Traces of Ink

by Antonio J. Fuentes García

  —Marisa, honey, I'm here! —he announced cheerfully—. Open the door to me, don’t let these expensive Italian shoes fill with dust.

  He knocked twice on the door with his knuckles and sighed with visible urgency.

  —Come on honey, I need to pee since I left Rome— he urged, loosening his suitcase and crossing his legs.

  When the door slammed open and a six-foot man appeared through it, Tony jumped back and gave a feminine scream.

  —Who the hell are you? —he exclaimed, scared.

  —And you? —Juandi asked menacingly, stepping forward.

  —Me? — The man put his hands on his chest with affectation—. Oh sorry, how rude. My name is Tony Fumo, I'm Marisa's friend —he thought about it and composed a mischievous expression—. Well, let's say something more than friends, sometimes.

  Juandi took another step, with the firm intention of grabbing that guy by the neck, when Rachel went out onto the porch

  —You say you're Marisa's friend? —the woman asked, placing a hand on Juandi's forearm to calm him down—. And how is it that she hasn’t told me anything about you?

  —Sometimes we like this game— he confessed—. I surprise her and then she surprises me— he said winking lasciviously—. Do you already understand me?

  —She has left us the house for a few days and didn’t tell us that you were coming.

  —I didn’t know— said the man—. I asked for a few days of vacation at my job. She suggested that I could come this weekend and I said to myself, hey, why not!

  Raquel thought about it and glanced quickly at her friend. Juandi was tense as a guitar string, waiting for any movement or phrase that did not fit to jump over that guy.

  —Come on, I'm sorry if I bothered you, but Marisa told me that she didn’t have much work in her office these days and Jorge had suggested her that she could take the days off on vacation that she owed her.

  The mention of the firm, and of Jorge —the boss of her friend— ended up relaxing Rachel's tension.

  —In that case, we are the ones who feel sorry to have annoyed the plans— she excused herself.

  —It's not a nuisance honey, but if you do not mind, I'd need to use the bathroom— he asked urgently—. I've been trying to have a minute to urinate since I took the plane in Rome.

  —Sure, come in!

  Once inside, Tony went at full speed to the place where the bathroom was on the ground floor and left the suitcases on the floor.

  —Do you believe him? —Juandi questioned without being fully convinced.

  —She knows about Jorge, the buffet and the vacation days that Marisa is always complaining about— she admitted—. Besides, he seems to know the house, he knows where the bathroom is.

  —There with your friend!

  —Hey, you could be nice for once— she reproached—. As soon as we explain that Marisa has left us the house he will leave.

  Juandi put on the face of a child who had just been reprimanded and crossed his arms, sulking.

  —Tony, do you want a coffee? —Rachel shouted.

  —Of course honey— it was heard in the background—. But, in a moment I’ll go out and I’ll prepare it. I cannot stand that brew that comes out of those demon capsules.

  Raquel covered her mouth with her hand to mitigate the laughter. It seemed that Marisa had good taste, because she liked that guy and she had only knew him for a few minutes.

  In the bathroom, Fumo adjusted the expensive Italian suit to his toned torso and put his hand into one of the inside pockets. He inhaled the scent of a lace panties and put them back in its place. In the mirror, his smile widened and restored a majestic image of his beautiful face.

  ****

  The smell of cinnamon flooded the kitchen and mixed with the aroma of the coffee. Tony kept talking as he manipulated the grinder that crushed the grains and took away the boiling water away from the fire.

  —The secret lies in grinding the right amount of grains— he explained—. If we do it in parts, we will have a fine crushed that will help the pressing and, therefore, the filtering.

  —I’ve never imagined that making a coffee could take so much work— Raquel joked from the sofa—. I almost prefer not to take it.

  —As almost everything in this life honey, the good things, carries an extra workload that makes us value it even more.

  He finished filtering the last ladle and added it to the coffee, which he had already divided into three cups up to half. Then he stirred the jug of frothing, hot milk and poured it carefully to finish filling the glasses.

  —And... bualah! —he exclaimed triumphantly—. A true Italian cappuccino.

  Raquel and Juandi waited until Tony was sitting in front of them in another chair, and then they tasted the coffees, careful not to burn themselves. They had never tasted anything like that.

  —But this is... — Raquel said, sipping a little more and blowing hard—. How the hell...!

  —In Italy they teach us to prepare a good coffee almost before they teach us to read— he finished with modesty—. Well, after the theoretical class, I think I should let you enjoy your escape.

  He stood up and smoothed his shirt. He picked up his jacket and turned to them before picking up the suitcase.

  —It's been a pleasure little couple— he smiled, and small dimples marked his cheeks—. I think I'll call Marisa, so I can get to Madrid before dark.

  Rachel looked at the kitchen wall clock and stepped forward.

  - Do you have a place to sleep?

  —I will find something— he replied, waving his hand, downplaying. In Madrid there are many hotels.

  —From here to Madrid you have a couple of hours if you do not know the way, and it's too late— Juandi looked at her knowing what she was going to say next and trying to avoid him with his eyes. Why don’t you sleep tonight here, and you go to Marisa tomorrow?

  —I don’t think that...

  —Total— she cut him off decisively—. She's partying for sure and you will not find her until tomorrow, so, why don’t you avoid driving tonight? —she insisted—. You must be tired due to the trip.

  —The fact is that I am— Tony conceded, meditating on the proposal—. But I don’t want to bother you.

  —You don’t bother! —she turned to Juandi—. Is it true?

  She did not give time for a reply. She grabbed the suitcase from the hands of a surprised Tony, and put it back where it had been before, next to the sofa.

  —No more chattering— she cut—. You are staying! and so you can delight us with some of your Italian dishes.

  —Of course, honey!

  ****

  Mauro's body remained in the same place where they had left him, and the pool of blood around his head had coagulated, giving the image a beatific aspect. Anabel felt a twinge in her stomach when a fly left its hiding place inside the bullet hole. He turned to one of her men.

  —You haven’t taken the body yet! —she shouted angrily—. What are you waiting for, that it gets up and goes alone?

  The guy put his hand on a small device and transmitted some orders. In a matter of seconds, two more men entered the house and carried the corpse through the air. Behind them came another younger one with cleaning utensils.

  —Leave that for later! —Anabel bellowed angrily—. By the time we're gone.

  The young man left as if the devil himself had threatened him. Once they realized they were alone, Chacón led Jurgen and Jonás to the sofa.

  —At last we are alone! —he exclaimed cheerfully—. And now we are going to confess, I’ll start— he said, raising his hand with his palm outwards—. I must confess that I didn’t trust that you would give me so much work, but look, I had fun!

  —I admit that I didn’t plan to achieve my dream today— said Anabel amused—. But... I give thanks for the small gifts of life.

  Chacon turned to them with an amused gesture and raised his arms in their direction, urging them to continue.

  —Now it's your tur
n, guys.

  The German looked at Jonás with terror and began to cry.

  —I’ve told you, Chacón, what you're looking for is in my backpack— Jurgen said—. We can go and look for it and you’ll see it for yourself.

  —Sure, let's go for it!

  —Before I’ll give it to you, release Jurgen— Jonás asked—. He has nothing to do with it, he didn’t know anything about all this until I got here.

  The old man laughed.

  —I propose you something else, you give me what I'm looking for and I'm not killing you right now.

  —You will do it anyway— he added, his lips tight with rage.

  —It is possible, and then I will look for what I need in this house and then I will burn it with you still dying inside— he approached threateningly—. That's the first option, the second, you give me what I'm looking for and maybe I just kill you fast.

  The German panted, and Jonás decided to collaborate. He knew they would not come out alive from that, but he needed to scratch life every second he could.

  —It's upstairs, in the guest room.

  Chacon thought about it and stood up. He waved the gun barrel, telling the young man to do the same. Anabel opened a suitcase and unfolded a laptop

  —Boy, if you try to cheat me again...—he threatened.

  Without moving a single millimeter, he raised the huge pistol and shot the woman in the head. Anabel's brains dotted the back wall, even though she was more than four meters away. Throughout the process, Chacon had not looked away from Jonás’ eyes, and the young man was surprised that he had not even blinked. He turned the cannon one meter to the right and aimed it at the German's forehead. He seemed to know where each one was without needing to look.

  —I don’t know if you understand me.

  Jonás was totally paralyzed. The image of the decapitated woman had anticipated what would surely happen to him. At that moment, the two men who had been behind Anabel all day as guard dogs entered the room. Even though they had their guns drawn, they lost valuable seconds in the shock of seeing their boss with a shattered head. Chacón took advantage of that hesitation, and with two accurate shots killed the two bodyguards without moving a millimeter of his position.

  The old man faced Jonás and stuck his pupils in the young man's eyes. For more than a minute they remained like this, without moving a muscle.

  —You're crazy— the young man stammered.

  —You have no fucking idea, kid— he said hardly, not taking his eyes a millimeter from Jonás—. You really don’t have it.

  —The only thing I know is that you're a murderer.

  —You don’t have the faintest idea. If you move, if you both move— he said—. I will scatter your brains without thinking.

  —I'm going to kill you— spat Jonás angrily.

  —As I’ve told you, boy, you have no fucking idea— he leaned the hot gun barrel on Jonás’ knee—. I'm going to kill Frankfurt this one, then I'm going to shoot you in all and every one of your joints, and I'll take care that you’ll take a long time to die, so, are you going to stop bullshitting and you're going to hand me the pen drive and the album?

  He turned to Jurgen and gave him a smile that chilled the German's blood. He stuck the cannon in his mouth. It tasted of oil and burned his tongue.

  —No! —yelled Jurgen—. Here, this is what you are looking for!

  He took off the pendant and handed it to the old man. Chacon was surprised at first, but when he saw Jurgen remove the hood and expose the entry of a memory stick, he smiled. Jurgen tried to avoid Jonás’ gaze, knowing that he would see nothing in him but reproach.

  —I don’t know what it contains, and my father didn’t explain anything to me— Jurgen excused himself.

  —Don't worry, I do know what this is about.

  He turned to Anabel's computer, from which hung a few streaks of blood and bits of gray matter in a way that Jonás thought was rude. Chacón introduced the pen drive, and immediately the screen showed a folder. The old man clicked on it and a long parade of numbers became visible. After several more mouse touches, the old man stood up and sighed impatiently.

  —Where is the rest?

  —What? —said Jonás—. What else do you want?

  —Look, Jonás, I have survived two wars, a transition and some kidney stones, so now there is no coming a novice of the balls like you to fuck my existence.

  Chacon dropped his shoulders as if he was too tired and shot at Jurgen's knee, shattering his kneecap. The man began to shout like a madman when Chacon put the gun’s mouth on the forehead. Jonás came forward quickly.

  —Wait, wait! All I have is another memory stick —he confessed—. But it's not here, I sent it by mail.

  The old man thought for a few seconds and lowered the gun. Immediately he pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number.

  —I have the codes— he said curtly to the speaker—. No, they are not here. Yes, he says he sent them. Agree.

  He hung up and turned to the two men. Jurgen had stopped screaming, but he was losing a lot of blood and had gone very pale.

  —Are you going to give me the album or I’ll kill him now?

  Jonás raised his palms asking for peace of mind. He approached to the German, who between moans he indicated where the album was. The young man gestured to the old man to follow him. Jonás went up, with Chacón following him very closely from behind. He thought about trying to escape, but it was for sure that he would end up with a bullet in the column and with Jurgen dead on the couch below. In any case, they would end up dead, but perhaps another better occasion would arise, and he was not going to let himself be killed so soon. When they found the backpack, the old man took it and opened it nervously. At that moment, he stiffened and opened his eyes widely. Jonás saw the huge blade of a machete perch behind Chacon's neck. Over the shoulder of the old man appeared the face of Carlos, the owner of the Valparaíso’s cafe hidden in the shadows.

  Chapter 42

  Fumo had put on comfortable clothes for cooking, and Raquel kept attacking him again and again with the fact that someone put on Nike sneakers with skinny pants to make a Béarnaise sauce. Their laughter reached the living room, where Juandi had retreated grumpy on the sofa. He could not help it. That guy, no matter how harmless he might seem, he did not quite like him. Raquel had mentioned by the way that this was called being jealous, but he did not see it in the same way. He just did not like that guy.

  —So, in this way you get a perfect texture! —Tony boasted, giving Raquel a wooden spoon—. An authentic Béarnaise sauce worthy of the gods themselves.

  —Ummm, delicious!

  Juandi had wanted to call Marisa to corroborate the story of that effeminate Italian with James Bond's airs, but Raquel had assured him that her friend would not pick up the phone on a Friday night. The giant had not insisted because Raquel claimed that it would only be for one night and that he was acting like a real cocoon.

  —Why don’t you go and set the table while I sauté in oil the fettuccine with the pesto sauce? —Tony suggested—. And for God's sake, don’t put that horrible flowered cloth that Marisa has there!

  While Raquel watched amused at Juandi's grim face as she carefully placed the cutlery, she realized that Tony had stopped talking, which was very strange, since the Italian was one of those guys who chattered nonstop all the time. She turned and saw the man still with his apron on and very aware of a small mobile phone that he held in his right hand. The fettuccine burned behind him, but Tony seemed to pay no attention to anything except the small screen.

  —Tony...

  The Italian left the phone on the sideboard that divided the kitchen and the living room, and watched them with a steely, scrutinizing look. Something in that face had changed radically.

  —Hand me the memory pen— he demanded without trace of his effeminate accent—. And the rest of the material too.

  Raquel and Juandi were on guard, but without giving them time to react, the man had left the
kitchen and was threatening them. Before taking off his apron, he took one last look at the message that he had just received; "GET THE PENS AND KILL THEM."

  ****

  Jonás helped Jurgen to get up off the couch and carried him by passing his right arm through his armpits. Carlos held firm the knife over the old man's neck, watching as Jonás put away the album and the memory stick in his backpack with a gesture of rage. Jurgen limped ostensibly and was almost fainting when Carlos ordered Jonás to take him out of the house. The young man gave a glance to the Chilean, who told him not to worry.

  The movement was quick and instinctive, but still it was not enough. The old man stirred, and the Chilean plunged the knife into his collarbone, just below the neck. A few centimeters below and it would have cut the carotid. Chacon managed to reach his revolver by crawling and fired by intuition. He failed, but he achieved his goal of keeping Carlos away from him. The Chilean escaped hiding behind the sofa and went like a bullet towards the door of the street. Jonás grabbed Jurgen with both hands and threw him on his back, waiting for Carlos to open the door. When the Chilean passed by his side like an arrow, Jonas tried to follow him, but the German was a dead weight and he knew that he had fainted. He turned his neck to see where Chacon was, and his heart almost stopped. The old man watched him with a look of a repulsive predator drawn on his bloody face that was less than two meters from him. He raised the gun and fired.

  ****

  He felt little pain, only a burning sensation where the bullet had hit, but he did not have time to think about it. Chacon was still with his arm raised and his gun smoking when Jonás went on him. The old man had anticipated some reaction, but not that the young man should throw himself into an open grave against the canyon. The impulse was enough for Jonás body to fall on Chacon's body and knock him down, but he immediately stirred to get rid of the boy. Jonás became a dead weight on the thin body of the old man, who kicked and beat frenetically, trying to get rid of him. The first blow made the pain come, and Jonás almost vomited from the effort. A whiteness blinded his field of vision, and the nausea built up in his throat like the white water fighting against a prey. He struck with nonsense, only with intuition while he felt how the forces escaped his body. He grabbed what he guessed was the gun barrel and felt it burning, scorching his skin to the bone. After a detonation, two... again the burning. He thought of surrendering, of letting himself go somewhere where that suffering ended, but his hands kept on stubbornly for the weapon, for winning that battle. When the colors came back to his eyes and the vision began to acquire edges, to be defined, he realized that he was holding the weapon and hitting Chacon's face again and again. In that moment when his mind was slow to process that image, the old man moved and managed to get away. Jonás squeezed the trigger, which moved with astonishing ease. One of the sofa cushions broke into a thousand pieces while Chacon hid behind. Jonás was not prepared for the terrible recoil of the revolver, and ended up sitting on his ass, unbalanced. Still disoriented blinked several times to try to clear his mind, and that was when he saw that Chacon left his hiding place. There was a lot of blood on his face, and his right eye almost completely closed. A trickle of blood flowed from his neck that had soaked his shirt. Although his face looked like a mask, his smile flashed with satisfaction. Jonás stood up and again a wave of nausea and unbearable pain came over him. His guts burned, and his vision blurred every time he moved his head.