driver.
"Um, sorry, this isn't right. I said the athletes'
village. For the International Tournament of Athletes." I looked out the
window. We were in the middle of the slums, far away from the cushy hotels they
had built specifically for the games. If I hadn't grown up in places similar to
this, I probably would have been terrified. But I wasn't in America. I was in
Brazil, which automatically made this situation more alarming. "Let me
bring up the map again," I said.
A giant Brazilian man with a shaved head opened the car door
before the driver could respond. He was wearing a black suit over a black
button down. Even Lil Wayne would have thought that the amount of gold chains
around his neck looked tacky. Despite his laughable fashion decisions, the man
had an aura of danger about him. I was quickly realizing that this situation
was more sinister than a simple misunderstanding with an erratic Uber driver.
"Follow me," said the man. His English seemed to be
much better than my driver. And his tone didn't leave much room to disagree.
When I hesitated, he pulled back his suit coat to reveal a Glock
tucked into his waist band.
Shit. I put my hands out to show I wasn't going to
make any sudden movements. "Alright, I'm coming." I slowly slid out
of the back seat and followed the enormous Brazilian. I looked around to size
up my options. Follow the guy with the gun, or make a run for it. I could
probably sprint to a nearby corner and get around the side of the building
within a few seconds. If he was anything like the thugs I grew up with, the
ones who held pistols sideways when they shot to try to look cool, he had no
chance of hitting me. But there was a chance he was ex military or something,
in which case I'd be toast.
I decided to cooperate and see where this was going. There
was no reason to provoke him if it wasn't absolutely necessary.
The big Brazilian knocked twice on a door that was really
just a random collection of plywood and sheet metal. The door swung open and he
stepped to the side to let me pass. As I tried to slide past him, the smell of
Brazilian barbeque mixed with musky sweat stung my nostrils.
The inside of the building was much nicer than the outside,
besides for the fact that the enclosed space intensified the smell of my
kidnapper. We were in a dimly lit hallway with wainscoting and gaudy
chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. We passed a few open doors. I couldn't be
sure, but I thought I caught a glimpse of three men counting piles of cash in
one of the rooms. As we progressed down the hallway, the sound of rap music
grew louder.
The hallway ended in a staircase that led down to the back of
a gentlemen's club. Tan girls in very skimpy lingerie and heels danced on poles
while men covered in tattoos reached for them. I quickly realized that
classifying this as a gentlemen's club was far too kind. At best, this was a
strip club. Possibly a brothel. Maybe they were supposed to bring Alex here
instead? He would love it.
Directly in front of me, a man with a short mohawk wearing a
crisp white suit sat on a leather couch. Two strippers in white lingerie sat on
either side of him. Three men just as large as the guy who had escorted me down
the hall stood in front of the couch to prevent anyone from approaching from
the VIP section of the club.
As soon as he saw me, the man in white stood up and smiled.
"Boa noite," he said, holding his hand out for me.
"Boa noite," I said and shook his hand. Before
coming to Brazil I had learned a few phrases, and that happened to be one of
them.
"I'm Rodrigo, and this is Isadora and Giovanna. Thank
you for coming to see me. How was the drive?" His English was surprisingly
good, despite his thick accent.
"It was okay. Although I would have preferred if your
driver had taken me to where I wanted to go rather than kidnapping me."
"Kidnapping is such a strong word. I just wanted to talk
to you discretely, so I figured that was the best way to arrange such a
meeting."
"Um, sorry, this isn't right. I said the athletes'
village. For the International Tournament of Athletes." I looked out the
window. We were in the middle of the slums, far away from the cushy hotels they
had built specifically for the games. If I hadn't grown up in places similar to
this, I probably would have been terrified. But I wasn't in America. I was in
Brazil, which automatically made this situation more alarming. "Let me
bring up the map again," I said.
A giant Brazilian man with a shaved head opened the car door
before the driver could respond. He was wearing a black suit over a black
button down. Even Lil Wayne would have thought that the amount of gold chains
around his neck looked tacky. Despite his laughable fashion decisions, the man
had an aura of danger about him. I was quickly realizing that this situation
was more sinister than a simple misunderstanding with an erratic Uber driver.
"Follow me," said the man. His English seemed to be
much better than my driver. And his tone didn't leave much room to disagree.
When I hesitated, he pulled back his suit coat to reveal a Glock
tucked into his waist band.
Shit. I put my hands out to show I wasn't going to
make any sudden movements. "Alright, I'm coming." I slowly slid out
of the back seat and followed the enormous Brazilian. I looked around to size
up my options. Follow the guy with the gun, or make a run for it. I could
probably sprint to a nearby corner and get around the side of the building
within a few seconds. If he was anything like the thugs I grew up with, the
ones who held pistols sideways when they shot to try to look cool, he had no
chance of hitting me. But there was a chance he was ex military or something,
in which case I'd be toast.
I decided to cooperate and see where this was going. There
was no reason to provoke him if it wasn't absolutely necessary.
The big Brazilian knocked twice on a door that was really
just a random collection of plywood and sheet metal. The door swung open and he
stepped to the side to let me pass. As I tried to slide past him, the smell of
Brazilian barbeque mixed with musky sweat stung my nostrils.
The inside of the building was much nicer than the outside,
besides for the fact that the enclosed space intensified the smell of my
kidnapper. We were in a dimly lit hallway with wainscoting and gaudy
chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. We passed a few open doors. I couldn't be
sure, but I thought I caught a glimpse of three men counting piles of cash in
one of the rooms. As we progressed down the hallway, the sound of rap music
grew louder.
The hallway ended in a staircase that led down to the back of
a gentlemen's club. Tan girls in very skimpy lingerie and heels danced on poles
while men covered in tattoos reached for them. I quickly realized that
classifying this as a gentlemen's club was far too kind. At best, this was a
strip club. Possibly a brothel. Maybe they were supposed to bring Alex here
instead? He would love it.
Directly in front of me, a man with a short mohawk wearing a
crisp white suit sat on a leather couch. Two strippers in white lingerie sat on
either side of him. Three men just as large as the guy who had escorted me down
the hall stood in front of the couch to prevent anyone from approaching from
the VIP section of the club.
As soon as he saw me, the man in white stood up and smiled.
"Boa noite," he said, holding his hand out for me.
"Boa noite," I said and shook his hand. Before
coming to Brazil I had learned a few phrases, and that happened to be one of
them.
"I'm Rodrigo, and this is Isadora and Giovanna. Thank
you for coming to see me. How was the drive?" His English was surprisingly
good, despite his thick accent.
"It was okay. Although I would have preferred if your
driver had taken me to where I wanted to go rather than kidnapping me."
"Kidnapping is such a strong word. I just wanted to talk
to you discretely, so I figured that was the best way to arrange such a
meeting."
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