Tourists Go Home: Part Two

Hi, the 3/4 symbol in Part One was meant to be an EM dash, but that did not translate when I copied over my story from Google Docs to Substack. I guess that’s how you know it’s a human EM dash and not an AI EM dash? Now, on with the story…

In reality, Kristi had hated Timothy and his performative wokeness almost immediately upon meeting him at that lecture about cryptocurrency. But Americans working remotely in Brazil always glommed onto each other; it was either that or miss out on vital info about local coworking spaces. Plus, Timothy’s disappearance was an opportunity for content.

“I can’t believe it,” Kristi continued into her phone. “He was just with us yesterday.”

“He’s not dead, Kristi,” said Josi, rolling her eyes. “We don’t even know what happened. We haven’t even called the cops or anything.”

“We don’t know if he’s dead or not, Josi!”

Kristi had met Josi at a barbecue for nomads interested in A.I. investment schemes — and had immediately hated her, too. This was their third time hanging out this week. She regained her composure and flashed a veneered smile at her camera. “Plus, if Timothy is dead, then all of you deserve to know. Everyone talks about how safe Florianópolis, a.k.a. Floripa, is compared to the rest of Brazil, but remember, it’s still Brazil. It’s, like, a third world country. You can die here.”

Across the street from her, the early morning sun cast its golden sheen upon a manicured row of bright orange nasturtiums that guarded a three-story home. An apple-cheeked woman led a cheerful school-age girl out the building’s front door. Just feet away from Kristi, twittering yellow finches darted in and out of a tree with lilac flowers. A sweet, citric scent of passionflower hung in the air.

“People just lack basic privileges here,” Kristi concluded.

“Cut!” The voice came from behind Kristi. Suddenly, someone was snatching her phone out of her hand.

“I’m sorry—?” Kristi spun around.

A young woman in her late 20s had appeared. She sported a blue bob, five different nose rings, and high-waisted faded jeans, and she was entering commands into Kristi’s phone. She was rather tall; her neck emerged turtle-like from her tie-dyed Eras Tour concert shirt.

“Give me my phone back!” shouted Kristi, snatching for it just as the other woman danced backward.

“I will in a moment,” said Blue Bob. “I just need to delete your Live first. There.” She straightened her back triumphantly and placed the phone back in Kristi’s hand.

“What gives you the right?” Kristi began tugging on her hair. She looked like she wanted to rip it out. “I was about to call upon my 12,321 international followers to find my friend!”

“This might be a crime scene,” replied Blue Bob. “Broadcasting about it might hamper any real investigation.” Blue Bob had a nasal, gravelly voice that seemed to lack contour or emotion.

“What do you mean it might be a crime scene? This is obviously a crime scene. No one has seen Timothy in two days, and someone has vandalized his car.”

Blue Bob frowned as she took in the threatening red letters on Timothy Kosta’s car. Her eyes sat large upon her small, freckled face, giving the impression that she was always listening to a shocking secret. “No body, no crime,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, I’m a Swiftie. Her songs help me think. Also, if you were really concerned about your friend, then you would have called the police before turning this into social media content. Yes, I heard you all as I was walking up.”

Kristi looked furious. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Mariana Bench.”

Mariana Bench said nothing more.

Kristi sneered. “And?”

“Well, what else do you want to know? Uh, I’m half Puerto Rican, I only shop at local markets, and … my favorite actress is Anya Taylor-Joy. Now, tell me three things about you.” She thought for a moment. “Actually, please don’t.”

Mariana then turned away from Kristi and strutted over to the other two nomads, who had been watching her with a growing sense of apprehension.

“Which of you was the last to see Timothy?” Mariana demanded.

Warily, Levi raised his hand. “I was his roommate.”

just Part 3 remains….