Counterfeit, p.13
Counterfeit, page 13
“Hello! Are you hungry? I made a pasta salad. How was your day? Did you find anything out?”
“No, it’s still too soon to expect anything. How’s your face?”
“Well, it doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s annoying though; my eye was throbbing this morning. It was horrible, but it’s stopped now.”
“It doesn’t seem serious, but maybe you should see a doctor.”
“What are you planning to do with me?”
“I don’t know.”
Jota collapsed onto the sofa. He was acting strange, distant, lost in thought.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s been a long day.”
For a moment she was afraid, but she didn’t know of what—maybe being left alone or losing his trust. Or perhaps she was just afraid of going outside.
“You don’t believe me, do you? You haven’t found any evidence, and you’re worried about me staying here.”
“Yes, I am worried. But I believe you.”
“If you talk to your friend Raul, I’m sure that—”
“I won’t be able to talk to him. Rodrigo just called. He wanted me to come to his office right away, but I’ve put him off until tomorrow morning so I can think about what to do with you.”
“Is he dead?”
“Apparently.”
“Raul knew they were looking for him.”
“So?”
“What about me?”
“That’s the question. We should go to see Rodrigo. They can protect you better than I can.”
“So why don’t I just go now and leave you in peace? Call the police. I’ll report the attack, and you’ll never see me again.”
“You don’t understand. These people are professional killers. I can’t protect you from them. If I talk to Rodrigo tomorrow, it’ll be different from filing a report. He can take care of you right away. You’ll be safe.”
“What if you’re wrong? He’s your friend, but he doesn’t know me. What’s he going to do to protect me? Nobody knows that I’m here.”
“For now,” Jota said. “I need to think things through. For the moment take this. It’s not much, but you should take it anyway.” Jota handed her a small cylinder not much larger than a tube of lipstick. “Pepper spray. You won’t need it here, but keep it in your bag. If you ever have to use it, it’ll give you time to get away, no more than that. I’ll feel better knowing you have it.”
Laura thanked him, but she had no idea what to do with it. They spoke some more about unimportant things, shared ideas, learning how to relax and be in the same space together. Time passed slowly, and Jota knew that the sense of calm this girl induced in him would last only a few days. It was a mirage, but he couldn’t resist it. He knew that he wouldn’t tell Rodrigo about her, and maybe the real reason for that had nothing to do with her at all. Maybe he was being selfish in wanting to keep her close by.
The next morning Jota went to meet Rodrigo at his office. Rodrigo didn’t greet Jota as he came in but let him sit down in silence, his usual tactic. Jota knew it well. Neither of them spoke. Where many of those who were invited into this office would have been unnerved, it just told Jota that this wasn’t a friendly invitation. He’d need to stay on his toes. After a lengthy period of artificial tension, he spoke.
“So what?”
“Tell me that this has nothing to do with you.”
“This has nothing to do with me.”
“I want you to tell me that this has nothing to do with you, and I want it to be true.”
“Fuck, it’s true. I came to hear what you had to say.”
“Why did you visit Diego?”
“I thought you’d called me as a friend, not to interrogate me.”
“So why aren’t you answering me like a friend?”
“Because I have nothing to say to the police captain. If this is a formal interrogation, we both know that there are proper channels.”
“So tell me that you’re not hiding anything.”
“You know that I hide things, but they have nothing to do with your investigation. I’m saying that as a friend.”
Rodrigo went silent again. Jota could sense how agitated he was. Rodrigo knew Jota’s limits, and he wasn’t going to violate them. In the end, he was the first to put his cards on the table.
“It’s an organized group, Jota. Raul and Diego were killed by the same gang. They’re professionals. You know that as well as I do.”
“You’re wrong. I don’t know anything.”
“I can include your name in my report to the prosecutor. With your record, they’ll question you.”
“You don’t scare me. I paid my dues a long time ago. I don’t have anything to worry about.”
“This is serious. I don’t know what’s going on or who else might be at risk, but they’re not done yet. You need to keep me in the loop. This is me asking, not the police captain.”
“Are you going to stop them? Will they be arrested?”
“Who? I need you to help me.”
“I’ll say it again. I don’t know anything, and that’s true. You just told me that it’s a gang.”
“It might be the Mafia, or maybe they’re hired killers. All I know is that you had some trouble with Diego just before all this began.”
“Diego was trying to muscle in on a commission. He went through Raul, and I went to warn him off. But that doesn’t mean anything. He used the junkie for all his dirty tricks; it was just business as usual.”
“What was your commission?”
“I’ll happily give you the information, client included. It was an ordinary recovery job. It’s just an unfortunate coincidence. I didn’t see Diego or Raul again. If it had something to do with my job, they’d have got rid of me too.”
“But you’re a survivor.”
“You think too much of me.”
“How much are you hiding?”
“Enough for my purposes, nothing of use to you.”
Rodrigo stood up and stared at him, hard. Jota knew that he was the police captain again. The fragile balance between them was maintained.
“I don’t want your name to come up again, not while this case is open.”
“Neither do I, I can assure you.”
Jota gave Rodrigo Morgades’s contact information. He thought the shock of a visit from the police was perfect payback for her screwing up the deal. Rodrigo and his men’s intrusion into her sacrosanct space would be most unwelcome. And she’d have to give them her client’s name. If there was any joy to be had down that path, Rodrigo would find it, and Jota knew that he’d share it with him.
After leaving the police station, Jota headed straight for Raul’s apartment. He knew that they’d be getting a warrant to search it, if they hadn’t already, and he chided himself for not going as soon as he heard the news. He was being slow and clumsy. He was out of practice. His instincts weren’t as sharp as they used to be, and now he’d wasted valuable time. He’d missed obvious clues about what was happening and maybe who was behind it all. Jota felt like an amateur, and any consequences of that would be on his head. It wasn’t just this: he’d crossed a line, and now he’d need a long-term strategy to cover himself. Who might want him dead? The fire gleamed in the darkness. Jota was afraid to get any closer, but something inside him had been awakened. He was attracted to the flames like a moth heading for its own destruction.
He rang the doorbell for several minutes, but no one came to open up. He could hear clearly that the television was on, but he knew that Raul’s mother wasn’t getting up. He kept on ringing until he finally heard her stand and move toward the door. She opened it and looked out, but he realized that she wasn’t seeing him. Her face was dirty, her eyes sticky with sleep, and she was in a nightgown. He’d never seen her like that. Doña Asunción had endured a life of tragedy; her dignity had been her only defense. Her alcoholic husband had left her several times, but she’d supported him, working as a cleaning lady until he’d left for good. Drugs had already taken one of her sons; Raul, the younger one, had been hooked and headed toward the same fate until she’d intervened. She, along with Raul’s innate instinct for survival, had gotten him through it, and he’d stayed to keep her company, giving her all the love he was capable of. She’d endured all this with great dignity and stoicism; her home had always been neat and tidy, and she’d always been ready for company even if she spent most of her time alone in front of the television. She’d always been a lady, even when her son stole her appliances to sell, but now she’d given up. Doña Asunción was like a ghost who’d lost touch with reality. Once the door was open, she went back to the television without a word. Jota said hello, and she nodded a few times, as though to show that she knew he was there. Maybe even thanking him for coming. She must have been the first to get the news, perhaps days ago, perhaps on the very night that Laura had come to see him. After all these years struggling against the pain and misery, Doña Asunción had lost the battle. She’d given up.
“Why are you on your own?” he asked. How could they have left her alone? he wondered. The neighborhood women may have mocked her behind her back because of her sons, but they’d always come to visit. Now they’d abandoned her. This is a bestial society, Jota thought. They’ve left her alone because they know that she’s going to die. “Don’t you have any family you can visit? You need to get out of here.”
She looked up gratefully and smiled with resignation. It was what she’d been taught ever since she was a girl: to be resigned to her fate. Women of her generation had been led down the path of docility, and now here she was, about to lose everything. Jota found himself cleaning up dirty dishes, taking her to the bathroom to wash her face, and pushing her into the bedroom to get dressed. When she came back out, she looked just as bereft but a little more human. There was nothing else Jota could do; he’d leave, and she’d sit back down and let herself crumble away. He felt impotent.
“I need to look through Raul’s things.”
The woman didn’t say a word, but she nodded at everything he said, her eyes still on the TV program, as though it would back her up. The apartment was dark, small, and very depressing. He went into Raul’s bedroom. The bed was unmade and covered in magazines and detritus, as though he’d only just left. Jota inspected everything he found—loose pieces of paper, half-empty address books, a couple of folders—but there was nothing useful. He went back into the living room.
“I’ll find them, Doña Asunción. I’ll find the people who did it.”
Raul’s mother suddenly seemed to perk up. She turned to him. Her voice was dull and neutral. “And what good would that do?”
Before continuing his sleuthing, Jota allowed himself a break to deal with some unfinished business. After a long journey he got to the old man’s watch shop. His elderly friend was beaming. Jota chuckled at his bad luck.
“Tell me that for the first time in your life, you’re late.”
The old man turned around to pick up something, maintaining his smile. “Ha ha. Here it is . . . you’ll see . . . we’re very happy with this. I told you that I had something special. We’ve done some great work. It’s going to be more expensive, but you won’t regret it.”
The clock looked exactly as it had in the photograph: the embossed maker’s mark, the faded coloring, the rust. The gentleman motioned to him to be quiet for a moment and pointed, cupping his ear: the movement was emitting the sonorous ticktock of a century-old clock. It almost certainly ran slow, just as it should. He looked at Jota with glee, genuinely proud of his work.
Adolfo seemed amused by the turn of events, even though it meant losing his share. The work had been incredible. The old man hadn’t duplicated a movement so perfectly in years; even a seasoned professional would have accepted it without a second glance. In spite of everything, he tried to look on the bright side: the challenge had invigorated everyone. They’d been lying dormant for too long. Jota thought this was all very well, but he no longer cared about the clock. He’d broken even on the deal, and now his thoughts strayed elsewhere.
After he examined the piece, Adolfo’s voice grew grave. “So Raul’s gone.”
“I went to see his mother. She’s lost her mind.”
“She’s had to put up with too much in her life.”
“I didn’t find anything.”
“That was only to be expected. The neighborhood’s in uproar; people are nervous.”
“It seems that someone’s poked a hornet’s nest.”
“Yeah, and you’re sitting too close to the action. As usual.”
“Are you going to lecture me too?”
“No, but this isn’t a game anymore. What is there for us to gain? Why go on asking questions? You won’t get to sell it, and Diego isn’t going to steal anything from you now. Neither is poor Raul.”
“I don’t know what’s at stake. Or whether I’ll be next. That’s reason enough.”
“I know all this reminds you of what happened before. For me, too, and that’s what worries me. We’re not the men we were, Jota, and we haven’t got any more years to waste. I have a family and two daughters who depend on me. I can’t be following you everywhere you want to go.”
Jota noticed a slight tic from his friend, which worried him. “How are things with Miriam?”
“Well . . . you know how it is. She’s been irritable the past few days. I need to spend more time with her and the kids. This isn’t what we do anymore, Jota.”
“No, it’s not like it was back then. Not even close. But this time I need to get to the bottom of it, whatever it takes. You can walk away if you want.”
“Of course that’s what I want, but you know I won’t. Raul was hiding in an empty house on Calle Olvidados. It wasn’t hard to get that information. If they really were looking for him, I can’t understand why it took them so long.”
“Have you been to see it?”
“No, I thought it might be a good idea to see Pup, Raul’s friend, first. He found it for him. He must know something.”
“Know something that he’ll gladly sell. I’ll go see him. Are you going to search the apartment?”
“Either this afternoon or early tomorrow morning.”
At lunchtime, the streets started to empty. Pup was dressed in the kinky but shabby style of the 1980s. His body was covered in scars and tattoos, and one of his arms was in a sling. He was headed out of the park, on his way home. He slipped into an alley in his habitual furtive manner and bumped into an unsmiling Jota.
“Hello, Pup. What a surprise. On your way to lunch?”
“N-no. Listen, I’m in a hurry.”
Jota wasn’t in the mood to waste time. He grabbed Pup’s arm and twisted it without even looking at him. The man howled in pain.
“So am I. So tell me who you sold out Raul to, and I’ll leave you alone.”
“Ow! Ooooowww! I don’t know anything—I promise!”
“You knew I was coming, or else you wouldn’t have been acting so shifty.”
He pushed Pup to the ground and pulled his arm behind his back. There was a slight click, and the man started to scream.
“Ooow! Aaaaaaah! No, no, no, no! Raul asked me to hide him, so I took him somewhere, but they must have followed him. A man came to see me. He was bad—he looked like a bastard. He was blond, very big. I told him that I didn’t know what he was talking about, and he broke my fingers. Please stop—it hurts. I had to tell him where Raul was, but he didn’t care because they knew that. He said that if he got away, if they lost him even for a second, he’d kill me on the spot. It was my job to make sure that he didn’t escape. And that was it. I never saw him again. He just told me to make sure that Raul slept there, and the night he went missing, I was scared because I thought he’d escaped without my noticing, and they’d kill me. But then, when they found him, I realized that they’d killed him. I never saw him again. I promise that’s all I know.”
“You didn’t see their car, anything out of the ordinary? Nothing else you want to tell me?”
“I don’t know. He had a black Ford Focus; that’s all I know. Nothing else, I swear. Let me go, please—it hurts.”
Jota let up, satisfied that Pup had nothing left to say. Another poor bastard who’d sold out a guy who was supposedly his friend. He didn’t even have the decency to feel guilty about it, preoccupied as he was by his own mangy survival. That had been Raul’s world, the life they lived.
Jota returned to his apartment with the clock, which he’d already forgotten about. His head was filled with unanswered questions: If they knew where he was, why not kill Raul beforehand? Why wait for Laura when she had nothing to do with it? They were looking for someone else, and they had expected to find them that night. But he was the only one who might have gone. Unless there was someone else, someone who’d been warned and was in hiding. For the moment it didn’t matter; it was just useless speculation. He was groping around in the dark.
Laura was both curious about and repelled by the clock. At first it made her feel physically sick to see it, and she started to gag as though it were a festering wound on her father’s body. Then she began to admire Jota’s skill as a forger. Aware of her fragile state, he managed to distract her with a quick account of how he’d done it. The clock continued its weary ticktock on the table as Jota’s face was lost in a cloud of cigarette smoke.
“It looks just the same as the photo. But what good is it to you now?”
“Yesterday it was worth eight thousand euros; now I don’t know.”
Laura giggled a little for the first time in what felt like a long time. “I’m sorry—do you mind me laughing?”
He shrugged and took a long drag on his cigarette.
“I know how much you’ve done for me over the past few days. I want to thank you. I acted like an idiot when I first arrived. I’m sorry for reacting like that when you said you were going to call the police. I ruined your deal.”
