Rio de Janeiro
We never seem to make it outside. Instead we view the beauty and the madness in glimpses from inside buildings. Tall, modern, buildings. Office buildings, apartment buildings, and huge, massive, malls.
It’s a music competition and SHE is on tour with a band, but there are also tasks that have nothing to do with anything that we have to complete. Very reality showesque. SHE is undercover. There has been a murder. Murders.
Shanghai.
If SHE can just get to the buses SHE’ll be safe. For a little while. Even this late the streets are crowded. The glare of the neon, the music pounding out of the open doors of a club, the braying laughter of the drunks, it’s all disorienting. Shoving through SHE reaches the docking point. The bus is already on hover. SHE wipes the blood off of her lip and makes a run for it.
The do over.
“I can’t believe she betrays us.” Amaya’s hands clench into fists.
SHE replies, “Francesca was put between a rock and a hard place. It was an impossible decision.”
Using the most neutral tone I can muster I observe, “She still chose the wrong side.”
“Not arguing about it.” SHE begins to pace as much as SHE can in the tight quarters. “This time she won’t have to choose. Francesca’s out. Which means she, and the leverage used against her, is safe.”
“And we’re one man down. How much did it take for her to turn on us?” Dave asks.
“One.”
“One dollar?” He questions, confused.
“One life.” SHE stops pacing and looks at us all. “Francesca has a son. She placed him when she was fourteen.”
“Aw, fuck.” Amaya continues, “This is why we’re not supposed to have kids.
I say, “We all have people we’d sacrifice for, die for, kill for.”
“Yeah,” Dave agrees. “But you guys are those people for me. That’s why this works.”
I reply, “We can’t blame Francesca for a choice she doesn’t get to make.”
Amaya unclenches her fists and rubs her hands together. The air is brisk and damp. There will be fog later. “She’s out. Let’s move on. I don’t want to die again tonight.”
SHE begins, “Here’s the plan.”
It is an area of San Francisco that screams for gentrification in a city where one square meter can cost thousands of dollars. Set high on cliffs it overlooks the bay. A former industrial zone it is now a wasteland of vacant lots and abandoned factory buildings. Unfortunately for developers the legal knot of bankrupt companies and dead relatives is a tangled one to unwind. Ownership of this site has been in contention for over half a century. The courts draining one claimant after the other of her money, his time, and finally of their will.
In the middle of the mess is a park, still maintained, barely, by the park service. The park is a green space that extends down the cliff a few feet as here it is tiered. Steps and benches go all the way to the cliff’s edge for the daredevil few that want the most uncluttered views. Further back there is an amphitheater and a handful of wind twisted trees. Here and there large pieces of industrial equipment dot the grass. The park service simply mows around them leaving them covered with weeds and brambles. Here would be the final battleground.
There is a battle.
It was a do over but in changing things we changed things. We won, but the cost was dear. Amaya and Dave survived but Amaya was hurt. Badly. What would become of her remained to seen. SHE tells herself, anything we can survive we can live past. I stand beside her. One of the explosions caused some of the cliffside to fall free. Maybe the park service would get around to replacing the safety railing now.