The Queen of the Northwest

by Javier Montes Gómez

  —Good! It may not be much use, —said Lucia—, but a month or so ago, a group of newcomers, "fresh flesh," as they call it, arrived here on a Monday morning. In principle several dams threatened her with the typical lesbian persuasions, that I prefer to save you from. Lorena seemed not to show too much interest in them. We were in the cell watching the news circulate in the corridor when Lorena's face seemed to light up like a light bulb. One of the new ones, Marina Barros specifically, seemed to have an account pending with her, as she spat on the floor when her gaze met Lorena's. She was a six-foot-tall redhead with a wide waist and lazy eyes. I asked Lorena if she knew her. Apparently she was a distant cousin of her late’s husband Julio Corcuera, Lorena told me. A misguided sheep, lover of expensive cars, jewels and cocaine; A true exemplary of the highest quality according to Lorena. They did not like each other. During the days that they met in prison they never spoke a word to each other.

  —Well!— that was interesting—. Did Lorena tell you why they got on badly? —I asked for.

  —No, she just told me she was a bitch and she did not like her. During the trial for her husband's death, Marina had threatened her to leave the courtrooms by making her pay one day for the crime she had committed.

  —Well! This is very interesting. I'm surprised you did not tell Brig. Sanchez anything about this.

  —He did not ask. I thought it was not important. I hope it serves you for something.

  The post interview was like this. I took leave of Lucia with the certainty of having taken a giant step in my investigation. If indeed Marina Barros, a distant cousin of Julio Corcuera, had something to do with the death of Lorena Vázquez, my diminished prestige would raise a few points before my superiors.

  An hour later she entered the interrogation room, Marina Barros. I went to the coffee vending machine to serve a well-loaded one. I had never liked caffeine, but tonight I had slept badly and I felt tired, I needed to squeeze my brain a bit more before returning home. It did not matter the effort. I would gladly do so if I triumph in the ever difficult art of solving a crime and if I could also demonstrated the innocence of my sweet guardian angel, Lucia Marquez, of whose innocence I was convinced of. I sat at the table with two well-loaded coffees, offering one to Marina who swallowed quickly.

  —Well! —she said—. This coffee is great and not like the garbage they give us in prison. I should come here more often.

  —I'm glad you like it. Now if you do not mind, I'll go straight to the point, —I said without further adding.

  —Shoot boss! I'm for what it takes, —Marina said.

  —You knew Lorena Vazquez?

  —Yes, but only by sight. —Her face began to blush, then I knew she had hit the nail and she was lying, it would be easy to get the truth out, if pressed enough she would begin to sing.

  —We know that you lie, you knew her well, and threatened her with death before witnesses.

  —I swear I haven’t done it, sir.

  —Look! You're the prime suspect. You will land a package that when you leave jail you will be so old, that you will not find a single man who wants to be with you.

  Suddenly I attended the sad spectacle in whose function the guilt unloads all its weight on the weak consciousness of the human being. Marina began to whimper like a madwoman, but to the delight of my inexhaustible amazement the surprises would not end here.

  —I knew it, —she said. I knew they were going to land the dead woman on me. I told Natasha. They were the Russians: they knew she was a fool, they knew she was playing The Queen, so they killed her.

  —Are you sure about what you're saying?

  —Please don’t say anything I've told you! If they find out, they'll kill me, too.

  —If you testify we'll offer you protection, —I tried to calm her down.

  —Protection! I will need more, a new identity, with a new face. The mafia doesn’t play. They'll come for me! I'm dead! Dammit!

  —Calm down, perhaps you do not have to declare, we have the prints on Lorena's neck.

  —They will not find a trace. You think they're stupid? They will have worn latex gloves.

  —Look Marina! There's something I do not understand. If they knew they would blame you, why did they murder her?

  —They told me to keep my mouth shut and nothing would happen to me.

  I do not know why but I could not believe the story of Marina Barros. In spite of this, any human being, unless proven otherwise, deserves the cordial embrace of the doubt, I instructed the Sanchez brigade to provide Marina with a separate cell and special vigilance pending the forensic and scientific evidence. These did not arrive in spite of the haste that we put them, until two days later. I gave up interrogating Natasha and Milla whom Marina accused of crime until she heard the results. I prayed Natasha and Mile would not be involved. Nothing I would like less than to face the Russian mafia.

  I drove the old ZX, which the Corps had assigned me for the case on the way to Chandrexa. That night I felt the livid with all the strength, I needed the contact of a female body as soon as possible and my new friend Mireia always lent herself grateful for such a task. I assumed that writing had to be a much more complex work than clearing up murders, and the book she was writing about her friend, even though it was largely fictional, was closer to reality than the case we were investigating.

  I wanted to get home soon. She had been waiting for me for a while, after taking a shower, covered in a bluish robe with no underwear underneath, prepared a succulent dinner with mashed carrots, beans, and steak entrecote. It's a pity that the cocoon of the blue Mercedes hidden behind my mirror did not stop giving me the long flashes. It seems that dinner would have to wait, but I never thought it would be for so long. I stopped the car on the right, just outside Montederramo. The Mercedes parked behind, next to a bar with two elderly men and a plump waiter leaning on the bar, watching as the old men handed out letters. The Mercedes guy turned the car key to turn off the engine. I unzipped the gun case. You never know when it is necessary to use it. First he lowered the driver's seat: He was a muscular, tall guy, very well dressed with a sharp face. I did not look like this. From the passenger's seat came another guy, this one was short, a chubby, but just as elegant as his friend or perhaps even more. They looked like they wore really expensive costumes or at least that was it looked like. He had a toothpick between his teeth, which he spat as he approached my car. When they were two meters away, I jerked the door open and went outside to slam it shut again. I tried to make him strong enough to catch the attention of the bar. If they fried me at least I would like it to happen in front of witnesses. But the old men as well as the waiter were still in their share of an exciting game of cards. I regretted that I had not made enough noise to steal their attention, but it was not even a question of screaming. Besides, I was sure to be more frightened, I in my robe uniform, than they to me with their mafia-like appearance. Normally I used to leave the car in the central office and change my uniform before returning home, but today I was late out of prison and since I lived far from the city, the lieutenant on duty gave me permission to go home in the car patrol. That's why he still wore his fatigues at this point in the afternoon.

  I heard the voice of the wind. The sound reassured me: at least I had an invisible ally on my side.

  —We wanted to talk to you privately, —said the man.

  A shiver ran from head to toe. As if to chat alone quietly with that pair of cocoons.

  —What do you think of that cafeteria? I suggested in a flash of genius. I do not think those gentlemen are interested too much in what we have to deal with.

  The hallo said something to the fat man's ear. The latter seemed dubious.

  —Why not? We'll have a drink first of all, —said the chubby man.

  We entered the room with hardly any noise. We went after a brief greeting to the staff at a table at the back of the bar. The place lacked any decorations. From the bare walls hung a couple of posters of Real Madrid and the of the S
ports club of La Coruña. "Wow, the government teams!" I thought. The tavern-keeper, dressed in an apron with the name of the place sewn to the lining, served us some drinks. They ordered some beers; I, respecting the golden rule of not ingesting alcohol while on duty, requested a mineral water without gas.

  —Good lords! –I said—. My girlfriend is waiting for me with an exquisite dinner, so I would appreciate if you were right to the point so we will dispense with the presentations, because of course I know who I am and have no interest in knowing who you are. Am I not right?

  —I am Mr. Red and my companion is Mr. Blue. That's enough for now, —said the fat man.

  —Well, Mr. Red. By your accent I risk to affirm that you are Russian and that you dominate with precision the Spanish.

  —You're not wrong. Anyway, I will go to the point not to make you lose your precious time. Nothing further from my thought, than delaying the reunion of a couple of lovers, —said Mr. Red.

  I saved myself from explaining to him that it was not Mireia's that I was in love with, for that was none of his business.

  —We, Mr. Nicholas, are businessmen. We work for, let's say, call him Mr. Green.

  Well, I thought, if we went on like this, we'd have a rainbow.

  —The case is that this Mr. Green has a proposal to offer. We know that you are investigating a crime in Pereiro de Aguiar prison. Well, Mr. Green, let's put it in some way, is not interested in you digging too much into the case. In return, Mr. Green would know how to be generous with you because Mr. Green's friends are your friends. Apart from that, Mr. Green reminds you that you have a friend in common. Do you know who I'm talking about?

  —Of course, and to me it is more than a friend.

  —Mr. Green knows this, and he wants you to know that he holds you in high esteem and does not doubt your honesty. But the case that concerns us is different. Mr. Green never acts lightly and without premeditation, but studies calmly all the steps he gives and he is willing to offer you for this favour an amount of money suitable to his gratitude. That's why he asked me to leave his signature. He held out his hand to offer me a card. To my astonishment was a card of the colour of my uniform with a mobile number. Mr. Green waits for your call as soon as possible Ah, and to finish. Mr. Green never asks for a second favour, if he is denied the first.

  I knew the game, now the threats began. I decided to end that masquerade.

  —Wait! —I said, collecting my authority as an agent of the law—. I think I've heard too much. I am not a man of great speeches, but a few words, so tell Mr. Green that I will call him and I will let you know my answer in the shortest possible time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go my way, —I said, getting up from the table and saying good-bye to Mr. Red and Mr. Blue.

  I felt more at peace knowing that a new trial would be opened against Lucía Márquez, since the corrupt judge Manuel Marquina had not accepted the conclusive proof of the previous verdict dictated by his honourable lord Álvaro Quíntela, the judge in charge of leading the previous process, that Ended with The Queen behind bars. The test in question were a few bags of cocaine that Lucia's partner said to the jury that belonged to the accused: the snitches of the scientist, aided by the clumsiness of the commissioner who badly took the case, accidentally erased the fingerprints of the accused, printed on the merchandise that, when not found, the prosecutor could not present them as evidence. The allegation, presented by the Queen’s new lawyer, one of the best in his field, which the mafias had hired, probably advised by Mr. Green, would be accepted, in addition to a large bag of money, by the avid judge Manuel Marquina. Therefore, in the absence of more conclusive evidence than Alberto's statement against Lucía, he assumed that she would be released without charge, on October 10.

  I knew Lucia was lying. Alberto had not introduced the drug into her apartment, or at least that's what I think. The jury, too, would not swallow it, but in the absence of fingerprints, anyone could have done so, and until proven otherwise, everyone is innocent in the eyes of justice. I left the bar with these thoughts, trying to put them in order in my head, while Mr. Red and Mr. Blue disappeared with their Mercedes, swallowed by the asphalt. My heart began to beat faster. Soon, Lucia would be mine again! Now I just had to figure out how to sort things out with Mr. Green.

  8—The Red Lord.

  The prison’s library has everything that any public library possesses: history books, sports, narrative, science, geography, mathematics, physics, chemistry, etc. All separated by sections and sorted alphabetically and numerically, perfectly encoded. Each prisoner had the right to demand three books per week. After Lorena’s death, Natasha is chosen by the Queen to replace her in her duties. From now on, apart from helping her in the maintenance of the library, she would be in charge of the distribution of the books. This is performed every night in a four-wheeled car, specially adapted for this mission. Each dam will receive its previously requested book, covering for it a printed form that should include the title of the work and its author. This form must be deposited by inmates in the suggestion box located at the entrance to the library.

  Lucia is in the billiard room tonight, playing a game with Natasha, observing how by a strange effect of gravity, after a slight friction with the club, the balls are parading one after another until disappearing through the hollows of the Upholstered green carpet as thick as the lawn of a golf course. Or, at least, she'd like it to be Natasha, who thought pool was a sport for wimps. On the other hand, if she could throw her swing by throwing the ball through the window, she would reach the director's office, shattering the glass of his stained-glass window decorated with Romanesque motifs. She had tried several times with the tail of the broom —in the absence of a golf club— using a ball-like potato. The potato had shot out of the game room window with the force of a projectile. One of the times the tuber had hit the head of a guard who was walking around the yard. This had denounced the fact to the address, that week they were all punished without dessert, but from no word of their comrades a single protest or a single comment of disapproval was issued.

  On the contrary, all were proud to the punishment. If there was a Guinness record in prison, Natasha's action would have hit him. The guard had come to the infirmary with a swollen eye. As always no one knew the culprit, because it is an unquestionable fact that all the prisons in the world are full of innocents. Why then was this going to be different? Following that theory Natasha was also innocent of Lorena's death. She felt a cold sensation of pleasure as she hit her head against the tiled wall. That poor wretch deserved it. Because of her fault, the largest cocaine smuggling operation carried out so far along the Galician coastline was almost disrupted. Fortunately, the Queen decided at the last moment, guided by a feeling, to cross the cargo, which until that day was traveling aboard the "Nervión", to another fishing boat whose name, "Judas", coincided with that of the only apostle who revealed himself according to the Scriptures against the Son of God. St. Jude, also known to be the patron of lost causes, became from that day on the guardian angel of the Queen.

  The transfer, according to Lucia explained to Mateo Yánez, had been done as a precaution because she had a bad pity: there were too many people involved in the operation, in addition, computers could, just like the phones be tapped. Although they had used language that was to alter the order of the syllables in the words, it was possible that someone very skilled had deciphered the messages sent by Internet; In addition, the "Judas", contrary to what its name indicated, was a ship whose captain and crew had always been loyal to the cause of the Black Galicia; The one who makes a living by inflicting the law and was able to navigate ten knots faster than the "Nervión", for being a lighter ship and of less tonnage. Once the cargo was deposited in its new location, the most complicated part remained, the landing. Immediately the Russians were notified of the change of plans. Their trucks took a new course north. The first option, dock directly on a large port. Sanxenxo, Cangas do Morrazo or El Grove were preferred. It was initially rejecte
d for fear of attracting attention, because of the manoeuvrability of the device. Option two: do it in a more open place with the help of the "Baja 33 Outlaw" and the Zodiacs. The place chosen for such a task was La Lanzada beach, because the weather conditions on that August 10 were favorable. Clear sky, low wind gusts low.

  Before making the final decision, Lucia decided to postpone the landing until the "Nervión" had anchored as planned at 4:00 p.m., in the port of Vigo. That is two hours after the "Nécora IV" operation was carried out if the plans had been followed. The new operation was baptized by the Queen, with the name "The cry of the darkness”, in relation to the days that she expected were few, still had to remain locked in jail. At 2:00 P.M., Lucia received news of the interception by the police patrols of the "Nervión", to the east of the Cíes Islands. Lucia took a deep breath. She had almost saved herself. She kissed the golden Judas hanging from her chain and gave the order to make the landing directly on the dock two hundred and ten of the port of La Coruña —instead of the beach of La Lanzada as she had previously planned— whose workers were reliable people, hard-working and little intrusive, accustomed to receiving good tips for not asking questions. More than twenty arms helped to fill boxes of the fleet of Wolkswagen vans required for the occasion, the boxes were made of wood. They wore the words "Sausages Sanchez" engraved in black letters. Of course there was no brand of sausages on the market under that name. When they were full, the vans drove off into unknown directions. The Queen had complied, the rest was for the Russians. It was clear that they had a mole in the organization filtering information to the enemy. Lucia Marquez did not suspect of Lorena until hours later.

  At twelve o'clock in the morning, Lorena was requested by an official to answer a phone call. It was not usual for her to receive calls at that hour. That made her suspicious. When Lorena got on the phone, an irritated Nicholás had signed the convict's death sentence without realizing it. Lorena knew that she would have to fulfil her sentence completely. Lucia did not believe at her return, that the death of a close relative had been the cause of the call; Even so, after giving her condolences, she ordered Mateo to check it out. The alibi was fake. The family of Lorena Vázquez enjoyed excellent health. The mole had been discovered.