The Xavier Affair by Fish Robert L.;

Author:Fish, Robert L.;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road

Chapter 13

On the rearmost seat of the gleaming Viacão Cometa, slowly grinding its way up the tortuous mountain road, Ricardo Caravelas sat with his head twisted, staring blankly out of the back window. One hand was on top of his head, gripping his short hair tightly; the knuckle of a finger on the other hand was between clamped teeth. His mind was seething with self-denunciation, his heart was beating unnaturally, and his hands were sweating. How and why had he ever gotten involved in the entire, horrible mess? Classes started yesterday; why wasn’t he at the university? What was he doing on this stupid bus?

Behind him the road snaked downward, flanked on one side by the abrupt rise of the mountain and on the other by cliffs that disappeared into the unseen void with stomach-tightening suddenness, covered with thin scrub, a vertical catanduva, strangely out of place in this lush land. A long line of traffic trailed them obediently, like ducklings behind a goose. He turned his head, bringing his damp palms down to press against his knees, staring to the front. Ahead, the road was clear. Beneath them, in the luggage compartment, that damned brown bag.…

His jaw was clenched; how had he ever gotten so involved? And why? He didn’t need the money; he didn’t even need a part of it. And if he spent it in any large quantity, everyone who knew him would know. And how would he spend it? His allowance was more than adequate and would continue throughout his life, increasing as he grew older and other members of the family departed. He had the assurance of an excellent position in the law firm of his godfather when he was graduated, and the income from that endeavor would be apart from his share in the family estate. The girl whom he was engaged to marry was lovely and wealthy in her own right. So why in the devil had he ever gotten involved in the first place?

There was, of course, no answer. It could have been the early hour, that morning at Gavea; or the double gin-tonic—tonics, he silently amended—or it could have been … what? What possible excuse could he offer to himself, let alone the police? What excuse would the police accept? None, and he knew it. None, and if he were in their position lie wouldn’t accept any, either. The old animal-spirit gag wouldn’t help on this one, and he knew that, too. So?

The bus reached the summit, hesitated as if catching its breath while the driver changed gears, and then began rolling. The wide, curved roads here, approaching the cutoff for Piraí, swung along the small reservoirs and past the odd-shaped hillocks that characterized the edge of the plateau; the bus increased in speed, beginning to leave its brood of less majestic vehicles behind. Ricardo forced himself to put aside his feeling of desperation, of negativism. It aided nothing, especially now; now was the time to think, to use his head.

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