Max: This place is great. Really comfortable. I'm just going to get settled in. Time to move on, get on with my life. Yes, absolutely. Now like I said, it was a long time ago. Let it go. Seriously. Definitely more my style than Panama or Hoboket, I guess. No, if I'm honest I just got kind of bored of moving. I mean once in a while, not all the time. You're right, it wasn't doing me any favors. Maybe I had lost my self respect but it's back, I'm just saying. Really. I really needed a new start. I think you're right. I think I am going to like it here. It's certainly ... It certainly ain't New Jersey. It's my new life. Just like you said.
Listen if you think I can still do a job what have I got to lose? Apart from the weight. Very funny, ha ha. Yes that is a fake life, you jerk. So I guess I've become what they wanted me to be. A killer. Some rented clown with a gun who puts holes in other bad guys. Well, that's what they had paid for so in the end that's what they got. Say what you want about Americans, but we understand capitalism. You buy yourself a product and you get what you pay for. And these chumps had paid for some angry gringo without the sensibilities to know right from wrong.
Here I was about to execute this poor bastard like some dime store angel of death and I realized they were correct. I wouldn't know right from wrong if one of them was helping the poor and the other was banging my sister. I arrived in Sao Paulo a few weeks before. I was working a protection detail for the kind of people who need protection in a town like this. What kind of town was this? One where I didn't speak the language and they didn't water down their drinks. So for now, we seemed to get along just fine. Of course that was about to change.
Passos: Hey, brother.
Passos: How's the cocktail?
Max: It's scotch. I never mix my drinks.
Passos: Yeah, at least not on duty.
Max: Something like that.
Passos: Man that falabella is big.
Max: Yep, nothing like the view of extreme poverty to make a penthouse cocktail party really swing.
Passos: I guess they call it trickle down economics.
Max: That's funny.
Passos: It's supposed to be a charity thing. Drink and give money. I don't know. Something for the kids. Hey listen, Max, you better look lively. This place is a nightmare. You just got cowboys running security downstairs. There's something rotten in the air.
Max: That didn't mean much. There was always something rotten in the air. The family we were protecting were local celebrities, rich parasites with delusions of humanity. The kind of people who end up in glossy magazines or body bags. Depending on how their luck runs.
So where are they all? I see Rodrigo over there talking to that guy.
Passos: Yeah, I don't know him. That guy next to him is some kind of cop, I think, I'm not sure. Serious though, big income anti-gang sort of thing. I can't remember his name.
Max: Who's this guy?
Passos: That guys a plastic surgeon or some kind of surgeon. Tommy Tucson, coch implants. Look at Marcel, he still dances like a fool.
Max: I guess that's what a European education and a coke habit will do Ricky Martin look-a-like.
Passos: That's very funny, Max. Oh, excuse me.
Max: I was mostly working for Rodrigo Branco, a local business man. Built things, did some charity, had things named after him, won awards, owned things, people. One of the trophies he won was his wife, Fabiana. She was hot and wanted to be dangerous. Some good genes trying to fight their way out of a cesspit. She married well and was now at leisure to regret her good fortune. They got along as well as any rich workaholic and his younger airhead wife tend to get along. They mostly ignored each other. She spent a lot of time with his coke head younger brother Marcelo. He was a good time guy if your idea of a good time was an expensive suit, a bottle of champagne, and nothing between the ears.
The middle brother, Victor, had just walked in. He was a local politician. The guy was smoother than an oil slick on an iceberg and about as toxic. The rest of the crowd, I didn't know. But I could imagine the types. People who know if they drink enough they won't have to feel guilty about their good fortune. Suddenly things turned real ugly. It felt like our hangovers arrived right on cue. Passos! What the hell was that?
Passos: I don't know what the fuck that was, let's go.
Max: Shit! Things had gone from fine to fucked up in about a second. And now there were two idiots at the wheel.
Passos: Clear. You got this floor?
Passos: Look up here, stay safe.
Max: It wasn't my only safety I was concerned about. Trophy wife or not, I said I would protect the girl. I hope I hadn't lost my edge along with everything else. It was time to choose, a nasty fall or a bullet to the head.