—Do you know I can bite your throat and unravel all this alone?
—Yes, but as you said, you are a little tight of time, right?
—I keep saying I like you kid— he smiled—. If it were not because Paco has the hosts on you, I would offer you something better.
Jonás replied with an ironic grimace of "what a pity". Somewhere, a phone rang several times until it was silent again.
—Jonás, the coordinates are clear, at this time my technicians have confirmed it to me —he explained—. But they are ambiguous, exactly they are the cardinal points of the city of Madrid, do you know how much land that includes?
—Yes, I’ve studied geography at school.
—There must be something more, something concrete that you're not telling us— Gutierrez spoke calmly, but he hinted that he was beginning to lose patience—. And I don’t have time to search all the buildings or dig in every patch or filthy corner of this damn city.
—Let me talk to my friends— Jonás repeated.
Gutierrez got up again and left the room without a word. Jonás and Chacon were left alone once more. The old man looked at him like a predator observes a prey. The bulging eyes on the killer's face widened even more, and Jonás knew that that guy was thinking of killing him right there.
—Do you know something? —Jonás began—. What is not clear to me is how an executioner of the social police like you can end up immersed in art issues. I imagined you rather trafficking drugs or stealing handbags from old women.
The man tensed like a guitar’s string but did not say a word.
—When I thought that what contained the pen drives were secret accounts of your furtive war matters, I understood better this issue— he let out a laughter without any grace—. The subject of money is very sweet...
—Shut up!
Chacón approached with two big strides and gave him a punch that made Jonás see the entire constellation.
—You have no fucking idea! —he roared, spitting saliva—. This has nothing to do with money!
-Oh, of course, the ideals and all those bullshit, I forgot all that— Jonás knew that making the old man angry was not a good idea, but he was enjoying it—. What were you doing, you were singing your face to the sun while you were putting your hands in the properties of the "supposed reds"?
Chacon was taking on a purplish hue that contrasted sharply with the bright red of the little nostrils’ veins that seemed to have acquired the size of prawn’s legs. Jonás was sitting in a comfortable leather chair, and for once he had been deprived of ties and handcuffs. Chacon chose one of the two remaining chairs in the room and placed it in front of Jonás’, a mere thirty centimeters. He seemed to have calmed down, and a new glow appeared in his eyes.
—The best part of all this is going to be when I finish with you— he said in a tone that froze the young man's blood—. And I'm going to enjoy it, but while Herme returns, we can have a talk, you know, from friend to friend.
—What would I want to talk to a murderer like you? — he released with aversion.
—Well, for example, how I killed your grandfather— his smile was that of a real predator—. Maybe it helps you understand this whole story.
****
Hermenegildo Gutiérrez detested leaving "his island”. Excessive hypochondriac, he had already detected three different eczema in the thirty-six hours he had been in the peninsula. He wanted to put an end to that subject at once and return to his beloved rock, isolated from the germs of the bloated humanity.
He walked at a good pace towards the small room he had arranged as an office and went back to review the list that had been provided to Chacón. There was material there to build the road, but none of this would work if they did not get the support of "The Organization", and they had not yet met the adhesion requirement. He scratched a small rash on his chin —whether it could exist or not— and ripped a sheet of paper from a small notebook. He wrote down in his neat and tight writing the mental scheme that he had been repeating all day so as not to forget it, and when he finished he reread it. He did not find cracks, although everything went through in finding the collection. He sighed and looked at the gold watch on his wrist. He would leave Paco alone with that boy for ten more minutes. He had seen his friend perform miracles in half the time.
****
—My grandfather died of a lung infection— he muttered, his teeth clenched in rage—. Fucking liar!
—Oh, no, we're not here to discuss that— he said smiling—. But to you to understand why your family almost completely lost their lives.
Jonás felt a visceral hatred for that bulging-eyed old man who looked at him between amused and spectral. He wished he could strangle him right there, but if he made any sudden movement, he was sure he would receive several bullets before getting out of the chair.
—I don’t need to hear any of your little war stories.
—Oh, you'll like this one— he settled back in the chair and the leather creaked—. It's about when I joined the social police, back in fifty-six or fifty-seven, I don’t remember the exact date.
—By God! —he sighed—. Why don’t you kill me at once?
—Easy dear, all in due time— he replied with his usual mordacious smile. At that time the regime was already fully established and had been "recomposing" the country for more than a decade. I was a young man with longings and ambition full of aspirations, but that lasted exactly the time it took me to meet my colleagues. None of those men were there because of the feeling for the flag or ideals, but simply because it was the side of the winners. They had chosen a faction with which to face the battle, and it had turned out to be the winner. Now, they picked up their booty like any of the victors in any of the wars —he stared melancholy at some point above Jonás, evoking those years—. But I believed in the regime, and I used myself to fulfill my obligations. Soon I came to carve a name for myself and became a respected policeman.
—I imagine how.
—We had to do what it had to be done— he simply replied—. Until that day in Barcelona. A regime’s committee was sent to a dinner in honor of the generalissimo. The banquet was offered —and paid for—, a businessman of the time who had amassed a fortune under the dictatorship, someone named Julio Muñoz Ramonet. That night was the first in which I rubbed elbows with the gyrfalcons of the nation and the one I met with Hermenegildo Gutiérrez too. Herme was one of the escorts and the Caudillo's right hand. We made very good friends immediately, and between wine and good cigars he told me about an incident of the host. This Julio had asked him for help, because the businessman had acquired a huge collection of art with the purchase of a cotton company, but due to his many wastes he was on the verge of losing his extensive anthology for some loans, according to him, abusive, imposed by the Catalan city council. Herme offered to mediate in the matter, in exchange for some "concessions". That night I became a partner by chance of Gutiérrez, and Ramonet by lucky chance; but it would not be in a full right until a year later, when Carmen Broto appeared on the scene.
—The girl in the photo.
Chacon looked at him with renewed interest for a few seconds and continued.
—That girl was a real bomb! —he exclaimed, rolling his eyes—. But his mistake was in strutting too much. He liked to get involved with businessmen, high-ranking military men and all kinds of powerful men, not even the clergy escaped from her! La Broto arrived as a servant and became the most valued mistress of the Barcelona’s riffraff. She acquired a fortune in the form of real estate, jewelry, cash, and what also it ultimately took her to the grave, embarrassing evidence of all her lovers.
—You murdered her
—Oh no, not me! —he exclaimed—. I have already told you that Broto possessed powerful friendships in the highest spheres, even within the police. The instructions came directly from a senior position and from Herme; no one else knew about the operation, and I could not get involved in the matter.
—You charged her to be murdered— Jonás
sentenced.
—Yes— he said—. I knew of a queer prostitute who was bisexual and had been Broto’s lover. He came from a family of pickpockets and lock-pickers of which his father stood out. I followed him for a while and shred him in a full balancing with a prosperous businessman. The young man was in love and wanted to marry, and the businessman could not allow his wife to discover the mess, so he agreed to charge the Broto, and with his father make it go through as a robbery. It was not a fine job and I had to escape from Ciudad Condal.
—What happened to the collection? — Jonás asked with flashing eyes—. What did Ramonet do with it?
Chacon stood up and looked at the boy with a funny expression.
—I told you that you were going to like the story —he walked towards the door—. I'm back in five minutes. Do you want a coffee?
He left the room without waiting for an answer.
****
Gutierrez had been glued to his phone for five minutes, but it seemed like days. When he saw that his friend entered the room it seemed like the perfect excuse to hang up.
—These squares are going to make me lose my temper, I swear! —he laughed furiously—. I've been kissing so many asses for days that I don’t feel my lips.
—They are politicians, you should know better than anyone what it means— he joked.
—Shut up— he snapped sullenly—. Please tell me that the boy has released pledge.
—Not yet, but he will.
—Paco, for my balls ...! —he took a breath to calm down—. Tomorrow is the rally, and by then we must have the collection in our hands.
—Herme— he said calmly—. Prepare two coffees please.
****
Although it did not have milk or sugar, Jonás thought it was the most delicious coffee he had ever tasted. Chacon was smoking again, and was watching him with predatory eyes, studying him.
—I don’t know what you want me to tell you— Jonás snapped—. You have already taken everything we had, I don’t understand what you are looking for.
—I've only gave you the background— the old man replied laconically—. It's a very long story and we have no time left. I just wanted you to understand a fraction of what I did to keep that collection and what I am capable of.
He crushed the cigarette butt and approached to Jonás with a mellow walk. It looked like a feline looking for the right angle to jump on its prey.
—You're not going to leave from here— he confirmed, fixing his eyes hard on the young man's—. But you can keep my nervousness from taking me to your friends, or your mother, I would hate to kill the whole family!
—Motherfucker!
Chacon gave a dry laugh, devoid of grace.
—Tell me where the damn collection is, and I promise I'll forget all of you.
Jonás did not doubt for a single second that the threats of that man were true, and not just a simple movement of pressure. He calculated that he had no other option
—I don’t know where it is— he hastened to answer seeing Chacon's expression—. But I have something that can help you.
Jonas told him what they had found out about the coordinates and the numbers that seemed to be an address, but he omitted to say that they were in the photo in which Carmen Broto appeared. He felt a tremendous emptiness as the words came out of his mouth, as if they left a space in his soul that could not be filled. The old man listened without uttering a single word, and then he put his hand in his coat, which he had not stripped of at any time since he had entered.
"I want you to know that I am very grateful to you for coming to your senses." He pulled out a small vial from a breast pocket. And as a token of my gratitude, I'm going to give you a gift.
He put the bottle on the table. Jonás noted that half of the content was missing. On the label you could see a long description of the components. He stared at it without understanding.
—Isn’t it unbelievable? he smiled with an evil smile—. The little we know about medicine, and even so, we take it as a joke. This little vial contains a liquid solution of azithromycin called Zitromax, a simple drug, which it can be purchased at any pharmacy and used against asthma, bronchitis and some infections —he walked around the table—. Elderly people like me take it as if it were milk, without knowing that it can cause a heart attack, what irony, isn’t it? suffer a heart attack for a simple bronchitis.
Jonás began to understand and became tense. A shadow of despondency appeared in his face.
—Of course, that bottle contains a higher dose, let's say something more... pure— he continued—. And I must confess that I added a little bit of cocaine and nitrate to give the cocktail more ... joy. Undetectable, but totally legal as well as deadly.
He walked happily, as if he were dancing.
—Did you know that your grandfather had chronic asthma? —Chacon was having fun—. You must see what he liked to put a splash in the coffee!
Jonas went on with an angry scream, but the old man moved away with a feint and aimed at him with that gigantic revolver.
—Don’t be ungrateful— he whispered through clenched teeth—. If you think about it, it is even poetic. Die with the same medicine as your grandfather, ufff I can even get goosebumps!
He walked a few steps toward the door, always with the gun barrel pointed at Jonás’ chest.
—It's my gift, Jonás— he concluded—. I grant you a quick and poetic death, and the assurance that I will not use that jar with anyone else. I advise you to drink it whole, oh, don’t get me wrong, with a few drops it will fulfill its purpose! but in that way you will ensure that I don’t return and use it with anyone else.
He opened the door and gave him one last contemptible smile. The eyes of that old man shone as if he was the devil himself.
—Don't miss it, it has been quite useful on more than one occasion. And on the other hand, if I come back and you're still alive, I'll tear your skin off.
He left the room, leaving Jonás in the darkest anguish he had ever experienced in his life.
****
As soon as he left, Chacon put his hand into his coat and removed a small mobile from one of its pockets. He pressed a key on his speed dial phone book, and at that moment he listened to the ring tones. When he counted seven, he moved the device away from his ear as if he wanted to see if it worked, and at that moment he heard a voice from the other side.
—Tony?
Chapter 50
The melody kept ringing off, as if it was submerged under water. Juandi could barely move, but Rachel reacted quickly, scanning every corner of the room. When she reached the inert body of Tony Fumo, she avoided it with disgust by taking two big strides and following the sound. When she found it, she stared at it, open-mouthed, as if it was an unknown creature coming from the space that was writhing and wounded on the ground. She grabbed the cell phone and looked at the number. She hesitated, but in the end, she accepted the call. A voice she recognized called Tony urgently. She did not know exactly why she did it, perhaps because of a sudden nervous breakdown, or possibly because she had nothing to say, but she hung up without uttering a syllable.
Juandi watched her without understanding, and she approached and melted into a hug that she did not want to let go of. Although she possessed an iron character she began to sob, as if some inner gate had cracked; the lament turned into a real uncontrolled weeping. Rigid tremors shook her body as she buried her face more and more in Juandi's neck, as if she wanted to merge with him.
—He, he told me... —she was sobbing—. He told me that if I ...
—Easy— the giant tried to calm—. It has already happened.
—I had to see how you... he cut you— the crying increased in volume—. He... I... said that if I did not move and... he and I.
The crying intensified, and as if it was a summer storm, it gradually decreased.
—He swore me that he would let you live.
Her face was bathed in tears that accumulated at the corner of her lips
and Juandi loved her, loved her more than anything he had loved in his life. He kissed her, noticing the salty taste of her pain, and they would have stayed that way forever if it had not been for that odious melody, which broke the calm again. Juandi stepped forward and snatched the device from Raquel's hands, who approached to the sofa to check that Proxy was fine.
—Tony? —a voice asked—. But what the fuck are you doing, you hung me!
Juandi sighed, and a strange sensation rushed from the lower part of the testicles to his throat. He was tired of being the victim, now he was going to fight back. He hung up and turned furiously to the table where the computers kept buzzing.
****
Hermenegildo Gutiérrez had been preparing this operation for years, but it seemed that in the last two hours everything was going to ruin. His constitution had always been that of a thin man, but now he seemed to have aged twenty years in an hour. His face, gray and haggard, agreed with the eyes that had always been vivid and insightful and in that instant seemed to be running out of spark. He picked up the phone again and called again. He had spoken with more than twenty people all that morning.
—I'm Gutierrez, is everything ready?
He had repeated that tagline at least two dozen times throughout the morning, and he was already dizzy. When the conversation ended, he felt that he was short of breath. His chest ached, and he clutched his shirt to release several buttons. When he thought he was going to have a new infarction connate, the door opened, and Chacon entered.
—Friend, are you okay? —he asked.
—Yes, do not worry— he answered weakly—. It must be the stress.
—Take.
Chacón took a box of pills from one of the multiple pockets of his coat and handed him a tablet.
—It's for anxiety— he said, seeing the strange reaction on his friend's face—. I take them as candy. Besides, we have work, and I cannot let you stay here like a vulgar receptionist.
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