Traces of Ink

by Antonio J. Fuentes García

  Gutierrez abided Chacón's joke with a weak smile and swallowed the pill without water.

  —What do we have?

  —Tony doesn’t answer— Gutierrez's face paled even more—. But we have an alternative option.

  That seemed to be costing Chacón a whole world, until Gutiérrez hit his elbow with urgency.

  —What happens?

  —Herme...

  —Paco, don’t fuck with me— he put his hand on his chest.

  —That boy— he pointed to the room where Jonás waited—. He knows where the collection is.

  —Perfect! —he exclaimed—. Did he tell you already?

  —The coordinates are in one of the photographs of the album that...

  —Don't fuck me! in that album there are more than three hundred photos, we don’t have time!

  —If we review them ...

  —The boy comes with us— Gutierrez said bluntly—. He will take us to the collection or we will cut the throat up to the last living being he knows in front of him.

  But that boy— Chacon had turned pale. I...

  —Paco, I don’t give an egg for that kid! —he roared, recovering the temper that had made him the trusted man of the caudillo at another time—. You will kill him later. The important thing now is to find that damn collection.

  —I understand, but...

  —Paco— he put a hand on his shoulder in a fatherly manner—. When we put our hands on those works we will have all the time in the world to take revenge on whoever gives us the real desire.

  The old man lowered his head but nodded almost imperceptibly.

  —Well, let's get out of here

  Gutierrez rubbed his hands vigorously. He no longer felt any trace of the pain in his chest

  ****

  The car, an E-class Mercedes, was as spacious as it was luxurious. With its automatic change and its more than 300 HP of power seemed to roam the streets of the capital. Chacón and Gutiérrez were sitting at the ends of the back of the vehicle, and Jonás slept peacefully between them. He had been given a narcotic that had acted as soon as it touched the boy's tongue. The extreme tension of the last days, and the weakness of his badly healed body had accentuated the effect and had acted as a spontaneous sedative. Chacon had not opened his mouth in all the way, and his face made it clear that he was not at all pleased with that decision. Gutierrez, on the other hand, seemed to be more radiant than ever.

  —Come on Paco— Gutiérrez tried again—. We need to think with the head and not with the revolver’s barrel.

  —Herme, we already know that the collection is here in Madrid. We can locate it ourselves, we do not need...

  —Paco, the time has come— Gutiérrez put a hand on his shoulder—. Everything is ready. In an hour we will meet with the members of the parties, and tomorrow we will finally have that collection, send it and then we will represent our role in the meeting.

  Chacón thought it over and accepted that Gutiérrez was right. Even with a list of real estate it would take longer than they could afford, and it was too late. The Mercedes advanced elegantly to the hotel where they were to meet with the leaders of that country.

  ****

  At first, Juandi had only acted on instinct, letting rage go to the surface, but as things calmed down, they began to acquire a crystal clarity in his mind. It was clear that what those assassins were after were the accounts and the location of the collection. Before Fumo appeared, Jonás had discovered that the address was in that girl's picture, so the next step was clear.

  —Proxy, Jonás asked you to send some files, right?

  The young man did not answer. Raquel hugged him as if he were a small child.

  —Proxy! —the boy looked up—. What did Jonah ask you to send by mail?

  —He told me to scan some of those pictures and send them to an email address...

  —Show me the photos you sent.

  At first the young man did not react, but when Juandi approached and picked him up brusquely, he seemed to return from the place where his mind had temporarily taken refuge. He hurried to one of the computers and typed something at a devilish speed. Instantly the printer began spitting color reproductions, and Juandi practically ripped them out before they had just left. He chose one and watched it for a long time, then showed it to the others.

  —This is the picture that Jonás showed us, right? — he seemed to work at twice the speed of the others, for he did not wait for an answer—. The one of the girl.

  He limped away and came back with a backpack. When he was at the door Raquel stopped him.

  —Where do you think you're going?

  —To look for Jonás.

  —Not kidding that you're going alone.

  After leaving Proxy at the hospital, they drove away in Fumo's car at full speed. The boy only had a cut on his shoulder —although quite deep— and despite everything they had tried, they could not stop the blood. Raquel insisted that Juandi went through the emergency room to have the cuts cured, but the giant insisted that he was well and that there was nothing that the strips of "The Penguins of Madagascar" that he had bought in a vending machine could not solve. Raquel was worried about him, because it was evident that he was very weak, but Juandi was more stubborn than big, so she decided not to insist.

  They parked the car in one of the many parking lots in Plaza Isabel II and ended at a side near the Puerta del Sol. Juandi walked at a brisk pace, and Raquel followed him without understanding. The giant looked up from time to time, and after a quick glance continued walking. When they entered one of the pedestrian streets Raquel stopped him, grabbing him by the arm.

  —Can I know where are we going?

  The man exhibited a broad smile and pointed to a place on the horizon with his finger. Raquel stared for a few seconds but saw nothing remarkable.

  —Juandi, I don’t understand...

  —Don’t you want a vermouth of the tap and some potatoes at the cabrales? —he widened his radiant smile—. Or maybe you like more chicken skewers?

  He turned around and kept walking until he came to an intersection where two streets converged on a perfect cross. In one of the corners was a bar with a red sign that read "Bar de tapas El Maño".

  —Really? —Raquel was between dazed and angry—. Do you really want to go to eat now?

  Juandi approached, kissed her on the forehead and placed the old photograph in front of her, leaving a space for her to contemplate both perspectives. In the photo, the beautiful woman smiled at the camera, and behind it, a street full of buildings and quite busy stretched far away. Right in one of the corners, at the top left corner, was the same red sign that was in front of him at that moment. Raquel felt a range of sensations that made her knees weak. Contemplating both images momentarily transported her to another moment, to another place, and suddenly the photograph came to life in her mind. The girl joked coquettishly with the photographer while behind her the world continued at her own pace. Platinum hair fluttered in the wind, and she showed that radiant smile once more.

  When she returned to the present, Juandi grabbed her elbow and put her into the bar.

  ****

  He ascended to the upper staircase and the icy cold of the winter stabbed him in the cheeks and forehead like pinpricks. He pulled up his coat collar and pulled on his woolen hat a little more. It was not unpleasant to him, but that December it was being especially cold in Saxony’s capital. He walked with special care not to step on any loose stones and crossed over (he supposed) where the Semper Painting Gallery should be located. From that part of the palace he could see the Elbe, and how it divided that magnificent city into two different parts. The Altstadt (old city), and the Neustad (new city). Although for him, clearly the old town was more colorful, he considered that one could not exist without the other. The new part needed the story of the old one, and this one worked thanks to the technologies of the other.

  He observed the city again from the unbeatable perspective offered by the Zwinger Pa
lace and found that Dresden was becoming one of the most beautiful cities he had visited in recent years. The mixture between the old and the new fascinated him and defined his own personality. He was a man forged in past times, anchored to the old, but who wanted the use of the new to improve the past.

  He walked along the cobblestone footbridge of the old palace and went into the museum rooms. Again, he was fascinated by the integration of the past into modern culture, and the sorcerous effect that both created when they were united. A 16th-century vessel —exquisite by itself but encased in a frosted glass box and with the perfect illumination of faint 21st century light tubes that helped to highlight the forgotten angles —it became something fine. In short, the mixture of the old and the new, and Dresden achieved in part that balance. That's why he had chosen that city as the venue for the meeting that year, which would be held in just two weeks. This time there were two important points to discuss at the meeting, such as China and Russia, but he had been appointed exclusively to lead the issue of Spain and they were about to make a radical change in that country.

  He went down the gallery and wished it was not so late. If his commitments were not so absorbing he would have liked to enter and contemplate the Renaissance and Baroque collections. He had read that there were many works by Titian, Velázquez, Rubens or Murillo.

  He left the palace grounds and spent a minute contemplating the splendid Semperoper. That opera must be a show! He passed in front the Frauenkirche (Church of Our Lady) and descended unhurriedly down the magnificent staircase that led to Brühl's terrace. There, on that magnificent balcony, he stopped and made the call that would trigger a chain reaction at an international level. After hanging, he walked peacefully through the Fürstenzung, which was called "The mosaic of the Princes' parade". He admired such a work of art in the street, and it took more than half an hour to travel the exactly 101 meters that it was composed.

  From there he went to the hotel, it was quite late, and the cold began to sting him in the face. In addition, he had an important task to accomplish the next day.

  ****

  If she had experienced a trip back in time when she saw the picture, what they both felt when they sat at the counter of that bar was a regression. With a sepia filter placed in front of their eyes they could have assured that they were in one of those high-class bars of the beginning of the last century. The marble was the dominant one, and the moldings on the floors and ceilings provided the place with that authentic charm that only the authentic stores possessed. An enormous shield of "Bodegas El Maño" stood out on the ground, and the cracks of the past around it hinted at the hearth of the place.

  A waiter in a green shirt on which stood a black apron with the same shield that dominated the floor approached them. The man, although he must not have been more than thirty-five or forty years old, fitted perfectly with the atmosphere of the bar. A bushy mustache and a hairstyle with a line, in which the glitter and wax were the highlights, made the guy an employee according to the still life.

  —What are you going to have, gentlemen? —he introduced himself, the biggest smile Raquel had seen in her life surfacing on his face—. If you want, I can recommend something to you.

  —I have it clear— said Juandi—. For me a vermouth and a brave one.

  —Of those of the tap?

  The man turned around and pointed to some huge jars that Raquel was sure that nothing had come out of them for years.

  —Of course!

  —And for the lady?

  Raquel remained absorbed by the shock of space and time’s period in which she had sunk. If she wanted to, she could even build a film of slides mentally, fixing her sight at any point of the imperishable local.

  —Other vermouth for her and two of those chicken croquettes— Juandi asked for her—. That the last time I was left with the desire for more.

  —To stay with desire and without money is one of the cruelest tragedies— teased the guy losing himself in the back room.

  Juandi tenderly grabbed Raquel's face between her gigantic hands and gave her a kiss that was barely more than a brush on the lips.

  —Honey, you must stay with me— in Juandi's eyes was a light of supplication—. I need you to do this.

  —Of course, it's just that I was surprised... everything! —she encouraged herself—. Hey, how did you know...?

  —If you look at the photograph, the streets behind the girl are blurred, they cannot be seen well, but I knew that it was this place as soon as I saw it

  The waiter returned and left the two glasses in front of them linking another joke related to love, couples and tap vermouth.

  —I recognized the poster in the background— he took out the photo and pointed to a blurred mass—. It's from the Prast sweet shop. One of the best memories I have of my childhood was when my father took me to that sweet shop. I was terrified that my tooth had fallen, and my father took my hand and led me there. He told me the story of how the same thing had happened to Alfonso XIII and how Luís Coloma wrote him the story of the "Ratoncito Pérez" to overcome his fear. In that mythical sweet shop was the house of the most famous rodent, and my father bought me chocolate coins with the effigy of the mouse. Then we came here, and I drank my first "Fanta".

  A nostalgic glow had appeared in the man's eyes that made Rachel's heart tremble with love. Again, the waiter interrupted them leaving the plates with the tapas. Juandi leaned toward him in a friendly tone.

  —Long memories bring me this bar! My father said that in the 40s and 50s, the most famous of Madrid society moved around here.

  The guy, eager to expand the knowledge that every bar man seems to possess, leaned on the shiny marble and expanded.

  —You don’t know it well! At that time businessmen were walking proud along the street with the most beautiful women hanging from their arms. In those years it was very common to see great industrialists bringing beautiful young ladies to the Eslava theater to see the zarzuela, and then they stayed at the luxurious Internacional Hotel, which was at the opposite. Almost always they finished the task having some churros in the "San Ginés", which is the chocolate shop there —he pointed with his finger, although from there you could only see the coffered ceiling of the bar—. My father told me that those who strolled proud in the afternoon, in the morning they worked wonders, so you wouldn’t see them leaving the famous hotel.

  —What things! —said Juandi, who seemed absorbed in the story—. My father told me that he even saw Carmen Broto one day and that he fell in love instantly.

  —A tremendous woman! —the waiter looked away from Rachel and held back—. Unlike the other businessmen, Juan Martínez Penas, who was the owner of the Tivoli, was anxious that everyone saw him with the Broto. When they went to Madrid to the industrial’s business, they were regulars of the zarzuela and the Internacional. My father told me that he had never seen a woman more adorned than the Broto when she appeared with Martinez Penas.

  —I don’t see anything wrong— said Rachel, who had begun to be annoy at the clique’s tone between the two men—. He was not ashamed of her.

  —I think Miss that the shots were not exactly in that direction— he disagreed in a confidential tone—. This Juan, what he really liked was "walking on the sidewalk across the street", I don’t know if you understand me? and exhibited the girl as a cover. In fact, my father claimed that Broto did not even spend the night with the businessman at the hotel.

  —I don’t understand— Juandi muttered—. And where was she staying?

  —I don’t know if you know that this is one of the most sought-after streets in Madrid, but before becoming so popular, here the flats were sold for four pesetas. My father, like some others, was lucky and inherited this low floor, but most bought when this was not more than the capital’s drain. Then commerce came, and it went up like foam; well, the mentioned Juan Martínez acquired one of the flats of the third floor of the Gaviria Palace. Today the palace is practically empty and is used for exhibitions a
nd show off parties at a price of around 25,000 euros per month, but there are many closed premises waiting for some crazy to rent them, or a few houses that nobody can afford them. My father said that once he came back from the market where he went to buy some fabric for the bar and he found Broto leaving the building and meeting with Martinez at the door of the International.

  —Really?

  Juandi had taken the role of unbeliever, although that when he entered that bar he had already founded a theory. What was amazing was that it adjusted so much to what the waiter was telling him and that it would have been so easy to corroborate; but that's the way the guys were like that one and the hotel’s business. Gossip and gossip sold more than a good meal.

  —But you already know— the guy raised his palms. They are just gossip, and for some reason, when that woman came to Madrid, she accumulated them in pairs.

  The waiter left to attend to other customers, and Juandi took out his cell phone and typed something quick. Instantly his expression lit up.

  —What's up? —Raquel asked.

  —Maybe it's not all rumors— he showed her the screen, and she read briefly—. This Martinez Penas lived in the Ritz in Barcelona!

  —And what does that has to do?

  —Do you know who the owner of the Ritz was at that time?

  She thought for a second, and her eyes lit up. Julio Muñoz Ramonet! —they exclaimed in unison.

  —For me it is very clear— sentenced Juandi—. Ramonet had an affair with Carmen Broto, but since he was married, he "lent" her to Martinez Penas, who was a business partner and lived in Ramonet's hotel. Julio knew Penas’ taste for the youngsters and assured him a perfect alibi showing Broto. What did Ramonet gain with this compromise? I have no idea, but I would swear that this house in Gaviria Palace was not bought by Penas, even though his name appears in the deed.

  —Ramonet bought it for Broto to settle there when she traveled to Madrid with Penas.