And, as River had hoped, he came to the door.
River took the man by complete surprise, springing up from behind him as he stepped up to find out what the commotion had been.
As River held him, cutting off his air long enough to render him unconscious, he felt tremors streak through him. He fought against the visions that tempted to fog his mind. Visions of black powder in the air, and men running and screaming as the world exploded around them.
Visions of fighting hand to hand; visions of fighting for his life.
The second of Amato’s henchmen fell to the ground with a thud. River streaked around to the back like fire out of hell; he was able to watch as Amato rose to go to the front to find out what was happening.
River burst through the back when Amato went out the front. He dragged up the half-broken man on the floor.
“Get out of here,” he whispered urgently.
The man began to mumble in Portuguese. He was too dazed and confused to understand.
River shook him, sorry to do so but determined to make him move. The man frowned, beginning to understand at last that he was being rescued; he didn’t fully comprehend what was happening until he saw River grab the brandy off the coffee table and cast it over the drapes and Amato’s elegant easy chair.
The beaten man ran as fast as he could toward the back as River picked up Amato’s half-smoked cigar. He touched the burning embers to the chair and the drapes. The fire slowly began to lick at the alcohol-drenched fabric.
Assured that a blaze would quickly begin in earnest, River fled the house.
It was going to burn and possibly explode with whatever arms and gunpowder or more that Tio Amato kept in the house.
As he slipped out himself, River saw the man who had been beaten still stumbling and holding his head. Afraid that something might blow and explode violently, River pushed him down to the grass before running on.
When he turned back, he saw that he’d been right about explosive material in the house—there was a blast. The fire began to burn in earnest.
He had done what he could for the beaten man. He’d been down and it was unlikely he’d been hit by flying debris.
Now, there was nothing to do but hope that he would be all right—that the paramedics would find him, or that he’d be long gone by the time it all came down.
River was determined to be gone himself.
And he was. He tore through the trees behind the house and was over the back wall by the time he heard the first sirens. Looking back, he saw that the house was quickly becoming engulfed in flames. River made his way to the street. People were rushing toward the house, and the sound of sirens was blaring louder and louder.
It occurred to him then that the men he’d knocked out would come to—and if they saw him, they would recognize him. He hoped that it wouldn’t matter—that the great Tio Amato would be under arrest, that some kind of evidence would remain.
He lowered his head, praying that he hadn’t made a mistake. Natal had left—for him. She had made him promise that he wouldn’t take vengeance for what had been done to her.
It wasn’t vengeance. He had seen what was going on—he just hadn’t been able to stomach it. And Beluga had told him that the police wouldn’t have investigated the possible body that had gone into the water, even if they did discover it. If the body washed up, they might suspect Tio Amato, but even if they wanted to, they wouldn’t be able to prove he had been involved.
River had done all that he could do. The police would all have to be corrupt not to know the extent of the drug paraphernalia and arms that had been in the house for it to explode and burn as it did.
Still, River was afraid.
It wouldn’t be a good thing to hang around and wait for whatever was going to happen next. He hurried along. He didn’t wear a watch; he always knew about what time it was by the sun and the sky. But now he worried about his own abilities—he was so anxious to make sure that he didn’t miss the train.
He came across one of the big building clocks and exhaled in relief. He’d been so afraid of being late, but there was still time before the train.
He needed to get away from where he was—away from the chaos that was Amato’s house now. How would it go down? he wondered.
There was no way that Tio Amato and the goons had escaped burst eardrums at the least; the men he had downed were certainly going to suffer the aftereffects. As to Tio Amato, he had hopefully flown pretty far after the explosion—he had to be hurting. Hopefully, he’d suffered some broken bones.
But what would they say? What would they tell the police and the paramedics?
Most likely, no one would report to the authorities that he’d been there. If the knocked-out goons were going to jail, they’d probably keep their mouths shut to the cops but tell Amato. And Amato would see that he was chased.
He was already being chased.
But by Amato’s men, the police—who?
He didn’t know. He did know that he couldn’t wait for Natal to meet him; he couldn’t wait for the train to come and the two of them to be on it.
Thankfully, the streets were wild. There were several parades going on, passing through a number of neighborhoods.
People were out and about in abundance.
Many were on the far side of inebriated. It was easy to walk with one crowd and then another; easy to appear to be part of those celebrating as he made his way through the streets.
There was a heavy police presence, but they were there to control the crowd. He smiled at one officer who smiled in return and waved to him as he crossed a parade route with a number of other people.
Eventually, he made his move across the city.
The little station was on a quiet street. River was careful as he approached it, taking twists and turns and even backtracking to make sure he wasn’t followed.
He wasn’t. Here, there were no trendy restaurants; he wasn’t on a parade route.
No police were about and he didn’t see any men in blue suits.
Breathing a little easier, he headed to the station, a little outpost of an office. He remembered that he needed another ticket for Natal. With his hood up and his head down, he approached the window. The clerk barely seemed to notice him. He only spoke his native language.
River simply said, “Natal, Rio Grande do Norte, por favor.”
The clerk was not his charming young woman from the kiosk in any way. He barely looked up when he barked out something about the cost.
River didn’t understand him but he knew what his ticket had cost. He put money on the silver tray before the glass-enclosed counter; he received a few coins in change.
He was ready. The time was drawing near.
But there was no sign of Natal.
Fear began to plague him. There were so many possibilities. Maybe she had never really meant to come.
No, he couldn’t believe that.