Threads: A Thriller

by T. R. Ultra

  He nodded.

  “I’m sorry, Senhora Bennett,” he said. “Carlos is a very responsible man. He barely had any sleep last night, woke up puking. When I noticed he wouldn’t be able to pick you up, I . . . I decided to jump into his car and drive you to your hotel. I don’t know if my uncle will agree with it, but he’s been training me for a couple of months, and I speak English. That’s why I decided to take the job.”

  He certainly didn’t convince me.

  “You took a great risk by breaking my company’s policies. And I’m afraid that, as a consequence, you won’t have a second chance with us anytime soon.”

  He stared at me through the rear-view mirror.

  “Senhora Bennet. I’m sorry. I won’t lie to you. I have no idea what your company policies are. I just entered my uncle’s car with your name, your picture, and headed for the airport. We are poor but good people. We needed the money.”

  Renato looked ahead, away from the mirror. I took a long look at his face. He was a gorgeous man. And tapped his fingers on the wheel.

  He looked anxious, even regretting what he had done. But, after my initial shock, I could see no harm in his manners.

  “Couldn’t you have put suitable clothes on?” I said.

  He took a deep breath, holding the wheel, as though relieved. The highway moving at a turtle’s pace.

  “My uncle’s suits would never fit me,” he said, smirking. “Yes, I might have put on proper clothes. But I rather show up on time. Rio is a dangerous place for a single tourist to be roaming about the airport.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Besides, he must have waited for my arrival for several hours.

  “Alright . . . “ I said. I almost said “thanks”. “I’ve read some news before coming to Rio. Drug traffic seems to be a big issue around here.”

  “Hard to be any different than that,” Renato said. “Do you know how many people live in these favelas, these communities where there’s no sanitary sewer, no public schools, no medical care?”

  I stared outside, taking it all in.

  “How many?”

  “In this single favela down to your right, thousands of people. Most of them are hardworking people like those two boys selling water bottles. But many are persuaded to stray by drug money propaganda. It happens. Every kid wants to have the latest smartphones, the best clothes, the shiniest cars. Living a short but intense life is a minor cost to pay. So, yeah. Poverty is a fertile terrain for violence, and Rio is the perfect example.”

  I swallowed hard, uncomfortable with the scene coming through the car windows. The seedy appearance of the favela contrasted the greatness of the sky. Poverty in Rio was another level.

  “I don’t want to scare you, Senhora Bennet,” he said. “It’s just that . . . well, you can never be too careful in Rio.”

  “Ok . . .” I said, scared. How many actual criminals were there in Rio? I had no idea if it would be safe to step outside my hotel. Was I even safe inside the car?

  Renato snickered, most likely after reading my frightened face.

  “Look, forget what I just said. I get too stupid when I’m nervous.”

  We stared at each other through the rear-view mirror. A long stare. Was he nervous because of me?

  I felt my cheeks flushing.

  He went on. “The place you’re staying is very nice, one of the best in Rio. It’s a tourist location, which means there are police everywhere.”

  I squeezed the phone in my hands. “That’s good to hear, but I won’t have much time anyway. I got a lot of work to do.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Renato riveted his eyes against mine through the mirror. I sensed he wanted something of me. I glimpsed his broad lips and looked away.

  “I don’t know how often you come to Rio,” Renato continued, “but we’ve got some nice spots in the city. There’s fun and good music around and sex . . . that’s what tourists say, isn’t it?” Now it was his time to turn into flushed cheeks. “It’s just that I might drive you and your colleagues to great happy-hours. If your husband doesn´t mind,” He smirked.

  I looked down to my phone, still off in my hands. How fast things change. Three months ago I had all the excitement of a newly married woman dreaming of kids, a big home, a nice car, and certain I had the perfect husband. Now all I had was a job I only partially liked. Not to mention that constant fear of running out of control.

  Why did I think he would kidnap me in the first place?

  “Well,” I said, “thank you Renato, but I have no colleagues in Rio. I’ve come on a solitary mission.” I didn´t want to touch the husband matter.

  Our car moved fast. Whatever had clogged the highway had been removed.

  “Oh, Really?” Renato said, a faint smirk in his face. “Well, you never know when you’ll need a driver. I’m available to you anytime. Jobs in Rio are scarce. I could use the extra money. Besides, as I said, you can trust me, Senhora Bennet.”

  Again, that look in his eyes, again that winking.

  The city rushed by the car windows. We travelled at cruising speed down a big highway. The favelas went on, then disappeared, and big buildings sprouted over the land.

  We entered downtown Rio.

  Chapter 4

  Renato dropped me at the reception lobby of Praia Palace Hotel, one of the most luxurious hotels to face Copacabana Beach in Rio. Its pompous rooms had hosted many international personalities throughout the years.

  After dropping me off, Renato took my suitcase out of the car trunk. The relaxed, careless aspect conveyed by his clothes seemed quite in tone with his mood, that of nice people to hang around with.

  I thought Renato would immediately leave after putting my suitcase on the floor, but, he lingered a bit.

  “I’m sorry if I bothered you, Senhora Bennet,” he said, looking down while handing me the suitcase.

  “That’s okay, Renato. It’s been a long trip, and I’ve been easily creeped out lately. I’m sorry if I offended you with that . . . that nonsense”

  “Oh, never mind. It’s not the first time someone asked me if I’m going to kill them.”

  “What?” I said.

  “I’m kidding,” he chuckled.

  I smiled back, uncertain.

  “Remember that short but intense life proportionate by drug money we talked about?”

  “What about it?” I replied.

  “It’s all about accepting high risks and living a good life. Quality over quantity. I mean, just another way of saying that I couldn’t be happier to have infringed your company security policies, Senhora Bennet. Sometime we ought to take risks. It was great talking to you.”

  “Yeah, I... think I get what you mean,” I said looking straight into his eyes.

  Under the sun they gleamed like caramel beads, a perfect match to his tanned skin. Renato was a complete stranger to me, yet he managed to step into my head and make a mess—a hot mess—in my mind.

  “I hope we’ll see each other again, Senhora Bennet. Stay safe.”

  “Goodbye, Renato.”

  Without further delay, he turned his back on me and entered the black sedan. Then, he disappeared among the cars streaming both ways on Avenida Atlântica avenue.

  That had been a pretty stupid start in Rio. I flew in to attend a conference and write about guns but ended up fearing for my life and fearing for my senses. I might have fallen into his arms to live a summer love.

  Thank god I didn´t get his number.

  The concierge carried my suitcase into the reception lobby of Praia Palace. The moment I stepped inside the luxury of the gold details etched into the furniture, tapestries of stout females made by the hands of long-dead Turkish experts, and a two-frame painting of the Courchevel mountains hanging on the wall—all hit my penniless eyes with a single merciless blow. The constant chatter of clerks only contributed to the opulence.

  “What type of coffee do you enjoy the most, miss? Brazilian Arabic, Colombian Robusta? We’ve printed a wool towe
l with your name on it, Mrs. Emily Bennett. You can take it with you to the pool without worrying about someone else using it by mistake. Please, do not forget to order a Caipirinha in our restaurant, on the house. We make the best in the world.”

  Yes, that kind of treatment came just in time.

  When I turned my phone on, Joanne called me right away. I declined the call. I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I replied with, “I’m fine, already at the hotel. Call you later.”

  I filled out some forms at the check-in desk on a marble balcony and went up to my room.

  Chapter 5

  Around 8:00 p.m., the images of my arrival in Rio lost most of their contrast up to the point of looking like a faded dream from last week. I didn’t need to rely on alcohol for that. After diving under a super hot shower, putting on the most luxurious silk bathrobe to ever have Emily Bennett’s name on it, and sinking into bedsheets labeled Angel’s Touch—it couldn’t be more appropriate—I sensed a tendency to overvalue all aspects of my life since stepping out of the airplane earlier that day.

  Even my certainty of having been kidnapped made me laugh when I talked to Joanne over the phone. No need to dodge questions after drenching myself in cologne and cream. I was on the verge of returning Marlon’s call, though I resisted it. In my defense, fast sex was sex after all, and better a minute than none.

  My job would start the next morning. Rio Firearms Expo was the place where ground-breaking technology and new products regarding law enforcement debuted. Armored personnel carriers, assault rifles, shotguns, flashbang grenades, pepper spray and a bunch of other weapons would be on display and have their triggers tested in front of attendees. My mission the following week would be to take notes of non-lethal weaponry, these seemed to be a growing trend among Johnson & Brothers Co.’s main clients.

  It was the writing part of my job that made me cling to it—and the pay the bills part. I would find a greater sense of fulfillment if my job was to write about screws and nuts than about firearms. Because, in my eyes, every glistening pistol had a “I´ll shoot your brains out” stamp on its barrel.

  I skimmed my hands over the Angel’s Touch sheets, the gentle scent of lily, and closed my eyes. Getting used to such an upscale establishment was too easy. After a couple of hours, Praia Palace had become my new lodging standard. Johnson & Brothers Co. better work their purses out if they are willing to see any of my future writing.

  They were sheer gold--the bedsheets—and, maybe because of their softness, I felt at ease to wander through the more intricate aspects of life.

  Deep inside my mind, I saw Renato’s face.

  The rough hands of Renato would be the perfect contrast to the softness of my bedsheets, just like salt to tequila. He’d bring that warmth missing from my room.

  I let my mind fly into a storm of fantasies. I wished the traffic jam had not cleared. Renato might have jumped to the back seat to taste my skin down to my breasts, wetted my nipples with his powerful lips, nibbled and squeezed them with his ironman hands. Our sweating bodies would slide against each other, our fluids mixed into a solution of lust and passion, a drink of goddesses.

  A terrible sense of courage struck me. I should have taken him into my hands, pulled him out of his trunks, tasted his beautiful smell while he gleamed with sun rays coming through the car windows. I should have tasted him while he danced his hips up and down and juggled to remain active—postponing his final act.

  Oh, I wish he had stuck his powerful tongue right between my legs, right into the place no man had ever tasted before, not even Marlon. I wanted his lips to unfold my secrets, while I wiggled and screamed and grasped his hair and pulled his face against me and his nose sniffed the most confidential smells of my body, while the tip of his tongue ventured places that had never before seen the light.

  My legs shook after my body seized from a powerful wave of bliss, an intensity I didn’t remember having anywhere before. Renato had been a huge hit, a fountain of unprecedented pleasure, fueled by nothing but the sun itself.

  If only he was more daunting, less mysterious, I might have given him my phone number. Or perhaps he has my phone number. Wasn’t he the one who gave me a Sim card in the first place?

  Whatever. That lingering bliss faded away, my reasoning sprung back. Renato was a handsome man, but also a problem. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be talking about taking risks, of living short but intensive lives. Maybe too much sun had boiled his brain.

  I figured I should take another bath. Tomorrow was going to be a whole new day in this city of violence, sun, and sex, and where I’d come to write.

  Chapter 6

  What I learned after my first night in Praia Palace hotel was that luxury is a hell of an energy drainer. When I woke up the next morning, it seemed impossible to uncurl myself from the strong and long tentacles coming from the Angel’s Touch sheets, tentacles that seemed determined to leave me glued in bed for eternity.

  Breakfast at the main restaurant in Praia Palace surpassed my already upgraded expectations. Sliced melons, watermelons and papayas, combined with bananas and other tropical fruits I didn’t know existed decorated the most unexpected spots of buffet tables. For a moment, I thought those fruits weren’t meant to be eaten. The richness of their colors seemed more related to the brushes of an adept painter than to the randomness of nature. But then another guest picked up a slice of pineapple and I did the same.

  Its sweetness was a true masterpiece.

  Sun heading up in the sky and delicious treats in my stomach, all contributed to a marvelous day. I sent Mother kisses on the phone, told my boss how positive I was about the business, and replied to Marlon’s message after three months. I was happy enough to forgive his cheating on me, but never to sit on his lap. But, before I stepped out of the hotel, two men appeared looking for me and my morning turned to rubbish.

  They approached me while I was inside the reception lobby waiting for an Uber. My eyes eventually wandering over a window display of creams and perfumes in an expensive store.

  “Excuse me. Are you Mrs. Emily Bennett?” a voice said behind me.

  I turned toward the voice. A man stood there, a small suit-and-tie figure, balding, his eyes lacking proportion. He faced me with an accusing stare, as though he had accumulated years of experience in making innocent people cringe on their feet for crimes they never committed that were about to be revealed.

  “How can I help you?” I said.

  “Mrs. Emily Bennett, my name is Paulo Pinto. I am a police officer and I need to ask you some questions.”

  He showed me his badge, which seemed pretty authentic due to so much shining. Another man, who approached on short steps, was the exact opposite version of officer Pinto: tall, tieless, hesitant and completely mute. Officer Pinto introduced him.

  “This is officer Roberto Rôla, my partner. He doesn’t speak English, but is a great body language reader.”

  The bespectacled body language reader appeared to be fully dedicated to capturing every minor neck twist, wriggle of arms, rubbing of hands or sweat drops that might indicate nervousness or anxiety typical to liars. His slender arms swayed to and fro from its shoulder hinges while he threw at me that cunning, untrustworthy, I-will-arrest-you expression.

  “Okay . . . ” I said, “but whatever it is, I don’t have much time.”

  Rôla twisted his eyebrow above the upper rim of his glasses. Had he shouted guilty inside his head? After that, both officers exchanged looks, as if willing to agree to each other’s conclusions.

  “Mrs. Bennett, we are here to ask you about Renato Santos who, according to our sources, provided you a transfer service from Rio International Airport to here, yesterday afternoon. Do you confirm it?” Paulo Pinto said.

  I blinked, stricken. Based solely on the words used by officer Pinto, it was obvious that Renato was the subject of an investigation. And in my overreacting mind I immediately assumed he was a drug dealer, bank robber, killer, rapist or a god damn kidnapper, as I had suspected
in the beginning.

  And for each second that I remained silent, trying to digest Pinto’s question, officer Rôla’s eyes bulged, searching my face for clues. He had the manner of a thirsty man, of a detective who pursued any hint of wrongdoing, so he could quench his desire of forging criminal evidences.

  “Yes,” I said, shakily, “he brought me in and . . . that’s it.”

  “Have you ever met him before?”

  “No, never, this is my first time in Rio.”

  Officer Pinto, scrawled in his notebook, squinted at his partner—they both nodded in a perfectly synchronized gesture.

  “Did he say anything that sounded strange. You better not lie to us?” said officer Pinto.

  I had already assumed that before I stood a god forgive disgraced little man because their constant grinning denounced that they had me pre-condemned for whatever it was they thought I had done.

  But I kept my class, raised my nose.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, my hands shaking.

  “Did he say something that seemed . . . suspect to you?”

  Yes, he did. Renato had run over all my companies policies, and had made some weird analogies between taking risks, drug money and his driving job.

  I could have told it to both officers. Perhaps they might have found some satisfaction in the details. But I didn’t. Why would I let my personal impressions of Renato take over the objective facts? Renato had taken me from the airport to my hotel in perfect condition, and that’s what mattered.

  “Well, he seemed to be a regular driver.”

  Both officers’ lips thinned and their nostrils enlarged.

  “Are you sure?” said officer Pinto.

  “Mrs. Bennett, your Uber has arrived,” the clerk said.

  “Yes, I am sure, and I am also late. If you officers don’t mind, I gotta go.”

  They might as well had minded my leaving, but given that they held no warrant against me, I didn’t give a damn.

  “Ok,” officer Pinto said, “I’ll leave my card at the reception desk, just in case you remember anything.”