Chapter 1
My Molly-and-cocaine habit ramped up in time with the secret dinners.
Things were just easier that way. The hours flew by, and all I had to do was ride the wave until I reached a state of sluggish lethargy, like my life was a movie filmed in slow motion, or total blackout.
I spent most of the time high as a kite, fucking guys whose faces and names I wouldn’t remember and accepting anything and everything they had to offer me in the dives and fleshpots of Lapa where I always wound up.
Whenever I dried out, the story my mom had told me rattled around in my head, finding grotesque connections to Miguel’s death, the grieving guy at the bar searching for his fiancée, and Piglet fucking Cora as she swung her yellow chainsaw in the air.
I woke in a panic before dawn on the Friday of Umberto’s special meal and ripped up the flyer of Ruth, which I’d stashed in my bedside table.
I tried to go back to bed, but, too hopped up to sleep, I stayed up gluing the pieces onto a sheet of printer paper like a kid doing a school art project.
The woman’s creased and tattered photo taunted me: Her smile radiated a joy I knew I’d played a part in destroying.
I could picture her hanging from meat hooks as she was skillfully hacked to pieces, and it made me want to slit my wrists.
I did a quick bump before slipping on my tuxedo jacket to recite my little welcome spiel to Friday’s guests.
For the main course, boneless “veal” chop stuffed with cashew farofa.
It was out of control. I was out of control.
Armed with the emotional distance only time can offer, I can say for sure that those next few days were central to how this all unraveled.
On Saturday morning, I woke up to the sun beating down on my face.
I was lying under an awning a couple of blocks from home, my head resting against the front window of a pizzeria.
My brain was mush, and all I remembered was taking part in an orgy in some apartment in Flamengo.
I got invited on Grindr, so I went, though I didn’t know anyone there.
The shame I felt was surpassed only by the panic of not having used a condom, though I couldn’t actually remember the actual sex.
Life is like that: Before you can start to redeem yourself, you have to fall face down in shit and get a good whiff of death.
As I took my walk of shame, I decided I had no right to hold a grudge against Miguel.
Taking pictures and recording our conversation hadn’t been betrayal.
He was just trying to protect me, protect us.
The Dante I’d become—a drugged-up little slut—had nothing to do with the Dante I wanted to be.
I stepped into the shower, massaging my throbbing temples.
Somewhere in that mess was a spark of common sense: I could no longer sit idly by, sinking deeper and deeper, obeying every order from Umberto, Vladimir, or whoever else.
Fuck the secret dinners. Fuck the villa in Jardim Botanico.
Fuck the money. Maybe it was too late, but I had to at least try.
I had to close ranks and identify the enemy. That was the first step.
In the kitchen, still in their pajamas, Piglet and Cora were eating toast with raspberry jam and watching a morning celebrity talk show.
Hugo was at the stove preparing an omelet with fresh herbs and barely glanced up as I passed him on my way to the fridge.
After Miguel’s death, our relationship had deteriorated completely.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” said Piglet, planting a wet kiss on my cheek. “You’ve really been getting your fix, huh?”
I wiped his saliva from my cheek with the back of my hand and poured myself a glass of milk. I grabbed two pieces of toast and, starving, gobbled them up. Before I started talking, I needed to fill my stomach.
“You look like you’re homeless,” said Cora.
I didn’t care, because I knew she was right.
“We need to talk. All of us,” I said, sniffing nervously. “We’ve gotten ourselves into some fucked-up shit.”
Cora and Piglet exchanged glances. Hugo continued to cook, unfazed.
“Miguel was murdered by Umberto’s people,” I said.
“What?” Hugo turned off the stove and came over. He swung the dishcloth over his shoulder with the ease of someone who lives in the kitchen. He pulled out a stool to take a seat. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Despite feeling like a freight train was barreling through my head, I calmly and objectively told them everything I knew, in the right order, so as not to lose their attention and ensure I got to the end without any interruptions.
I could see the unease and curiosity grow in my friends’ eyes as I showed them the flyer from the bar and recounted my conversation with Umberto, the trip to the highway patrol station and the slaughterhouse, the evidence Miguel had gathered against us. Finally, I told them about Vladimir.
“You need to stop smoking that moldy weed, man,” said Hugo dismissively. “You’re paranoid.”
His deep-set green eyes, made even sexier by the outline of dark circles, were filled with pity.
I placed my phone next to his plate and played the recording from the highway patrol station.
Leaning against the kitchen counter for what felt like an eternity, they listened to the gunshots, the preposterous conversations, and the horrific screams that made the phone vibrate on the table.
I managed to hold back my tears as I relived the nightmare.
Little by little, I was becoming immune to the suffering of others.
The recording ended right when Umberto switched off my phone so we could enter the slaughterhouse. A heavy silence ensued, deepening the wounds of our guilt. We’d caused this. Piglet gulped down a glass of water.
“It has to be a lie.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not,” I insisted. “I know it’s sadistic. Insane. This whole thing has snowballed completely out of our hands … But we have to stick together, or we won’t get out of this alive.”
“So what do you suggest?” asked Cora. Her stunning, provocative beauty now seemed almost timid, hinting at the country bumpkin she’d once been.
“They have valuable leverage over us: information,” I replied.
“We need something we can use against them, too. Miguel tried to go it alone and he ended up dead. I think if we’re careful, we can figure out where to find this Vladimir guy.
He’s the one calling the shots. Umberto just follows directions. ”
“But didn’t you say this guy is untouchable?” Hugo’s tone was still laden with contempt. “How are we going to get to him?”
“I’ve got some ideas. I sent the location of the highway patrol station to Cora’s WhatsApp.”
Cora opened our chat, scrolling until she reached the dropped pin. She handed me the phone.
“Here it is. You told me not to worry when I asked you what was up. I didn’t even really notice, because it was right when Miguel died.”
“It’s on the highway to Ilha Grande,” I said, looking at the map. “Maybe if we grease some palms, we can get a cop to snitch.”
“I’ll do it,” said Cora.
“That’s my baby girl!”
“I can get anybody to open their mouth.”
Piglet gave Cora a hug so tight I was afraid he would suffocate her. When he let her go, he stared at us with his gunky eyes.
“I’m going to hunt down this son of a bitch on the internet.”
“He may be invisible, but not to my lil’ Love Nugget. Get him!”
“Great,” I said. If anyone could find a digital trace of Vladimir, it was Piglet.
“I’ll also make a list of slaughterhouses in the area,” he added. “Don’t worry, Dante. We’ll find it.”
Sitting there in the company of my friends while my body digested the last of the drugs and the smell of herbs in Hugo’s omelet washed over me, I began to feel alive again, with a new dose of confidence.
When he’d finished eating, Hugo put his dishes in the sink, then sat back down and turned to me.
“And what about the dinners?”
“We’ll still do them. We can try to get more information there too, talk to the staff. Maybe the waiters or drivers know something.”
“They won’t tell you anything. They’ve never mentioned anyone named Vladimir,” Hugo said with a sigh.
“It doesn’t hurt to try. Maybe he attended a dinner at the villa. Under another name, of course.”
“I have all the emails. I can make a list,” Piglet suggested.
“You make me so proud, Love Nugget!” said Cora. “But … say we do find this Vladimir, then what?”
“Report him to the police,” Piglet replied.
Hugo jumped off his stool, like a troublemaker ready to pick a bar fight.
“Report him to the police? Are you fucking kidding? Then everyone goes to jail! Including us!”
Piglet wasn’t easily intimidated.
“Are you listening?” He got up and stood face-to-face with Hugo. It was like a standoff between a lion and an elephant. “Those guys killed Miguel. They killed our friend. I say we blow the whole thing up! Fuck these motherfuckers!”
“There’s another way,” I cut in before the altercation could escalate.
It was something I’d been thinking about, but I didn’t know if I had the courage to say it straight.
“Vladimir’s pulling all the strings. And we don’t even know how deep this guy has the cops in his pocket.
If we’re going to get out of this unscathed, there’s only one way… ”
Piglet laughed, clenching his fists and pounding the table like a Viking in a mead hall.
“Oh, yeah! Let’s kill the bastard!”