Linda in Rio (Last Part)

After Linda’s fit, things became a bit calmer. The shooting subsided. The negotiations started. One of the guys with a AK47 turned to me and said: “That was good. But, please, hold your wife’s chicken, man. She is completely insane.” In Portuguese “to hold someone’s chicken” means “to restrain or calm down a person who is out of control”. 

It was a long night. Nobody slept in the classroom. The kids were hungry, so they sent us pizzas. Linda went back to the window and tried to negotiate a few Big Macs, but the cops were firm and told her to shut the fuck up. “I’m gonna starve up here” she complained. “This carioca pizza is disgusting. And who asked for alici for Christ sake?”

Morning came and went. The traffic kids demanded an armored car, bullet proof vests and a few grenades. The cops offered rendition and the visit of a  social worker. Impasse.

Around 3:00 p.m. we heard a familiar voice echoing in the megaphone: “Linda? Linda my darling, are you there? If you are, please tell Charlie that he is a dead man! I give my word on it.”

I don’t know how Steve managed to come to Brazil that fast. Linda say, and I fully believe in her, that he has connections in the State Department. “Possibly they put him in a private jet.”

Everything became black before my eyes. I could stand the favela tour, the shooting, the traffic kids, the police, the hard floor, the alici pizza. But nothing could prepare me for Steve’s anger. Trembling, I went to the window. But didn’t stay there for too long. Just time enough to see Steve trying to snatch a cop’s rifle to shoot me in the head.

“Shit!” I said. “Your dad is completely out of his mind! You must tell him that the favela tour was your idea!”

“Me? Tell him? No way. You don’t know dad when his is in a rage.”

“He said he is gonna kill me!”

“So, pray for a merciful death.”

Obviously, the negotiations wouldn’t take us anywhere. Nobody would yield an inch in their positions. So I had an idea.

“Tell me kid,” I said to one of the traffic soldiers. “Is there anyway you could get rid of your weapons?”

The boy smiled a bitter smile.

“Of course, pal. As soon as we finish you all.”

“No, I said. “You don’t understand. Look: without the weapons, you are regular kids like any other is this classroom. When the cops invade, they would just find some students, a teacher and two gringos babacas. Got it? Everybody would be safe and free. We can tell them the bad guys escaped…”

The boy was a drug dealer, but he wasn’t stupid. He liked the idea and shared it with his bothers in arms.

I’ve never seen someone disassemble an automatic rifle that fast, and in so many pieces. Don’t ask me what they did with the parts. The fact is that, when the men in black invaded the classroom, they found nothing but what we wanted them to find: innocent hostages... and a couple of starving gringos in the wrong place and time. Nobody died, nobody got caught. The ordeal was finally over. Tell me about the mineiro knack to settle things down…

Steve didn’t kill me. Not that he didn’t wanted to. When I fell knocked out in the favela floor, he was about to kick my head out of my neck when a cop intervened. It was a BOPE captain, sort of a SWAT team leader. It seem that him and Steve became good friends during the siege.

Next morning, I woke up in Linda’s nightmare: a public hospital in Rio’s suburbs. The Mac Donald’s smell in the room was even worst than the stink of formaldehyde and rotten meat.

“Rise and shine, baby!” said Linda.

I turned my face to one side just to see Linda and her mother, Susan, surrounded by piles of boxes of sandwiches and French fries.

“You were right, darling,” said Susan, unaware of my awakening. “Brazilian Big Macs are delicious!”

“And you should try the fish fillets!” answered Linda. “They are superb!”

“Lets get out of here,” I grunted. “This place is more dangerous than the favela we’ve been, believe me!”

“Hi, Charlie!” said Susan with a mouthful of fries.

“Hi mom…”

“Steve is really pissed off, you know.”

“Yeah. I got it on the first place.”

“But I managed to convince him not to kill you” she continued. “Not today, at least.”

“You are very kind, mom.”

She had a sip of Coke and said:

“But tomorrow you both have to return with us to the USA.”

“Oh, no! We were about to go to my hometown so Linda could meet my mom…”

“Forget it” said Linda. “If we do so, Dad would probably nuke Governador Valadares.”

“I already talked to Mrs. Costa,” said Susan. “Actually she is on her way to Rio right now. Steve invited her to visit. She will be our guest in NY for a couple of days.”

It wasn’t perfect. But it was better than I could expect. Back to the hotel, Linda and I slept the whole afternoon dreaming of flying bullets and desperate faces. It was about 9:00 p.m. when Linda woke me up.

“Hey, Charlie,” she said. “It is our last night in Rio.”

“And so what?” I grunted.

“And I was thinking if we couldn’t go out a bit. I am in the mood of drinking one last caipirinha for the road.”

I thought about answering: “not even fucking”, but I know how my wife is when she wants something, so I agreed.

“Dad in the hotel bar downstairs with that SWAT leader. If we are fast, we can make it.”

It was a risky business, but I was also in the mood of having a last taste of Brazil before returning to the States. We took the elevator, got to the lobby, waited for an opportunity and, in good timing, managed to cross in front of the bar door without being seen. As I did it, Steve was saying to the cop:

“And so, Nascimento. I’m sure you got enough of hearing about my good old days in Vietnam. Why don’t you tell me one of your stories instead?”

And the BOPE captain started: 
“There are over 700 slums in Rio de Janeiro. And most of them are ruled by drug dealers armed to their teeth. Niggas carry AKs, Uzis, AR-15s... You name it. Around the world such weapons are used to make wars. Here, they’re in the hands of thugs…”

“What?” said Linda. “Do you wanna join them or what?”

I looked to my wife, smiled and said:

“No, dear. Thanks. I’ve already seen this film.”

THE END