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“He used to bring this skinny Portuguese kid around the place we were stayin’, the shitty apartment the modelin’ agency rented for Amy. Name was Juan Carlos. Barely spoke English. Always gettin’ the s**t beat outta him ’cause he had a big mouth, but he had mad swagger, was a little fuckin’ Napolean, and Amy fell for him hard. Wasn’t long before he convinced her to go back to Brazil with him. He had family there. Said they’d get married, and she’d never have to worry about anything again.” For a long while, Nico was silent. His throat worked soundlessly, as if he was swallowing sobs. “So she went. Left me and Michael a note, took all our savings. Three years went by and not another word. Then one day I get a phone call, outta the blue. ‘I’m coming back,’ she said in this weird voice, all f
- Writer
