# Bolivian Heat5

Лев Переводчик Шкловский

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got six million in and he gives us a hundred grand?"

Hector put his hand on the other man's shoulder. "Erasmo,

I don't want to cross him. He says, take the old station

wagon, cross over into Chile. Drive down to Santiago and

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fly out of there. Erasmo, I am going to do it. Ihat fat one

up there has long arrns. I wongt cross him. Are you coming?"

Erasmo backhanded the bowl of soup across the room

and stood. "All right, I'll go. But now that I know who he

is, that fat bastard will hear from me in Spain!"

The two men went out through the rear door. A minute

later, Carter heard a car start up and then the scream of tires.

'He darted from the laundry room, across the kitchen, and

into the hall. *Ihe lower floor of the house was quiet. There

was light under two of the doors. Behind one of them, he

heard a radio turned down low. Behind the other he heard

a woman's voice, humming softly.

The other two sisters. It figured.

Footsteps drove him under the stairwell. The woman from

the kitchen came down the stairs. She stopped at the first

door and opened it.

"Go to bed now," she said, then moved to the second.

"How many times have I told you not to smoke in bed? Put

it out, go to sleep!"

An olds almost ancient, female voice answered her. "Is

he going away?"

"God should make us so lucky. I don't know. Go to

sleep." She shut the second door and went across the hall

into the kitchen.

Carter went on up the stairs. The master of the house, it

appeared, lived in the upper two floors. It was like night

and day.

Light came from a partially open door at the front of the

hall. Carter moved forward. and heard voices.

"l am sorry, my dear, but it has to be. Once Erasmo and

Hector knew my identity. well. what could I do?"

"When will it happen?"

"Two, maybe three hours ... about halfway to Santiago."

The woman chuckled. '*So that's why you gave them the

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en WI it appen.

"Two, maybe three hours ... about halfway to Santiago."

The woman chuckled. "So that's why you gave them the

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station wagon rather than the Mercedes?"

"It can't be traced to me. I am glad you understand, my

dear."

Caner put it together in his mind. Erasmo and Hector

would never make it to Santiago.

He was about to move forward, when the door to his

right opened and a wide, beefy man stepped into the hall.

He was bare-chested and suspenders hung around his hips.

Damn! Carter thought. Norris hadn't nailed all of Rosero's

people, at least those who would be in the house.

The man saw Carter and lunged. The Killmaster was able

to get off one shot. It caught him center chest, but he kept

coming. He hit Carter like a bull. twisting the Luger in

Carter's hand so the Killmaster didn't dare fire again for

fear of shooting himself.

They fought back and forth in the hall. Slowly the wound

started to take its toll; the big man was visibly weakening

as the crimson spread across his chest. But just as Carter

was about to get the upper hand, he sensed movement behind

him.

He swiveled his head just as Felicia's arms descended.

Whatever she held in her hands was small. But it was hard

enough—and big enough—to put out Caner's lights.

Carter was half awake but groggy when he came around

and found himself on a bed. His arms were handcuffed to

the thick brass rails of the headboard.

He got more alert when a key sounded in the door. It

opened and the woman in black came in. She carried a tray

covered with a white cloth. She walked directly to the bed

and set the tray beside Carter. Then she stood, stanng down

at him. Her eyes seemed to be all pupils and as black as night.

"I am the sister, Dulciana."

Carter said nothing, and felt ripples up his back from the


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up

BOLIVIAN HEAT

deadly penetration of her eyes.

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"They think you and the woman who flies the machine

are together. Somehow she led you here. Why did you come

here

Suddenly, Carter, for some reason, felt an overpowering

urge to reply. But he held his tongue.

"Did you come to arrest my brother? Are you the police?"

he said.

Then she shocked him.

"Because, if you only arrest Rodolfo. it will do no good.

He is a powerful man. If he is arrested. he will never go to

prison."

She bent forward and uncovered the tray. Beneath the

cloth were Carter's silenced Luger and the stiletto. He looked

back up into her pitch-black, inscrutable eyes, his own full

of question.

"My brother was a beautiful boy. He is an evil man. Will

you arrest him?"

"No," Carter said.

"Good," she said softly.

From a pocket in her dress, she took some keys and

unlocked the handcuffs. "It would be nice if my sisters and

I could live on here, in peace." She finished and handed

him two other sets of keys. "The flying machine. The other

is to the room next door. Your woman is there."

"Where is Rodolfo?"

"In his office, on the floor below."

The woman turned to the side and spat. "She is in the

other bedroom on the first floor, She is very pale, sick . .

so sick she cannot get out of her bed, J do not think she

will last the night."

Carter thought for a minute. Keep it quiet, they had said.

In, out, if possible as if you weren't even there.

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NICK CARTER

"Do you have shovels?" he asked.

"In the shed, in the garden. I am stronger than I look.

So are my sisters. We dig the garden every spring."

Carter nodded and pressed her hand briefly. He gathered

his weapons, and the woman followed him to the adjacent

room. Miguela was awake, sitting by the window.

"Nick! Thank God!" she cried as he entered the room.

"I heard the shot and—" She saw the woman and clammed

up.

"This is Rosero's sister," Carter said. "Go with her, help

her."

"But—

"Just do it."

Silently, they followed the woman in black down to the

second floor. The other two sisters. also wearing black,

with crosses around their necks, were waiting. If one could

look past the haunted eyes and the pathetic stoop of the

bodies, one could imagine that they had probably been

pretty . . . once. But they never would be again.

He was asleep in his chair, a gargantuan hulk behind the

desk, his chins on his chest. The desk was piled high with

the kilos ofcocaine. It looked as if he had been counting it.

In sleep. he looked not only gross but ancient. His hands,

resting on the dope, were veinless in the flab and splotched

with large wrinkles of pigment. His pink scalp showed

through his thin, white hair.

Caner lit a cigarette, snapped on the lamp, and sat on

the edge of the desk.

The head came up slowly, but the eyes were awake,

instantly alert. They were small, black eyes peering from

under bushy gray brows. They were cunningly wise, a wis-

dom that only the streets and poverty can teach.

"Who are you?"

BOLIVIAN HEAT

"Just a man with a gun."

"You must be very good. a good organizer

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The head came up slowly, but the eyes were awake,

instantly alert. They were small, black eyes peering from

under bushy gray brows. They were cunningly wise, a wis-

dom that only the streets and poverty can teach.

"Who are you?"

BOLIVIAN HEAT

"Just a man with a gun."

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"You must be very good, a good organizer. Juanita tells

me she thinks the camp is wiped out."

Caner nodded. "It is."

"Where is she?"

"Juanita."

"Dead. She swallowed something fatal."

'*Pity. She was very good."

"At killing?" Carter asked sarcastically.

"Among other things." He made a move to his lefti

"Slowly!" Carter hissed, raising the Luger.

"Ohs I assure you I have no gun in my refrigerator."

Rosero opened the door and, brushing the dope carelessly

aside, piled dishes on the desk. Carter counted a large ham,

a plate of chicken breasts, a gallon tub of ice cream, and a

huge bowl of salad.

"A little snack," Rosero smiled, saliva already appearing

at the corners of his lips. "Would you care to join me?"

"No thanks. A drink,

"Of course. Help yourself to anything you desire." He

waved his hand toward the bar.

Carter watched him in the backbar mirror as he built a

drink. "Hector and Erasmo will probably be dead by now.

A bomb?"

Rosero nodded, his mouth stuffed, a bit of salad dressing

dribbling down his shirt front. "A necessary precaution.

You are American?"

"Yes."

"I like Americans. They understand the value of money."

Carter turned to face him. "Sehor Rosero. would you try

to bribe me?"

"Of course," he chuckled, food and saliva dripping down

his chin. "Besides being such an efficient disruptor of my


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yvu

to bribe me?"

"Of course," he chuckled, food and saliva dripping down

his chin. "Besides being such an efficient disruptor of my

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NICK CARTER

plans, I think you are a man of the world."

am curious. Just how would you bribe me. sefior?"

"With this. for starters," the big man replied. gesturing

to the piles of bags of white powder. '*Millions in cocaine,

the opiate of the masses of too-wealthy-too-soon young fools

in your country."

"Sorry, not enough," Carter said, thinking of the faces

of the man's three sisters.

"Then you name a price."

Carter shrugged. "What is owning one entire country

worth? What is it worth to you to another Latin

America dictator?"

Rosero looked up. the flabby jowls spreading. As he

grinned, food oozed between his teeth, ran over his chins,

and mixed with the food he was ready to shovel into his

mouth.

"Anything," he said. "You name your price."

Carter finished his drink and stubbed out his cigarette.

He was amazed. but he didn't show it. Half the ham and

all the chicken breasts, as well as a good portion of the

bowls. had been consumed while they were talking.

"Name it." Rosero repeated. obviously warming to the

subject. "Every man has his price. What's yours?"

"Satisfaction." Carter said.

"Satis . . .

? I don't deal in parables."

Caner moved around the desk. "Run!"

"What .

Carter cocked the Luger and placed it behind Rosero's

left ear. "Get up and run

. . . around the desk . . . around

and around!"

"Listen. all this" —Rosero waved a hand around the

yours ..

"The dope goes into the grave with Felicia and the body-

guard I killed."


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guard I killed."

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"You're mad. Millions—

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"Run. Rosero, get up and run. If you don't. I'll shoot

you where you sit."

He rose like an elephant and walked. Carter prodded him,

and the fear of a bullet tearing into his flesh was greater

than the unknown fear of what such movement would do

to him.

He lasted longer than Carter thought before he gripped

his chest and faltered: six times around the desk.

Carter put the fear of Luger into him and he lasted two

more laps before he fell to the floor, gasping.

Carter didn't wait. He could see the color already fading.

Soon it would change. Even as he went out the door, he

recognized the last gasps.

The Killmaster patted down the earth with the spade and

spread straw over it. When he was satisfied, he returned

the spade to the shed, lit a cigarette, and walked toward the

chopper.

Miguela had it revving by the time he closed the door

and buckled up.

He nodded and slowly she lifted off,

As the chopper rose above the third story of the house,

Carter saw the three sisters in a window.

All of them were smiling.

He shuddered.

"Where to?"

"A beach," he said. "A quiet beach somewhere where

they can't find us for a while . . . where we can get drunk,

and swim naked, and make lots and lots of love."