by Luke Murphy
He could hear the voices growing louder, the rustling of plants as someone walked through the leaves towards him. Calvin closed his eyes and stayed still, pretending to still be out.
“Don’t bother. We saw you moving.”
Calvin opened his eyes and saw Luiz standing in front of him, bent down and twisting his head so that Calvin could see him right-side up.
“Did you have a nice nap?” Luiz smiled. His eyes were hazed over, maybe a little stoned.
“Fuck you!” Calvin spit.
“I’ve never drugged anyone your size before. I wasn’t sure of an exact dosage, exactly how much to give you. But you really chugged that first canteen and immediately went for number two. I never thought you’d go down.”
Calvin blinked hard, still feeling the effects of the drugs. Luiz’s image was still a bit fuzzy, but he wasn’t the same shy, quiet man that Chantal had introduced him to at the bar.
Luiz slapped Calvin’s face playfully. “Wake up, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He nodded behind Calvin.
A man came forward, followed by a row of dirty, shirtless men. Calvin couldn’t judge the age of the men but they didn’t look old.
In one hand, the leader held a sheaf of papers, and in the other hand, a twenty-inch Latin American machete used to cut through Rainforest undergrowth. He was dressed in camouflage greens. He had acne-scarred caved-in cheeks and his nose dominated his face.
Calvin recognized the man from somewhere but couldn’t place him. He looked as if he was in charge.
The boss turned his back to Calvin. He walked towards the fire and lodged the machete into the coals, between two large rocks.
“Calvin Watters, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He chuckled, turning back around. “I believe you know Rafael and Pedro.” He motioned to two young men standing beside him.
Calvin looked at them. One guy had raccoon eyes and a bandage across the bridge of his nose. The other man’s arm was in a sling and his nose fully wrapped.
The punks from the ATM.
One of them approached Calvin and kicked him flush on the bridge of the nose. Calvin felt his septum snap and tasted the metallic blood as it flowed into his nasal cavity. He coughed, almost choking on it. His vision blurred even more.
Then the second man laid into Calvin like a heavy-bag in a gym, repeating combination body punches to his defenseless abdomen. The pounding made Calvin’s eyes watered, his body swinging from the rack, but he didn’t show the pain the man inflicted.
“That’s enough,” the boss said, grabbing the top of the frame and stopping Calvin’s swaying momentum.
The men retreated and stepped back, standing behind, as the boss took the lead again.
“Chantal had high hopes for you, Calvin Watters. Because of you, I’ve lost my best scout. Chantal could pick out a prime candidate every time. She made me a lot of money. Will someone pay for you, Calvin Watters?”
The man showed Calvin the top sheet from the stack, a picture of Calvin from the airplane. Chantal had been taking his picture. Bile rose in his throat. When Calvin didn’t answer, the boss read from the papers.
“Calvin Isaiah Watters, born October 7, in Los Angeles, California. African-American, 6’5”, 220 pounds. Mother deceased, father unknown, brother LAPD detective.” He looked up to see if there was any reaction, but Calvin gave him no satisfaction. “As you can see, Chantal was thorough.”
The man flipped over the paper and Calvin saw another picture of himself, again from the airplane, that Chantal had snapped with her iPhone.
Calvin grinded his teeth, breathing through his mouth because of his dislodged nose. He stared at the leader and spit blood. “Go fuck yourself.”
The man chuckled and turned back to the fire. “You Americans, always the hero until the very end. You’ve seen too many action movies.”
The man removed the machete, now red hot and glowing. He approached Calvin and pressed the tip of the blade into Calvin’s bare chest, twisting it slightly to allow the knife to slice into Calvin’s skin and sink in slightly.
His body trembled from the pain. Calvin tensed and wiggled, but did not scream out, even though he could hear the sizzle of his skin and feel it pucker and bubble beneath the blade.
The leader pulled out the machete and moved it down Calvin’s abdomen, pressing it just above his pelvic area.
Calvin clenched, gritting his teeth. Again, he heard the sizzle and smelled charred flesh. Some part of his brain compartmentalized, separated the pain from the anger. He fed off the anger.
“Thank you. May I have another?” Calvin hissed.
The man smiled and put the knife back in the fire. He continued to read. “High school education, former sports bookie bill collector, now self-employed private investigator. At first Chantal was disappointed, thought that no one would miss a lowlife, street punk like you. And then she found it.”
Again, he looked at Calvin. There were at least half a dozen men surrounding them. Some drinking, some smoking, some doing both, and all smiling and enjoying themselves.
“Last year you worked with the Las Vegas Police to solve a high-profile murder case. You were a citywide, even nationwide, hero. Now you’re admired and respected. Your whole trip here is being covered by billionaire Shawn Grant. He might care. That should earn us a few American dollars.”
Calvin chuckled, a low, mocking laugh. “You’re dumber than you look if you think anyone cares about me.”
The drug lord smiled. “What about Rachel?”
Calvin stopped laughing, the smile vanished from his face. His lips tightened.
“Oh yes, we do know about sweet little Rachel. She might be worried about you.” He flashed a black and white photo of Calvin’s girlfriend.
Calvin wasn’t sure if this was a bluff, or how far of a reach a Brazilian drug lord had, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
Calvin stared hard into the man’s eyes. He spit again. “You stupid fuck! Do you think hurting my girlfriend will make me less or more dangerous?”
The drug boss didn’t respond, but from what Calvin could see, and from his years of uttering threats and dishing out pain on the Vegas streets, he knew that his words had made an impact. He noticed the fear in the man’s eyes.
Without warning, the sky opened up and rain pelted down like marbles. The leader shielded his face with the papers. Calvin closed his eyes, and let the wind and rain do their damage, swinging his body back and forth on the rack and soaking his skin and pants.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Calvin Watters,” the boss yelled. He jogged away and disappeared behind Calvin.
The cool rain felt good on his hot skin. Calvin could feel the force of the wind shake the metal rack. The members of the drug cartel all ran for cover, cursing in Portuguese and sprinting past Calvin.
The hard rain only lasted about twenty minutes, and the bipolar sky promptly cleared. The moon returned, and helped the starry night in giving minimal light to Calvin’s area. It didn’t stop raining, but it had turned to a light sprinkle, which still felt cool on his body.
A guard brushed past him, ramming into Calvin, sending him swinging through the air like a punching bag after a one-minute drill session. The wire twined around the rope tore into his ankles deeper with the heavy swaying. Calvin bit down on his lip.
The chain above him creaked as he swung, and Calvin wondered if it would give out. The guard must have thought the same thing because he looked up at the rack.
He pulled down on his prisoner aggressively, and when Calvin didn’t fall, the guard seemed satisfied. He sat down on a log and stared at Calvin.
The man was young, had long bangs covering his eyes and a hat pulled down snuggly. A machine gun hung from his shoulder.
“Just you and me, huh, Big Guy?” Calvin smiled.
But the man didn’t smile and Calvin wondered if he even understood English. He snarled, and said something in Portuguese. Although Calvin didn’t speak the language, he could tell that it wasn’t a f
riendly greeting. Calvin thought the kid might be high.
No one else stuck around. The other members of the cartel had disappeared, and it was eerily quiet. The only noises came from the Amazon jungle: the whine of insects, and the hiss of a fire burning out. He could hear his pulse thump.
He had to think. His only hope of action was when they cut him down. If they cut him down. He had to conserve his energy and be ready when that time came. He might only have seconds to strike. He closed his eyes and struggled to build a plan.
A minute passed in silence, and Calvin thought the night was over when flood lights came on, lighting up the whole opening of the jungle. The bright lights showed Calvin the blotches of red, and bone dust on the ground under his head. Calvin hung in a kill zone.
He tried to look up, but the bright lights blinded him. Calvin had just closed his eyes when a shot rang out. He opened them in time to see the guard beside him buckle and collapse.
Calvin looked around but didn’t see anyone. Then he heard the bushes to his right move, and a figure appeared. When the person came into the light, Calvin recognized his cab driver.
“What the…”
“Shh.”
She pulled a knife from her waistband and cut the flex-cuff from around his wrists. Then she cut the nylon rope and wire from his ankles. Calvin fell hard to the ground, landing on his back, blowing air from his lungs.
He rolled onto one knee, got up and took a step forward when his legs gave out and he fell back down. The forest spun and his legs felt like rubber. The pressure pushing down from his upright position, dug into the wire cuts around his ankles.
“We need to hurry,” her voice held no pity. “I’m sure they heard the shot.”
She grabbed him by the arm and yanked him towards the trees, leading him into the jungle through the dense forest. Branches whipped his arms, legs and face but he never once attempted to look back as he staggered after her.
He could hear frantic, angry Portuguese yells. They’d discovered his disappearance. They’d be on the trail soon. Static bursts of radio talk, as the drug cartel walkie-talkied back and forth, relayed the search for their escaped prisoner.
Calvin followed behind the girl, trying not to let her out of his sight. She was quick, agile, athletically bouncing between trees. She didn’t have a flashlight, as if moving on memory and experience.
They reached the boat, only to find a light-skinned Brazilian cartel guard waiting, a radio in one hand and an Uzi in the other. The guard screamed at them, pointing his gun and shaking.
They raised their hands, and the cab driver threw her gun on the ground.
The guard smiled, and then spoke into the radio.
The girl whispered to Calvin. “He just told the others he had us at the boat.”
Calvin nodded, not thinking clearly, still feeling the drugs in his system.
“We need to do something before they get here,” she whispered again.
“Are you bullet proof?” Calvin asked.
The guard put the radio in his pocket and grabbed the Uzi with two hands, pointing it at them, shaking slightly. He yelled to them in Portuguese.
“He wants us to get on the ground.”
“We do that and it’s over. We’ll have no chance to fight back.”
As the man put his finger on the trigger, Calvin watched the river come alive, open up and swallow the soldier, pulling him into the black water. The man fired wild, panicked shots into the air as he was sucked into the darkness. He released a scream from deep within his belly that echoed in the dead, still night, and gurgled as his body hit the water, disappearing into the blackness.
Calvin stood paralyzed, fear creeping down his spine. “What the fuck? Did you see that? Something just grabbed him and pulled him under the water.”
She didn’t answer, just grabbed him by the arm. “Let’s go, they’ll be here soon.” She jumped into Luiz’ boat. “No key, shit.”
Calvin shook his head, sloughing off the cobwebs. “Check underneath the throttle.”
“Got it.” She pulled it out.
Although dizzy, Calvin used all the strength he had left and pushed the boat into the water, almost collapsing behind it. The girl desperately helped pull him into the boat before returning to the driver’s seat. She dropped the hammer just as bullets ricocheted in the water around them, then off the boat’s tin side, tearing into the metal and paint.
Calvin ducked down and stayed there as she expertly maneuvered the boat away from the shore and into the open water.
Chapter 15
The rain had stopped.
Calvin sat on the back seat of the boat, bent over at the waist. His head rested in his hands between his legs, his chest heaving—still feeling the after-effects of the drugs. He was shaky, sweating and his heartbeat pounded in his chest.
His knee throbbed. Although he’d worked hard to regain strength and reduce pain, the dampness of the Amazon and less-than-ideal circumstances had it aching constantly since arriving down river.
“It’ll take a few hours for the drugs to completely wear off,” his cabbie said.
Calvin jolted at her voice. She hadn’t spoken in so long that he’d almost forgotten she was there. He could feel the boat start to slow, the engines silence and the vessel reduce to a float.
She raised the motors out of the water, and let the boat idle as if they had no ultimate destination. Then she shut off the lights.
With the engine off, Calvin was ever aware of the sounds of the forest, even out on the water. The buzzing of insects around his ears, the waves of the murky waters against the side of the boat, the brushing of island bushes with each creature that stirred.
Calvin looked behind them and whispered, “What are you doing?”
“We’re far enough away now. I don’t want the sounds of the motors to attract anyone or anything from any other direction. I haven’t seen any lights following us. It would have taken too long for the cartel to run back to their other boat, which wasn’t docked anywhere near this one.”
She joined Calvin at the back.
“How are you feeling?”
“Hung over, among other things.” He rubbed his chest and lower stomach, battling for control over the discomfort.
“It won’t last.”
She got up to move back to the front of the boat, but Calvin grabbed her by the arm with the little strength he had left.
“You’re not going anywhere. I want some answers.”
She sat back down across from him. He looked into her eyes, but they were unreadable, or maybe it was just the dark of the night.
Calvin took a deep breath. “First of all, what the fuck was that thing back there that killed the guard?”
“A black caiman. They’re the largest crocodiles on the planet and these waters are infested with them.”
He rubbed the sweat from his forehead. “Who are you?”
“My name is Livia Santos.”
“Are you from Brazil?”
“Third generation native.”
“What’s your story? I’m starting to figure out our ‘chance’ meetings weren’t by accident. Were you following me?”
She nodded. “My brother was killed last year. He was an addict, and got involved with the cartel. The official autopsy said suicide, but I know my brother. He wouldn’t have killed himself.”
“So, you’re looking to get back at the cartel?”
“I’m going to take them down.” There was an edge to her voice.
Calvin smiled. “All by yourself?”
“I’ve been researching for a year how to get inside. They know me, and wouldn’t let me anywhere close to them. I heard about the American in the plane crash, knew that someone would be coming to look. I’ve been following you since the airport.”
“How did you know I was here for Sanders?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t, at first. But, you showed up alone, asked to go to the zoo which I thought odd, considering you had no wife or kids
.”
“You lured me to the bar.”
She smiled seductively. “That was personal, and not much of a challenge.”
Calvin looked at her, but didn’t say anything.
“When I heard about the fight at the ATM, I put it together.”
“You knew about Chantal and Luiz? I remember you asking about them at the airport.”
“Yes, I knew about them. They’ve been working as spotters for the cartel for a while and I noticed that they’d taken an interest in you. I knew that if I introduced you guys, they’d lead me in. I told you not to trust anyone in this city.”
“So, you used me for bait?”
“You don’t seem too upset.”
“Maybe I’m getting used to it. How did you find me here?”
“That was luck. I’d lost you guys. Once Luiz opened the throttle, I couldn’t keep up without being noticed. Once night came, I floated up and down the bank looking for the boat, but it was too dark. Then, I heard a phone ring.”
“A phone?”
“Yeah. It rang and then stopped, and then started ringing again. I followed the sound and found the boat. The phone was inside a black duffel bag.”
Calvin dropped to his knees still a little dazed, and felt around the floor in the dark. “My bags, they’re still here. Thank God!”
“What’s in them?”
“Valuable items.” He unzipped the bags and felt inside before pulling out the phone. “What time is it?”
She checked her watch. “11:30.”
It was 7:30 back in Vegas, and Calvin knew that Dale would be waiting for his call.
“Dayton.”
“It’s Calvin.”
Dale sighed. “Oh, Calvin, thank God. Where have you been? You’re late checking in.”
“I’ve been tied up.” Calvin smiled slightly. He loved cheesy one-liners from eighties action movies.
He told Dale about Luiz double-crossing him and his run in with Brazil’s version of the drug cartel.
“Where are you now?”
Calvin looked around. Complete darkness hung around them as they just floated there. He covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said to Livia, “So where exactly are we?”