by Pablo Poveda
It was complex to judge. How to differentiate the banal from the relevant without falling into my own bias? And based on what? There are plenty of fine lines to cross for those who observe the reality. People usually get it wrong when they believe it is the journalist who tells the truth. Not at all; just the opposite, in fact! Our work is different, just as delicate as that of a surgeon.
We amputate information with subtlety, bringing it as close as possible to neutrality — that imaginary limbo called opinion, sometimes public, sometimes informed, sometimes personal — but always distant from reality.
When Blanca woke up in the sheets, Rojo had gone already and I was ready to pack.
“Good morning beautiful,” I said.
“Morning, handsome,” she said, half naked, stretching her arms. “What are you doing up so early? You left me alone in bed.”
“I am an early bird. Did you sleep well?”
“Better than well.”
“Today is a nice day.”
Blanca looked at the desk and her laptop.
“Have you been using my computer?” she asked intrigued.
“I have something for you,” I told her, brandishing the thumb drive.
18
The summer came to an end, the beaches emptied, and the bathers return to pack their bags to form endless lines at the airport. Law and order gave me my apartment back, and Blanca took care of the rest. We followed the protocol outlined by Rojo, and Blanca did her job.
The news was shaped as a report and was sold, for a large sum, to one of the most important national newspapers. As I promised her, I refused to take credit for the work and let the whole burden fall on Blanca’s shoulders. The aftermath of that four-page chronicle with no publicity served to catapult her to return to the capital with a signed contract. Blanca Desastres would no longer be an editor but would rub shoulders with a group of correspondents and reporters for Television and written press. As for us, we started a new period in our lives. We decided to give a second chance to a relationship that — due to adversity — could not take shape at first. Blanca went to Madrid, and I asked her a few weeks to put my ideas together, rest, and write a story about crimes and girls in bikini.
As soon as I finished it, Blanca took it upon herself to promote it through her circles of friends, catching the attention of a well-known noir fiction publisher. Within days of sending the corrected draft to Blanca, I received a phone call. The conversation that took place with that man of deep, raspy voice, was captured in a book contract. I had done it, my first novel.
Locals began to recognize me in newspapers and trendy magazines. My agent did an excellent job taking me to radio and television shows so that I could talk about that autumn bestseller that the nation had liked so much. In all the interviews, they asked me if my story was autobiographical with a fictional flair. Cowardly, I always responded that it was entirely fictional while I remembered Rojo and everything that I had borrowed from him to shape the protagonist of my book.
At the end of September, I decided to take the big step and return to Madrid with the head up high, facing the burdens of reality. Weekends felt short and weekdays were eternal. The phone exacerbated such a burden by keeping us standing by, cold, waiting, and weary. So, fed up and without giving it much thought, I took a train from Alicante to Madrid. In one hour, I would arrive at Atocha station.
Blanca had moved into a new apartment building near the old slaughterhouse, that had been turned into an entrepreneurial center. The area was not that shabby. I called her, but she must have been busy and did not pick up. So, I decided to open the maps app and waited at a cafeteria in the neighborhood. After ordering a coffee and leaving the luggage bag next to me, an elderly waiter, dressed in a bow tie and a white shirt, caught my attention within seconds of entering.
“Can I ask you something, young man?” he said. “Are you a writer by any chance?”
“Sure, there are many — ”
The man took out my novel from inside the bar.
“Yes, you are the man in the picture,” he said, looking at the back cover. “I hadn’t gotten so hooked on a reading in years. Will you sign my copy?”
“With pleasure,” I said, taking the pen. A news show on the TV reported on a drug cartel from the East. “What is your name?”
“Manuel. Don’t worry about your breakfast, it’s on the house,” he said at the same time he placed an old-fashioned glass and filled it with JB. “This is too, of course — ”
“Thank you, very much.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “And what brings you here?”
“My girlfriend lives in this building.”
“Oh, wow,” he said caressing his chin. “This is good news. Hopefully, I’ll see you often — ”
“I hope so.”
“In this very same bar,” he continued, “Camilo José Cela used to have breakfast many years ago.”
“Interesting, a writer looking for inspiration around the neighborhood,” I said.
“Well, if I told you, young man, about the things that these old eyes have witnessed.”
“I’ve always thought that waiters are the best observers ” I said, “and would make excellent writers.”
“That may encourage me to write a book myself that affords my retirement.”
I had heard that phrase hundreds of times.
“For now, let me pay for your breakfast.”
“No,” he said with a gesture of his hand. “It’s an honor. But promise me that you’ll keep writing.”
“Without a doubt. As long as they continue publishing my books.”
Forty minutes later, Blanca picked me up from that venue and took me up to her place — an almost new loft with beautiful views and a spacious living room. Upon entering, and without making much conversation, she dragged me into the bedroom, where we kissed and made love with the same intensity as that summer night one month earlier by the sea.
After the shower, Blanca put a set of keys next to the table.
“These are for you.”
The months passed by, and I settled down in the capital — it was easy to get used to its bars, the girls changing attire according to the season, the local traditions and Madrilenian ways of a city that, as they say, never sleeps. Life smiled upon both of us. Blanca worked non-stop and I had some downtime to walk about the neighborhoods, their cocktail bars full of smiles, and let the sun mist my glasses.
One cold and lonely March morning, I was making coffee in the kitchen, getting ready to write an opinion piece for a local newspaper. The computer suddenly made a sound. A notification warned that I had incoming email.
One of those junk emails, I thought.
As always, curiosity got the better of me.
After setting the coffee pot on the stove, I went over to the computer.
The sender was unidentified.
I counted to three and clicked on the icon.
My hands began to tremble, and my heart was racing.
“You bastard,” I said aloud “You made it!”
It was a message from Rojo.
He had found his wife.
Did you like it?
The adventure continues in Blazing Dark
Gabriel has gotten a price on his head, and his life is in danger.
After being away for a few years, Caballero returns to Alicante during the Burning Man festival, where he accidentally witnesses a brutal murder and finds himself immersed in a cobweb of lies and deception. He meets a mysterious woman whose charm will entangle him. What seemed accidental at first will turn into a full-blown nightmare for the novel journalist.
The grand finale of a trilogy that has captivated thousands of readers around the world. Gabriel Caballero and officer Rojo will finally put a face to the hand that has driven their destinies all these years.
Once you start to read, you won’t be able to stop.
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What some readers have said:
★★
★★★ A plot with suspense at all times.
★★★★★ Good intrigue! I read this book in about 3 hours. It keeps you on hold throughout the reading. I couldn’t stop. I really like how this author connects the characters and facts, it’s like watching a movie at the theater!
★★★★★ I loved this story, it kept my interest constant, always wanting to know who the killer was.
★★★★★ Full of vibrant action and suspense. It’s one of those that hook you from the beginning and you want to finish it fast.
★★★★★ It hooks you from the beginning and I think it’s because of the so well-developed main character. The story is worth it: current and intriguing. Highly recommended.
★★★★★ I loved it. It is an extremely entertaining book, of agile reading, politically incorrect and that manages to make the topic a great virtue.
★★★★★ Very good novel that keeps you glued to the eBook until you finish it.
I bought the whole series and I think it’s fantastic. Very well written.
About the author
Pablo Poveda (Alicante, Spain, 1989) is a writer and journalist. He already published more than 30 books. After spending four years in Warsaw where he developed his writing career, currently, Pablo lives in Madrid where he writes every morning.
Finalist Period, Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award 2018 & 2020
E-mail contact: [email protected]
Website: elescritorfantasma.com
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