Lots of weaponry banners spread throughout the place. While I gazed at them a great opportunity stood in front of me: the best way to push problems aside is to focus on work. Yes, I should dedicate all of my attention to writing the best reports of my entire career, instead of dumping my brain assets into imaginary problems. Had I been creating my own troubles inside my head? By over analyzing every situation I went through in Rio—like a little, frightened and insecure girl?
I had no problem answering questions for the police. No matter the terrible first impressions I had of those two officers, I was completely innocent. They had nothing against me.
My confidence returned. My phone rang, a Brazilian number was calling.
“I don’t speak Portuguese,” I said on the phone, as if slowly speaking the words would make my English easier to understand.
“Hello, Senhora Bennett. This is Renato, we need to talk.”
Chapter 8
The check-in line at the Rio Firearms Expo flew by. Maybe my brain entered a deep state because once I heard Renato’s voice on the phone my senses halted. All I captured next was the check-in clerk talking to me in Portuguese with what sounded like “next person, please,” while I stood baffled.
“Are you there, Senhora Bennett?” Renato said.
Of course I was there. Not only there but also not checking in anymore. Because the shriveling and shaking of my stomach wouldn’t allow my working day to start anytime soon. Facing weapon demonstrations was an activity that by itself required my guts to be perfectly healthy and steady. No stomach, no writing.
I wandered around the entrance. I stumbled upon a woman wearing horn-rimmed glasses. Her advanced age and lacquered hair replied with a rude Brazilian curse. I bumped on to a young executive man who attempted to take advantage of my lack of attention to feel the softness of my breasts. And, finally, I ran into a polite grandpa who, startled by my hustling through, opened up a space to let me pass and avoided being toppled.
I struggled to stay sharp under the boiling-hot sun. I had to regain my senses. Hanging up the phone was an option, but Renato might have something of value to tell me, and I’m not talking about his body.
“Why are you calling me?” I said, trying to conceal the uncertainty in my voice.
“I don’t want to frighten you, but—”
I’m sorry, but you have.
“I’ve had too much for today, Renato. I don’t want to talk to you,” I said, interrupting him.
My next plan was to get rid of the Sim card he had given me as soon as I could find a replacement. His anxiety came through clearly on the speakers, heavy breathing at the other end of the line.
“Senhora Bennett, I know that officers Pinto and Rôla had come to your hotel. I want to help.”
This was getting out of control.
“You’re spying on me?”
“No. Of course not. I mean, yes. Actually, not spying, but taking care of you.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me, Renato. I want you to stay away and never call me again. Those two officers were looking for you. You are the suspect of a crime, not me.”
I convinced myself that my innocence was apparent to officers Pinto and Rôla. Due to this biased perspective, I forgot their eagerness in searching for any speck of doubt in my responses.
“Senhora Bennett, officer Pinto will come back, and next time he will pretend to have a warrant to arrest you. They’ve done that before. Please, believe me. Let me help.”
I had a feeling his willingness to help actually meant something else. I know many men who would rely on buying liquor to accomplish that sort of goal, but using the police in their arguments was new.
“I’m hanging up,” I said.
I moved the phone away from my ear when he spoke. But I didn’t immediately finish off the call. Even though far from the speakers, I understood his words.
“Look, please . . . those officers are on the take. They will use anything they can to get you under their claws. You’re a valuable asset, Senhora Bennet. I had a mission when I picked you up at the airport. I just couldn’t stand finishing it. Please. If you see those two officers again, run, leave Rio as fast as—”
There was just no way I would endure that conversation anymore.
After struggling with myself, I cut off the call. My mood didn’t get any better. I was still at the entrance of the Rio Firearms Expo, not doing my job, and feeling like shit. I breathed heavy, staring, bewildered at the screen of my phone. What the hell did Renato mean by a valuable asset? I would have been less startled if he addressed me with a gross valuable ass. But his reference to me as an asset was beyond my comprehension. Or perhaps I was wrong about him. Perhaps he was just that cheap kind of man who objectifies women.
People crowded around me, trying to get into the exposition. I felt lonelier than ever under the sun. A sense of danger dawned on me, like someone stalked me among the throng, an evil face disguised either as a street sweeper clad in orange uniforms, a candy seller with a white hat, or a stout man wearing a Brazilian soccer t-shirt.
Were officers Pinto and Rôla trailing behind my path? Or maybe Renato watched for the whole time we spent talking over the phone. Maybe his words were calculated to deliver the right amount of terror, and the right amount of hope, just to get me hooked while he wove a new trap. God, I just couldn’t help considering
