“How could you not try the picks first, Indio?”
Galdámez didn’t answer. He tried a third.
“They’re locks from that Spanish company, Azbe, with an HS-6 safety cylinder. The picks won’t work,” he said.
“Motherfucker!” growled Great Dane. “How the fuck did you not. .”
“Let’s move on to plan B,” Macha interrupted: “Bring the jack.”
He checked the time, got into his car, and picked up the radio. I was close by, and very excited.
“You woke me up, Dad,” I managed to hear. “Is something wrong? Over.”
“Are you asleep, son? Do you copy? Over.”
“Yes, I copy. No, I’m waking up now. Did something bad happen? Tell me, Dad. Are you OK? Over.”
“I’m great, how are you? How was your day at school? Did you win the game? Over.”
“We tied one to one. And I almost scored a second goal. I headed a corner shot, dad. A header that hit the crossbar. . We would’ve won, Dad. Over.”
“Good man! In the rematch, that header will be a goal. Over.”
“You think that could happen? Over.”
“Sure, of course it could happen. Listen to me, Cristóbaclass="underline" Do you copy? Over.”
“Yes, Dad, I copy.”
“I want to congratulate you. And now you need to go back to sleep, OK?”
“But do you really think that’ll happen, Dad? Another corner shot the same way in the rematch, and I’ll be right there, Dad, and I’ll head the ball in?”
“Not likely, but yes, it could happen. The point is that in the next game you’ll score a goal. I’m sure of it. Now, go to sleep.”
“Hey, Dad, why’d you call me so late? Did something happen?”
“No. I just wanted to know how the game went, that’s all. And now, go back to sleep. Over.”
“Yeah, I’m going back to sleep now. Over.”
“Good night. Over and out.”
Great Dane was panting. His long, blond hair moved like ostrich feathers on a helmet. He snatched away the simple car jack that Indio Galdámez brought over, and with his giant hands he fitted it midway up between two bars in a window. When he turned the lever and put pressure on the bars, the jack let out a little metallic whine that was unsettling. Little by little the bars were buckling. Now Great Dane was smiling.
“Let’s see, Chico, put your head in.”
It didn’t fit.
“Just four or five more turns and we’re there,” Chico said.
“You’re sure you can get through there, Chico?” Great Dane asked him. “You sure?”
Chico Marín assented with his restless eyes, and Indio Galdámez put away the jack with the same calm with which he did everything. Chico traced a rectangle on the glass with the diamond-tipped glass cutter. Great Dane held up the suction cup. Macha and I watched, smoking. He pulled me farther away. He was serious and grim, even more than usual.
“You didn’t say anything about this to anyone from Analysis, right?”
“No, of course not. Not to them or anyone else.” I’m surprised. “Why do you ask?”
Great Dane removed the glass with the suction cup. Macha threw away the cigarette butt, which gleamed as it fell. He took hold of my shoulders.
“Don’t fail me,” he said, locking his terrible eyes on mine.
“Why?” I asked him. “Why are you trying to hurt me?”
“It’s just that we can’t fail. Not this time.”
“Why?”
“Because I violated procedure,” he said mockingly.
“When? Is this about the ‘Prince of Wales’?”
“Yes, well, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.” And, seriously: “This is my last mission. They demoted me. They fucked me. Fucking pencil-pushing, fat-ass, scared shitless generals!”
SIXTY-ONE
He didn’t wait for me to react. Without looking at anyone he gave the order to go in through the window, and he jumped through. Great Dane tried to go behind him, but his corpulent body wouldn’t fit. Chico Marín tried next. Great Dane let out another roar.
“Hurry up, shithead! Put your head and your ass through right away.”
Chico Marín was more frightened than ever and all the color had gone out of his face. Though he was short, he was solid and had a big head — a cube, as I’ve told you.
“Motherfucker!” shouted Great Dane, containing the shout in a whisper. He tapped Chico’s forehead with the calloused edge of his hand. Chico’s big, shaved head bounced against the bars of the window. A few inches lower and unleashed with Great Dane’s precision and strength, and that blow would be fatal.
“Come on, boss, don’t be like that,” Chico complained.
We heard a noise at the front door. According to plan B we would open it from inside. I slipped quickly between the bars behind Iris, who had drawn her formidable CZ. Outside, Great Dane, enraged, ordered Galdámez to put the car jack back in and widen the gap. The light of a streetlamp illuminated the living room of that old house. I stopped. I took cover behind the empire sofa, which was the closest thing to me. I made out some dark red plush armchairs, a big oval mirror with a gold frame hanging on the wall, which was papered in a light green color, I think; there were bronze lamps shaped like flowers affixed to the wall, a blurry painting of a hunting scene, an immense crystal chandelier that hung from the molded ceiling. . Then we heard a shout. A woman’s shout and a roar.
“Shit. Dogs.”
It’s Iris.
“Stupid motherfucker!”
It’s Great Dane. He and Indio Galdámez are still in the street, apparently.
“How could you possibly not mention the dog, you idiot?”
“There were no dogs here,” Indio apologizes.
“I gave you the order, shithead, to check every detail.”
“I carried out the order, but there weren’t any dogs. . At the house next door, yes, but. .”
“Dumbass! You didn’t realize they had a dog, Indio, mother-fucker. You didn’t realize, right? What’s in that head of yours? Sawdust and cat piss?”
Before we’d set out, Great Dane had explained to us that Bone slept in that house, plus two trained and armed bodyguards. Their alibis were driver and caretaker. The driver slept in the room next to Bone’s, at the end of the hall. The caretaker was in an exterior room, attached to the garage in the courtyard. A door connected the courtyard with the hallway that led to Bone’s room, and another door led to the kitchen. We saw them in the blueprints. There were those three and Bone’s mother. Her room was on the second floor. Plus the cook, who slept below in a room off the kitchen. Of dogs, no one said a word.
Behind the empire sofa, I pressed my face, I pressed my entire body to the floor. A gunshot rang out. Then another, then machine-gun fire from an AK. I saw Iris running. Something flew from her hand to the floor. A bright and violent light flashed and illuminated the enormous crystal chandelier and reflected in the big, gold-framed mirror of the living room. Then came the explosion with its deafening blast. The room filled with smoke. From that moment on everything was sudden, simultaneous, and impossible to follow. Every tenth of a second is a minute, every minute, an hour. The gunshots filled my ears and blotted out the world. I heard machine-gun fire and bits of plaster and molding falling, leaving the brick walls exposed; tables, lamps — if they were in fact lamps — blown to pieces, all very close by. The thunder of the bullets filled my ears until they felt as if they would explode. There was no room in my brain for that maddening jackhammer.