The man's name was Aliyu Danjuma, and he had been doing this for months now. His large, strong hands worked on autopilot, allowing his mind to drift back to his old life in the mines of Nigeria. He thought of the family he had left behind, the family that was also the reason he could never return. He shuddered at the memory of the lynching he had barely escaped.

The rumble of the garbage truck's engine pulled Aliyu back to the present. A radio announcer's voice filled the air, speaking in Portuguese:

"That was 'Love Hurts' on your 'Manaus Morning' show. And before that, 'Firebird', with Paula Fernandes. It's now 4:37, and we're going to listen..."

The jolt back to reality set his pulse racing. With the massive metal box on his shoulder, he hurried down the street, eager to finish his work on that block. He doubled back to the beginning of the street and waited for the truck to catch up. He had learned the hard way that when you were Black and towered over everyone else, it was best to keep your head down. And of course, the fact that he had no authorization to be in the country only made things worse.

With almost no effort, he hoisted the metal box and dumped its fetid contents into the wooden container. A man in uniform, standing on top of the truck, began spreading the freshly dumped refuse with a hoe.

Aliyu hurried to the next street with the large metal box on his back. Meanwhile, two other uniformed men strolled toward the truck. Their Manaus accents were so thick that Aliyu could barely understand what they were saying:

"You going to the zone tonight, Jackson?"

"I'm too broke, man!"

Aliyu was too far away to hear the rest of their conversation, but he didn't need to. Every night was the same: whether in Nigeria or Brazil, drinking and pussy seemed to be all that other men cared about. For some reason, Aliyu couldn't relate. In fact, hearing those men talk and laugh like that always made him uncomfortable. So, in a way, getting away from them was a relief, even if it was temporary. But now he had to go back to the truck, which meant that their display of masculinity was about to resume.

From atop the truck, a man burst into laughter, catching Aliyu's attention before asking:

"Seriously? You guys gonna spend all your wages on pussy and booze again?"

The giant already knew the answer. He didn't know the exact meaning of the word, but he was sure they would indeed spend all their money in the "zone." That night, however, the man on the truck complained about how the other two always left work early.

"Why help, Juélcio?" laughed one of the garbage men walking beside the truck. "With that old fridge on his back, the big guy can do all the work for us!"

Embarrassed, Aliyu understood enough to realize they were talking about him. And although he wasn't sure what they were saying, he imagined they were talking about the old rags he wore, dirty and tattered. Or about his long, frizzy hair, mixed with his thick, unkempt beard, forming a combination that he thought looked more like a mane than human hair and beard. Never in his life had he looked so much like an animal, not even when he worked in the mines.

Of course, they could be commenting on how big and clumsy he was Almost a cripple, he thought to himself, remembering the insults of the miners in his homeland.

Even so, he didn't blame them. What else could they think of him? The tallest of the normal men in the village only reached his chin, and only if they stood on tiptoe.

Besides that, there was his belly. Aliyu sighed thinking about it, large and round, as if it were a separate muscle. Several times the miners in Nigeria had said it was the result of snail worms. Other times, when they were more irritated, they tortured him with false claims that his belly was a sign that he was stealing rations and beer from the pantry.

The guy on the truck guffawed loudly, bringing Aliyu back to the present:

"You guys are motherfuckers, that's what you are!"

From inside the cabin, the driver shouted:

"Don't give me that, Juélcio! Since that Black guy started, you haven't stepped off the truck, I know it!"

Jackson, one of the other garbage men, ran to the driver, climbed the steps of the cabin, and murmured:

"You got the cash, Osmar? We're gonna stay right here."

"You forgot about those advances, did you?"

"That measly amount? Isn't everything settled already?"

"Not for another two weeks."

Jackson glanced quickly at Aliyu, who was moving away to another street, before whispering to Osmar:

"Okay, then give me half of Aliyu's week."

"Are you crazy, man?"

"I'm the one who got him this gig, man. He'll lend me the money, no problem! You know how the gringo is, a doormat."

A few moments later, as Aliyu was returning to the truck, his refrigerator full of bags, Jackson walked by with Joziel, money in hand. He shouted as he walked away:

"Thank you, Aliyu. I now use my parti from giving you worky!"

Surprised, Aliyu watched them walk away from the truck, take the hands of two of the many scantily clad women waiting on the corner, and, laughing, enter a bar.

He stood there for a few moments, unsure what to think. He didn't speak English very often, and the Brazilian's English was poor. But from the way the man had held the money, Aliyu wondered if Jackson had told him he was charging a commission for getting him the job.

However, before he could get angry, those thoughts evaporated when his gaze fell on a red-haired man who emerged from the shadows at the end of the street. There was something in his eyes that made Aliyu freeze, his breath catching in his throat. They were green and serious, almost angry, but also beautiful, sharp, and deep. Something that made Aliyu fear the stranger could read the shameful desire in his soul. Instinctively, the garbage collector lowered his eyes.

He wanted to close his eyes completely, but the urge to see the stranger was too strong. Aliyu noticed the trimmed mustache and beard, fiery red, that hypnotically adorned the stranger's mouth. Aliyu's desire grew when he noticed the thick black tattoos spreading from the redhead's neck down. It was rare for him to see tattoos in Nigeria, as they were taboo for his people. Was that why he found them so attractive on this man?

Aliyu's gaze continued its journey down the man's body, lingering on those thick thighs encased in tight pants. The muscles flexed with each step, powerful and defined. His eyes traced the outline of sturdy legs, then dipped lower, drawn to the undeniable bulge straining against the fabric. A wave of heat surged through Aliyu, his tongue instinctively darting out to wet his lips. He'd never imagined anything like it, the raw hunger that pulsed through him. He ached to feel that bulge in his mouth, to taste...

Aliyu felt his face burn, surprised by the depravity of his thoughts. Just then, the truck's horn blared, making his heart skip a beat. He looked up at Juélcio, who was waving at him from the top of the truck and, in broken English, urging him to hurry up and finish the job.

Still, Aliyu managed to steal one last glance at the red-haired man. He watched as the man pulled one of the prostitutes by the wrist towards the same bar his colleagues had just entered.

A cold, bitter emptiness grew in Aliyu's chest. Even if he wouldn't admit it to himself, he knew why that scene was so painful to watch. It was a reminder that, deep down, he was destined for a solitary life, the abomination that he was. For all his other shortcomings, he could find excuses, but not for this one. According to both his father's and mother's religions, his life was condemned, in this world and the next.

The truck honked again, and Aliyu ran towards it, the old refrigerator bouncing on his shoulder. He needed to focus. The last thing he needed was for the Brazilians to notice his depravity, or worse, for the redhead to notice. He was already paid less than the other garbage men; what would happen if they discovered his secret?

That was precisely why he needed to stop thinking about the redhead. Little Zainab depended on the money he was saving. No matter how hard he tried, he knew it would take months to gather enough. And she didn't have months.

As dawn broke, the driver handed him a small wad of bills and a piece of bread wrapped in a plastic bag. Aliyu tucked the money into his old backpack and ran to the river to wash up. As he hurried to his other job, he tried to figure out how much they had charged him for the bread and whether he really needed it or not. Not that they would give him a choice, anyway.

For Aliyu, saving his little sister was his top priority. Even so, he often found himself wondering if he would ever have a chance to see that handsome redhead with his tattoos again.

****

Meanwhile, on the other side of Manaus, a US Colonel entered a luxurious hotel room. When his phone rang, he recognized the number of his superior in Washington.

"Colonel Walker, we've finished analyzing your reports. Are the two targets indeed in Manaus?"

"Yes, sir!"

His superior replied:

"You are authorized to proceed."

"Sir, the projected civilian casualties among the Brazilians are immense, especially if we try to apprehend both targets simultaneously."

"We'll take care of that. But don't screw this up, Colonel! Otherwise, you're the one who's going to get screwed."

"Understood, sir!"

In vain, the Colonel tried to lower the temperature of the air conditioning. Even so, he smiled and let himself fall into the chair. With a little luck, capturing those two would be his ticket back home.