Feudal Trader

"Beautiful, truly beautiful."

"Thanks for inviting us today, Rufus."

I looked over my shoulder towards my coworkers and said nothing. I kept admiring the sunset. Rio de Janeiro, despite all of its problems, has beautiful scenery everywhere. And this rock formation1 between Copacabana and Ipanema beaches captures what I mean.

The sky has a red-colored tone, and the sun is so close to the edge of the sea that I can look directly at it without complaining much. Our job had been stressful today; a client called out his investment and left our company. She said that we were losing her money on purpose, or if this was not the case, that we were, at the very least, incompetent.

"Hey, are you there, Rufus?" My junior brought me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah, I am just annoyed at what happened today."

"Don't be. It happens from time to time; the market is not predictable. I would love to know what is going to trend tomorrow," my boss and senior member from the office replied to our short exchange.

They were good people. I am really lucky to know people who are not madly eager for profits and trading. I know it is paradoxical, but something in this city seems to push us to the ground and prevent us from staying completely absorbed by our jobs.

"Anyway, forget about this. And enjoy this moment," my boss replied, filled with a generous smile that she only gives when she is relaxed. I could not avoid showing a bit of my smile to them.

The sunset was reaching its climax, and the most traditional awkward moment for any outsider from Rio arrived: people started to congratulate the sun for its sunset and began to clap their hands. I have been living in Rio for about 10 years now and cannot fathom why people do that. Not that I can't understand if they are some of those hippies, but there are even some guys in suites doing that. We are on a beach, man! C'mon!

My coworkers started clapping their hands, following the herd of sun congratulators. Oh boy, I am alone now.

"This is not my favorite spot; it is beautiful, though. And why are you clapping?"

My annoyed voice could not be hidden; they began to laugh at my small outburst.

"The beers are on you; I said he was going to complain about the sun-clapping stuff," my boss sneered to our junior. While my boss seemed victorious, our younger coworker appeared to be fading away. I felt bad for her. I always complain about the sun-clapping, although this newcomer possibly did not know this beforehand.

"She is messing with you Cintia, forget it. I paid for the beers; it is my fault anyway."

"No, please! I take responsibility for betting in such a way."

"Hey, don't spoil it! I was going to drink til passing out."

Now I laughed hard at the face Cintia was making. Terror filled her face, as my boss is widely known as a heavy drinker.

"I am going to pay, because I too want to pass out from drinking!"

If she was acting up, it was a pretty good one as she was holding back her tears. I am not such a drunkard, but it is nice to tease her a little.

When the sun finally set and could not be seen on the horizon, we stood up and started to move out to look for a place to drink.

"When we were on finals at the college, my colleagues and I always went to a nearby bar to chill out. I vow that is a good place." Cintia said while puffing her chest out as if she were a pigeon. I find it cute, while my boss simply nodded, agreeing with the suggestion.

Admiring the sun here was pleasant. On the other hand, walking over these rocks was always annoying. It was becoming dark while some public lights were marking the path towards the exit of the place.

A blast and some screams came from the streets, a little far from where we were. As we were sitting on the rocks, not on the sand itself, we couldn't see the reasons for the commotion.

However, something was off: people started to run; some of them climbed down the rocks towards the water. Confusion spreads like the plague on everybody's faces. What is happening here?

It is common sense among Brazilians that Rio de Janeiro is a city with high criminal rates, regardless of recent improvements. Anyway, criminals 'typically' band together and riot the beach, stealing (and sometimes punching) people along the way. Nonetheless, the reaction is to run away from them, but not to throw oneself in the water.

Gunshots. Something went very wrong. We broke free from our initial shock. I pointed a nearby rock at the women who were with me—not in the water, of course, but a little far from where we were.

"Do you think hiding is enough" my boss screamed at my impromptu suggestion.

"Bullets will not pierce those rocks, get behind them"

People continued to throw themselves in the water, their faces filled with terror. The ones close to us were just as confused as we were. Another gunshot, more screams.

When we reached the rock, we noticed that there were more people who adopted our cover strategy. A family of five and an old couple were already crouched behind the rock, there was not much space, but we fit as much as we could there.

"It is a terrorist attack," someone screamed. I followed the sound to find that there was a much likelier tourist unaware of the criminal situation in Rio. While hidden, we saw the policemen trying to apprehend the culprits of the chaos. One of the criminals saw us and ran towards us. He had a gun in his hand and shouted:

"You, get here. Else, I shoot this child."

The bastard pointed to my younger coworker, Cintia. She was trembling, clearly in shock from all the circumstances. While she did not move, the criminal might have noticed her mental state, and I started to get goosebumps as he did not seem a very patient man.

I will never understand why I did that, but I stood up and said something to his face:

"Leave her alone, she is terrorized. If you want a hostage, take me instead."

I remember from some guidelines that when dealing with these bastards, one should try to avoid getting in their way; otherwise, they might get nervous and shoot somebody or something recklessly, putting everybody at additional risk.

This is my mental justification because I did not have any hero complex, of course I am not a coward, I simply reacted to the danger that might befall my friends.

Hence, I became a hostage. Congratulations! Cintia is safe now. And, I was a human shield for this MF. As soon as the policemen noticed the movements in the rocks near the end of the Arpoador they began to encircle us. The screams and shots could not be heard. A creepy silence took over the place. The sun had completely set, and there were no lights except for the one coming for the big full moon in the clear sky.

How would they defuse that? One wrong move and everyone would be shot!

A negotiation between the police and my kidnapper has taken place. The guy explained that he was just having some fun with his friends, and that things went out of control. The police used their well-known approaches: trying to calm down the guy, make him drop his gun, and then rescue me.

Although, have I said that this was not definitely my day? Arpoardor is a small rock formation between two beaches, and like every rock that is continuously bathed in water, it is very slippery. Our villain lost his balance, however the bad lighting, the sea waves in the background, the tense situation, and for one of the policemen, it looked as if the guy tried something and then, he made an amateurish move.

Why amateur? Did they miss the shot? No, of course not; the policeman was very capable at his job. It was a sure fire, the criminal got shot; however, he was so tense that when the bullet hit him, reflexively, he fired his gun.

His bullet pierced my chest, right side. The best part? His ammunition was a hollow point bullet: small entrance, big exit. I fell to the ground, and my face hit the rocks, which probably broke my jaw and nose. Blood could be seen everywhere, and again, more screams. From that moment onwards, I cannot see anything more, according to my new?

"Who did you say you are?"

"Your ferryman"

"Like Caron"

"Yes, that's my name. I did not know that you would know me."

Perhaps, I had already paid the promised beers to Cintia, and I passed out. Afterlife? Just because of one shot in the chest? Okay, a hollow-point bullet fired at close range would be enough to end most of the current human beings on Earth.

I lost a client, a small bet, and now my life. Amazing. 34 years old, dead, and speaking with Caron. Well, at least now I know what the afterlife is, and the ancient Greeks were right all of this time!

"..." He is taciturn, as history depicts him. While I was lost in my thoughts, that seemed not to bore him. He is the first person (?) I met who did not appear to be annoyed when I started to digress in my mind alone.

"We might have to wait a few days here," Caron said with stoicism, gazing absently at the gray sky.

I blinked, hoping that this was his way of making a joke.