Paradise Hell

Cigarrette Men

It was almost midnight, the black foam rain had already started, but not to the point that people would stop their lives to even pay attention to that. Inside the VIP area of 41 airport gate the 91 people still waiting to leave Brazil didn't have any idea what was happening outside.

Mr. Johnson was in his office watching the tv, where some white lady was talking about the rain and asking people to not leave their houses driving their own cars. Now the government had some small buses to take people from their addresses when they had to go to the airport, bus station or any way they were trying to leave Rio.

Mr. Johnson assistant was also paying attention to the tv when he said:

- If it was in New York or even LA shit wouldn't end well.

-The rich people here tried to protest against it, but what they could after the realization that this is war, Jacob.

- I don't know... maybe resist communism.

Mr. Johnson stood silent for some seconds until he burst out laughing at what he had just heard. Jacob seemed to be offended and confused by his boss' reaction.

- What side are you on Mr. Johnson?- the young man said with a confused look on his face.

That made his boss stop laughing almost immediately and as he inclined his chest on the table he said:

- Kid, if I am something, it's an American citizen.

- I didn't mean...

- You never mean anything, Jake- Johnson interrupted him- Now get your white ass in the VIP and see what is going on with these two young women.

Jacob got up and started walking his way out, passing his hand on his hair like it would make him understand Mr. Jackson's concerns about these two women.

- You never meant anything, Jake Johnson said. Now get your white ass in the VIP and see what is going on with these young women.

- I am Jewish, so technically, my ass is not white, Johnson.

Mr. Jhonson sighed, and only with a look showed Jacob the direction of the VIP room. 

- You are pale, Jacob, he said. And things are different in Brazil, he stated while the man looked at him confused.

As soon as Jacob left the room, Mr. Johnson's second phone rang. He took it out of his pocket as he rolled his eyes, knowing that if a call came from that device, he was about to hear something distasteful.

Some words in Portuguese were spoken on the other end of the line in an authoritative tone. The informer wanted to know what was written on the papers that the girls had burned the night before, but Mr. Johnson, accustomed to trusting his instincts, had the impression that the girls didn't know anything at all.

In Portuguese, Jhonson said:

- Vou interrogá-las pessoalmente agora mesmo.

He left his room thinking that Amany and Julia could be tired so late at night or even sleeping, but maybe if it would be better to catch them in a vulnerable moment. But when he got to the VIP room he thought his eyes were tricking him, because the room was much more empty than hours ago and the young women were nowhere to be found.

Angrily, he took his radio out of his belt and yelled the name of the only person that could be responsible for the disappearance of Júlia and Amany. 

-Jacob, over! He yelled in one breath.

-I am in the bathroom. Over, a frightened Jake answers.

-Where are the girls, Jake? a more calm Jhonson asks.