She opened the envelope quickly, excitedly, and extracted a simple sheet of paper and looked at its clear handwriting. Then read the letter carefully.
When she had finished, she dropped the letter on the floor, went to her bedroom and changed clothes then left the house.
The first thing Hector did was go to the bank to find out how much he could borrow. It was a pretty disappointing sum.
It didn´t surprise him to find out how little his life was worth. He had offered everything he had of value to ask for a loan for the largest amount possible.
“If you have a guarantee we could increase the amount.” The efficient bank employee that attended him in the bank said. “Perhaps some family member could help.”
“No! “ Hector yelled. “I want the maximum that I can borrow on my own, without involving anyone else."
His house was the only thing that the bank considered valuable. And that wasn´t worth that much either. The sad apartment in which he lived was barely forty square meters and was his thanks to an inheritance. That was all he´d managed to put together in forty-three years.
He took the relevant documentation to the bank and spent a week at home, waiting. He went out twice, once to buy some food, and on the other occasion to go to the doctor. His psychiatrist always asked him the same old questions. Hector answered them with his mind on something else, then went to the pharmacy with the prescriptions and bought tranquillizers and anti-depressants.
He got the loan in the end, ten days after delivering the documentation and formalizing the application. Hector transferred the whole amount to another bank account in a different bank and only left one euro in his account.
“It´s a big sum of money.” The cashier said raising her eyebrows. “The commission for this will be very high.”
“It doesn´t matter.” Hector replied.
Then he went to the other bank and asked if he could withdraw all the money in cash. Again eyebrows were raised. The teller asked him to wait while he spoke to another bank employee. Hector imagined he was speaking to the manager.
“The money will be ready in three days.” The cashier informed him.
Hector went home and waited patiently. Three days later he returned to the bank, dressed in the same clothes, and withdrew the money. It was all very simple. He had imagined that many papers would have had to be signed and that he would have had to answer questions. But that hadn´t happened. They gave him the money and asked him to count it.
“That’s not necessary. I trust you.” Hector said.
He signed the payment receipt and left the bank with the money in an orange backpack that looked like it belonged to a schoolboy.
He took a taxi that took him to his destination in twenty minutes, paid the taxi driver, and then sat down in front of the stairs to an office building, holding the backpack against his chest with both arms. On two occasions passers-by dropped coins on the footpath in front of him. But Hector didn´t bother to pick them up.
He stayed there for two hours until he saw his objective on the other side of the street. A very thin, blond woman, accompanied by a little boy with a limp. The boy appeared to be around ten years old and had a prosthesis that had replaced his right leg.
Hector stood up as soon as he saw them and crossed the street without looking. A car jammed its brakes on to avoid hitting him.
“Your mother was a slut!“ The driver yelled out the window. “Watch where you´re going, madman.”
The blond woman turned around attracted by the ruckus and saw Hector walking towards her.
“Don´t be afraid.” He said, trying to sound relaxed. “I´ve only come here to give you this.” He said, offering her the backpack.
The woman looked at it strangely. An indescribable mix of emotions drawn on her face. Hector was worried that she was going to run off. Maybe she would have, if her son hadn´t been with her.
“Who is this man, mummy?” The boy asked. “He´s very dirty and his clothes are torn.”
The mother didn´t answer. She was frozen with fear and anger, doing her best not to show it. But Hector could see through that.
“I could only put this amount together. That´s all I have in this bag.” He said seriously. “I couldn´t get anymore. There´s around seventy-two thousand Euros here.” He said pushing the backpack towards her.
The woman didn´t move.
“I don´t know why you´re doing this.” She managed to say with difficulty.
“It´s the right thing to do. Even if it´s only for your son you´ve got to accept it.” He left it on the ground and stepped back. The boy limped over to his mother and bent down to pick up the backpack. Hector looked at his false leg and added. “I wish I could have done more.”
He walked off without saying another word, returned to his house and waited. Two days later he received the letter. He found it in the morning when he woke up, on the floor, as if someone had slipped it under the door. It was a black envelope with white edges. Hector read it, then left the house.
He didn´t bother to close the door.
Dante´s neck was always covered by an impeccable shirt and a tie with a perfect Windsor knot. That was why it was so surprising to see him enter his office with the button of his shirt undone and the tie loose, without its usual pin, bouncing against his chest as he walked.
Dante took a thirteen page financial report out of a drawer and put it in an empty folder and left his office. He went down the corridor to the meeting unaware of the looks that his employees were giving him.
He hardly had a hair on his head and the few locks that still resisted the ravages of time were totally white. His face was furrowed by a sea of wrinkles. An enormous stomach, a wide back and two dark eyes were the first things one noticed about him. Dante was sixty-three years old and his retirement in two years was foremost in his thoughts.
In the meeting room his lawyer and only friend waited for him with his main financial assessor.
“Have you checked the information that I sent you?” The advisor asked.
“I´ve got it right here.” Dante said waving the folder in front of him. He sat down and then took the report out. “Is this the report you´re referring to?”
The financial advisor confirmed with a quick glance that it was the complex analysis that his team had put together during the last two weeks.
“That´s it. As you can see the numbers are correct and they reveal that . . .”
“Everything’s in order. I agree with everything I´ve read.”
“Then it would appear that we’re all of the same opinion.” The lawyer said.
The financial advisor could barely contain his happiness.
“It´s a safe property deal. In five years, when the land is revalued, the value will increase tenfold. You won´t regret it.”
“Definitely not.” Dante replied. “Because we´re not going to do this deal.”
An uncomfortable silence followed his words.
“I don´t understand.” The advisor said. “If you agree with the report, what´s the problem? We´ve bribed all the key people. There´s no risk.”
“Can´t you see it?” The lawyer asked confused. “It´s your type of operation. You´ve done thousands like this.”
“That´s true. I know that well enough.” Dante agreed. “But I´m not getting involved with this one. I want to sell.”
“What? That doesn´t make any sense.” The advisor said. “We´ve only got to wait five years and we´ll make a packet. You can´t pass that up.”
“Yes, I can.” Dante rebuked him. “I´m not interested in investing in this. I just want to sell.”
“But that’s absurd.”
The advisor said nothing more. He was aware that he´d just exploded in front of his boss. Even so it wasn´t easy to contain himself. The rejection of an opportunity like this was almost impossible for an ambitious man like him to accept.
The lawyer interrupted the two of them before things got any further out of hand, convincing the
financial advisor to leave the room before it was too late.
“You have to admit he was right.” The lawyer said to Dante after the advisor had left. ”It was a great deal. Besides, thousands of families will be without a home if we pull out.”
“That´s not my problem,” Dante informed him. “Someone else will go ahead with the project. I´ve got other priorities.”
“I´ve seen a change in you in the last few months.” The lawyer reflected. “What´s happened here today doesn´t seem like you at all.”
“That´s my business.”
Dante picked the report up off the table and opened the folder to put the report back inside but didn’t get that far. His hand remained in the air.
“Is something wrong?” The lawyer asked, looking at Dante´s hand suspended in the air.
Dante didn´t answer him. He kept on looking at a letter that was sitting inside the folder and that he was sure he hadn´t put there. He put the report down and took the envelope out. It was black with white edges, without any address. He opened it and took a sheet of paper with a note written in red ink out. He was amazed at the exceptional handwriting. He began to read it carefully.
“What are you reading?” The lawyer asked out of curiosity. “It´s a blank sheet.”
Dante finished reading and dropped the sheet of paper on the table. He crossed the meeting room without looking back at the lawyer and disappeared.
Two minutes later, he left through the front door of the building with his coat on.
BLACK ROCK PRISON
(Sample)
Kevin dropped the eyes on the floor. One of them bounced off his leg and came to a stop under a table; the other one landed in front of him and there was no way he could avoid stepping on it.
“Shit,” he exclaimed, completely annoyed. He inhaled slowly and deeply, squeezed his eyes shut tightly, then exhaled forcefully.
Kevin Peyton was a meticulous man. He paid attention to details and was convinced that it was precisely because of this that he enjoyed such a good reputation in his profession. Clients recognized his fastidious personal touch and respected him for it.
“He was perfect,” a woman had told him on one occasion after admiring the results of his labor with fascination. “Even better than before the accident.”
Kevin had limited himself to nodding respectfully and had abstained from commenting. He certainly hadn't had the faintest idea of how to reply to that kind of remark. It was the only time that he remembered ever hearing anything like it. And it had come from a regular client, which was something rare in his profession.
This time no one would be congratulating him. He could have kicked himself for having been so clumsy as he took off the mask and picked the eyes up off the floor. It was no easy task to get the one from under the table but he finally managed to grab it. He threw the eyes in the trash and looked the body over carefully, searching for a solution for this unfortunate mishap. He remembered that once a long time ago he had had a similar problem with an eye donor. The body had to be presentable, so he had resorted to stuffing some cotton balls under the eyelids to keep them from sinking down into the eye sockets.
For a fleeting moment he considered presenting the cadaver with sunglasses. It was a totally involuntary and random thought, undoubtedly brought on by nerves. He quickly dismissed it tucked it in the back of his mind as a last resort. The cotton balls would no doubt work perfectly and provided a considerably more elegant recourse.
Fortunately, everything turned out exquisitely and two hours later the deceased was in impeccable condition for the family's showing: a good suit, a little makeup, and the yellow handkerchief that his wife had so vehemently insisted be placed around his neck. It wasn't necessarily an unusual request; Kevin had dressed corpses in every way imaginable. Just the same, as he finished preparing the body he couldn’t help turning over in his mind the possible significance of that particular accessory—but didn't arrive at any interesting conclusion.
He finished up with an hour to spare before the funeral home would open. The family of the deceased wouldn't arrive until ten a.m. and his colleague would be there by then. Now seemed like a suitable time to go out for breakfast.
Norman's bar was the best bet given that it was across from the funeral home and Kevin didn't like to have to take the car; in fact he hardly ever strayed too far from the Far Southeast Side. The Chicago cold grabbed him as soon as he stepped out onto the street. Kevin was used to low temperatures so his thick wool sweater was more than sufficient to keep him warm.
At this early hour, the bar would be closed, but Norman would no doubt already be there getting everything set for breakfast and maybe even be in the mood for a little company. And anyway, Kevin wanted to see his friend alone.
Norman Smith was a nice man with a certain magnetism about him. You couldn’t help but laugh at his witty remarks delivered with that cheerful Irish accent. His sharp tongue was always at the ready with entertaining observations for any and every situation and it was extremely unusual to see him angry or gloomy. Kevin had known him for more than ten years, since the time when the funeral home had opened. After his ridiculously difficult first day straightening things up in order to be able to carry out his new duties, Kevin had crossed the street and gone into the Irish bar directly opposite the funeral home to have a drink to relax a bit. Norman had struck up a conversation with him. Later, as he walked back out the door, he had already decided where he'd go the next morning to have breakfast.
They got along well. A strong friendship developed between them over the next eight years, and then Kevin discovered Norman's secret: gambling. Poker, roulette, betting . . . anything and everything. Then a year and a half ago, Norman suffered an “unexpected” slump and lost everything. Consequently, he almost lost the bar as well. Kevin took pity on him and loaned him money. A considerable sum of money. It meant a serious sacrifice on his part since his wife had walked out three years before that without a single word, leaving him on his own with his now eighteen-year-old daughter—the most important person in his life.
Now the tables had turned. His precious Stacy's imminent entry into the university along with a rough patch at the funeral home had put him in a rather delicate economic situation. His daughter's future was at stake, leaving Kevin desperately needing to get his money back, or at least part of it. The problem was asking Norman for it. Of course, it was legitimately his and the time period in which his friend should have returned it had long since passed. Just the same, Norman hadn't even ever mentioned the matter; it was as if it had never happened. Kevin was infuriated. In his opinion, as a good friend, Norman should have taken the initiative and returned the money to him without forcing him to ask for it. Or, at the very least, he should have explained the reason why he still hadn't kept his end of the agreement and indicated when he might be able to. Nevertheless, it seemed that Norman didn't see it that way so Kevin would have to bring it up even though it wouldn't be easy for him. Figuring that it would also put Norman in an uncomfortable position made Kevin uneasy, and he got annoyed with himself for feeling like that. He was only taking back what belonged to him—nothing wrong with that—and besides, it was for his daughter's benefit. But
still . . .
Maybe this time Norman would say something to him. The best case scenario would be to show up at the bar and chat a bit, just the two of them, and to act as relaxed as possible so Norman would have no idea of the grudge that he was carrying over the whole thing. The worse case would be to somehow have to manipulate the conversation so it turned to the topic of debts, and then Norman would hopefully take the hint. No, surely he wouldn't have to do anything like that.
Kevin took long strides across the street, moving to the other side with great agility. He was tall—six feet, three inches—and he was in great shape. His body showed all the signs of regular exercise and was wonderfully sculpted. Virtually all of his muscles were well defined, but at the same time he didn’t look like someone who never left
the gym. And he was handsome; people had always told him so. Kevin was uncomfortable hearing compliments—they made him blush—but he knew they were true. He couldn't deny it. His unmistakable garnet eyes and his straight ginger-red hair were the main reasons for his natural good looks.
Kevin entered the bar but didn't see anyone. He was just about to call out to Norman, thinking that he was somewhere in there, but then saw the silhouette of a man at the far end of the bar. Instantly he realized that something wasn't right. This guy was not the typical Irish client that frequented Norman's place. Kevin cleared his mind and focused his attention. He heard a muffled sobbing that was apparently coming from the unidentified man. He then remembered that the door to the establishment had been unlocked, that he had only had to give it a push to open it. And he noticed something else—a strange . . . odor.
“Hello,” he greeted the stranger. “Have you seen the waiter?”
The man did not turn around but kept his back to him. Kevin wondered for a brief moment what he should do. The stranger was seated on a stool and had one elbow leaning on the bar. He was dark-haired, medium height, and he seemed thin, though it was really hard to know for sure because a black raincoat enveloped him. Kevin approached slowly, making noise as he moved so as not to startle the man. Something out of the ordinary was definitely going on here. The man moved. His shoulders rose and fell quickly and Kevin heard him moaning weakly.
“Are you okay, man?” Kevin reached out slowly toward the stranger's shoulder. He realized that his hand was shaking though he didn't know why. “I don't mean to bother you.” Kevin gently tapped him and the man slowly turned around. “Don't be alarmed. I only want . . .”
Kevin instinctively took a step back. He tripped over a stool and fell clumsily to the floor. He sprung back up, his heart pounding uncontrollably as a rush of adrenaline burst through his body. He stared at the man and then dropped his eyes to the man's left hand.
Get Out of My Dreams Page 23