Carioca Fletch by Gregory McDonald

sailing,” Tito said.
    “Sailing? It is storming out!”
    “The storm is over,” Orlando said.
    “Sailing? On the night of the Canecão Ball?”
    “We saw him off,” Toninho said. “Fletch did too.”
    “Sailing? Why would he go sailing the night of the Canecão Ball?”
    With apparent concern, Toninho said, “Norival has been acting very serious lately.”
    “He has been talking of taking up a career,” Orlando said.
    “That would be nice,” said
Papai Noel
.
    “It is a question of what he does best,” Tito said.
    “Norival has his talents,” Orlando said.
    Toninho said, “Perhaps he wanted to think.”
    “Norival becoming serious?” asked Harlequin. “Then it is time for me to retire!”
    “No, no,” Toninho said. “You don’t know Norival as we do. When Norival sets his mind to something, he is apt to die trying.”
    “Norival can be very sincere,” Orlando said. “About some things.”
    “Yes.” Accented by war paint, Toninho’s eyes crossed. “Norival is one to die trying.”
    “Norival is not coming to the ball at all?” Harlequin asked.
    “He went sailing,” Toninho said lamely. “To come to some conclusion…”
    “Ah, what a son!”
Papai Noel
said. “Probably drunk somewhere! These tickets cost three hundred North American dollars each! Norival, Adroaldo … Why does a man have sons? As soon as they grow as big as he is, they ignore him! They take, but do not give!”
    Fletch was introduced to Senhora Passarinho, who sat aside, watching the dancers on the floor. A lady with mild, vague eyes, she was dressed as a circus clown.
    “Ah!” she said. “Norival went sailing! Of course, he never was one for parties! A quiet, sensitive boy, always. He wrote poetry, you know, when he was younger. I remember one poem of his, where the cockatoo bird was meant to represent his school principal…”
    “You see,” Tito said aside to Fletch. “We could not disappoint that lady with the truth.”
    “Clearly.”
    “It would kill her.”
    “Have a drink!” ordered Harlequin. “
Cachaça?”
    Toninho grinned broadly. The worst was over. “
Nao, Senhor
. We must go find girls.”
    “Of course you must!” boomed
Papai Noel
. “The night is as young as you!”
    “Just make sure they’re not men disguised surgically!” Harlequin warned.
    “If I find someone special, I shall bring her to you,” Toninho said, “to check out.”
    Harlequin roared in laughter.
    Outside the box, Fletch said, Toninho, are you going back to the beach in the morning to make sure Norival came ashore?”
    “Oh, no.” Toninho adjusted the top of his boot against the bare calf of his leg. “Today is Sunday. We must go to Mass.”
    Teodomiro da Costa was standing at the little bar at the back of his box.
    “Who is this?” he exclaimed. “I don’t recognize you!”
    Fletch stared at him the appropriate time through his mask.
    Everyone else in the box was facing forward, listening intently to the singer of the moment.
    What was left of the Tap Dancers had gone looking for girls.
    “You scare me, Senhor Gunslinger! What do you want?”
    “It’s me, Teo.”
    “Who?” Teo leaned forward, staring through the eyeholes of Fletch’s mask.
    “Fletch!”
    “Ah!” Teo feigned a look of great relief. “Then come have a drink.”
    The barman Teo had brought from his house began to make Fletch a screwdriver.
    “It’s so late,” Teo said. “It is nearly three o’clock in the morning. Did you fall asleep?”
    “No.”
    “I thought not.”
    “Without Laura, I went for a tour of the suburbs. Got back late.”
    “In a bus?”
    “Something like that. A big car.”
    The singer stopped singing.
    “Oh, Fletch! Beautiful costume!” the Viana woman said. “Where did you get it?”
    “I mugged someone on my television set.”
    “It fits you …” She looked below his waist. “… handsomely.”
    “Frankly, I feel like I’m walking behind myself.”
    “You are, darling. You are.”
    Teo introduced