Leda heard the music. Recognised Inverno’s strong voice. Came to see what was happening. Santiago was playing with the other boys, so she went on her own. Or almost on her own. Chelín followed her at a short distance. Because he knew her, he realised she would turn around angrily as soon as she saw the limousine and the welcome given to the girls from the Vaudeville. And he was right. Leda spun around in a rage, rushed up the stairs leading to the terrace and first floor.
Chelín went after her. ‘Wait. Where are you going?’
She eyed him like a stranger. Like someone who’d lost touch with reality. ‘What do you care? To tart myself up!’
‘Leda, you know I always brought you good luck.’
Good luck? She was about to carry on. Another lunatic. But she set her eyes on him. Recognised him. It had been ages since she’d felt so much like crying. She didn’t cry. She stroked his cheek with her fingertips. He was very thin. A child’s gaze with steel spikes on his chin.
‘That’s right, Chelín.’
‘Remember when we used to hunt for treasures? I discovered something. I discovered there are only treasures under the ocean. That’s where shipwrecked and dead people keep them. That’s where you have to look for them. Under the ocean. Say “ocean”, please.’
Leda listened to him with surprise and concern. There was something wrong with him. He wasn’t well. He’d fallen again. There was nothing more unsettling than an unsettled gaze. She smiled, and he did the same. That worked. She placed her cheek against his. Concave — convex. That also worked. ‘Ocean.’ Then a kiss. A little peck. She turned on her heels and ran up the stairs.
‘A little saliva,’ he mumbled. ‘How lucky I am!’
Brinco summoned Chelín. He was holding Cora, his favourite from the Vaudeville, by the hand. ‘Now you’re going to see the second thing I like best to do in the world. Where are the stars, Chelín?’
If it was meant to be a joke, he didn’t understand. His mind was elsewhere. Stars? Oh, of course, what a fool! He ran to fetch the firework launcher. There they went. A sun, a palm tree and then a Bengal light that descended very slowly.
When Cora looked down from the sky, she blinked. She didn’t want her eyes to cry. But her eyes had a will of their own. She could hide everything except for her eyes, God damn them.
‘That’s the most special present anyone’s given me for a long, long time.’
Víctor went into the bedroom where Leda was. He was still in his party outfit, but she’d decided to put on silk pyjamas. She was seated in front of the dressing table, compulsively brushing her hair.
‘What is it, girl? Everyone’s asking after you. You suddenly disappeared.’
‘How I wish I could disappear! You should have told me you were going to bring the whole harem to the house.’
‘Leda, they’re just employees who work at our clubs.’
‘Employees? Our clubs? Don’t talk to me like that!’
‘What do you want me to call them? Whores? One whore here, another there. They’re here because they want to be! Go and open the gates and tell them to leave. You’ll see how many actually do.’
‘Like dogs. Dogs won’t leave either, Brinco. What do you take me for? You buy these girls like cattle. How much did you pay for that one?’
‘Which one?’
‘The one without a right toe.’
The toe. That blasted right toe. Why did they have to wear sandals? He’d already warned them. Don’t dress like that, girl, you look like a slave. You make it look like I chopped it off with an axe.
‘I didn’t cut her, for fuck’s sake. It was already cut.’
‘Oh, I see. She was branded when you bought her. I’ll take the amputee. Aren’t you a good boy, Brinco, you son of a bitch?’
‘All right, so I know a thing or two about prostitutes…’
Suddenly his rage boiled to the surface. She deserved a good hiding. He tore open a drawer, rummaged around and pulled out a leather-bound bible with a zip. Holy Bible. Nácar-Colunga BAC. He opened it, threw it on top of the bed. As the leaves fell apart, hundred-dollar bills floated down on top of the covers.
‘A bible for each one. Do the sums.’
Leda couldn’t come down. She was indisposed. Something she’d eaten. The same old story. That’s right, something she’d eaten or drunk. She had to look after herself. Víctor Rumbo took his leave of all the guests. Some of them inebriated. Like Chelín. He was turning into a real pain.
‘Brinco, you know I always, always brought you good luck.’
‘Sure you did.’
‘Always!’
‘Always.’
Óscar Mendoza asked if he’d invited Mariscal. Of course he had. Why hadn’t he come?
Brinco pointed to a hill in the night. Said, ‘Look, Óscar. He’ll be up there. Watching everything. Happy and solitary as a wolf.’
41
VARIOUS MESSAGES ARRIVED from Mariscal. Nothing about Flores. If the Graduate couldn’t look after himself, that was his problem. But there was something else. And this worried him. Mariscal wanted to see him in the Ultramar. Something was beginning to stink. What was beginning to stink? Money. When it came to money, Víctor Rumbo knew a stink meant only one thing. The lack of money.
‘The payment’s been made. I’m sure of it.’
‘Milton’s two-thirds? Don’t be so sure. Who was the courier?’
An unfamiliar sweat appeared on his forehead, dripping into the caverns of his nose. He thought about it quickly. Didn’t reply to Mariscal’s question. Said, ‘I’ll check it out.’
‘That’s better.’
He talked to Chelín. It took him a while to call, but in the end he called. There’d been a complication. He’d been late for the meeting. He knew it was in Benavente. But everything was OK. Under control. He sounded confident. He’d organised a second meeting. Had all the coordinates. Everything was arranged. The payment would take place in Madrid. To make up for the inconvenience.
Brinco spent the following day in the Vaudeville. He was expecting a confirmation call that evening. That was what they’d agreed on. But the call came from Carburo. Nobody had turned up for the meeting in Madrid. Brinco set Inverno, Chumbo, everybody he had, in motion. He even spoke to Grimaldo. Find Chelín. No, he didn’t want him to call. Bring him in. As quickly as possible. Whatever it took. By the balls if necessary.
But Chelín had gone to ground. A long time passed. Three days was far too long. The whole world could go crazy in under three days. And that was what was happening. The rumbles got louder and louder. Closer to home. And one of the loudest, this annoyed him, came from Óscar Mendoza.
He’d drunk too much. That night and the previous nights. To see if one hangover could cure another. He was leaving the Vaudeville with Cora. He’d come up with one of those stupid, wonderful ideas. To take her somewhere special.
OK, he hadn’t drunk so much. He was OK. Yes, he felt better. Come on, you. Tonight is going to be special. He was just about to unlock his car when another ground to a halt. Out got Inverno, who opened the back door. Chumbo shoved Chelín outside.
‘Here he is,’ said Inverno. ‘We caught him in Porto. About to board a plane.’
‘We got a tip-off from a friend of Wiggy’s,’ added Chumbo.
‘Where the hell were you going?’ Brinco demanded of Chelín. Or rather of the half-man that had once been Chelín.
‘To Greece.’
‘To Greece? What the fuck were you going to do in Greece?’
‘I always wanted to go to Greece, Brinco. You know that.’
A bag of bones. Since the last time he’d seen him, he’d lost a lot of weight. He was as thin as a flatfish. But the worst thing was his face. Those sunken eyes. Better calm down a bit.