“Then it would have been me floating in that river,” he muttered.
The shop bell tinkled, jerking Simão from his thoughts.
“We’re closed!” he called. “Come back tomorrow!”
No answer, just footsteps. He shoved the acid kit into his suitcase and snapped it shut. He’d have to leave the scale behind. It was too bulky.
“I said we’re closed!” he called again, emerging from the back room.
His heart stopped.
The girl from Pota Pras stood there. She held a gun, pointed at his chest.
“Please,” he gabbled, raising his hands. “I had nothing to do with?—”
“With what? Selling us out?”
The look in her eye made his bladder feel heavy and full.
“I didn’t know what they would do!” he squeaked. “I just passed along information. That’s all I ever did. I’m nobody!”
His eyes darted to the front door. The street beyond was busy with late afternoon shoppers. If he shouted, someone might hear.
The gun lowered to his crotch. “Run and I’ll blow your dick off.” Her laugh was wild. “Maybe I will anyway.”
“I have money!” he blurted, glancing at the cash drawer. “Take it all! It’s yours.”
She stepped closer, the gun steady on his left eye now. “I’m not a dumb hick. I know you’ve got a safe in that back room.”
He swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said, keeping his hands where she could see them. “Okay.”
“Slowly.”
He led the way into the workroom, painfully aware of the pistol aimed at the back of his skull. The safe sat behind a false panel in the wall, concealed by a heavy cabinet. He moved the cabinet aside. It slid silently on hidden rollers.
“Open it,” she said.
His fingers shook as he dialed the combination. He had to try three times before it opened. Inside sat stacks of dragha notes, bound with paper bands marking their denominations. Hundreds, mostly, with a few bundles of smaller bills. A year of payments, plus the large bounty he’d received from each of his clients when he gave them the stones.
The girl inhaled sharply. It must be more than she’d expected.
“Stand back,” she ordered.
He retreated to the corner. With her free hand, she pointed to his suitcase, sitting on the workbench.
“Dump it,” she said.
He hesitated. “My tools?—”
“Dump it now.”
He unlatched the case and upended the contents.
“Lie on the floor and start counting.”
Simão sighed and sank to hands and knees. His belt dug into his generous belly.
“All the way,” she barked.
