“Where to, Ms. Monroe?” the driver asked.
Taylor put the photo back in the briefcase before crossing her legs. “Home, Samuel.”
As soon as Taylor arrived home and got out of the limo, she noticed that a new gold Ferrari Spyder was parked in her driveway. She thought it was Sandino’s. Armand must pay him too much, she thought. She then examined her five-million-dollar home with eight bedrooms, a four-car garage, and six bathrooms. As beautiful as her house was, she dreaded being there.
Opening the door, she glanced at the marble floors, crystal chandelier, and a grand stairway. She took off her sneakers and walked into the living room, which was all white with a white fur carpet and a crystal coffee table.
There was no sign of Armand or Sandino, but as she was just about to walk into the kitchen, she heard the smooth sounds of jazz coming from upstairs.
“What the hell?” Taylor whispered then pivoted to go upstairs to her and Armand’s bedroom.
“To us,” Taylor heard Armand say. The second she reached the doorway, she peeked through the crack in horror.
Armand and Ramon were in the bed, under the covers, drinking Perrier-Jouët and caressing each other. Taylor’s blood was boiling, not because she loved Armand, but because this mess was going on in her house and in her bed.
At first, she wanted to rush in and break up Armand and Ramon’s homoerotic love affair, until a lightbulb went off. Why am I being the upset, jealous wife who thought she had the happy marriage? Hell, I’m the Head Bitch in Charge of Brazil, and it’s time to get my Desmond plan into action now. She went in her bag and pulled out her cell phone, pushing the video recording button. This is so disgusting. My enemy at work and my weak-ass husband, actually fucking.
“Armand, baby, I’m tired of sharing you with that has-been, ugly, fish-patty bitch! I don’t know why you stay with her trifling ass, showing off her lovers. I think she and that model friend of hers, Milena, are having some kind of a lesbian fling. When are you planning on leaving that bitch to get with some real love?” Ramon was rubbing Armand’s hairy chest.
“In due time. Divorcing Taylor isn’t that easy. That woman has so many tricks and dicks up her sleeve, there’s no telling what she’ll do.” Armand softly touched Ramon’s face before kissing him. “Just remember that I love you and only you. Just give me a little time, okay?”
They kissed again.
Ramon smiled. “Okay, daddy.”
“So, do you like your new car, baby?”
“Yeah, but I love this even more.”
Ramon got on top of Armand and placed his rock hard seven-inch shaft between his ass cheeks, riding him like a cowboy going into the sunset.
Taylor’s mouth was wide open. Damn, Ramon can ride a dick better than I can. If this fool wasn’t such an asshole, maybe we could’ve swapped sex tips.
When it became unbearable for her to watch, she stopped recording, went downstair,s and made her way outside. Taylor looked at the car with disgust written across her face. She picked up a brick from the garden then got inside of the limousine.
“Where to, Ms. Monroe?” Samuel asked.
Taylor rolled down the window and threw the brick at the windshield of Ramon’s new car. “Drive, Samuel, drive!”
Samuel sped off like a criminal who had just robbed a bank. Taylor looked back, smiling at her handiwork.
Riding through Rio with a heavy heart, Taylor looked at her beautiful city. There were plenty of couples walking, holding hands, and kissing. She broke down into tears, wishing that she was with Desmond. She was the type of woman who always got what she wanted, so she quickly wiped her tears, knowing that everything would soon be okay.
Feeling slightly better, she pulled out her cell and dialed. Within moments, someone answered.
“Hola,” said a man with a thick Spanish accent.
“Are you ready to do business?”
The man laughed. “You don’t mean . . . ?”
“Oh, yes, I do. Operation Destroy Armand and Make You the King of South America.”
“Excellent!”
They both laughed.
Chapter 16
Hunger Games
“Man, this is some scary shit being in this elevator,” said Travis.
“Yeah, tell me about,” replied Stan, sitting on the floor, shaking his head. “God, I need some weed to help me forget this shit is real.”
“Me and you both, playa,” said Tyler, looking at his blurred reflection in the stainless steel wall.
Swag looked at them like they were all crazy. I hate when dudes go through the motions. “Would y’all chill out. We only been in here for a few hours. But since we are in here, man up! Be strong.”
Stan sucked on his teeth, mumbling under his breath, “Stupid ass.”
Swag looked down on him. “What was that, fat boy? What?”
Stan turned with a smirk on his face. “Dude, you heard my ass.”
Swag wanted to kick that smirk off Stan’s face, until Brad intervened. “Keep y’all heads to y’all selves while we in this small space. Once we get out this hellhole, then you both can kill each other. Can you both have a truce until then?”
“Whatever,” said both Swag and Stan in unison.
Brad couldn’t say he didn’t try to be the peacemaker. He went into the duffle bag and opened it. It contained sandwiches and milk. “Who wants a sandwich?”
The fellas each took two or three sandwiches and a carton of milk.
Before the guys could take a bite, Brad yelled, “Hold up! Don’t eat all the food up.”
They all looked at Brad like he was nuts.
“Dude, we hungry and thirsty as hell. Plus, we ain’t even gon’ be in here that long. That detective is just fuckin’ with our heads,” said Swag as he took a bite of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The bread was stale. “Eh!” Swag spit it out, almost hitting Stan and wishing he had hit him.
“Damn, this bread is stale.” He threw the sandwich to the side and put the other one back in the duffle bag. “Y’all can have that shit.”
“No, we gotta make this last us,” said Brad, concerned.
“Damn, B, how long you think we gon’ be here?” asked Tyler, drinking the warm bottled water.
“Man, I don’t even know, but we gotta keep up our strength if we wanna live to see another day.” Brad opened the duffle bag again. “Come on. Put some of the sandwiches back, please.”
They all did just that. The fellas didn’t want to die from starvation, and they sure as hell didn’t want to start eating each other, just in case they stayed in the elevator longer than the sandwiches lasted.
Brad ate the stale sandwich, trying to hold himself together. He was going to keep his strength up for this journey. He was determined not to crack and to keep the fellas in order no matter what.
Let the battles begin, Brad thought.
Chapter 17
Happy Thanksgiving
Brad was standing up, tapping his foot at the elevator door. Being in there was almost making him crazy. The fellas had eaten all of the food and drinks in the duffle bag, and were tossed some more food that didn’t last long. Brad had a vision that he was as strong as Superman and opened up the elevators, and he and his friends ran for freedom, but he knew it was only a dream and it was impossible.
“Do y’all think Duke forgot about us?” Brad asked.
Swag shook his head. “No, B. Like I told you, that wannabe cop just fuckin’ wit’ our heads.”
“I don’t know, man,” said Travis, leaning against the wall.
“I wonder how long it’s been since we been in this elevator—or should I say our tomb,” said Tyler.
“I think about for a week or so,” said Swag, leaning against the other side of wall.
“A week!” shouted Brad. “Man, I don’t wanna die in this elevator from lack of oxygen and starvation.”
“Dudes, will y’all chill out wit’ that dying shit? We gon’ get through this. Be cool,” said Swag. He
was trying to stay brave but was scared shitless, not knowing what was going to happen to him or his friends.
“I hope you right, bruh,” said Tyler. “Hope we get outta here soon, ’cause this place stinks.” He held his nose.
Tyler was right about one thing: the elevator smelled like an outhouse. There was no way for them to take a piss or a dump unless they did it in one of the corners. The elevator stunk so badly. They never could have imagined being crammed in a space like this.
With beads of sweat dotted on his face, Stan licked his fingers, trying to fight the hunger and shaking hysterically. The others were very concerned for their friend. Almost every day Stan and Swag got into an argument, but today, Stan wasn’t saying a word.
Brad looked at his friend, who was sitting on the floor in a daze. “Damn, bruh, you all right?” He touched Stan’s shoulder, but Stan jerked away from him as if Brad’s touch burned.
“Don’t touch me!” Stan shouted, shaking and with tears streaming down his face.
Brad backed away from him, and the others just stared.
Stan’s voice trembled as he spoke. “I should be at home with my family right now, eating all the good stuff for Thanksgiving, but here I am in a damn place like this.”
The guys were so focused on getting fifty Gs that they forgot all about Thanksgiving with their families. The truth was, many never had a real storybook Thanksgiving dinner like Stan’s family. Thanksgiving for Brad, Tyler, Swag, and Travis was eating hot wings, drinking Bud Light, and watching the football games.
“Why did I let y’all talk me into this?” He looked at each of them, one by one. “I hate you! I hate you all!” He balled himself in the corner, crying hysterically. “I wish I was dead!”
The fellas felt bad, and everyone left Stan at peace. They were just as scared, tired, hungry, and funky as he was. All they could do, though, was think about what their next move was.
“We can’t stay in here like this forever. Banging on that door ain’t getting us nowhere, and I’m not sure how much more of this I can take,” Tyler said.
They all looked dumbfounded.
“If they hadn’t taken our cell phones, I would have called my stupid-ass father to see if he would come here to help us,” Brad said. “Then again, I ain’t talked to that fool since he abandoned me. I don’t have his current number or an address for his ass.”
Travis pounded his fist on the wall. “Then what the hell we gon’ do, y’all?”
All eyes shifted to Swag.
“Don’t look at me. It’s not like I have some kind of master plan or something.”
“Come on, cuz. I know you got some connections somewhere,” Brad said.
“Possibly, but how am I going to get in touch with somebody?”
“Shit, I don’t know. If we had a phone, you could call Zaria and have her wire us some money.”
Swag twisted his lips. “Bruh, please. I don’t want that trick to know where my stash is. I would rather rot in hell than tell her where my money at and have that trick go spend it at the mall.”
This was a dire situation, and no one appreciated Swag’s reason. They all looked at him like he was crazy.
“You really gon’ do us like that?” Tyler said. “For real?”
“Yeah, your own flesh and blood?” Brad said. “Come on, bro, forget what Zaria may or may not do. You got two sons, and you don’t want to be stuck in a shitty overseas prison for the next several years, do you? I sure don’t.”
“I don’t either, but no matter what, I don’t have a way to call her. I’m not even sure if the money I have can help us out of this situation.” Swag scratched his head, seeing a bunch of dry flakes drop on the floor. His lips were dry and sticking together. To some extent, he felt as if this was all his fault, but then he also felt as if the fellas had made their own decisions to come here—even Stan, who had his head down, shaking uncontrollably. Swag wanted to tell him that he was sorry for putting him in the middle of his bullshit, but saying that may have come too late.
Swag beat on the door, yelling for help for his friend. “Come on now! He needs some medical attention, fast! My boy is dying in here! We’re all dying in here, so open the fucking door!”
Minutes later, the elevator doors opened. Stan’s eyes grew wide. He charged the door and started running like a maniac, only to be grabbed by two officers.
“Let me go! Let me go, you bastards!” Stan fought, bit, and spit in the face of one of the officers, trying to get them away from him. No luck. The fellas stood in awe, watching Stan lose it. They had never seen him act like that before. He was like a wild animal until one of the officers used his Taser to calm him.
“Ahhhhhhh!” Stan yelped out in pain as the electricity shot through his body. He backed into the elevator and curled up into a ball, crying as the officer cuffed him. The officer forced him to stand up. Stan held his head down, wanting to die. So did his friends, but they had a little more fight left in them.
One officer had a gun on them. “Come on, you idiots. Let’s go.”
With weakened legs, they walked slowly out of the elevator.
One officer pinched his nose. “You Americans stink. Damn!”
They ignored him. What in the hell did he expect? They were told not to say a word and to follow the officer down the stairs. Two other officers dragged Stan along because he was too weak to move.
Outside, the guys squinted from the bright sun as they were brought to a white van.
“Remain silent. Do not look at us, and don’t even think about running. Anyone who does will be shot in the back,” the officer threatened.
The thought of running was on all of their minds, but no one wanted to be shot. They piled into the van in silence before it took off.
While in the van, the fellas didn’t say a word to each other. They just shifted their eyes around, making contact with each other and shaking their heads. They had no idea what their next location would be or the next time they’d see the light of day again.
Within minutes, they arrived at Bangu, a middle class neighborhood in Rio de Janeiro, which was the location of their new home, the Bangu Penitentiary Complex. Ordered to get out of the van, Brad glanced at the beauty of the outside for what he thought might be the last time, before he was pushed into the building by one of the correctional officers of the prison. Once inside, the door was slammed shut.
Good-bye, world, Brad thought with tears in his eyes. Sorry, Grandma. I let you down. I know you in Heaven saying I fucked up, but if you can, would you tell God to protect me and keep me from all evil?
Inside, the fellas were being processed as inmates. First they were fingerprinted and then stripped down to take quick showers. They were not regular showers where there was a curtain with privacy, but a shower where they had to strip naked, stand against a wall, and be sprayed with water hoses. Their bodies quivered from the cold water being sprayed on them, and all they could do was cover their faces in hopes that they wouldn’t drown.
“Damn!” Swag shouted while facing the wall. “That’s enough!”
“I’ll tell you when it’s enough! And I’m the one who give the orders around here!” The prison guard continued to spray them all. After the water torture was done, they were ordered to stand in line for a cavity search.
Stan shook his head, refusing to let the officer go up his anus. “You can’t use that same glove on all of us.”
“I can do what the hell I want. Now turn your ass around!” yelled the officer.
Stan wasn’t backing down. “You gon’ have to fight me in order to do that.”
The fellas looked at Stan, feeling as if he had lost his mind.
The officer had no problem fighting Stan, but at the snap of his fingers, he changed his mind. “You know what, American? You’re right. The nurse will be here tomorrow to check you out.”
Stan had a smile of relief on his face.
“But in the meantime, you can spend the night in the hole.”
Two
officers stepped forward to grab Stan. He resisted, so one officer punched him in the gut, causing him to double over in pain. They escorted him to the hole.
“Wait!” Stan shouted. “No! No! No!” He kicked and screamed as he was being dragged down the hall by the officers.
They were all wondering if they would ever see their friend again.
“Don’t treat him like that,!” Travis shouted. “Damn, this is fucked up!”
“You’re damn right it is,” Tyler said. “Stay strong, man. Keep yo’ head up!”
After Stan was taken away, the guys were given prison uniforms and white sneakers. Then, their mugshots were taken before they were escorted to their cell. The men in all of the cells were like animals who spoke in languages the fellas couldn’t follow. The one thing they could understand were the mean mugs they got from the men that implied, I’ma rape you real good. That made them more nervous. They saw all kinds of races of men, from Japanese and Russian to Arabs. There were about thirty-five men in one cell.
On the outside, the fellas may have looked tough, but on the inside they were frightened for their lives. They stood huddled together when confronted by a muscular Ghanaian man, who was black as the ace of spades. He stood seven foot one and was 325 pounds of pure muscle. He was only wearing his prison pants and dirty white sneakers.
“You black bastards in my spot,” he said.
Brad, Tyler, and Travis wanted to move, but there was no room to move without stepping on or bumping into someone. Swag, however, was the type of dude not to back down to anyone, no matter how big or small they were.
“Look, you Deebo-gorilla-on-Planet-of-the-Apes, banana-eating bastard, I got the right to stand anywhere I damn well please. Now, run up!”
The Ghanaian man balled up his fists, causing everyone to inch back. But to Swag, he was at a point where he felt he had nothing to lose. Nobody was going to disrespect him and get away with it.
“Midnight!” said a man with deep voice and thick Mexican accent. The whole cell went quiet. “Let the four Americans pass!”
Midnight gritted his teeth, but he let the guys pass through. He shot Swag an evil gaze; Swag flashed one right back at him. Other inmates cleared the path that led the fellas to a somewhat better part of the cell. It wasn’t as crowded, but it was still stuffy nonetheless.
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