A sightseeing boat docks along a densely wooded riverbank. From the deck, it could be mistaken for the depths of the jungle. Excited tourists poke their heads out to look around.
For those seeking the appearance of adventure without venturing deep into the perilous Amazon, the outer environs of São Paulo are a fine substitute.
???: That's right, bring a few photos back home with you. I guarantee your friends back in Europe won't notice a difference.
Tourist: But when all's said and done, this ain't the Amazon—it's as fake as the crocodile bag I bought the other day.
Tourist: Can't believe I fell for it, even after he said "Ermees" secretly buys all their hides from him.
The old captain pats the tourist's polyester suit with a friendly hand, ignoring his less-than-elegant pronunciation of the name.
???: Crocodiles? My friend, if only you had come to me earlier, I would never have let you be cheated like that.
???: In fact, I know of a certain daring individual who keeps a few genuine broad-snouted caimans out in the rainforest—The kind that can crush a turtle shell with a single bite.
???: I'd be happy to make some introductions. By the way, my friend, you're carrying American dollars, aren't you?
Tourist: ...
Tourist: So what, is all this cruzeiro just completely useless?
???: Haha! Not useless at all. It's great for kindling, confetti, even waste paper for your parrot. Just take my advice, friend; exchange what you have for dollars before it sinks any lower.
???: Ah, but don't let those suits at the bank trick you. A friend of mine specializes in exchanging currencies. I guarantee you it's a better deal.
Tourist: Let me think.
He and this enthusiastic guide have been friends for a good three hours, and in that time, his host even taught him the rules to double-deck Canasta.
Somehow, this currency exchange proposal begins to seem almost credible. However, a face wreathed in bright orange interrupts the tourist's thoughts.
Lopera: Excuse me, sir. Mind if I speak with Captain Rodrygo for a moment?
Tourist: Hey, kid, you lost or something?
Rodrygo: Lopera?! I didn't know you were interested in seeing my shabby old boat.
Tourist: Are you two related?
Lopera: What makes you think I'm related to this old picareta?
Rodrygo: What a shame! You know, I've always considered you like the violently hot-headed daughter I never had, Lopera. Don't go breaking this old man's heart.
Tourist: Yeah, whatever. Just beat it, kid. Mr. Rodrygo and I have business to discuss. Why don't you go play somewhere else for a while? If you're good, maybe I'll get you some hot cocoa later.
Tourist: It's delicious—double cream, double sugar, the stuff slides down your throat like porridge—the captain was just telling me about it. You'll love it.
Lopera: Senhor, whatever Rodrygo has told you, I advise you not to believe a word of it. Including anything about his cocoa.
Rodrygo rolls his eyes, then grins.
Lopera: But why don't you try the guarana juice while you're here? It'll perk you up more than any cocoa or coffee.
Tourist: I ... did you say guarana?
Lopera: Of course. You should check further down the shore. There's bound to be a stall somewhere selling it.
True to her word, there are many stalls bunched along the shoreline, which, not far from the city, serves as a fine spot for small traders to sell their exotic goods at a good price.
Tourist: Hot dog! Well, I guess I should try something special to the area.
Tourist: See you later, Captain, and ... Miss, if I find any guarana juice, I'll be sure to bring some back for you.
Anticipating the new experience awaiting him, the tourist disembarks in a rush toward the riverbank.
Rodrygo: You do realize that you just let a big fish slip away, right? Silly little birdie.
Rodrygo shakes his head in resignation, but his tone lacks any hint of anger.
Instead, he opens his mouth into a wide and knowing smile.
Lopera: I'm tracking someone down. Find him for me, and Zeno will give you a lot more than a big fish.
Rodrygo: Zeno?
The calm, kind expression vanishes from Rodrygo's face, his brows furrowing with perceptive caution.
Lopera: I have to find Sandro.
Rodrygo: Never heard of him.
It is a lie as plain as day, said without any effort at concealment.
Lopera: Really, Rodrygo? That's what you're going with? You know you might just lose the last person in São Paulo still willing to trust you.
Lopera: If my intel is right, the last time anyone saw Sandro, he was getting off your boat.
The weathered captain remains silent, squinting, perhaps pondering, or maybe São Paulo's sun is just too bright.
Lopera: How about this?
Lopera pulls out a fancy-looking die from her waist and tosses it into an empty wooden cup on the table.
Lopera: High or low. Clear and simple.
Lopera: If I win, you tell me where Sandro is.
Rodrygo: And if I win?
Lopera slams her revolver onto the table.
Lopera: Now you know how much this gamble is worth to me.
Rodrygo offers a stiff smile. Seeing no resistance, Lopera turns the cup over to cover the die.
Lopera: You're up.
Lopera pushes the cup toward Rodrygo, indicating with a generous flair that it is his turn to roll the die.
Rodrygo sighs, extending his rough fingers over the cup—thoughtfully weighing up the pros and cons of joining in.
Rodrygo: Why did they have to send you? Carlos couldn't find some other grunt?
Lopera: You got a problem with me?
Rodrygo: The Apostles Brotherhood is looking for Sandro, too. This is anything but a simple operation.
Lopera: What? You think I can't handle a few Apostles?
The girl's hand grasps the pistol wagered in their bet, spinning it around her fingertips.
Lopera: They might as well be the bottles down at the Zeno Shooting Range. Actually, easier. Zeno's got those bottles that fly through the air.
Rodrygo: Silly little birdie, cool it! This is no place to be playing with guns.
Rodrygo: Let's do this.
Rodrygo shakes the wooden cup. Lopera places the revolver back on the table.
After a few blinks of an eye, the cup comes to a clean stop. The die spins with a crisp whirling sound within.
Rodrygo: High.
Lopera: Then I'm low.
The cup is gently lifted, revealing the die lying obediently on the table.
Lopera: Low. That's low, old man. You see? It's two.
Lopera happily returns the pistol to its holster without a hint of surprise.
Rodrygo picks up Lopera's die from the table, rubbing it in his palm.
Rodrygo: Haha! Looks like Old Rodrygo's luck is as thin as his blood these days.
Lopera: Now, the bet. Don't try to cheat me. Where is Sandro?
Rodrygo changes the subject again.
Rodrygo: I've heard Zeno is gathering troops for a move into Socorro. That true?
Lopera: Tch, Carlos es un idiota!
The momentary slip of the tongue sears through her brain like a branding iron. How could she let this low-level informant trip her up?
Rodrygo sighs, almost sympathetically.
Rodrygo: This is really bad.
Lopera: You don't understand a thing, Rodrygo. Now, I'm done with you evading my questions.
Lopera: Where is Sandro?!
The hot sun of the Southern Hemisphere burns on Rodrygo's brow. He blinks at her, weighing his options before giving in to his honor.
Rodrygo: The barata has hidden himself well. Follow me ashore, and I'll lead the way.
Lopera: I don't need a guide. Just give me a location, and you can get back to business.
Rodrygo: Sandro is hiding deep in the rainforest. You won't find anything but capybara droppings without me.
Rodrygo: Besides, I need to make sure the information I give you won't bring any harm to Sandro.
She has dealt with Rodrygo long enough to know better.
Lopera: I never knew you had such a kind heart, Rodrygo.
Rodrygo: Haha! I'm old enough that I should start going to mass every week, little birdie. Maybe this old bastard is ready to turn over a new leaf.
He tosses the die to Lopera. The cube rolls through the bright sunlight, tracing a shining arc.
The girl reaches out instinctively, tracking the arc as the small object lands square in her palm.
Lopera: I was just about to remind you to return my die.
She raises her head, looking up at Rodrygo's sunburned face. The latter is looking down to the exposed die.
Rodrygo: Another two? You have good luck with dice.
She folds her hand over the die, removing it from his scrutinizing gaze.
Lopera: Coincidence.
Rodrygo: You let me call it. How did you know I'd bet high?
Lopera: I told you it was a coincidence!
Rodrygo doesn't seem bothered by her trick.
Rodrygo: Be quicker to cover that hand next time, little birdie.
Rodrygo: I don't want to see a sweet girl like you getting roughed up over a bad bet.
Lopera: Tch, I've got a gun.
Rodrygo: There are things in this world that aren't afraid of guns, senhora. Who knows what kind of monsters are lurking out there?
Lopera: You don't really think that'll scare me, do you?
Rodrygo: We must always be prepared for the worst.
Rodrygo: Come, I'll take you to Sandro.
