I carried on walking along the beach, none of the street vendors selling tacos and fried chicken enticed me. I turned inland, where there were copious signs of eateries and found a café plugged into the basement of a high-rise on the corner of a busy street. It had outside seating with Samba music playing quietly in the background. There were a few young people enjoying the ambiance, drinking coffee and eating what looked like rolls with cheese and ham. Perfect. The excitement of being so far away from my home pushed me forward. I asked a waiter if they took US dollars, he shook his head and pointed at an ATM across the street. Dang, that’s no good. I wasn’t carrying a cash-card and couldn’t use one anyway, it would leave an electronic trail of my travels and probably get canceled. Banks were very careful these days. Two guys, who looked like tourists, were sitting at a table by the door watching me. I asked the nearest one where I could change some US dollars and showed him the cash I had. They were English, the accent easy to spot.
“Sit down, we’ll work it out,” he said. “I’m Ian, he put out a fist.” Fist bump, not my age group but I can go with it. Very hygienic. “Dave,” I said and quickly regretted it. Then thought, why the hell not.
“Run out?”
“What?”
“Money.”
“Oh, yeah, right.”
“Where you staying?”
Oh crap! Where am I staying? “Around the corner,” I said and Ian didn’t seem to care.
“This is Simon, we’re from London.”
“San Fran,” I said, going with the flow. “What’s good, here?” I was hungry.
“Pizza is good.”
“I just need coffee and maybe a roll.”
Ian waved over the waiter and I ordered the executive breakfast, which came with ham and cheese. Whatever. No need for translation, everybody spoke English.
The two guys were chatty; they were taking a one-week trip to escape the cold. Easter break from college, leaving tomorrow. Ian was tall, with a mop of brown hair that covered his face down to his eyes. Simon looked unwashed, his t-shirt grubby and shoes old. Both were wearing shorts festooned with pockets. I didn’t want to appear stupid so I asked Sally for the exchange rate. My breakfast was about fifteen dollars, that was fine. I made a mental note to carry more cash and get some local currency before travelling.
The coffee was excellent and the rolls fresh. I needed to use the bathroom, which is casa de bahno in Portuguese, so headed to the back of the café. When I returned the two Brits were gone. At first I didn’t think anything untoward had happened, so I sat down and looked around the café and outside to find them. Five minutes passed and I wasn’t so sure. I beckoned the waiter over, the same one who’d said they don’t take US dollars and asked if they’d paid? No, he said. Fuck! I’d been stiffed. Son of a bitch! I don’t believe it. That’s 0 for 2. Now what?
The waiter called over another guy, broad shoulders and a face like a bull-mastiff. He was very clear.
“You have to pay for all, senior.”
“They ran out, it’s not my fault. I’d only just met them,” I pleaded. But now their command of the English language was deteriorating. They began speaking to each other in Portuguese. I told Sally to translate. The gist was they knew exactly what had happened, the waiter had seen everything. He also told the bull-mastiff I only had US dollars. I saw the look on his face deepen into a nasty frown, his eyebrows meeting in the middle. They wanted their money and I was their only source. A bill for all the food appeared suddenly, two hundred and thirty Brazilian Reals, which Sally told me was about fifty-eight bucks, I didn’t have enough.
Sally’s voice echoed in my ear. “They are discussing calling the police.”
Not again, I thought, remembering my failure at being a poor black guy.
I reached into my pocket and brought out my forty-five dollars, perhaps they would take that as better than nothing. It was only thirteen dollars short.
I saw the bull-mastiff pull a cell-phone from his back pocket, an I-phone six, these guys did well. Shit! What now? I began running scenarios. I could run, I liked that, I felt good and as soon as I was out of site, I’d disappear, literally. Or, I would be hauled off to the police station. This is Brazil, I’m sure they treated tourists okay but I didn’t want to find out. Option one got my vote.
The scene was generating the attention of other customers. Two young girls, at a table outside by the window were showing a lot of interest.
In my ear, I heard, “they called the police, you’ve only got two minutes.” Gee thanks, Sally. Fuck! I was just about to exit stage left, when one of the girls rose up and came towards me. She beamed happiness and held out a credit card. I was speechless. Here was an act of kindness, the world was not going to pot. The waiter saw what was happening and shouted something at the bull-mastiff, then reached out and took the credit card.
“I’m only thirteen dollars short.” I said to the girl standing by my table, pushing my forty-five dollars in her direction to ease the pain.
She smiled warmly and said, “that’s okay, we couldn’t see a fellow American dragged off.” She was American, don’t you just love ‘em? Her long, brown hair was pinned back in a pony-tail, her face soft with high, angular cheek bones. She reminded me of the blond girl in Friends, but not so tall. “Come over and join us,” she added.
The waiter smiled, the bull-mastiff was nowhere to be seen and I didn’t hear any sirens. All was good. I joined the two young ladies at their table, but my mind was on the Brits, I was going to get her money back and repay their kindness. The beauty was, it would be a piece of cake. Those assholes didn’t know who they were messing with?
“Thank-you so much,” I said, pulling out a chair to sit down. “They stiffed me!”
“No problem, you’re cute,” said the Friends girl. She said her name was Melody and her companion was Briana, both from Austin, Texas. Those southern girls are forward, I thought.
“Dave,” I said, holding out a hand to shake, but they both just giggled. “How long will you be here?”
They looked at each other, Melody said, “half hour or so, we only just ordered.”
“Okay, I’m going to get your money back. Don’t go away.” I left before they could object.
Around the corner I called up Sally on the heads-up. “Where are those guys?”
“They went to Ipanema beach. They’re sitting on a wall watching the sea.”
“Where are they staying?”
“Hotel Metro.”
“What room?”
“Three-two-four.”
“Bounce me in there as soon as I’m out of sight.”
“Okay.” I walked across the street to the entrance to the General Osorio Metro station and walked down the steps looking for somewhere to hide. There was a pillar, I started to walk around it but didn’t make it. I had bounced into a hotel room and immediately fell over. I needed more practice. It was untidy with clothes strewn everywhere. The customary hotel safe was attached to the wall in the closet.
“What’s the code?”
“Five, six, seven, eight.”
Original. I punched in the numbers. Inside were two passports, an ipad, a wallet and some loose English pound coins. I picked up the coins and put them in my pocket and looked through the wallet. A credit card said Ian LaTrain, there were more pound notes all twenties and tens, probably two hundred pounds altogether and five hundred and fifty Brazilian Real. I pocketed all the money and the passports, then put the wallet back in the safe and smiled. I left the safe open. Fuck-you guys.