The Ways of Evil Men by Leighton Gage Page A

Inspector Silva.”
    “Not that guy Barbosa?”
    “No. Silva.”
    “Okay. Who’s he? And what do you want me to tell him?”
    “He’s a man they’re sending to investigate the genocide.”
    “From Belem?”
    “From Brasilia. I’ve only spoken to him by telephone, but he made a good impression. I left him a message earlier this morning, but that was before we talked to Amati and before this crowd gathered. I want you to update him on what’s happening, tell him to get here just as quickly as he can.”
    “What if I don’t manage to talk to him?”
    “Talk to Barbosa. Ask him to pass the message along.”
    “All right. What are you going to be doing in the meantime?”
    “Talking to Kassab and seeing if there isn’t some way we can pry Amati loose from Borges and get him out of town.”
    They opened the door. The shouting got louder. A few people detached themselves from the group and followed Osvaldo toward his hotel. A much larger party, about a dozen in all, surrounded Jade, kept pace with her on her way to Kassab’s office, and heaped abuse upon her every step of the way.
    “Indian lover!”
    “
Cretina!
”
    “Go home, bitch!”
    Kassab’s receptionist, shocked by their arrival, locked the door as soon as Jade was inside. Then she called her boss.
    The lawyer emerged, left both women in his waiting room, and went outside to talk to the demonstrators. Less than a minute later, the crowd was moving back the way they’d come, and the lawyer was ushering Jade into his inner-sanctum.
    “What did you say to them?”
    “I appealed to their reason. Now, what can I do for you?”
    She suspected it was more than that, suspected he’d told them things he was unwilling to tell her, but there was no time to lose.
    “I’d like to hire you on behalf of the FUNAI to represent the Indian, Amati. Delegado Borges is—”
    Kassab held up a hand. “I’m sorry, Senorita Calmon, I can’t help you.”
    “Can’t? Or won’t?”
    He sighed. “Look. I’d be the first to agree that everyone, even a murdering savage, has a right to a fair trial. But no one in this town would ever forgive me if I were to speak in defense of that Indian.”
    “Tell me this, Senhor Kassab: how much of what’s going on out there”—she pointed in the direction of the
delegacia—
“is about justice and how much is about getting rid of an impediment to having the reservation declassified?”
    “In all honesty? It’s probably more about the latter, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”
    “Didn’t you just say he had a right to a fair trial?”
    “I did. And I stand by that statement.”
    “So what do you suggest I do?”
    “Bring in a public defender from Belem. Ask him to—”
    “Wait,” she said, holding up a hand. “What’s that?”
    Kassab paused to listen. The tumult on the street grew louder. A shot was fired, then another.
    “Unless I miss my guess,” he said, scratching his chin, “that’s an indication your Indian isn’t going to need a lawyer after all.”

Chapter Fourteen
    T HE AIRPORT AT A ZEVEDO consisted of a parking lot, a red earth runway, and a one-room shack. The parking lot was empty, the runway was so short that their pilot had to stand on his brakes to stop the landing roll before they plowed into a stand of trees, and the shack was locked.
    “Strange,” the pilot said, rattling the door. “I wonder what happened to the kid.”
    “What kid?” Silva said.
    “He holds down the office. His old man owns those Cessnas.” The pilot pointed out two 172s with identical paint jobs. “The kid has been flying them since he was twelve. They get him more ass than a toilet seat.”
    “At least there’s somebody in this town who knows how to show a girl a good time,” Maura said. “What do the other boys do for amusement?”
    “Probably stay friends with the kid,” Arnaldo said. “So what’s your best guess for what’s going on? Local festival, maybe?”
    The pilot shook his head.