Hipster Death Rattle

by Richie Narvaez

  A town surrounded by verdant mountains, Cayey was in the southeastern part of the island, about an hour’s drive from Ponce. The roads were often narrow, but no one stopped to politely let the other car go. Everyone seemed to zoom by each other, almost kissing door handles. It made Tony very nervous. He missed the crowded simplicity of subway cars.

  “I’m so glad my relatives are on the other side of the island,” Magaly said.

  “Don’t you want to visit?”

  “Even more fatty food and everyone asking me why I’m not married and have kids—no thank you. When I get it from your family, it doesn’t irritate me so much.”

  “Understood.”

  “So, what are we going to do when we get where we’re going?”

  “We don’t have an exact address yet.”

  “We don’t?”

  “But I have a plan.”

  They parked in front of the post office in Cayey. Parking requirements were apparently lax—cars faced each other on the sidewalk outside the office. Tony stood behind Magaly, looking as sad and concerned as he could. She told the postal clerk they were looking to find Angela Roman.

  <“Angela’s grandmother is very sick,”> she said, hoping this postal clerk didn’t know Angela Roman. <“She could die any minute now. We have to hurry. Her grandmother sent us to find her because they have not spoken in so many years, too many years, and it is so sad, so sad when families have problems. She just wants to make peace with her favorite granddaughter, so we have to find Angela immediately, and all we had was this post office number. Please help us, sir, or her grandmother will die and never be able to show peace before she gets to Heaven, the Lord help her!”>

  The postal clerk nodded energetically, his own eyes maybe even looking a little wet, and gave them an address.

  “Forget using your law degree,” Tony told her in the car. “You should have been an actress.”

  “That was so much fun!”

  The address, however, did not appear on any map apps, so they were forced to ask around. A man selling pizza from an oven-equipped cart knew the way. About a mile up the road, past the stadium, he told them, keep turning and turning until you get to the pink house, the one with the big rooster sign, not the one with the big coqui, then turn left.

  The mile turned into three miles until up ahead was the cuchifrito stand. They stopped to have lunch, and, just to double-check, asked the waitress if she knew Angela, and she said she did, but she said yes, it was a right turn on one of those roads ahead, and to look out for the dead mango tree that looked like it was bending over to pray.

  As they ate at a table outside, Magaly said, “I know this is going sound paranoid.”

  “Yeah? I don’t mind paranoid. It seems like the right way to be nowadays.”

  “Well, did you see a big SUV parking at the post office the same time we were parking?”

  “No,” Tony said, “I was too busy trying to remember how to parallel park. Not that that matters in Cayey. But what about it?”

  “Well, I know all big SUVs look the same, but that car parked down the street behind me looks like the same one that was parked at the post office. It’s brown on top, tan on bottom. I noticed it when we sat down.”

  “All SUVs do look the same, it’s part of the ongoing homogenization of our culture, and I will look surreptitiously over your shoulder. All right, I see it. Looks like a rental. Nobody’s bothering us here. Let’s see what happens as we proceed.”

  When they got back in the car, the SUV stayed put. But after a few turns, Tony looked back and it was behind them.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said.

  “I see it, too.”

  “I can’t believe they’d follow us to PR either. What is up with these people?”

  “Can’t you drive faster?”

  “Have you seen these roads and these drivers? If I drive any faster, we’ll end up in the jungle or in someone’s windshield.”

  Tony picked up speed. This was one article he’d never written or read: How to lose a car that’s following you. The SUV sped up but didn’t get closer.

  “Of course,” Tony said, “they’re not trying to kill us. They want to find out where Jorge Marte is too, to close all the last links to Rosa. And then they’ll kill us.”

  “Chino, I’m scared.”

  “Hold on,” he said. “I’m going to try something stupid.”

  “What? No!”

  “Um, you better look behind us. Don’t look ahead.”

  Tony spotted a sedan coming toward them. There was barely enough room on the narrow road for both vehicles. Tony floored it, and as they passed the car he nudged the wheel slightly to the left, smacking the rental car into the back of the sedan.

  “Chino!”

  Their rental car spun and Tony fought to gain control. He drove into the turn. He breathed in and out and stayed calm. When the car stopped, he found himself facing the road ahead. He floored it again.

  “That was not completely disastrous,” Tony said to himself. Then he asked Magaly, “What’s happening back there?” But she was mumbling something to herself.

  “What are you doing?

  “I’m chanting and praying. Hold on.”

  “The other car stopped. I think the driver is getting out. He looks pissed.”

  “But what about that SUV that was following us?”

  “He’s stuck on the other side.”

  “Yes!”

  “You did it!” Magaly said. She turned back in her seat and kissed him on the cheek.

  This made him lose concentration and wobble the wheel and almost run into a ditch.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  It took an hour to come back to the road with the dead mango tree again, and another long while to spot the dead tree. Tony drove them onto a paved road that soon turned into a dirt road.

  They drove up to a large wooden gate. From the car, Magaly could see things moving around in the front yard beyond the gate.

  “Is that…what an emu looks like?” Magaly said.

  “I’ve never seen one in real life before,” Tony said, “but, yes, yes, that looks like an emu. And coming up on our left is a peacock. Definitely a peacock.”

  Through the slats of the gate, a colorful bird with its full plumage on display pranced by.

  “The female of the species is called a ‘peahen.’”

  “You’re joking,” she said. “Why do you know this stuff?”

  They got out of the car and approached the gate. There was no bell to ring and no chains on the gate, so Tony reached over and lifted the small metal latch holding the gate closed.

  Inside was a concrete house painted gray with a flat roof painted salmon pink and a matching enclosure. The door and all the windows were covered in elaborate curling metalwork gates, which was common for Puerto Rico. Three BRs, two baths, with garage, laundry room, and storage area. Adjacent land cultivates bananas. Completely fenced in. Great potential. Property sold as-is.

  At the end of the driveway, a large dog barked furiously. It was kept at bay by a very long and very strong-looking metal chain.

  “Oh my god, Tony. A Doberman.” Magaly crossed herself. “They’re possessed by the devil, those dogs. I never liked them.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “No, she’s right. That one is possessed. But he came with the house.”

  The woman who said this stood in the now-open doorway. She was in her fifties or early sixties and wore her hair in a bright purple scarf. She wore a bright red T-shirt, lime green Capri pants, and pink sandals. She was altogether colorful. She also had a shotgun in her hands, very large, and pointed right at them. Without turning her head, she told the dog to be quiet. It yelped and whined and curled itself into a ball.

  “Come closer,” she said. “I won’t shoot you unless I have to.”

  Magaly and Tony looked at each other. Then they nodded.

  “Okay,” Tony said. “We’re not here to cause trouble.”


  “You don’t look like trouble. But I have to watch out. Be careful where you walk,” the woman said. “We have tarantulas.”

  Magaly and Tony stopped where they stood.

  “Don’t worry. They don’t kill, but they bite,” the woman said.

  Magaly scanned the ground. “Is that supposed to make us feel better?”

  “Are you two lost?”

  “Are you Angela Roman?” Magaly said.

  “Do I know you people?” the woman said.

  “We’re looking for Jorge Marte. We hoped he would be here,” Tony said.

  “I know you,” the woman said to Magaly. “You’re from Brooklyn. From El Flamboyan.”

  “Yes, I work there. My name is Magaly Fernandez.”

  “You used to visit Rosa. When she had all that trouble.” The woman told them to bring their car in, and she closed the gate.

  Then she said, “What do you want with Jorge? He’s very sick. As a matter of fact, he’s dying.”

  “What is he dying of?” Tony asked.

  “Suicide,” she laughed, then laughed bitterly to herself. “Come in if you want to see him.”

  The room immediately inside was a combination kitchen/dining room/living room. It was pristine except for a swirl of ants near the door. Angela put her shotgun down and offered them something to eat. They declined, and she led them down a hall to a small bedroom. “That’s where he sleeps after I kicked him out of my room,” she said.

  The first thing Magaly noticed was the stink of alcohol. Not from open bottles but rather the metallic-musky smell it gets as it oozes out of the body. Her father used to smell that way.

  Marte lay on a small bed, covered by a mosquito net, facing them as they came in the door. A giant poster of Derek Jeter was peeling off the wall above him. He wore pants but no shirt or socks, and when he turned, Magaly was amazed at the man’s gut, which stuck out hard and round as a pumpkin. Marte’s face was red and bloated, and his swollen eyelids were so low it was hard to tell if he was looking at them or looking at anything at all.

  Angela called his name softly and told him there were people to see him. He grunted as an answer.

  “Jorge’s English is not too kosher,” the woman said.

  “That’s okay. Neither is his Spanish,” Magaly said.

  “Your husband?”

  “Amigo.”

  “Ah hah.”

  They stood over Marte, who remained unmoving behind the gauze of the mosquito net.

  <“Did you come here to kill me?”>

  <“No, we need your help,”> Magaly answered in Spanish. <“Jorge, we’re trying to find out the truth about what happened to Rosa Irizarry.”>

  <“God help me.”>

  Tony took out an old tape recorder held together with duct tape, not the one he used with Iris Campos. He pointed to it, to ask Jorge if it was okay. The bloated man nodded.

  <“Mr. Marte. Please tell us: Did someone tell you to put in the roaches and the rats and to start the fire in her apartment?”>

  <“God forgive me. She was not always nice. One time she threw a can at me, and it was full. But they did not have to kill her.”>

  So, Rosa Irizzary was dead, as far as this man was saying. It was what Tony thought, but he was surprised that he was disappointed, that he actually thought maybe they would eventually find her alive.

  “Ask him who,” he said.

  Marte must have understood that and said, “El Señor.”

  Which Magaly knew could mean “The Mister” or could mean “God.” But he didn’t think Jorge was getting metaphysical. He needed to be specific. “Quién?” she said.

  <“The Jew and the giant.”>

  <“Jackie Tomasello and Litvinchouk?”> Tony said.

  <“Them. They were always together, if you get what I mean.”>

  “Aha. Now: We need to be as clear as possible. Ask him what the Tomasellos told him to do, exactly.”

  Jorge sat up then and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He burped. “They say they gonna fire me, to throw me out,” he said, in a thick accent. “I was es-scared. They wanted me first to put the rats and to shut off the water. Then they wanted me to help put the fire. Pero yo no quería hacer eso.”

  “He didn’t want to do it,” Magaly translated.

  <“They told the son—Junior—to come with me. He was there to make me do it. But he is the one who did it.”>

  “So, how do you know what happened to Rosa? Is she dead?” Magaly asked, but he didn’t answer. She asked again in Spanish: “Entonces, ¿cómo saben que Rosa está muerto?”

  “Ah,” Jorge said. “When she disappear, I got es-scare.”

  <“But you don’t know for sure if they did anything?”>

  <“It had to be them. It had to be them. I think.”>

  Angela, who had been standing in the doorway listening, spoke. “Hombre. Tell them what you told me.”

  <“I don’t know, Angela,”> he said. “I don’t got no proof.”

  <“Tell them, you stinking drunk. They have to know everything. They came all the way from New York.”>

  <“What? What is she talking about, Jorge?”>

  “I don’t got no proof.”

  “Ai, I’ll tell you,” Angela said. “He told me one night that if it wasn’t the super and the big lady, then it was probably the white guy and his girlfriend.”

  “What white guy?”

  “Her neighbors, the ones who lived next door to her…”

  Tony looked at Magaly wide-eyed and then back at Marte. “What? Does he mean Patrick and Kirsten? Patrick Stoller?”

  “Tony, calm down,” Magaly said.

  “This changes everything,” he said.

  “Okay.” Magaly looked at Jorge. <“Tell us.”>

  Jorge paused to breathe. Then he said, <“The Jew, he always told me he didn’t want to hurt her. He said scare her, not hurt her. He just wanted her to move out. And then after she came back, after the fire, he came to me and he told me to forget it, that she was an old lady and she would probably die soon anyway. So he said to forget about it, to leave her alone.”>

  Tony said, “That’s fine for Livtinchouk, but he can’t control the Tomasellos. So who were these neighbors? Can he describe them?”

  <“The white man with the red hair and his girlfriend, who looked like a frog…>

  There was no mistaking it was Patrick and Kirsten.

  < “…They used to visit with her a lot. But after Rosa came back, I could hear they all yelling at each other up there. They would slam doors,”> Jorge said.

  <“I used to hear it, too,”> Angela said. <“I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I asked her. She told me they used to be really nice to her, but then they turned mean, and she didn’t know why…”>

  “What makes you think they killed her?” Tony asked.

  Jorge burped loudly and stared up at the ceiling, as if he were looking back in the past. <“The night before Rosa disappeared, I remember. Those two left the building in the middle of the night. I was awake because I have trouble sleeping. They took a big suitcase to their little car. I thought they were going on vacation, you know, with that suitcase. But the next day they were still in the building. They were still upstairs. They didn’t go on vacation. But Rosa was missing.”>

  Tony sank to the concrete floor.

  “What’s wrong, Chino?” Magaly said, putting her hand on his.

  “This whole goddamn time I’ve been looking to blame Litvinchouk or Tomasello. I had never even considered that Patrick and Kirsten would have anything to do with Rosa’s disappearance. They blinded me.”

  “Angela, did you see this, too?” Magaly said.

  “No,” she said. “He snores, so I wear earplugs. I didn’t hear anything.”

  Jorge looked ready to pass out again. He didn’t look good at all.

  They left him and walked outside, back into the animal-filled yard. They stood by the car while the satanic Doberman continued to bark no matter what Angel
a told it.

  Magaly asked Angela, <“But why didn’t you go to the police?”>

  “Because he was involved in the harassment,” Tony said. “He was afraid they would lock him up, and he was right.”

  Tony turned to Angela. “I have a question for you. When you two decided to run away, you needed money. To get out of New York and to get this place.”

  “I have savings,” she said. But she was looking down at a passing chicken.

  “The thing is, though, Rosa Irizarry hit the number just before she disappeared. No one seems to know what happened to that money.”

  Angela placed her hands together, as if in prayer. Then she looked up and there were tears in her eyes. “Rosa, she was my good friend,” she said. “When she got the money, she was afraid to keep it in her apartment. She was afraid they would break into her apartment and take it. She was going to move, you know. She wanted to. But she wanted to stay in the neighborhood. But there was nothing she could afford. The money would not have lasted her a year. Anyway, she gave me the money to hold.”

  “And then?”

  “And when she disappeared—I kept it. I was just holding it for her, I swear on my life and to Jesus Christ. But then she didn’t come back. And me and Jorge had to run. We knew we was in danger. And it was the only money I had. We got this place cheap.”

  Magaly looked at her. “But, Angela, how did you know she wasn’t coming back to get her money? Was it what Jorge saw?”

  “No. It was because, in my heart, I knew she was gone to—”

  The sound of a revved engine split the air and a brown SUV busted through the gate.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Two men got out of the car, with guns drawn. One of them was short, fat, and Tony recognized him right away, despite the unfamiliar context. The man wore a gray paisley polo shirt tucked into his pants and a giant gold watch.

  “Hello.” Frank Tomasello Jr. had on a Panama hat, the cheap kind sold to tourists. His legs were so pale they almost glowed under khaki shorts. It would have been easy for Tony to laugh at him if not for the gun Tomasello pointed at him.