domingo, 20 de março de 2011

Pepper and Cherry: Sweet Burning – Sneak peek

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

             Prologue

            Being a secret agent is not easy at all.
            Right now, Blutig Pfeffer has got her wrists handcuffeds in front of her body, being almost dragged by two large bouncers dressed in black inside a secret bar in Lorena Street. Each one of them is clutching one of her arms, and she has not found the long-awaited opening for escape.
            The bar is hidden in the room in the back of a bakery that’s closed during the night. Pfeffer squirmed between shelves of bread and managed to drop some packets on the floor, but the gunmen managed to keep her tied, and so she was forced to cross the yard.
            There was a mahogany door that made the bar seem like an innocent residence. Pfeffer tried to hold on stop, but it was useless.
            Some tables and chairs, also mahogany, were occupied by men in the age of fifty years accompanied by teenagers wearing miniskirts. Some of the drunks noted the chained young woman being forced to enter, but nobody bothered trying to help her.
            Pfeffer noted in her peripheral vision a twenty years top brunette knelt under a table. A bearded man with a loose tie holding her head over his groin, and by the motion was possible to guess what the girl did.
            Pfeffer turned away, disgusted. The thugs began to laugh.
            "She is innocent ..." the tallest one said.
            "Soon she’ll be nice as the others," the lowest one said, "nothing that three doses of heroin can’t solve."

At the bottom of the floor, next to the stairs, there was a counter. People was sitting there and having drinks of several different colors as a barman worked avidly.
            Among these people, there was a desperate young man. He was already having the fourth dose of cseresznye pálinka ¹ (that was one of the few bars in São Paulo that served the drink).
             "Egéségedre!" ² he told an impatient young bartender, seconds before swallowing the dose at once.
            He felt the influence of alcohol, but then his numbness was pinned by his keen sense of smell. There was something different in the air. An odor he had not felt for years. Aroma of hope. Aroma of fruit. The smell that he would recognize anywhere.
             Surprised, he turned his head and saw Pfeffer hostage by criminals.

Blutig Pfeffer is a young and beautiful redheaded. Still, none of Honório Botelho’s henchmen was nice to her.
            One of them, the highest one, just received a text message warning that Botelho wants to see Pfeffer in his officeas soon as his conversation with representatives of PCC was over, what should happen in about fifteen minutes.
            Botelho wants to expand his scheme of trafficking weapons to São Paulo, since in Rio is fully established. In order to do so, he must take two steps: convincing the leaders of PCC that his scheme is efficient and killing Blutig Pfeffer.
            The first step is quite simple because Botelho has the gift of persuasion. The second has proved virtually impossible, however. Attempt after attempt at execution, Pfeffer has escaped.
            Botelho hasn’t found out yet if his employees are incompetent or if this twenty-something years girl is really what they say. So the order given was that the young woman should be brought alive, because he wanted to see the legend with his own eyes.
            Pfeffer doesn’t know who’s awaiting is Botelho. She also does not know that the guy sitting at the table of the bar has been observing quietly, since she set her foot inside the place.

1. Hungarian drink made with cherries.
2. Hungary interjection said when toasting.

            Once he laid his eyes on her, the pálinka lay forgotten on the counter. The long wavy hair, a golden-red as magma, eyes dark green as eucalyptus leaves, the freckles that graced her face under the eyes, small breasts under the green blouse, a black leather jacket, dark jeans marking the long thighs, black low-heeled boots.
            It's her, he thought.
            But why the handcuffs? And these guys holding her by the arms? He had to stay calm. He shouldn’t miss that chance by acting impulsively. He could not.
            When the gunmen climbed the stairs leading to Botelho’s room, the guy followed them and listened to the conversation.
            "So this is the legendary Blutig Pfeffer?" Botelho said.
            Pfeffer didn’t answer.
            "I'm Honório Botelho. But you already know that. If you lack good manners, you’ve got plenty of competence."
            Pfeffer gave a sarcastic laugh, but said nothing.
            The two gunmen still held her.
            "You know, you're a hot girl. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t rest until I bed you." Botelho said.
            "In a perfect world I would never ever sleep with a jerk like you." Pfeffer said.
            Botelho slapped her hard. Pfeffer restrained herself not to scream, although the pain was too strong. Still tasting her blood, she managed to laugh again.
             "Unfortunately, patience is not my forte," Botelho sighed. "It would be a shame to hurt this pretty face, but I need information, and I will not hesitate to use any means to obtain them."
            Botelho stayed in front of Pfeffer. His large black eyes were two indecipherable wells, two huge pupils surrounded by a narrow strip of iris. It was like they could swallow Pfeffer. Still, she could not prevent a mischievous smile, which annoyed him greatly. "Who is your boss?"
            Pfeffer laughed. "Who’s yours?"
            Botelho slapped her again and said coldly. "Wrong answer."
            Pfeffer's hair covered her face. The flowing blood had already reached her neck. Botelho pulled some hairs to see her face better. Then he caressed her face and asked tenderly. "Where is the headquarter of the organization?"
            Pfeffer took advantage of the proximity to kick him. Botelho fell on the office desk scattering papers across the floor. The table legs were broken by the impact, and soon Botelho was lying on wood chips, glass shards, pens and other office supplies.
            The telephone, that beige model common in government offices, stood in one of the chips higher off-hook, the stretched wire rotating as a pawn.
            "Take those nasty hands off me." Pfeffer hissed.
            Some shards of the glass that was covering the table cut Botelho’s arms. The sleeves of the Armani white shirt he wore were punctuated by small red spots, and the thugs meant to let go of Pfeffer to help him, but Botelho raised his hand in order to stop them.
            "Now you guys see how dangerous she is? Take this slut out of here. I do not care what you do with her, just make sure she is really dead and burn the body." Botelho said.
The goons dragged Pfeffer toward the door, but she managed to turn away and, amid the blood dripping from her lower lip, said her last words to Botelho. "After I kill these two ass holes, I'll get back to ya."
            The young man was listening to the conversation. He really wanted to torture Botelho until death for having hurt the beautiful young woman, but he had to stay focused. The two henchmen would probably rape her before killing her. Even though she was perfectly able to getting rid of the two of them, his protective instincts wouldn’t allow him simply to leave her alone with the criminals. Especially now that he finally found her.
            The boy entered an empty room while the thugs went through the corridor, then followed them. Never losing sight of them, he kept accompanying the group till they got to the lounge bar.
            Then it happened.
            Pfeffer used the own henchmen’s grip as support for jumping and at the same time kicking both their shins. The blow was not enough to shut them down, but it was enough to loosen the compression in her arms, thus making it possible to strangle one of them, the lowest, with the chains of the handcuffs.
            The blow was so fast and accurate that the other gunman, despite being fourteen inches taller than Pfeffer, was stunned and terrified. For a short time, for she beat him with only two blows on the head, and judging by the blood that gushed from his forehead, he wouldn’t live for long.
            Pfeffer then bent down to pick up bodyguard’s gun. Right away, she took a clip from her pants pocket, made a small fold at the tip, and introduced into the lock of the handcuffs. Ignoring the shock of the civilians inside the bar, after opening the handcuffs she ran out the door, being soon chased by a group of Botelho’s bodyguards.
            While Pfeffer was searching for a car to escape, the boy stopped his blue Vectra GT-X with the passenger door open for her. "Want a ride?"
            Pfeffer jumped in the car, realising in the middle of the mess the radio played the song "Escape the Nest" by the Editors. The boy accelerated and went screeching toward Rebouças avenue. But soon there was a black Cherokee filled with Botelho’s thugs driving the wrong way and the boy had to turn sharply at Bela Cintra street. Impressive how well he drives, Pfeffer thought.
            "Are you sure you want to give me a ride?" Pfeffer asked.
             "Absolutely." Replied the boy, when the first shots were fired. It was two o'clock in the morning on an October Monday. The Paulista avenue was almost empty.
            Pfeffer took a small mirror inside her pocket and put out of the car. She could see a miscreant carring a 762 shotgun. Carefully, she put out the 9 milimeters she had snatched a few moments before and looked at the thief. One shot was enough for him to fall rolling over the asphalt with the rifle in his hand in front of the Belas Artes Cinema. Of course the the truck didn’t stop, but even like that Pfeffer leaned her head on the rest with a smug smile on her face.
            "May I ask your name?" The boy asked as they passed in front of the stores of chandeliers at Consolação street.
            "Only if you want a false name." Pfeffer said.
            "And what is this fake name?"
             "Pfeffer." She sighed and said, "but you better not tell anybody you gave me a ride. Either one will not believe you, or you’ll have trouble with the authorities."
            The car arrived downtown so fast the robbers were far away soon. No red light was an obstacle. When they arrived at Tiradentes avenue, the car was 90 mil/h, and the boy deftly weaving the few cars in the morning way. The truck had vanished and the flight had been successful.
            Still, the boy went flying through the Tietê-riverbank freeway to Ayrton Senna highway without worrying about speed cameras.
            "You drive very well." Pfeffer said.
            "I’ve got good reflexes..." he replied modestly.
            "I think they've lost us. Can you park the car a little bit?"
            "Why?"
            "I'm feeling sick..."
            The boy pulled over on the roadside, they were already at the beginning of Ayrton Senna highway. Pfeffer went to guard rail and threw up. The young man approached her, pulling her long hair back.
            He could hardly believe he was touching her. Her hair was soft and gave off an odor of fruits. The boy wished he could dive his nose right there.
            But soon she pulled herself together.
             "Thanks..." she whispered, "Do you have some water?"
            He sought a PET bottle in his car. Pfeffer took a small dark glass in her pocket and took a pill.
            "Where do you live?" Pfeffer asked between sips of water.
            "I don’t have an only place."
             "Interesting. What do you do in São Paulo?"
             "Looking for someone."
            "Did you find?"
            "I did."
            Pfeffer sighed and looked down. The place where they had parked was dark, but she could scan boy’s tousled caramel hair.
            "So... I guess this is goodbye." Pfeffer extended her hand.
            The guy shook her hand, amazed by the touch. "I won’t leave you here in the middle of nowhere..."
            "Don’t worry, I can take care of myself."
            "No... I’ll take you home."
            "I have no home."
            "So I’ll take you a better place, more enlightened, perhaps a taxi stand, what do you think?"
            "Okay. If you must..."
            "I do." The young man said, opening the passenger door so Pfeffer could enter.
            The vehicle came in return for Ayrton Senna highway to Tietê riverbank freeway, but this time he didn’t run. He wanted to spend more time with her.
            She never asked his name.
            When he stopped the car at the Tietê bus station, she approached his face, plunging her hand into his bronze hairs and pulling gently. He smiled and touched her right cheek just where there were freckles.
            For him, it was like saying goodbye to a part of his own soul. Let go of her was simply impossible, and an adoring look settled on his face.
            She thought about kissing him, but reminded that she had thrown up moments before. It would be disgusting. And anyway, she didn’t even know him. Why this inexplicable attraction, this so strong feeling of intimacy?
            The best thing to do was to get off the vehicle.
            Little did she know that he’d follow her by the rest of the night.

            Part I

             Awakening

            I opened my eyes as if waking from a dreamless night. The eyelids were heavy and a white light filled the room. I closed my eyes bothered by the light and tried to open them again. I heard someone say something.
             "Pfeffer" she said. "Are you awake?"
            It was Nite Owl, my colleague and personal friend. Owl was highly skilled and talented. She had helped me in several complicated missions, and I could never doubt her courage or loyalty. She was always willing to help and never seemed to be tired.
            I opened my eyes again, still unable to get up. It was also difficult to move my neck, but I bowed my head toward the voice. I recognized the chocolate hair and glasses rimmed purple.
            "Owl, where’s Botelho?" I whispered with difficulty.
             Honorio Botelho was a corrupt federal officer. A 30 years king of the crime, the intelligence working for evil. I needed to kill him, since he had discovered my identity and would not rest until I was dead. Actually, I was an obstacle in his scheme of trafficking weapons for months and the main reason it did not work in São Paulo.
            "He's dead, Pfeffer. Three months ago. You’ve been really successful in your mission. But one of his henchmen pretended to be dead and fired at your back... I shot him right away, but it was too late."
            "Three months ago? What day is today?" I asked.
             "January 22," She replied.
            "I spent three months in a coma? It was October when we set up an ambush..."
            "Yes. We were lucky not to lose you that night. Med has worked like crazy to save you. When your situation finally stabilized, you were in a coma and no one was sure when or if you would wake up. But we would keep you here for years if necessary... You know how much Ricardo likes you, he would not mind spending any fortune to keep you alive even though hopes were small."
            "And I finally woke up..."
            "Yes! How do you feel? I’m glad I’m here. We were all taking turns to guard, no one wanted to risk someone finished the service when you here helpless..." she said with a worried expression.
            "I'm hungry."
            Nite Owl laughed. "Of course you are. When you do not feel hungry? I'll get you something. Any request?"
             "Strawberries with condensed milk. A lot of condensed milk. And I really need a mirror..."
            She brought a small mirror and helped me to change position.
            It seemed everything was fine. My hair was a little dry after all that time without care, but nothing a visit to the hairdresser couldn’t solve.
            "I'll get your meal and call Med..." she said and slipped out the door.
            I kept looking at my reflection in the mirror and trying to establish connections. It seemed that everything was like before, but was it? I had spent 102 days in a coma after an unforgivable flaw in the service. What Ricardo, leader of the Urban Hermits, would think about this? Would he still want me as an agent?
            Nite Owl came in with a tray in hand and came to the bed. Realizing I was struggling to get up, she pulled my trunk and arranged the pillows so I could sit. Even though I was so giddy after all that time unconscious, I felt my face flushing as I smelled sour strawberries. Owl noticed and handed the bowl and a dessert spoon for me.
            It was a white bowl, the kind you use to have breakfast cereals. It was filled with large red strawberries standing out in yellowish cream. Owl sat on the bed and looked disgust when I started eating.
            "How can you eat something so sweet fasting?" She asked.
            "She does need a concentrated dose of glucose." It was said by Med. Med is the head of medical department in the organization. She is responsible for keeping officers alive and able to fight. She is in the range of fifty years and uses very short auburn hair. She has small brown eyes, small wrinkled mouth and raspy voice. She’s short, about 4’11’’, and has a certain accumulation of fat around the waistline.
            I’ve got some respect for her because she’s got a teenage son, and as far as I know, she was never married. She never said anything about the boy's father, and I imagine  raising a child alone should be pretty hard.
            "So the legendary Blutig Pfeffer awoke from a coma! Ricardo will like to know!" Med said, not trying to disguise the irony in her voice.
            I pretended I didn’t notice, leaving a mental note to investigate the hostility later. These nasty comments always turn up when we met, and I definitely do not trust her.
            "Come on, Med... I made a terrible mistake and have been a burden for you." As I spoke, I felt a drop of condensed milk running down my lower lip. When I tried to clean it, Med rubbed a scarff and smiled. There was something in that smile I didn’t like, confirming the previous mental note.
            "Come on you, Pfeffer! Nobody wanted to lose you!" Owl shot.
            "All right. Under what conditions I am, Med?"
            "You were shot in the back, fell and hit your head. You lost a little ammount of blood, but Owl and Criazul brought you in time. You spent 102 days in a coma. How do you feel?"
            "Okay, but I want to get up, get out, get back into my life..." I replied impatiently.
            "You're going up soon. You will have a hard drive for awhile, but soon goes back to normal." Med said.
            "How long?"
            "A couple days, a week top. You only need to feed it properly. I'll ask the nurse to bring you something every hour." I realized that Owl's eyes widened upon hearing Med saying it, but soon mastered her serenity.
            Med picked up a syringe and pulled my left arm. "Now I will collect some blood samples to do some tests."
            "What tests?" I asked.
            Med attempted to disguise, but I realized she didn’t want to answer.
            "Don’t be scared, just a little prick ..." I kept my arm bent, and she continued, "These are just some routine tests, serum glucose, blood count, thyroid..."
            Med was smiling when I finally stretched my arm.
             "Ricardo’s been warned. He’s in a meeting with the Norwegians, as soon as it’s over, he’ll come down here." Nite Owl warned, serene as always.
Ouvir
Ler foneticamente

quarta-feira, 16 de março de 2011

Novidades

Não posto nada novo há tempos, mas tenho minhas razões. Tenho trabalhado na divulgação do livro, que como vocês bem sabem, foi lançado de forma independente.

Com isso, tenho o prazer de anunciar que agora tenho parceiros. Sim, são blogs muito descolados nos quais é possível encontrar informações sobre vários livros. E olha só que legal, em breve publicarão uma resenha do primeiro livro da série P&C (Pimenta e Cereja). Eles podem ser conhecidos no final da página, onde adicionei seus links e banners.

Como hoje eu só tenho novidades legais, "Doce Ardor" agora também marca presença no Skoob.

E para deixar tudo ainda mais interessante, minha querida amiga Mel Correia do Equador está trabalhando na tradução para o espanhol. Inclusive, a sinopse nesta língua maravilhosa que eu não domino já está disponível na aba Español, onde em breve será publicada a sneak peak. 

E não é só isso. A sneak peak em inglês será publicada logo. Pretendo também criar uma aba "English" para todos os textos nesta língua.

domingo, 9 de janeiro de 2011

Trilha sonora oficial

Esta é trilha sonora que acompanha a história de "Pimenta e Cereja: Doce Ardor"


Trilha sonora dos personagens principais



Blutig Pfeffer 







Criazul




Ricardo Boero aka Ricky



Hades & Blutig Pfeffer



Ricky & Blutig Pfeffer



Trilha sonora que acompanha a história 





O Rappa – “Maria”


Cansei de ser sexy – “This Month, day 10”




Nando Reis – “Luz dos olhos”




Nação Zumbi – “Bossa Nostra”

Nação Zumbi – “Assustado” 

Tim Maia – “Ela partiu”






Obs: Links de canções brasileiras removidos devido a pressão do ECAD. Mas quem quiser ouvir, é só procurar no youtube.