“Probably makes more money on this side,” our driver joked.
“Bless you, sir,” the man said before the window was fully down. He tilted his bucket inward, giving us a glimpse of his success—several crumpled dollars. As our driver reached to drop some loose change, his head suddenly exploded, sending a gruesome spray of blood onto the dashboard. The shotgun blast that killed our driver had rung out from the bottom of the panhandler’s bucket, peppering the front cab with pellets and torn remnants of the dollar bills.
I screamed and covered Mariah’s eyes, trying to shield her from the horrible sight of the twitching body slumped over the steering wheel.
“Oh, shit!” The bodyguard in the passenger’s seat reached for his gun. That was when I noticed the three ski-masked men coming up along both sides of our van. I screamed for him to look out, but he didn’t have a chance as they sent a hail of bullets in his direction. The poor man howled in pain from the pellets that ripped into his body.
Mariah was my sole concern now, and I unhooked her seat belt as fast as I could. One of the masked men turned his gaze inside the van, toward us, and motioned to cease fire. In addition to my daughter’s sobbing, I could hear people outside as they screamed and ran for cover.
When the man reached to open the door, I kicked against it with all my might. It came open, bowling him over. I yanked Mariah up with me and darted out of the van.
I bounded over the downed man, holding Mariah like a sack of potatoes. He reached up and grabbed my ankle. Robbed of my momentum, I suddenly tumbled forward. My poor daughter fell from my grasp, yelping in pain as she bounced off the concrete. I went down face-first near her feet.
As the other masked men and the panhandler came around, I tried to get up and grasp a hysterical Mariah. Instead, I was viciously stomped and tumbled back down to the ground again.
“Mommy!” Mariah shrieked. My poor baby. The panhandler chambered another round with his shotgun and took aim at me, smiling with pride over being the most effective of them all.
“No,” said the one who’d just stomped me, commanding my would-be executioner to stop. “Get the girl.”
“No ... no! No!” I pleaded as I crawled toward Mariah, her arms outstretched and begging for me. I was shoved aside as I watched my daughter get scooped up by one of them.
“Mommyyy!” My panic-stricken daughter screamed just before they covered her mouth and threw her into an old van that had driven alongside us. The masked one in charge quickly followed them.
Adrenaline took over, and I rose to my feet, quickly closing the distance behind him. He swiftly turned around, as if sensing my approach. He had to know a mother wouldn’t just give up, despite the odds.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said as he pointed a nine millimeter at me. “She won’t be hurt as long as you do what we want,” he said in a voice that was both chilling and calming, for reasons unbeknownst to me.
“What do you want? Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.” I could still hear her muffled screams, yet I was powerless to advance.
“We’ll be in touch.” When he turned and jumped into the van to leave, I swiftly lunged at him, stabbing him in the back with the pen I’d snagged off the floor while shielding Mariah.
“Ow! You black bitch!” he yelled as he swiveled and kicked me dead in my stomach. I fell over, barely able to breathe as the van’s doors shut.
“Mariah ... ,” I called out before succumbing to the pain. Curled up in the fetal position, I helplessly watched them pull off as tears streamed down my face.
Rio
48