Criminal Passion

4

I use my backpack as a shield against the cold raindrops and run through the darkness that rules the university parking lot. My criminal law class ended fifteen minutes late, so the area feels even more desolate than usual. There’s a guard booth just a few meters away, but I get the same bizarre sensation I’ve had the past few nights: the back of my neck prickling, a warning deep in my mind, like someone is watching me from the shadows.

It’s been almost two weeks since that encounter with the thug, and ever since, I’ve been a little psychotic. Just my imagination, of course, but I can’t stop thinking about it. When I close my eyes, I can still feel the pressure of the gun barrel under my chin, his fingers on my throat, my necklace being ripped away, and that look—just as threatening as everything else.

When I get into the car, I lock the doors and run my hands through my hair. My lilac blazer is soaked, along with my skirt. I pull my phone from my bag and send a message to Camile. We agreed I’d pick her up from work so we could grab a drink, and I’d finally show her the card.

Louise: “Ready? I’ll be there in five minutes.”

I still haven’t decided what excuse to give her when she asks why I’m obsessed with this thing. I could say I drove drunk and hit a guy. But if I tell her that afterward he shoved a gun in my face, robbed me, threatened me, and I still want to find him… yeah, that would be too much, even for Camile.

Camile: “Sorry, Lou. My brother’s warehouse got broken into. I had to rush over here.”

The message shakes me. I call her. Voicemail.

Louise: “Is he okay?”

Camile: “Not really. They beat him up, trashed everything.”

Louise: “Send me the location.”

I put the address into my GPS and drive to São Paulo’s west side. When I pull up in front of the beverage warehouse and step inside through the unlocked door, the scene is catastrophic. Dozens of shattered bottles of wine and beer, shards of glass on the floor, shelves knocked over. It looks like a hurricane ripped through the place.

I carefully weave through the chaos to the cashier area, where I find Camile and her brother. His lips are split, one eye swollen shut. The ears sticking out from under his buzz cut are red, as is the tip of his nose.

“My God! What happened?”

“Some bastards f****d everything up,” Camile mutters.

“They stole the register, smashed the bottles… there’s barely anything left to tell the story.”

“Did you call the police?”

“They came a few hours ago. Didn’t do much—cameras weren’t working, and Be couldn’t make out their faces.”

“Nothing? Not even a detail?” Bernardo shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing his back. “We’ll figure something out, okay? But I think you need to see a doctor, Be. Your face is really swollen.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will, but it’s going to hurt twice as much tomorrow. It’d be better if you—”

“I’m not going to the hospital, Louise.” His sharp tone cuts me off.

I raise my eyebrows, surprised. Camile exchanges a worried glance with me. Bernardo is the kind of guy who’d die before being rude. I’ve known him since he was a boy, always shy around me. Even now, at twenty-five, a grown man, he’s never spoken to me like this.

The silence stretches. I watch him rub each finger against his palm, his nerves obvious. He’s never been able to lie to me—not convincingly. When you know someone that well, they might fool you for a while, but somehow, you feel it. You know.

I look around. The broken glass, the mess. The cameras look new. They must be. Bernardo only opened this place six months ago. He invested in every detail. He was excited about the project.

“Why aren’t they working?” I ask.

“What?” He stares at me.

“The cameras.”

He glances at one in the corner, then shakes his head.

“I don’t know. Must’ve broken down and I didn’t notice.”

“Can I take a look?”

His face hardens.

“Don’t bother, Lou. There’s nothing there.”

“Then show me.”

I catch the flicker of irritation on his face, followed quickly by fear. That exchange of looks is enough to confirm my suspicion.

“I’m waiting, Be…”

He holds my gaze. I torture him with silence. Finally, he exhales sharply, eyes squeezed shut, tongue clicking in defeat, before marching to the back of the warehouse where the cameras are hooked up to a laptop.

I don’t wait for him. I sit down and power everything on, pretending I know what I’m doing. I don’t. But I know he’s lying. I know this so-called robbery reeks worse than any stench we can smell here.

“What time?” I ask.

“About ten-thirty,” he mutters.

“I don’t get it. You told the cops they weren’t working! How… how did Lou…?” Camile gasps as I hit the right commands, her voice trailing off when the footage appears.

Ten-thirty. The store is closed. Bernardo fiddles with his phone behind the counter. Ten-forty-seven. Two men come in through the back door. No masks. No hoods. No effort to hide their faces—or their guns. They walk up to Be, and from the way they talk, it’s clear this isn’t a robbery. They know each other.

One minute passes. Two. The bald one raises his gun to Bernardo’s head. He gestures nervously. Be shakes his head over and over. The other guy goes wild, smashing bottles, knocking down shelves, destroying everything in sight.

Then the bald one slams his gun into Be’s face, dropping him. They kick his ribs, over and over. He curls up, tries to defend himself, but the beating doesn’t stop.

That’s when a third man, hooded, storms in through the back. He knocks Be’s attacker to the ground with a single punch. The man struggles to his feet, bowing his head to the hooded one like a violent dog submitting to its master.

Then the bald man shrugs off his jacket, wiping the blood from his face. When he turns his back, I see it—a curious tattoo, inked across his skin: the three-headed dog.

“Are you insane?!” Camile screams behind me. “Why did you lie to the police?!”

“I f****d up…” her brother admits.

“Bernardo, for God’s sake, start talking and tell me what the hell is going on here before I lose it!”

“You know Dad’s medicine was expensive as hell. We didn’t have the money, Camile! He just kept getting worse and worse, and I… damn it, I had to do something.”

“And you did, didn’t you? You came to work here. I helped you open this place with my savings! I took on two part-time jobs, at the library and the café… I thought we were okay.”

“What you make doesn’t even cover half of the medicine he needs. Not to mention the weekly exams, rent, bills… our mediocre jobs couldn’t cover everything.”

“Be, I don’t understand where you’re going with this…”

“I found a way, all right?”

“What way?” she yells.

“You don’t need to worry about me!” he yells back.

“Just say it already!”

“He’s selling drugs, Camile,” I say.

The next moment is swallowed by cutting silence. I can almost imagine her heart being crushed inside her chest.

“No. I don’t believe it.”

“I didn’t want you to find out, I’m sorry,” Bernardo mutters.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

I don’t even hear the argument that erupts again between them. My eyes stay locked on the screen. I pause. Rewind. Watch everything again. The fight. The punches. The tattoo. The way the two men obeyed the third when he walked in—so threatening, so commanding, so… familiar?

The longer I stare at him—those few seconds where the camera catches his face clearly—the more unsettled I feel. He looks like someone I know. Someone who…

Suddenly, I remember that night.

The bastard I hit with my car.

His bruised, bloodied knuckles. Maybe he does this a lot—punches people. Maybe it’s him. The hooded guy who took control, who stopped Be from being beaten to death. And if I connect the tattoo of the three-headed dog to the card I found right where I ran that jerk over… it can’t be a coincidence.

“Who are these guys?” I ask.

“Dealers. They’re the ones I owe for the packages I sold.”

“Jesus Christ, do you hear yourself?” Camile shouts.

“You turned into a junkie. I can’t believe you did this s**t with your life!”

“I’m not a junkie! I don’t use, I just sell!”

“And the third guy?” I interrupt. “The one who showed up and saved you? Who is he?”

“Truth is, he didn’t save me.”

“From what I saw, he stopped the other guy from beating you to a pulp.”

“That third guy, his name is Don. He’s the devil. He gave me a death sentence.”

“What did he say?”

“He wants the money I owe by the end of the month, or else…”

“He’s going to kill you?” Camile’s voice breaks.

“Worse than that.”

Worse than death?