Duel at Rodolfo's
The streets had changed. Carlos was checking Google Maps on his phone when he heard footsteps behind him. He tucked his phone back into his pocket, mentally slapping himself for acting like a tourist. Five years living in Europe had made him forget how unsafe that part of Rio de Janeiro could be at night.
“Why do I keep coming to back to this place?” Carlos asked himself, turning onto a dark street that most residents of Rio wouldn’t dare to visit. Seconds later, another man turned onto the same street, walking briskly behind him. Carlos had no doubt anymore. He was being followed.
He reached into his trouser pockets. Phone, wallet. At least he had something to give to his robber — they can get violent when the victim comes unprepared.
“Always bring some cash in your wallet, even when you think you won’t need it,” his father would always say. “It’s not for you: it’s for them.”
What he had in his pockets was enough to please even the most ambitious street criminal. Still, the idea of losing his wallet on his first day back in his hometown troubled Carlos. Besides, if he were robbed there and then, he would still have to walk back alone in the middle of the night, without Google Maps to guide him. He would be empty-handed. What if a second robber found him then, a tourist-looking hipster wandering in the dark without a penny in his pockets? That’s how tragedies happened.
Imagining himself on the police pages of the next day’s newspapers, Carlos began walking faster. His pursuer increased his speed too, only so slightly, with the confidence of a predator who was hunting in its own territory.
Carlos couldn’t look at Google Maps anymore, but now he recognised the street. Just one more block and he would find his destination. Was it just his mind or was he already smelling it? He could make a run for it, but that would be inviting a gunshot. Instead, he walked as fast as he could walk without giving the impression that he was running away — a speed only known to those who have lived long enough in a Latin American city. Carlos had been abroad for a long time, but his muscle memory worked just fine.
He knew he was safe when he smelled the meat: a mixture of ribs that had been cooked the day before, ribs that were still cooking and ribs that would cook until the end of the universe — that, or until Rodolfo closed his joint. For Carlos, the end of the universe seemed more likely.
Rodolfo’s rib joint was the only constant in Carlos’s life. He remembered the smell from the earliest years of his childhood, back when he lived in the neighbourhood that now seemed threatening to him. Even after his father’s luck changed and they moved into an upper-middle-class neighbourhood, he couldn’t help but come to Rodolfo’s for dinner once every couple of months. After Carlos moved abroad, his visits became less frequent — but the rib joint was at the top of his list whenever he travelled to Rio to see his parents. His father used to joke about it.
“You didn’t come to see us. You came to see Rodolfo and stopped by our house to say hello.”
It was not an easy place to visit. Taxi and Uber drivers wouldn’t go anywhere near there — it was too close to the city’s most dangerous slums. The nearest bus stop was a fifteen-minute walk away. But Carlos didn’t mind the risk. Priorities: ribs came first, safety later.
On that particular day, to Carlos’s delight, the rules were slightly different: ribs were safety. When he arrived at the joint and took his seat with a big sigh, Rodolfo gave him an enormous smile.
“Boy, you really missed them, didn’t you?”
Carlos smiled back and ordered a plate of ribs. Before he could relax on his seat, however, Carlos heard a voice coming from the table behind him.
“The same, please.”
Having fled from him in the dark, Carlos now recognised his pursuer. He seemed less scary in plain light —a young man fresh off his first shave, with half Rodolfo's age and less than half his size. He barely made an effort to disguise the gun tucked in his waist, expecting the weapon to do the intimidating for him. Carlos smiled as he and his pursuer made eye contact. A firearm would be useless in the duel he had in mind.
Both men were served in less than ten minutes. The ribs looked exactly like Carlos remembered, drenched in a dark brown sauce that filled every inch of the cheap plastic plate. The presentation wouldn't win any awards, but Carlos didn't care about that. He knew how they tasted.
One bite was enough to reassure him that Rodolfo was still on top of his game. The first taste was almost a dessert: the brown sugar on the crispy, caramelised top was one of Rodolfo's secrets. Then the moistness of the meat kicked in, and Carlos could feel every fiber of rib melting on his tongue in a fat and salty miracle. After he swallowed it, the meat left a hot and smoky aftertaste—a fire that could only be quenched by the sweetness of the next bite. At first, Carlos ate just like a man on the death row, taking the occasional glance at his pursuer's weapon and returning to the plate to enjoy a last bit of pleasure before his execution. Then he picked up the pace and started devouring them with urgency, trying to make up for all the years he had spent away from Rodolfo’s.
Unlike Carlos, his pursuer ate at a constant speed. He meant business. To him, the stop at Rodolfo’s was just a brief interruption of the chase: a man has got to eat, after all. Besides, no criminal would dare rob someone at Rodolfo’s. He had been running a restaurant right next to the favela for decades with no trouble. It was all suspiciously peaceful. No one knew exactly what was Rodolfo’s connection to drug overlord who ruled the zone, and no one dared try to find out. Everyone knew his place had to be respected. As soon as they both were done with the ribs and stepped out of the restaurant, though, the man would continue the chase and rob him at a safe distance from Rodolfo’s.
It didn't take long for them to clear their plates. The man eyed Carlos with a smile, as if the ribs had just been an appetiser: the phone and wallet in Carlos's pockets would be the main course. Carlos smiled back, but for a different reason. For him, the meal was just getting started.
“One more plate, please.”
Rodolfo took the order with a smile. Very few customers could eat a whole plate of ribs and still want more, but Carlos was one of his favourites for a reason. He then moved on to the table where Carlos's pursuer sat.
“What about you? Do you want the bill?”
Carlos’s pursuer took a few seconds to answer. Carlos witnessed with pleasure the moment when the predator started realizing he could be the prey. He certainly hadn’t planned for a second plate of ribs. However, Carlos had forced his hand. If he left Rodolfo’s before Carlos, the chase would be over. Waiting outside would leave him too exposed — besides, Rodolfo might be upset with an armed man standing suspiciously in front of his restaurant. That left only one choice.
“Another plate for me too, please.”
The new plates arrived. Carlos devoured his ribs with abandon. His pursuer was clearly struggling to follow his pace, but he had no option: if Carlos finished before him and left, his plan would also fail.
Both finished their plates at the same time, but with contrasting looks in their faces. Carlos smiled with delight, while the young man who chased him seemed to be having trouble keeping the food down. He was even breathing slowly, knowing the smallest movement could drive him over the edge.
Smelling weakness, Carlos delivered the killing blow.
“You know what, Rodolfo, I’m still a bit hungry. Another plate for me, please.”
Rodolfo threw his head back and laughed.
“Only you, Carlos, only you… And you on the back, do you want the bill now?
The robber looked down at his gun with a miserable expression, as if considering to put an end to his existence at that very moment. He didn’t mind going home empty-handed. He would rather turn himself in to the police and become an upstanding citizen than have another plate of ribs.
“Bill, please.”
A few minutes later, Carlos’s pursuer left Rodolfo’s rib joint in silence, grabbing his stomach with both hands.
Carlos ate his third plate of ribs slowly, in small bites, savouring them as if they were the blood of his enemy. Outside, it was darker than before. Carlos knew he had to face the dangerous streets soon, but he felt no fear anymore. Even if they caught him and emptied his pockets, he had already refilled his soul.
