“Yes, Colonel.”
“I know you have a new girl, a Chinese girl. But that can wait. Be at home at ten and call me.”
Fucking colonel! Even he knows about it.
“Where do you want me to drop you off?”
“On Avenida Juárez, Colonel. I’m going home.”
“I’ll expect your call at ten. Don’t fail me and don’t leave your house. I might need you sooner.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
He paid four thousand pesos for the watch, then bought her a gold band, not a very thick one, because Marta has thin wrists.
“Would you like it gift-wrapped?”
“Yes, please, miss.”
“Birthday?”
“More like birth.”
“Oh, it’s for the mother of your grandchild. .”
The clerk smiled and wrapped the box in white tissue paper, then added a pink bow. I’m going to watch as she opens the box and tries it on. I don’t know if I should set it or wait till she’s wearing it. That way she’ll ask me what time it is. And at ten I’ll have to go see the colonel and before that, here on Dolores Street, I’ll go see about the dough. And then tomorrow, with what I get, I’ll buy Marta a fur coat. Unless by ten the colonel has grown a pair and manages to actually issue an order. Then Marta will be left alone again, waiting. Fucking colonel! And, what’ll I tell Marta? Wait, my dear, I’m just going to go kill a couple of people, I’ll be right back. I think I’m going to quit after this. I’ve got my little stash, and then, if Dolores Street works out. . For me and Marta. And then for her alone. I’ll have to ask the professor to write me a will. Fucking will! The money for Marta and the memory of all my faithful departed for my grave, right along with me.
He left the shop, walked a block, and turned down Dolores Street. He stopped in front of the address he’d been given. It was Liu’s shop — closed, bolted, and barred. He played it shrewd, that fucking Liu. So he’s mixed up in that Cuba business. Tonight I’ll give him what’s coming to him, for Marta and the dough. Damn right they warned me the Chinamen like me because I don’t see or hear or talk. Because I’m a dumbass, they should’ve said.
Santiago was in the restaurant.
“Mr. García, Mr. García!”
García entered and greeted him.
“You look for honorable Mr. Liu?”
“He’s not here?”
“No. He no open shop all day and this bad, very bad. You find something about Marta?”
“No.”
“I think. .”
“Where did Liu go?”
“I no know. I see he go out. Maybe to the Alameda, to the sunshine. You want I go look for him?”
“No, I’ll be back later.”
He left and took a taxi home. Fucking Liu! Maybe this business with Marta has really gotten to him. But it’s weird, because these Chinamen don’t care that much about these things. Or maybe he’s shaken up about the dough and the killings last night, maybe they were his buddies. Maybe he’s already gotten rid of the dough. Fucking Liu! Better to surprise him at night and scare the daylights out of him. If I tell him I’m bringing news of Marta, he’ll probably let me in. And he’s got no way of knowing that I was involved last night in the killing of his buddies. For sure he’ll let me in, even if as a cover-up. And then I’ll take the dough. All in fifty-dollar bills.
He arrived home at six in the afternoon. He put the box with the watch in his pocket and walked upstairs to his apartment. He opened the door. The sofa in the living room was covered with boxes and bags from Palacio de Hierro. On the table was a box with three ties in it. García smiled. Damn Marta! I told her to buy things for herself, not for me.
Without making any noise, on tiptoe, he walked over to the door to the bedroom. She must be sleeping. She hasn’t gotten used to the hours I keep. She’s going to say that I always come when she’s sleeping.
The door to the bedroom was ajar.
“Marta!”
Nobody answered. He took the box out of his pocket and pushed the door. She wasn’t in the bed. Maybe she’s in the bathroom, but there’re no sounds from there.
But Marta wasn’t in the bathroom. She was on the floor next to the bed, covered in blood, her legs folded up under her, her eyes wide open.
García approached slowly. He kneeled down. He took off his hat and dropped it. Then, with his fingers, he closed her eyes. He picked her up in his arms and put her on the bed. She hadn’t been dead long. He stretched out her legs and crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn’t bleeding anymore. He took out a clean sheet and covered her with it. A little bit of blood had trickled out of her mouth. He wiped it with his handkerchief. Then he folded the handkerchief neatly and put it back in his pocket. He picked up his hat and placed it on the dresser and placed the box with the watch on the nightstand. Still a little blood was trickling out of her mouth. He wiped it clean again with his handkerchief. He bent over and kissed her on the forehead. Then he covered her face with the sheet and sat down in the chair next to the bed.
His face was set. Like a bitter stone. His hands were crossed on his lap. His eyes began to burn from hatred.
Later, he got up and went into the living room. He gathered together all the things Marta had bought and put them in the closet, where he also put the watch. Then he went back and sat down next to the bed. There was time, lots of time. A while later, he uncovered Marta’s face. There was a spot of dried blood on the corner of her lips. He wiped it with his handkerchief, but there was another spot on her cheek. He moistened his handkerchief with some cologne and wiped off the spot. He sat down again.
He pressed his gun against his ribs with his arm. He kept sitting. There was still a lot of time.
At eight-thirty he picked up his hat and left. He carefully closed the door, without making any noise. He went to the garage, where he kept his car. He drove toward Reforma and Colonia Cuauhtémoc. He stopped in a coffee shop where there was a public telephone.
“Mr. del Valle, García here.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve found out something that might interest you. .”
“I thought you were no longer on the case.”
“This might interest you.”
“What is it?”
“We have to talk face-to-face. It’s very important.”
“I don’t have time. You know that tomorrow —”
“We have to talk, Mr. del Valle. Something’s come up, something we hadn’t figured on.”
“I’m telling you I don’t have time.”
“Do you want me to tell the Toad and Browning?”
“What?”
“Browning, the gringo you imported. And the Toad, from back home, Mr. del Valle. Or would you prefer I talk to General Miraflores?”
“I don’t understand. .”
“I think you sent a message to my house this afternoon, Mr. del Valle. I wasn’t there, but when I arrived, I understood the message.”
“Do you want money, García?”
“Maybe. But first we need to talk. And I don’t want to talk to the gringo or the Toad. I want to talk to you and General Miraflores.”
“Okay, fine. Do you know where I live?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a side door, a door only I use. It’s number 64, next to the large gate. Come in half an hour. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Good.”
“We’ll talk here, García.”
He hung up the phone. He rushed out and got into the car. Del Valle lived two blocks away. He located the door as he drove by, then parked the car half a block further on and walked back, then waited, hiding in the shadows. Now Marta is alone. She’s alone in the bed, alone with her death. I had never thought about that. Killing someone is sending them off to be by themselves, to be alone. They should’ve killed me, that’s what real men do. But they must have thought that one woman is just like any other. And one dead woman is just like the next. That’s what they must have thought. But it was Marta. And now she’s there alone, with her death. And I was sitting next to her, but she was alone. And I was alone. The two of us. Like a wake! Maybe I should’ve gotten one of those nuns who sit with the dead. But what would Marta want with a nun now? Fucking nun! Seeing as how you’re all alone with your death, you don’t need anybody.