Winning the Game and Other Stories

Belle

145 belle “the walther’s hot, if they catch you with it, it’ll spillovertous.Afteryoudothejob,throwitaway,intheoceanorthelake.” “Leave it to me,” I said. The Dispatcher went on. “Remember the Glock and the shit storm it caused?” As if I could forget the black guy who pretended he was living in the rocks with the cockroaches but wasn’t one of us, and smelled of scented soap and wore a fancy watch and when he stuck his hand in his waistband to pull out the piece, I shot him in the head and took his weapon, a Glock 18, automatic, a beauty, the best thing to ever come out of Austria. But it was hot, and when they caught me with it, they worked me over and broke two teeth here in front, crippled my right hand. They wanted me to confess to killing the black guy and said they’d go easy on me if I told them who’d hired me, but I didn’t open my trap and didn’t confess to a goddamn thing. “You didn’t know who ordered it.” “By the victim, you suspect who’s behind it. It’s simple. Want me to say his name? Don’t fuck with me, old pal, look at my false teeth, my gimpy hand. I knew, I was tortured, and I didn’t rat anyone out.” “They broke the wrong hand,” said the Dispatcher. “If they knew you were a lefty . . .” 146 | Rubem Fonseca I walked away with the fool still talking to himself. I went to the hotel where the customer was staying—that was the name, customer, we used for the guy who was going to be hit. I called my girlfriend to be beside me at the door. I don’t enjoy popping anybody, but it’s my job. The Dispatcher told me one day he read in a book that a man just needs two things, fucking and working,butallIneededwasfucking;workisforshit.ButIuseadisguise: to everyone I’m a vendor of computer products, and I always carry around a small leather briefcase full of brochures. Before we went to the hotel, my girlfriend arrived at my apartment and took off her clothes and her white body filled the darkened room with light and I looked at her ass to see if it had any marks from her bikini or the sun. She knew if she showed the least hint of suntan I’d beat the hell out of her, but her ass was whiter than an ambulance. Her name was Belinha, she was eighteen, she liked me because I was an outlaw, and because she knew my hard-on was for real. She despised those guys who take pills to get it up, said she couldn’t love a man who fakeditlikethat.AndshesuckedmycockandImadehergetonherknees on the bed and I sucked her pussy; she got off on being sucked like that. I would stick my tongue in there, and sometimes she’d ask me to put my nose in. Her pussy was fragrant and I would stick my nose in. I forgot to say that besides a large cock, I also have a large nose. Then I’d ram my cock in and she would come; that was the beginning. She didn’t know the kind of work I did, she thought it was something to do with smuggling or drugs and asked to see my tools and said she liked being an outlaw’s girl, but I couldn’t explain my job to her; I myself didn’t really know what was behind it all. The Dispatcher would call me and say he had a job and give me the file on the customer, sometimes it was some important guy whose name was in the newspapers. I’ve even doneforeigners.Iwaswellpaid,trustworthy,proofofwhichwerethefalse teeth in my mouth, the scar on my face, and my busted right hand with fingers bent like thick pieces of wire. My girlfriend came from an important family rolling in dough, was educated in the finest schools, and spoke French. She called herself Belinha 147 | Belle or Isabel or Isabella or Belle. I preferred Belle because she was the most beautiful girl in the world. We were in my apartment waiting for the time to go to the hotel where I was going to meet the customer. Lying in bed after fucking, she said, “Explain that stuff about pistols...