The Barcelona Brothers (20 page)

“What the fuck does that mean? Lying about what?”

“You still love him. You were still with him. But he was bad. He fucked whores. He beat them. Before he came, you and I were happy—”

“Happy? You may have been happy, but me, I was bored to death.”

“That’s not what you said then.”

“How should I know what I said then?”

She goes into the bedroom. Despite all the racket, Percy’s still sleeping. He gives no sign of waking up anytime soon.

Throughout the argument, one certainty has kept returning, like a spark, and it gives meaning to the rest of the ideas straying around inside her brain: she’s sure the boy is suffering from a concussion produced by a blow to the head. She’s checked him for serious wounds without finding anything, but she knows she can’t perform an exhaustive examination. Her entire body breaks out in a cold sweat. She flies into a rage. Epi’s aware of the change and tries to calm her down. The kid didn’t hit his head anywhere, Epi knows that, but maybe children can’t take tranquilizers, not even in small doses. No chance he’ll die, Epi thinks in an effort to reassure himself. There’s still plenty of time to pump his stomach.

Inside the bedroom, Tiffany tries to wake Percy up. The boy’s breathing, but he doesn’t open his eyes. She calls him by his name, shakes him, seizes his eyelids and opens them. But the child insists on remaining asleep.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. The kid’s all right. He had a little temperature, that’s all. I put him in the bed and he fell sound asleep.”

It could be true. Jamelia went to pick Percy up at his school because he was a little sick. Now, to his mother’s great relief, the child opens his eyes. He sees Tiffany without recognizing her and shifts around crossly, determined to keep on sleeping. Tiffany exhales and relaxes a little.

“In any case, I’m taking him.”

“Tiffany, let’s talk first, and then you can both go.”

“Many thanks, lord and master.” Tiffany passes in front of Epi and picks up her purse. She slings the strap across her chest crosswise, as always, and heads back to the bedroom for Percy. “Thank you for letting us leave.”

“It looks like you don’t want to understand anything today. I’ve got the key. I want to talk, and I want you to listen to me.”

Tiffany tries to enter the bedroom, but Epi stops her. “It’s easy,” he says. “I ask questions and you answer them.”

What’s in those eyes now? A cornered animal. The classmate everyone beats up, backed up against the schoolyard fence, begging for mercy. The criminal incautiously left behind by the superhero, who thinks him disabled, even as he prepares his next cunning stroke. You shouldn’t leave prisoners in your rear. She should never have trusted him. Everything that’s happening has enraged her so much, she can’t even use subterfuges. The fact that he believes he has some power over her is so annoying she could beat him to death. Not to mention his attempt to swindle her with all that stuff about Tanveer. Who knows if it’s true?

“Tell me where Tanveer is. In what hospital?”

“I told you I don’t know.”

“I saw him dead, Tiffany. Knife wounds are motherfuckers.”

There’s very little distance between their faces, barely an inch or so. His mouth and nose are so close to her that neither of them can see the other’s eyes.

“Obviously, they didn’t hit any vital organ. Just belly fat.”

Epi’s satisfaction is huge. He’s caught her. And she’s the one who always likes these games. He tries his best not to let
the joy of uncovering Tiffany’s stupid lie light up his face. He inhales her perfume and reaches down to the hem of her skirt.

Epi thrusts his hand under the fabric. The girl presses her legs together forcefully. She’s furious because she senses that he’s caught her, that he knows she’s lying. Without ending his effort to delve into her panties, Epi stretches out his neck and speaks into her ear: “There weren’t any knives, kid. I grabbed a hammer and buried it in his head. He looked at me, and he didn’t get it. He didn’t expect me to act like a man. He didn’t think I’d do that for you.”

He shoves her against the wall. He wants her to feel his erect member pressing against her. Raising the hand that’s not busy in her panties, he shows her two of his fingers. “This is his blood. It’s filled with whatever shit he caught from the whores he fucked last night. He didn’t think anybody would love you enough to stand up to him.”

Epi sticks the fingers stained with Tanveer’s blood into Tiffany’s mouth. After brief resistance, she opens her lips. So what if she sucks those fingers? So what if she makes him think she wants to fuck him? So what if she gets carried away by the feeling that there’s nothing to be done but to wait for the storm to sweep everything away, to reduce conscience, plans, preconceived ideas, and good intentions to fragments? There he is, stupidly pulling down her underpants, a man capable of risking twenty years in prison to fuck her, to hear her say she loves him, she’s never had anyone like him. How she hates him. How she hates his stupidity. And how she hates her own vanity, too. How profoundly she hates yielding to such
a demonstration of strength, how she hates being a goddess whose worshippers offend her and offer her sacrifice at the same time.

“Tell me you don’t love him. Tell me you never loved him. Because he’s gone and I’m here, because I always fucked you better than he did.”

By now, Epi’s inside her. Tiffany decides to relax and hope Percy doesn’t take it into his head to wake up anytime soon. Epi’s member slips out of her, but immediately he thrusts it in again. Their legs tense and tauten. Tiffany doesn’t know whether she ought to jump up on him and wrap her legs around him. She hesitates. Finally, she does it. She closes her eyes and tries not to think, tries to concentrate on a single idea: a few hours ago, those same hands killed Tanveer. They put a stamp with her name on his forehead so that he’d never forget her. And she still doesn’t know if it’s true or not. If such a loss pains her or not. But she tells herself that she’s sick, because normal women don’t get excited when a man kills for their sake. Or do they?

ALEX AND ALLAWI ARE STEPPING OUT BRISKLY. THEY’VE
taken an anarchic, devious route. For the police, following Alex would be the easiest way of locating his brother, so they’ve most probably assigned someone to tail him. He has to get to the apartment on Granada Street as soon as possible. It’s the only thing he can do. As he walks, he tries to think with the same focused clarity expressed by his long strides, but the presence of his companion makes it impossible for Alex to concentrate on his predicament. He knows that sometimes, as he walks down the street, he talks aloud. It helps him see what he’s going to do next. Maybe a deep urge to avoid such knowledge is the reason why he’s having such a hard time focusing on the setting and situation he’s in. Unlike his brother, Alex orders the world by verbalizing it. His lips move, but he makes an effort to keep his words inaudible.

“You’re talking to yourself, my friend.”

“I know. I’m fucked up.”

In Alex’s mind, the idea that he’s going to confide in Allawi sooner or later is gaining strength, even though he’s not very convinced such a step is advisable.

“At least tell me where we’re going. If I know where we’re turning, I won’t have to keep walking behind you.”

Alex stops and moves aside so another pedestrian can pass them. He doesn’t look like a cop, but Alex figures that’s what “incognito” means. He leans against the wall of a building, takes out the little bottle of water he bought on the way, and swigs from it. After so much off-schedule medication, his stomach is burning. At regular intervals, like a tide, sour liquid erupts into his mouth. It doesn’t look like anyone’s following them. No cars are passing, either.

“Allawi, listen up, because I’m only going to explain this to you once. The cops in the station interrogated me. They asked me lots of questions about the delivery van Epi drives. I don’t know what that’s all about, but they’re really interested in—”

“I told you what people are saying.”

“Look, I don’t care a rat’s ass what people are saying.”

“All right …”

“So Tanveer gets iced. By the cops, some say. Others say it was pimps. And I say it was a Paki, because it so happens I saw the whole thing. But anyway. Whatever. I don’t care. And to top everything, my asshole of a brother disappears, and now the cops are after him. Just what we need, considering all the shit that’s gone down. He looks like a textbook suspect,
you see what I mean? I don’t know what went on in that van, whether they were dealing contraband or fucking dogs, but whatever they did, let them pay for it. I know my brother, and I know he’s very easily influenced, but I’m sure they don’t have a reason to accuse him of anything really serious. Anyway, my point was, the cops want to talk to Epi about the van, and Epi goes missing. Tanveer gets killed, and Epi goes missing. He’s making it too easy for them to put him in an orange jumpsuit and give one another medals, you see what I mean?”

“I do.”

“So, well, I know where Epi is. I want to go there, whack him one across his foolish face, grab him by the balls, and haul him to the
mossos
so he can sing like Camarón. But first he has to sing the song to me. Because knowing Epi, if he takes a liking to them, he’s liable to tell them he alone was responsible for the Atocha bombing.”

“No doubt,” Allawi answers, laughing as he speaks. You can tell he’s got a hundred questions buzzing around inside his head, and a hundred jokes, too, but this is probably not the moment for joking. He tells Alex, “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”

“Please don’t, Allawi, please don’t. You know even if you tell the truth, people are going to start making things up and talking nonsense, and I’ll get crucified.”

“All right, all right. I won’t say anything. But if you want a piece of advice …”

During this exchange, they’ve started walking again. Talking to someone about all that has calmed Alex a bit. He’s seen
things outside his head. Maybe now he can analyze them better.

“… I’ll give you some. The cops have already talked to you. Even they aren’t too dumb to figure you’ll lead them to Epi. But they don’t know anything about me. I could go instead of you, and—”

“You don’t have to be a hero for me, pal. I just want to go and talk to my brother.”

“I’m saying I’ll go instead of you, alone, and tell him what you want me to tell him or bring him wherever you are.”

“Well, we’ll see.”

The elder Dalmau brother acknowledges to himself that this idea of Allawi’s isn’t crazy at all. It pushes him a little into the background, but it’s probably a much safer and more effective plan. He’ll keep the possibility in mind for later. They’re barely ten minutes’ walk from the apartment where Alex hopes Epi’s still waiting for him.

“That was a knockout gorgeous chick. And a fucking disaster for those two guys.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Tiffany.”

“I don’t think any of this has anything to do with her,” Alex lies.

“Maybe not, but—”

“But what?” Now it’s Alex who wants to know. He stops again in the middle of the sidewalk. He’s almost certain Allawi’s been playing him from the start.

“Calm down, compadre.”

“No. Calm down? No. Don’t fuck with me, man. Don’t even tease me. I’ve had it up to here with mysteries. What did you mean by bringing up Tiffany?”

“Nothing in particular. Look, I know she had nothing to do with the
Moro
’s demise, I know he was killed by a Paki or some such, but from what you told me, it could also be …”

“What?”

“Well, it could also be that it was Epi who knocked him off. He was the girl’s boyfriend before the
Moro
appeared, right? A case of jealousy, my friend. Alcohol, coke, one word too many, and five minutes of madness. It could happen to any of us.”

“But, but …”

“Admit it, that could be what happened. The real truth.”

“It could be, but it isn’t. I was there, and I know what I saw.”

“But you’re his brother, and he’s in hiding.”

Allawi starts to walk again. After a few steps, he turns around and asks Alex to hurry up. What’s he doing, standing there and not moving?

“I don’t understand how anyone can believe it was Epi who wasted Tanveer,” Alex says, trying to convince himself. “Can’t you see he doesn’t have the balls to do something like that?”

“No, but maybe the girl’s the one with the balls. That chick’s good, but she’s bad. I wouldn’t fuck her, and coming from me, that’s saying a lot, I assure you.”

Now they’re walking side by side, but since Allawi’s actually the one taking the initiative, Alex gives up their destination: “We’re going to Granada Street.”

“That’s what I thought. Say, isn’t that Tiffany’s retarded sister?”

Jamelia’s walking along, softly singing a tune she heard when she passed in front of a bar a short time ago. It wasn’t even five minutes after she got back home that they called her. And asked her if she could start next Monday! She said yes she could, yes of course. And when her mother came home and heard the news, she went wild with joy and persuaded Jamelia to call them back and tell them that if they wanted, she could return to the store immediately, they wouldn’t have to pay her a single euro, and they could explain everything to her, and that way she could start working like a demon first thing Monday morning. Jamelia had never seen Mama so happy. They cried together when the girl hung up after the first, unsuccessful call and continued crying after the second, successful one. Before that, it was as though her mother hadn’t fully believed her. She was more worried about Percy and about where Tiffany would take the child; she had visions of emergency rooms or God knew what else. But after the call to the supermarket, Jamelia’s mother was all hers. For the first time in a long time, she sensed that her mother was proud of her, and no feeling could compare to that.

Jamelia can’t hear her name being called. She’s walking fast, wrapped in her own happiness. She wants to get to the supermarket quickly. She imagines what she’ll do with her first week’s paycheck. Maybe she’ll buy one of those tiny television sets so Mama can watch soap operas in the kitchen. Or a pretty dress for Tiffany. One of those extreme ones with a
zipper she likes so much. The two of them will go together to pick out the dress, because her little sister’s taste in clothes is anything but predictable … Jamelia no longer remembers the slap Tiffany gave her early this morning or thinks about what a rude tyrant that girl can be. And for Percy? Jamelia will take him out for an afternoon snack, whatever he wants, mountains of cream and caramel, and afterward they’ll go to one of those toy stores, where she’ll buy him the toy he likes best. And for herself? Nothing at the moment. But soon she’ll have to buy new clothes and get her hair cut differently. The young man who conducted the interview was so handsome, and he treated her so courteously. He seemed very smart, the way he used all those words she barely understood. Her mind expanded, and she could almost see the two of them—him and her—working in the supermarket and waiting for each other at the exit so they could go home together. She imagined herself some time later, expecting a child, because the interviewer was explaining that there would be no problem if she got pregnant, and Jamelia smiled at him. The only problem was the uniform. It was something special, all right, but …