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

by James Schannep

  Like the Cheshire cat, a grin emerges from the shadows when you approach. The man who materializes is a sinewy Afro-Brazilian, his unkempt hair just beginning to form dreadlocks. He’s unshaven and his beard sprouts forth in tiny curls, giving a dark pointillism to his face and serving to emboss his grin and bright eyes.

  He wears a hoodie, hands shoved into the pockets, the jacket unzipped to reveal that he is shirtless beneath. An outtie bellybutton presses proudly above his tattered cargo shorts. He says something to Viktor in Portuguese, his smile friendly and inviting.

  “His name is Tinho. He says if we want to pay for information, he knows everything that happens in the favela and he’d be happy to help us.”

  A short woman with curly bleached hair approaches from the side and says something to Viktor. She looks dirty and tired, like someone worked to the bone, like a homeless person who can’t quite open her eyes all the way. One word she says to Viktor sticks out: Americano.

  Tinho shouts at her, trying to shoo her off. You look to Viktor, who translates: “She wants to know if we’re looking for the dead American.”

  • “Of course we are! Let’s see what she has to say.”

  • “I don’t know…if Tinho is The Guy for information, maybe we should stick with him.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Nightcap

  After a shower, a nap, and a bite to eat, you enter the hotel bar at sunset. The glint of waning light glimmers off the polished surfaces of the bar, focusing the rays at eye level, causing you to squint as you walk in. There’s still champagne chilling on the counter, but it’s still not time to celebrate.

  As your eyes adjust to the dark covey of the bar, you find both agents waiting for you inside.

  “Long time no see,” you say.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Agent Bertram says, signaling the bartender for a round of shots.

  “So is it official, we’re really off the case?” you ask, taking your seat.

  “It’s official,” Danly says.

  “What now?”

  Bertram scoffs. “Didn’t you hear? I’m on suspension, and Dan-O here starts the Energy Summit security detail tomorrow.”

  “You got suspended? For what?”

  “Apparently my investigations out in the jungle weren’t exactly orthodoxy.”

  “Orthodox,” Danly corrects.

  “Orthodoxical—who the fuck cares? I’ve got thirty days on the beach and I’m getting drunk!”

  The shots arrive. Tequila. The three of you drink.

  “And so, what, we all get fired and we’re here celebrating?” you say through the bitterness of the alcohol.

  Bertram swirls his finger around the bottom of the shot glass, scooping up any residue, then licks his finger clean.

  “I believe it’s called a ‘wake,’ when you’re in mourning,” says a man from behind.

  You turn to see three agents in suits. It’s the replacement investigation team, the men who’ve come from the States. The leader is tall and square-jawed, his blond hair meticulously combed to one side and pressed down at the ears where his sunglasses normally rest. The other men, both built like smokestacks, say nothing.

  The blond smiles. “Mourning a dead career, right?”

  Danly clears his throat. “Howard, don’t you have—I don’t know—a murder investigation to solve?”

  “You know what? I actually do,” the leader replies. “That’s very perceptive of you; maybe you should be an investigator or something? Oh, wait….”

  The two cronies laugh.

  Bertram suddenly launches to his feet and his chair screeches against the floor before it slams against the wall.

  “I’ll drink to that. Round’s on me, fellas, whaddya say?” he says.

  “No… thanks. We need to get going. Duty never sleeps, right?”

  Bertram and Danly say nothing. The three of you watch the three of them leave, but you can’t help yourself.

  “You don’t want to interview me?” you ask. “Wouldn’t that be part of a thorough investigation?”

  Agent Howard’s jaw sets. “Assuming these guys gave us a thorough report, we should have all we need. Just don’t go far; we’ll call if they missed anything.”

  And like that, they’re gone.

  “Assholes,” Danly says.

  “Speaking of which,” Bertram says, turning to you. “What the hell are you doing hanging out with chumps like us? Go live your life! See Carnaval. Get back on vacation.”

  • “Well… as long as you guys don’t mind. I probably should go see the parades at least!”

  • “No way! There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Next round’s on me.”

  • “You know what? I can still go to the Energy Summit. This doesn’t have to be over!”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Nocturnal

  “You can just drop me off out front,” Muniz says when you return to the police station.

  “It’s okay, I wanted to come in anyway,” Danly replies.

  “To talk to Detective Dos Santos?” the man asks, his brow raised.

  “Something like that.”

  “Hey, if you want to go talk to the Chief, you go right ahead, Boss-man. You wasted the time, not me; you coulda talked with some guys in that favela if you wanted to. The slime is still there in a pacified slum, it’s just hiding.”

  “Care to stick around and defend your case?”

  “No can do. Night shift. Which should be an extra-long one, thanks to your dragging me out for tour-guide duty.”

  Danly parks the SUV without comment. The three of you walk toward the station, but Danly puts a hand out to stop you at the entrance. After Muniz is out of earshot, he says, “I’m going to find his beat from the Chief and I’m going to follow him tonight. There are only two reasons he’d take us on a wild goose chase like that. Either he’s trying to keep us off the trail, or he really is a giant fucking pussy. We find out tonight.”

  Once you enter, Agent Danly tells you to wait for him in Detective Dos Santos’ office while he gets the schedule from the Chief. When you go in, you’re surprised to find Irma already there. She’s dressed in a white blouse with a black jacket and black slacks; most likely what she wears when she’s out interviewing possible sources and suspects.

  “Hi there,” she says, looking up from her desk with a warm smile. “I hear you guys went out to the favelas today. Find anything?”

  “No,” you say with a sigh. “Your partner took us to a pacified slum. Agent Danly’s pretty upset.”

  She shrugs. “Lucio’s not as brave as you. It takes guts to go into the favelas without Elite Squad, and it’s suicide to go there at night.”

  She’s still smiling, and looks like she has more to say, but her gaze goes past you to the doorway as Danly enters.

  “Find anything new today, Detective?”

  “Not on this case,” she says. “There are a lot more murders here than there are cops.”

  “So you try to solve the easiest one, right?”

  “Wouldn’t you? Frees up more time for the others and gets the Chief off my back. Speaking of free time, you two still want to go to the favelas?”

  “Tonight?” you gulp. “I thought you said it was suicide?”

  “Not for someone brave and strong like you, right?” she says with a wink. “Elite Squad has an Op; I thought we could tag along. Believe it or not, a lot of the thugs are in school or working during the day, and the ones that aren’t are off selling weed in the rich neighborhoods, so your odds of finding an informant go up when the sun goes down.”

  “Damn,” Agent Danly says. “I sort of have an Op scheduled tonight already.”

  “Does it require the both of you?”

  You look up at him.

  “Oh, hell no, Rookie.”

  “She’s right,” you say. “I’ll go with Elite Squad. Don’t worry, I’ll be safe. You go put some surveillance on our suspected mole.”

  Irma looks at you when you say “mole.�
� So does Danly. “I can see the headlines now,” he says, chopping an open palm across the air to “print” the words out before you. “American Tourist Raped and Murdered in Rio; Responsible DSS Agent to be Crucified.”

  “Still, you bring up a good point,” he continues. “Going out with Elite Squad should take priority.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  He looks to Irma. “Detective, would you mind ensuring our Cooperating Witness here makes it back to the hotel room that has been so generously comped by the State Department?”

  She nods.

  “Rookie, go back to the hotel—eat something from room service, go for a walk on the beach. I’ll let you play sleuth again in the morning. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need some goddamned coffee,” he says gruffly.

  Irma smiles at you again as Danly exits the room. She flashes it so easily and yet each time it sends a flush of warmth radiating out from your belly. Her eyes, with what must be artificially long and lush lashes, flicker at you in a way that really does make you feel like you’re some kind of superhero—like you could storm the favelas without fear of danger.

  “What are you smiling about?” you ask.

  “‘The mole?’ You wouldn’t be talking about my partner, would you?”

  Your mouth drops open. “How did….?”

  “I’ve always felt something nagging about that note you found; the note that is now missing. I can tell about people in interrogation, and I believe you’re telling the truth; it’s a gift I have. So where did the note go? I doubt you’ll find any connection between Lucio and the murdered girl, but I doubt even further that he cares who did it. His problem isn’t that he’s some kind of conspirator, out to foil your investigation, his problem is—he’s not lazy—what’s the word I’m looking for? Non-caring?”

  “Apathetic, maybe?” Danly stands in the doorway, blowing on his coffee. “I assume you’re talking about me, but don’t take my decision as callousness, Rookie. I’ve trained specifically for urban combat like this, and so has Elite Squad. I hate to say it, but they make our SWAT look like police enthusiasts. These guys are so well-equipped, so battle-tested and hardened, they might as well be Seal Team Six.”

  You nod. At least he didn’t overhear the crux of your conversation.

  “Should I introduce you to the guys now?” Irma asks.

  Agent Danly says that she should and you follow as she brings him to Elite Squad. He introduces himself (one sergeant has at least passable English) and they discuss the plan for the evening. Most of the jargon is lost on you, but the name “Shadow Chiefs” keeps popping up. It’s the name of the faction that controls the favela they’re set to start pacifying tonight.

  You watch as they arm up for the evening—Kevlar vests, assault rifles, some with combat shotguns; everything in black. Elite Squad members wear berets with the symbol of a grinning skull, two pistols crossed behind it like a pirate flag, and a dagger plunged into the top. The skull is cracked open but couldn’t care less. The mocking grin invites pain. The unit’s initials in Portuguese—B.O.P.E.—are emblazoned above the symbol.

  Agent Danly leaves to retrieve a duffle bag from the SUV and changes in the bathroom. When he comes out, he’s in khaki-cargo pants, desert issue US combat boots, a baby-blue oxford button-down with sleeves rolled-up and cuffed at the bicep, and a bullet-proof vest, tactical belt, and baseball cap all in matching tan. In addition to his sidearm, he now carries his own assault rifle. The look is completed by something out of the Old West—a badge pinned to his vest.

  It’s after sunset, so it’s time for them to go. Danly loads up in his “battle rattle” with Elite Squad in an armored combat vehicle. Aside from being painted black, it’s the kind of thing you’d expect to see patrolling the streets of Afghanistan. Judging by the spiderwebbed impact print against the bulletproof window, it’s seen some action.

  “Don’t worry about me, Rookie.” Agent Danly says, stepping into the passenger seat. “I live for this shit.”

  And then they drive away, off to conquer the slums.

  Detective Irma Dos Santos looks to you. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Did I miss something?” you ask.

  “He asked me to make sure you got back, but he didn’t say when. I want to know what your plans are, so I can help.”

  Your eyebrows start to defy gravity. “You want me to disobey him?”

  “That’s not for me to judge. We have a saying here: cada macaco no seu galho—which translates literally to ‘each monkey in your own branch,’ but what it really means is ‘each person is responsible for their own actions.’ You do what you must, Agent Danly does what he must, and I do what I must. I think you’re brave and honest, and I think Agent Danly is kind of an asshole, so the branch my monkey sits in is helping you.”

  She smiles. You try to think it over, but only one image comes to the surface: Agent Danly, a vein pounding on his forehead, his hands tightening into fists, the knuckles exploding out like newly white popcorn. If he found out you had disobeyed and followed him into danger, he’d kick you off the investigation for sure.

  “Do you have any idea how angry he’ll be if he catches us?”

  She shrugs. “To be a cop in Rio, you must first be a master at keeping secrets. Ask yourself this: will he be happy if you find out something he misses? Maybe if you ID the guy? The case could be closed tonight.”

  • “Okay, I’m in. So what do we do? Follow Elite Squad into the slums? It’s going to be a tall order to avoid being seen by both Agent Danly and the drug traffickers.”

  • “I don’t think so. You’d better drop me off at the hotel. My monkey doesn’t want to get raped or murdered.”

  • “Damn it if you’re not right—and you were right about our suspicions of your partner: Danly wanted to follow Muniz to see if he’s dirty. Will you help me do it instead?”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  No More Easy Paydays

  The sun crests over the Rio de Janeiro skyline, sending reddish-umber rays over the city. Cristo Redentor stands with arms wide as if pouring the crimson down upon you Himself. The Brazilian flag flutters in the breeze atop one of the broken rooftops of the pacified favela.

  “You see my flag up there, Tourist? There are over 900 favelas in Rio, each an independent city-state controlled by the druglords—until now. When you see that flag, it tells you that government troops have reclaimed the territory in the name of Brasil.”

  “So what?” you ask. “This favela is safe now that it’s been pacified?”

  He shakes his head. “The local police can be even more dangerous than the slumlords, because cops have law on their side. They can kill you with carte blanche authority and say you were a criminal, and if another cop stands up and says ‘this isn’t right,’ they kill him too.

  “Make no mistake, the druglords are still here, biding their time. They’ll return after Brasil forgets about the World Cup and the Olympics, that is, unless the government succeeds in rezoning neighborhoods like this and wins their war on the poor. Look at these views, Tourist! This is prime real estate.”

  You look around, seeing the shanty neighborhood in a new light. If these crumbling buildings were replaced by high-rise apartments and ritzy hotels, this could be the new Ipanema.

  Looking back at Viktor, you say, “But we’re just going to pay off the cop, right? Bribe him for information?”

  “That’s the bad news. These venal police officers will do anything for a buck, true enough, but we’ve doled out so many bribes already…and after buying the guns? We’re out of cash.”

  “So what do we do?” you ask.

  Viktor shrugs. “We’re supposed to meet up just after sunset, when the first street lights power on. I’m all for suggestions if you’ve got any.”

  You think for a moment. Hmmm…

  • “Maybe we can strike a deal. Reveal who we are and offer to pay handsomely after this whol
e thing is resolved.”

  • “Before I came here, I read that people hold up ATMs all the time. Maybe we should ‘get’ some money before they arrive?”

  • “Let’s pretend that we’re going to pay him off, then hold him up with that sub-machinegun.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  No Thanks

  “Well, then just go get me one,” he says.

  Before you can answer, Irma interjects. “I can have one of our new recruits grab you one, if you like.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Danly says in a tone that suggests otherwise.

  He gets up and walks out.

  “So, is this your first vacation in Brasil?” she asks you.

  You laugh. “It’s not much of a vacation anymore. I was here with friends, we were planning on doing Carnaval, but I guess they’ll have to go without me. Is that picture from before you were a cop?”

  “No,” she replies with a frown. Then, in a flash of understanding, she leans forward and smiles. “In Rio, everyone participates in Carnaval—even cops. That was only last year. This year, I have to work. But you should go! The investigation will wait, Carnaval comes only once a year.”

  You realize her hand is atop yours. It’s warm and soft. Seeing you blush, she takes it away.

  “You are shy?” she asks.

  Agent Danly re-enters the room, blowing against the lip of his Styrofoam cup to cool the beverage.

  • Continue the investigation.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Not Much of a Comfort

  You head upstairs to your room, only to find the lights off and the beds empty. Your friends aren’t even here yet. It is pretty late, but not so late that the bars are closed. Your spot on the bottom of the third bunk bed is wide open, so you tuck in, ready for sleep. There’ll be plenty of time to talk tomorrow.

  It’s a fitful night of sleep, plagued with nightmarish images of blood and bullets. A snake creeps toward you, a note affixed to its neck—the note—PICK ME UP. No matter how hard you try, you can’t get away. The snake moves slowly, but it’s like you’re stuck in quicksand. You’re frozen as the serpent crawls up your chest and coils around your neck.