PART ONE: THE YEAR 2006
The Brazilian took off the filter mask he wore whenever he worked in the apartment. His contact was an hour late and he was nervous. The deal was down to the short strokes. This was the time when things could go seriously wonky and the Brazilian hated when things went wonky.
He'd grown tired of standing in the empty apartment and finally sat on the dirty carpet in one corner of the small living room. The large square floor fan that he'd purchased himself, to keep the humid air moving, lifted the long black hair off his sweaty neck and gave him some relief from the heat.
He was starting to get pissed and when he let his Latin temper get the better of him his right eye would begin to twitch like he was winking. This idiosyncrasy had gotten him into a lot of trouble in prison showers.
The jumpsuit he wore to keep his clothes clean stank from the curry sauce he kept simmering on the stove. It covered up the other acidic odor he'd been brewing all week and made the apartment smell just like the rest of the building.
The Brazilian pushed back the heavy drapes, opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. The humidity hit him hard. What de fuck is with dis fucking wet heat he'd thought to himself when he walked out of Pearson International two weeks ago. Fuckin Toronto ain't supposed to be sticky hot.
He stood on the balcony and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply holding the fowl smelling American cigarette in nicotine stained fingers. Twelve stories below people scurried about like the little meaningless ants The Brazilian knew them to be. In the distance he could see the top of the CN tower thrusting up into the hot, hazy August air. The world's tallest freestanding structure. Toronto's proud emblem of construction technology, corporate wealth and small dick compensation.
He let himself fantasize once again about what he was going to do with the money. Fifty thousand US back home in Sao Paulo would be a fortune. Women would want him. Not that they didn't want him now. The tall black girl he'd had his way with last night had moaned and screamed when he'd taken her back to his motel room and given her a taste of Latin sausage. They'd been hot together and he knew she wanted more. And, the best part was she only charged him fifty dollars.
Yes there'd be lots of women, parties, and drugs. The world would soon be his. He'd buy himself a house on a hill looking out over the ocean. Get himself a nice car with a driver. Maybe take up golf like Tiger Williams.
He flicked his cigarette over the railing and watched it drift down and land on the dry lawn. It sputtered there for a few seconds and a small wisp of smoke started to rise up from the parched grass then died out in the lethargic air.
The Brazilian watched the middle-aged woman, with flaming red hair, march across the parking lot towards the front door. From his perspective she seemed even shorter and plumper than she actually was.
"Id's pay day," The Brazilian sang as he slipped back into the apartment and waited for the knock. They want chemistry, he thought. I'll give them chemistry.
The Brazilian took off the filter mask he wore whenever he worked in the apartment. His contact was an hour late and he was nervous. The deal was down to the short strokes. This was the time when things could go seriously wonky and the Brazilian hated when things went wonky.
He'd grown tired of standing in the empty apartment and finally sat on the dirty carpet in one corner of the small living room. The large square floor fan that he'd purchased himself, to keep the humid air moving, lifted the long black hair off his sweaty neck and gave him some relief from the heat.
He was starting to get pissed and when he let his Latin temper get the better of him his right eye would begin to twitch like he was winking. This idiosyncrasy had gotten him into a lot of trouble in prison showers.
The jumpsuit he wore to keep his clothes clean stank from the curry sauce he kept simmering on the stove. It covered up the other acidic odor he'd been brewing all week and made the apartment smell just like the rest of the building.
The Brazilian pushed back the heavy drapes, opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. The humidity hit him hard. What de fuck is with dis fucking wet heat he'd thought to himself when he walked out of Pearson International two weeks ago. Fuckin Toronto ain't supposed to be sticky hot.
He stood on the balcony and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply holding the fowl smelling American cigarette in nicotine stained fingers. Twelve stories below people scurried about like the little meaningless ants The Brazilian knew them to be. In the distance he could see the top of the CN tower thrusting up into the hot, hazy August air. The world's tallest freestanding structure. Toronto's proud emblem of construction technology, corporate wealth and small dick compensation.
He let himself fantasize once again about what he was going to do with the money. Fifty thousand US back home in Sao Paulo would be a fortune. Women would want him. Not that they didn't want him now. The tall black girl he'd had his way with last night had moaned and screamed when he'd taken her back to his motel room and given her a taste of Latin sausage. They'd been hot together and he knew she wanted more. And, the best part was she only charged him fifty dollars.
Yes there'd be lots of women, parties, and drugs. The world would soon be his. He'd buy himself a house on a hill looking out over the ocean. Get himself a nice car with a driver. Maybe take up golf like Tiger Williams.
He flicked his cigarette over the railing and watched it drift down and land on the dry lawn. It sputtered there for a few seconds and a small wisp of smoke started to rise up from the parched grass then died out in the lethargic air.
The Brazilian watched the middle-aged woman, with flaming red hair, march across the parking lot towards the front door. From his perspective she seemed even shorter and plumper than she actually was.
"Id's pay day," The Brazilian sang as he slipped back into the apartment and waited for the knock. They want chemistry, he thought. I'll give them chemistry.
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