, this is not my problem. You are my problem. Where is my money?"
"You'll get it."
"When?"
"When I get it."
Ferreira shakes his head.
"This is not the way I do business."
"I know the way you do business," I say. "You pull out people's eyes."
Ferreira doesn't react. He settles back in his chair. He says nothing.
"That's the way it works, isn't it? Someone crosses you, you pull out their eyes, and then stick an ice pick in their ear."
Ferreira chews his lip. Then he opens his desk drawer. He pulls out a pistol. He puts it down on the desk in front of him, keeps his hand on top of it.
"You hear too many stories," he says. "It is much easier with a gun."
"So why didn't you just shoot Richard Peach and Martin Boyd?"
Ferreira closes his eyes, shakes his head. Then he looks at me again.
"You think it was me who killed them?"
"You or someone in your organization."
"My organization?"
"The Sangrento Mao."
Ferreira's lips narrow. It might almost be a smile.
"I am just a grocer," he says.
"Play it however you want."
He picks up the gun, moves it to his other hand.
"Maybe I want to shoot you right now."
"You don't want to shoot me."
"Why not?"
"Because it will cost you eighty thousand dollars. You'd rather have the money."
Ferreira holds my gaze. He puts the pistol back down on the desk. He settles back in his chair.
I say, "I can think of two reasons why you might have killed Peach and Boyd."
"But I tell you, I did not kill them," Ferreira says. "The one, Boyd, I thought about killing him, yes. But Cristina, my son's wife, she was not worth the blood. Antoni, though, he very much wanted to kill Boyd. That is why I sent him away. To Miami."
"OK. That takes care of one reason. But what about the wreck of the Santa Helena?"
Ferreira stares at me, says nothing.
"The Reliquarium de Fratres Cruris. Is that worth killing for?"
Ferreira sighs. He seems suddenly weary.
He says, "These are just stories. Old stories. Like stories of the Sangrento Mao. They are stories that people want to believe. Seven years ago, the police they came and asked questions. And I tell them the same I tell you. I did not kill those men."
"Have the police come asking questions lately?"
"No. What questions would they ask?"
"About the death of Ned McHugh."
Ferreira furrows his brow.
"Yes, I hear about him. In the same way of the others, eh?"
"Yes," I say. "Exactly the same way."
"Is very unfortunate."
"I tell you something else that's unfortunate." I look at Ferreira. He waits. "Teddy Schwartz is in jail for it."
"Yes, I hear that, too," he says. "I am very much surprised by this. Sir Teddy, he is a good man."
"I want him out of jail."
Ferreira shrugs.
"About this," he says, "there is nothing I can do."
"But see, Papi, here's the deal. I'm not real good at multitasking."
"Multitasking? What is?"
"I work better when I can concentrate on one thing at a time. You understand?" Ferreira nods. "Right now I'm concentrating on getting Teddy Schwartz out of jail. You know what that means?"
"Tell me."
"It means until I get him out of jail, then I can't concentrate on getting my money. Which means I sure as hell can't concentrate on getting your money." I stand up from the chair, put my hands on the desk, look Ferreira in the eye. "So if you want to get paid any time soon, then you better figure a way to help me out."
70.
I pull up in front of the Oxford House just as Fiona McHugh and Michael Frazer are walking out the front door.
Fiona spots me and waves. I get out of the car and wait for them by the curb.
Fiona sports a yellow sundress, lace at the hem. She looks quite fetching in it.
"Well, hello there," she says. "Michael and I were just heading out to lunch."