Blind Date

The taxi driver, who had been driving for two and a half blocks at very low speed, turning and craning his head and neck, paying attention to the house numbers, finally signaled to the right and parked next to the curb, in front of a mansion worthy of a Hollywood movie, in the most upscale neighborhood in the city. He disengaged the car and pulled the handbrake.

“We’re here?” he turned and asked.

“I sure hope so…” the passenger muttered, dumbfounded, his mouth already open before the words had even begun to come out. He didn’t look at the driver, he was scrutinizing the immense outer wall of that veritable palace, its upper floors, the silhouettes of the gigantic palm trees, which swayed gently against the starry night sky. He remembered to close his mouth, blink, and shook his head. “How much?”

He paid and left the young driver his meager change. He got out. He stood where he was, half-paralyzed, as the car's taillights moved away and reduced to two tiny red dots and then disappeared completely as it turned a corner. He stood there for a while longer, studying the castle walls and trying to imagine what kind of little princess was waiting for him inside... Jackpot! he exclaimed in his mind, and a mischievous smile emerged from the depths and carved his narrow, angular face almost from ear to ear. He wished his friends Augusto, Felipe and Gustavo were there to see it... No, better not! He slapped the air as if shooing away a blowfly, a bad thought. Those jealous sons of bitches would ruin everything...

During that brief, meticulous study, he fixed his gaze on a large graffiti that some thug had written on the wall, and read it aloud, in the flickering yellow glow of the streetlights: “Be careful what you wish for.” He laughed again, then shook his head and started off, heading for the pedestrian gate and the bell. He looked around as he did so, up and down the street, at the other illuminated mansions, though empty, judging by the silence. No other cars passed him during those minutes, nor did he hear any noise in the neighboring streets, parallel and perpendicular. No engines, no shouts or laughter, no music or dogs barking. There was the chirping of crickets, and the occasional popping of fireworks in distant parts of the city, and nothing else. What a strange stillness for a festive night, he thought; for Christmas Eve at that. In those parts, poor baby Jesus was having the most boring birthday of all — the invitations had been lost, his little friends from school had been grounded and couldn't come, mom and dad had forgotten the chocolate cake and the brigadeiros.

He imagined that those rich people, at this point, must be feasting in some postcard abroad, in the snow, far from that infernal heat and humidity, or in some sumptuous beach house, drinking imported wine and whiskey that the thirteenth monthly salary of mere mortals would never be able to think of starting to pay for.

He rang the doorbell. Once, twice, three times. The third time a man's voice answered.

"Who is it?"

“Hmm... Tomás.”

"Who?!"

“Tomás.”

“...”

“I’m... Mara's friend... Mara Ferreira. She gave me the address.”

“Ah, the guy from the internet, right?”

“Yeah... The guy from the internet.”

“Come on in, brother.”

With a metallic clang, the electronic gate was unlocked. Tomás took a deep breath, smiled, looked around and entered. He slammed the gate behind him after entering. He followed a stone path that connected the pedestrian gate to the front door, a massive door of rich wood, arched, tall, truly immense, worthy of a giant's house. A few meters to the right, a long cement ramp connected a second gate, wide enough for three or four cars to pass side by side, to the garage attached to the palace.

As Tomás walked along the elegant stone path, Victorian streetlights flickered on and off as he approached them and then left them behind, respectively. That blinking of lights to his right and left, along the deliberately dark garden, and that immense emptiness around him, and the almost total silence, and the wind, and the crickets... All of this sent shivers down his spine, he felt watched, naked, for some reason. His steps became cautious, he began to look around attentively, staring one by one at the windows that stood out from the dark titanic mass that was the house and that then began to take shape before him, to disentangle itself from the other shadows of the night as he approached it.

The front door opened slowly, with a rusty creak unworthy of the richness of the place. The porch light came on as a large, broad silhouette of a man appeared in the doorway. Tomás hesitated, standing still for a few seconds.

“Tomás?”

“Evening!”

He walked on again, approached the stranger. They introduced themselves and shook hands. Tomás noticed that on his right arm the man was wearing a beautiful, golden watch, a rare and limited edition, identical to the one his friend Gustavo owned and had never told him how he had gotten the money to buy it or who he had stolen it from — but, anyway, passively accepting these types of mysteries from each other and never insisting on answers were two of the main links in that shady chain that united them. Up close the man did not seem as threatening as he had seemed from afar. Tomás felt ridiculous, childish. He took a deep breath, tried to relax, and cursed himself in his mind.

“Come on in! Make yourself comfortable! Mara should be here any moment.”

There were houses in the city that did not have half the amount of interior space occupied by the mansion’s entrance hall. They traveled through corridors, through closed and open doors; through the latter, they glimpsed lounges and a library, personal offices, and a gym. Finally, they arrived at a luxurious living room, with high ceilings, chandeliers, genuine leather sofas, and polished furniture—bookshelves, tables, and sideboards—brand new, although in their elegance and design they resembled pieces from an antique shop or museum. Two other men were waiting for them. They stood up to welcome them and to shake Tomás’s hand.

“Nice to meet you all.”

“Please sit down. Make yourself comfortable, relax, for God’s sake!”

“The famous Tomás!”

"Famous?"

“Oh, yes... Mara hasn’t been thinking about anything else lately but you.”

“Tomás, would you like something to drink?” This one was standing next to the bar: glasses, cups and bottles of various types and powerful values within reach.

"Sure."

The four of them sat in the middle of the living room, on sofas, around a coffee table, each holding a glass. Tomás took a deep breath, he couldn't smell any food, nor did he hear any sound that would indicate the presence of someone in the kitchen preparing dinner. He found this strange, but then shrugged it off—the house was huge, after all, the kitchen might still be miles away: he saw that the corridor was still long in front of him when they entered the living room to join the others.

“So, Tomás, tell us about yourself.”

“Ah, there’s not much to say, I fear...”

“About you and Mara then. How long have you been talking?”

“About four months.”

“And you still haven’t seen each other in person?”

"No."

“But you must have talked via video call or something, right?”

“No, Mara said that—”

“Wow! What a brave guy, coming all this way to meet someone he only spoke to via text and phone call and only knows through photos...”

“Actually, I have—”

“Relatives in town, I know...”

“I guess she... really talks about me a lot, huh?”

“Oh, yes. She doesn’t talk or think about anything else; she’s obsessed. Mariana is like that, intense, you know?”

"Who?"

"Huh?"

“Mariana?”

"Who?"

“You said Mariana.”

“Did I? Ha! I must be a little drunk by now, sorry.”

There was a moment of silence. For some reason, a thought struck Tomás: a childish urge to get up and run away.

“Did Mara say when she’ll arrive?”

“No. But it shouldn’t take long. Have you tried calling or texting?”

“I tried, but... Her phone is out of service and she hasn’t responded to any of my messages. Don’t you think that—”

“More drinks, Tomás?”

“No, no, I’ll wait for Mara to arrive.”

“Yeah, you better… I think you’ve had enough, anyway.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The other man raised his palms.

"Nothing."

Another of the hosts caught Tomás's attention by clearing his throat.

“So, Tomás, do you like baseball?”

“Hell no, that’s an American thing. But I have a friend who really likes it.”

“Oh yeah?” The man touched the brim of the cap he was wearing, a New Era 59FIFTY.

“Hey! He—,” Tomás started to say and stopped. He muffled a sob, or a burp, with his fist, he couldn’t tell for sure. The room began to spin. Tomás shook his head, blinking several times, trying to bring the images, the people and the things back into focus.

“Tomás, you okay, buddy?”

“I told you you had had enough to drink already...”

“Tomás, what were you saying?”

“I—”, Tomás said, he couldn’t speak properly, his mouth felt numb, his face started to tingle.

“I think he was going to say that his pal, Augusto, has a cap just like that one, signed by Mike Trout, just like the one you’re wearing.”

“No, I think he meant something else—”

Tomás put one hand to his throat and began to cough and gasp. He clenched his other fist tightly around one of his knees and closed his eyes.

“—It looked like he was going to say he wasn’t feeling well and that he needed to leave. I saw him looking at the door.”

“You’re just drunk, he wasn’t looking at the door! He was looking at that coat rack and thinking that the jacket hanging on it is identical to his friend Felipe’s favorite leather jacket.”

“So Tomás, I heard that you are a regular at the Endless Night nightclub, in the capital of São Paulo.”

“The chicks there must be crazy, huh! Those preppy girls... That’s how you like them, isn’t it? Young and green and vulnerable? You’re a little old for Mariana, don’t you think? And from what she told us—”

Tomás tried to get up and fell to his knees.

“Hey, hey! Easy there, my friend. I don’t think you’re in any shape to be wandering around alone.”

“What bug bit him?”

“He drank too much, that’s all. I know the type: they drink too much and, suddenly, the world before them becomes a jungle, without limits, without rules, without law. Isn’t that right, Tomás? Who are you in this jungle? The Lion King? Ha! Ha! A king doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, does he? And a Lion doesn’t bow his head to anyone, right? With everything he has, he goes after what he believes he deserves, what he believes is rightfully his.”

“Did you hear that? Was that the doorbell?”

“It must be Mariana. Go and see.”

“Tomás, Tomás... You, my friend, of all people?... Didn't Mom ever teach you not to accept drinks from strangers? You never know what they might have put in there ...”

Tomás's arms and knees began to tremble violently; suddenly, all fighting juice abandoned him and he fell face down, drooling, a wheezing sound crawling out of his chest. A fog covered his eyes and ears; in an instant, made him blind and deaf.

*

He woke up, he couldn’t say how long after, on the dirty floor of a small room, devoid of furniture. The floor was made of cement, the walls had once been white, but now they were gray, greenish, covered in marks of mold and mildew. Tomás was naked and shivering from the cold, his throat was dry, he had a horrible taste in his mouth and on his tongue, and a terrifying emptiness in his stomach, his head throbbed. He sat down against the wall and looked around. His only light, which came from a single yellowish bulb hanging from a bare wire in the ceiling, was weak, poor, and it took his eyes a while to adjust. Other men appeared around him, sitting with their backs against other walls—three men. After a while, Tomás was able to recognize, in those naked, dirty and huddled silhouettes, his friends: Gustavo, Augusto, and Felipe.

Tomás continued looking around, gathered his strength and stood up. He walked straight past his friends without saying a word. Despite being close, they seemed far, very far away, everything seemed far away, impalpable, inconceivable, like when you know you are dreaming. His friends remained seated—knees against their chests, arms around their knees—in silence, studying him with the suspicious eyes of a frightened child, with the air of a retard. They seemed to be in shock, or victims of some powerful sedative. Tomás turned the handle and pulled the door, which did not move, not even tremble.

“Tomás, where do you think you’re going?” The voice came from the speaker of a security camera, fixed in the angle between two walls and the ceiling, to the right of the door. “Don’t you greet your friends anymore? How strange, I thought you were close, since you do so much together, so many little things...”

“What the hell is this?!” Tomás grabbed the doorknob with both hands and tried to shake the door open. “Let me out of here!”

“Not so fast, buddy. You can leave, of course, but first you’ll have to do me a small favor. A few scores need to be settled before this night can be over.”

“Open this fucking door!”

“Hey, I suggest you stop yelling and pay close attention, you don’t have much time. Maybe eight, twelve hours, tops. So listen up, all of you. What we put in your drinks, dear virtual boyfriends, works a little differently than what you’re used to use on someone else’s. Seriously, this shit kills you! But don’t you worry, we have the antidote you need right on the other side of that door, enough for everyone.”

“Open the fuck up, damn it!”

“Take it easy, my friend, everything in due time. The door will be opened, but first you must do us that little favor I mentioned. You can start whenever you want, but remember that your time is limited, so don’t you take too long. This is not a death sentence, boys, we’re not murderers! If you don’t survive, you’ll only have yourselves to blame. We’ll see the whole thing as a group suicide, a blood pact between friends, how about that? Poetic, huh?”

“Tell me what the hell you want! What the hell is this?!”

“I’m glad you asked, Tomás. You may have noticed that we were kind enough to remove all of your clothes, so that you wouldn’t have to tear them off, and so that you’ll have something decent to wear when you leave here, if you do want to leave here...”

Tomás started punching and kicking the door.

“You son of a bitch!”

“Conserve your strength, little friend, you’re going to need it.”

“Say what you want!”

“I want you to get out of there, friends, to pay what you must pay and to survive and have a chance to start over; I do, I really do. And to do that, you won’t have to do anything extraordinary, nothing that you’re not used to doing, that you haven’t done before, God knows how many times. Anyway, in order for you to get out, all you have to do is show each other the same kind of love and affection that you showed our dear client and friend Mariana, exactly one year ago, that Sunday morning—do you remember?—right after that amazing Christmas party at the Endless Night nightclub, in the capital of São Paulo. Do you remember?”

“...”

“Because, if you don’t, we have your phones right here and some very instructive videos in it... In case you need a detailed description. Come on, friends, don't waste your short and precious time, you better get started. The antidote is right here on the other side of the door, and your clothes, your shoes, everything you need to get out of this alive and with a shred of dignity. This is the first day of the rest of your lives, boys, a unique opportunity. Who knows, this experience may transform you in ways you can't even begin to imagine. Who knows, you might very well decide to join us later and help... spread the word. After all, there are many other filthy animals out there like you guys, needing to have this kind of... conversation. Now, be good boys and do as I ask. I'll even give you back your wallets, watches, cap, jacket and other valuables. Except for your phones, of course. We will keep those safe, in case you do manage to get out and feel you have the right to call the police and we ever have to face each other in court. Now, please, start. Or don’t, the choice is yours. If you want, the right to simply do nothing and die is entirely yours, and that is a luxury you did not grant poor Mariana... Now, come on, it's Christmas and there's divine justice to be done.”