MURDERED: Can YOU Solve the Mystery? (Click Your Poison Book 2)

by James Schannep

  Fanning the Flames

  Viktor embraces you with surprising strength, pressing his lips to yours and sending warmth down into you like a rush of wildfire. For now, there is nothing but the two of you. You have no wine, but you do have the heat of the jungle and the intensity of the moment.

  His hands knowingly explore your body with a practiced lover’s confidence and before you know what’s happened, your clothes and his have blended together to form a blanket, atop which you blend together in your own way.

  * * *

  You share a cigarette, sitting atop the rock and overlooking the city once more. The urban lights have replaced the sun, and shine out to match the radiance you feel within.

  “Forgive me,” he says, crushing the butt of the cigarette into the rock. “We Brasileiros are a passionate people and I let my passion get the better of me. We must focus on finding Jane’s killer.”

  “Sure,” you say, playing it cool. “It’s good we got that out of the way. So what’s next?”

  “She left us bread crumbs, and if we can retrodict the facts with the evidence, then maybe we’ll find the whole loaf. Once we have proof—then we go to the press.”

  “Not the police?”

  “There’s a long track record here of inconvenient evidence conveniently getting lost. Tomorrow we head to the favelas. With enough bribes, we may just be able to find the trail. Let’s sleep here tonight. It’s warm enough, and I’m a little worried about that assassin finding us if we go back to either the hostel or André’s.”

  • Get some rest and start fresh in the morning.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Femme Fatale

  Irma responds to your embrace with electricity and you soon find yourself entangled on the hostel bed. She straddles you, rising only long enough to pull the soccer jersey over her head, and then lowers herself upon you to please you with an intensity you’ve never known before.

  * * *

  Irma Dos Santos sits up in bed, smoking a cigarette. She offers it to you and you see a profound sadness come over her countenance.

  “I’m sorry…” she says. “I have a confession to make, and I’m afraid you’ll hate me for it. I never thought…I think I’m falling for you. That makes things difficult. I don’t want to. Please don’t hate me, okay?”

  “What is it?”

  She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “The note missing from the crime scene. I—I took it.”

  All the post-coital relaxation is gone from your body and you’re shot right back into stress. “Irma, why would you do that?”

  “My chief knew it would be there; he told me to dispose of it. And he told me…” she looks at you with glistening seawater eyes, “not to solve your case.”

  You’re stunned into silence.

  “I took you out tonight because I thought you might spoil things for Agent Danly. I’m so sorry.”

  “Why?” you ask her.

  “I love you, I know that now.”

  “No!” you jump out of bed. “WHY!? Why would you do all of this?”

  Her lip quivers. “You don’t understand how hard it is for a woman cop in Rio. Chief said he had his reasons, and that I would be rewarded for my loyalty. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices…”

  “I thought your partner was the dirty one,” you say coldly.

  “He is,” she responds with a sad smile. “But there’s a difference between doing something for money and doing it out of loyalty; surely you understand that?”

  You don’t respond.

  “Lucio doesn’t know about the note. The Chief doesn’t trust him because you can’t trust a man who sells his loyalty. I could be chief one day! What is one little wrong if it sets me up for so much good in the future? I can make a difference as chief, clean things up… You’re the only person I’ve told, and I only did so because I love you. I’m sorry. Please, say something.”

  • “I think it’s time you take me back to my hotel.”

  • “I understand. I don’t agree with it, but I understand…”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Field Day

  The fresh smell of spring rain that greeted you outside the storage shed is long gone, replaced by the wet fart smell of mud and manure. You move through the sodden sugarcane, muck squishing underfoot, the wet stalks tugging at your clothes, seemingly sharpened by the rainstorm. At least the fire shouldn’t pose a threat anymore.

  Agent Bertram’s satellite phone rings. You and Maria look to him.

  “Turn that off, the grileiros will hear us!” Maria growls.

  “Damn. They know I’m in the field; they wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency.” Then, opening the phone, he answers the call. “Agent Bertram… Negative, I’m still on scene.”

  Maria turns to you with eyes wide as the caller speaks. You can’t hear the words, but you can hear the angry tone. The pilot draws her pistols, clearly on edge.

  “Sir, all due respect, that’s bullshit. I haven’t even—”

  He grits his teeth.

  “Yes, sir… yes, sir.” He hangs up and says, “We’ve got to go back.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The official investigation team landed this morning. We’re off the case.”

  “But we haven’t even—” you start to say. His glare silences you.

  There’s a rustling in the cane and Maria takes aim. It’s impossible to pinpoint the exact location of the sounds, almost as if they’re coming from everywhere.

  “We’re too exposed,” Bertram says, raising his rifle.

  “We need to run!” Maria hisses.

  • “Form up, make a triangle back-to-back on me! We shoot to kill!”

  • “Let’s high-tail it to the plantation! Shoot anybody in our way.”

  • “Lower your weapons. The only way out of this is surrender.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Flee the Favela

  You peer out of the curtain beside Viktor, staring into the street with disbelief. What’s spread out before you is something out of a war zone. The Elite Squad armored vehicle lumbers down the street, its metal surface singing out with rejected bullets. There are tiny portholes on the sides, just big enough for the barrel of an assault rifle to fit through. The portholes are presently being filled by the guns of Elite Squad members, who are firing haphazardly at the drug traffickers engaging them from the street.

  Gunshots light up darkened doorways and windows. Two traffickers are perched on a rooftop across from you, but they’re too focused on the armored vehicle to notice you.

  “Caveirão,” Viktor informs with awed whisper. “We need to get out of here, but we can’t just run…”

  The battle rages on, gunshots pinging off the armored car as if lamenting their own inefficiency. A young drug trafficker steps out of a house and hurls a grenade at the vehicle. It’s a quick movement, and he’s safely back inside again before the police can shoot him.

  You duck inside the hovel with Viktor just as the grenade explodes. After the dust settles, you check back and it appears the caveirão is unharmed. Not even the tires are punctured; this thing is a beast.

  And now it’s angry.

  The tires screech as the thing darts forward under full acceleration. Since the front end is reinforced, covered with an extra-thick cattle guard, the vehicle doesn’t feel much when it smashes into the building head-on and punches a hole through the poorly constructed brick and mortar. Pulling back with equal force, the vehicle retreats away from the damaged home as the roof collapses.

  “If they bring that caveirão this way, we’re dead.”

  “What we need is a distraction,” you say.

  Movement on the rooftop across the way catches your eye. There’s another trafficker coming out, holding an RPG—the guy has a fucking rocket launcher! He crouches down on one knee, takes aim, and prepares to fire.

  “Like that!” Viktor cries, “Let’s go!”

  As a testament to their skill, the top of the armor
ed car flips open, and an Elite Squad member bursts forth from the cylindrical hatch, firing his rifle as he emerges.

  No time to take aim, yet incredibly, he hits the RPG-wielding gang member. Only winged, the trafficker fires a wild shot; the rocket-propelled grenade flies off, spiraling out of control.

  Viktor sprints out of the hovel just as the rocket explodes into a nearby building, the tremors on the street and the rain of debris buying you a momentary reprieve as both the drug lords and the policemen take cover. You’re right behind him, but before you make it into the intersection across the street, you’re spotted by Elite Squad.

  With Viktor holding an AK-47 and you holding a sub-machinegun, you’re taken as threats. Bullets scream out across the pavement—barely missing you as you run into the narrow road and away from the caveirão.

  Viktor spots an open door and takes the opportunity to run in. You follow, only to find he’s led you into a dead end. Clearly, he was hoping for a rear exit and not another home to get trapped in. He looks at you with frightened desperation in his eyes.

  • Go back out and keep running through the street.

  • Use the door for cover and fire at any Elite Squad that try to follow.

  • “Let’s get down and hide here!”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Flandering

  He eyes you with suspicion. “You’re American, no?”

  “I’m studying at the university,” you say, your mind racing.

  “What are you studying?”

  “Uh, Portuguese?” You wince inside as you say it.

  “Você fala Português, então?”

  “I, um, just started…”

  Another cop walks over toward the barricade. “Hey, weren’t you at the station tonight? What are you doing here?”

  You’re about to try and talk your way out of it, but the first cop leans forward, looking toward the back of the house, and says, “What the hell is going on over there?”

  You see Viktor hanging out of the window, trying to push his way out. Apparently he’s finished his part of the bargain, so time to finish yours—distraction!

  • Kick the policeman in the groin and/or punch him in the face.

  • Sprint inside a random apartment. The police can’t follow without a warrant!

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Floundering

  “That’s just crazy enough to work,” he says.

  Viktor sneaks around the periphery of the apartments, getting closer to the back of Jane’s unit while trying to remain unseen. You casually stroll over to the police barricade the policeman standing there puts out his hand to stop you. He says something in Portuguese while shaking his head “no.” Oh boy, here goes nothing.

  “What’s happened? Is everything okay?”

  “Please don’t worry. We have it under control,” the policeman says.

  Casting a sideways glance, you see Viktor slip inside one of the back windows. The policeman starts to follow your gaze, so you press forward.

  • “Let me in, I can help! I’m her neighbor.”

  • “I’m with the American agents; they’ll be joining me shortly. What have you found here so far?”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Forgotten

  The man’s smile disappears and Maria’s revolvers rise. Before she has a chance to shoot the Sugar King, however, his security team opens fire, shooting each of you in the back and stopping the attack before it begins.

  With a victor’s smile, the man walks over toward where the three of you lie bleeding but not yet dead.

  “How do you…expect to get away with…?” Bertram groans.

  “I will make a call to the police soon. Did you forget that your helicopter had crashed? Surely no one could walk away from such an accident. The three of you are just walking ghosts.”

  “Bastard,” Maria says.

  “Do not worry, you will be returned to the aircraft and each of you will receive a warrior’s burial—purified by fire. This way it’s much harder to find any traces of the bullets. You will be identified by dental records; they’ll know it was you. You will be mourned.”

  He signals for his men to finish you off.

  THE END

  Fox and Hound

  You dash to the edge of the building and slide over the side, lowering yourself down. Irma is right behind you as you rush out into the street. Two Elite Squad members remain by the armored car and one shouts at you as you dash across the road. He brings his rifle up to his shoulder.

  You make it into the alley. Jesus, was he going to shoot you? You keep running, afraid to look back and see if he’s coming after you, praying he’ll stay there to guard the vehicle.

  “Keep going!” Irma shouts from behind. And though there’s not enough air in the world to fill your burning lungs, you sprint on.

  The mystery man steps out from one of the homes, an AK-47 pointed at your chest, his blue eyes glaring at you coldly. Your legs try to bring you to a halt before your brain processes what you see, but it’s not quick enough. You plow into the rifle, the hard metal slamming into your sternum and taking away what little breath you had. You fall to the alley floor, wheezing.

  The man, who looks more like a drug lord’s accountant than one of their enforcers, shouts at you in Portuguese. Irma ducks down, ostensibly checking to see if you’re okay, but uses you as a distraction to go for a handgun strapped to her ankle.

  • Lunge at the bastard.

  • Raise your hands and shout “Turista!” repeatedly.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Free as a Bird

  On the rooftop, a welcome breeze helps wick the sweat from your skin. The sun shines brightly but your prospects do not. There’s a fire escape ladder headed down, but when you get close enough to look over the edge of the roof, a hailstorm of bullets whips by your head. Well, you’ve certainly painted yourself into a pretty little corner, now haven’t you?

  With certain death coming at you from below, a concrete handi-capable ramp on the far end of the roof catches your eye. If you hit it fast enough, you could launch yourself over the guard barrier. And since your other option is bullets, what’ve you got to lose? Who knows, maybe that trash truck is still circling down below and you’ll land amongst the cushy garbage. Or maybe you’ll fall into the branches of a tree and Tarzan your way down.

  Or maybe you’ll crunch against the pavement.

  Pushing the motorbike’s engine to its limits, you smack into the base of the ramp, violently bouncing the shocks. But what immediately follows is a feeling of weightlessness. You sail over the guard rail, just like you hoped you would, and into the open sky beyond.

  You’re several stories off the ground and your outward velocity pushes you further and faster than the gravity trying to bring you down to the ground. In fact, you’re going to smash into the office building next to the consulate long before you hit the street. Then, by some miracle of timing, you head straight for a large window.

  With better luck than an action star could hope for, your motorcycle crashes through the window and into the office building. Using adrenaline-fueled reflexes, you swerve around cubicles and office workers, eventually crashing the bike into a water cooler.

  You jump off the motorcycle and dash past the terrified office workers. There’s an exit sign above the far door, so you sprint that way and slam into it. When you open the door, stairs—glorious stairs—are there. You rush down, unable to believe you made it through this thing in one piece, and run out the back of the building.

  Time to go meet Viktor for pizza. And a beer. Yeah, you could sure use a beer…

  • Head to the restaurant.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  The Fugitive

  She looks from you to the agent.

  Bertram sighs. “I’m in enough shit as it is,” he says. “But I’d do the same thing for my family. If you want to go, I won’t stop you.”

  Maria smiles and her eyes shimmer with emotion. She steps over to the security bo
oth and returns with the second revolver and two sets of car keys. She puts a set in Bertram’s hand and at the same moment rushes in for a kiss. Though it lasts only a fleeting instant, the passion is undeniable.

  Without a word, she slips out the front door. Neither of you will ever see her again.

  “Goddamn. I’m gonna have a hell of a time explaining this,” Bertram says. “Come on, Hotshot. Rio’s waiting.”

  • Leave the jungle for the consulate.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  The Future is Now

  The man who introduces himself is bookish, lean, in his fifties. He looks like he could’ve been a scientist once, but has evolved into a businessman over the years. He’s certainly not the man you saw at the crime scene.

  “Italo Fellini,” he says, saying his first name with a soft ‘I’ (eee-tall-oh), shaking hands with each of you. “Welcome! I’m told you have questions about the Energy Summit.”

  “You’re Italian?” Bertram asks, taking a seat.

  The man sits as well. “That’s my heritage, but I’m a born Paulista.”

  “So why’s your conference in Rio then, Mr. Fellini?”

  “Ah, you know how they can be—so tetchy. Please, call me Italo.”

  Agent Bertram nods. “Indeed, they can be. Just as Paulistas can be…a little elitist, no?”

  The businessman laughs. “We had a drawing. Rio won this time around, but it’ll be good for them. What with this, the World Cup, and the Olympics, they might just be a real, grown-up city when they’re done.”

  “And the conference coinciding with Carnaval, whose idea was that?”

  “Brasileiros like to mix business with pleasure. It’s a wonderful opportunity for our foreign guests to get a taste of our culture—the Energy Summit will take place during the day, and we’ll unwind in the streets of Carnaval at night.”