Counterfeit, p.18
Counterfeit, page 18
Jota sighed, sat down, and took out a cigarette.
“You can’t smoke in here.”
Jota sighed harder and went outside.
Carlos, Laura’s uncle, walked into his dead brother’s shop and got the fright of his life. She was sitting waiting for him, surrounded by piles of paperwork.
“Laura! Damn it. What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”
She smiled darkly at him.
“What?”
“Hello, Uncle. I’ve been doing some paperwork, but I haven’t had time to tidy up yet.”
“Are you all right? What’s going on?”
“Oh, nothing. How are you?”
“I don’t understand. What’s that on your face? You’re not well. I’m calling your mother.”
Laura pointed to the original receipt for the clock and said, “Is this a sales receipt?”
“Stay there—I’m calling your mother.”
“Tell me! Is this a sales receipt?”
Her uncle froze. He’d never seen his niece act like this. “I don’t know. I suppose so.”
“Yes, you do! You noted it down here! Sold!”
“Yes, you’re right. I wrote it down.”
“What does it mean?”
“Nothing. I’m going through the whole archive—it’s huge. You know how your father worked.”
“No, I don’t. I never worked with him. But you did, for years.”
“Well, I’ve been trying to inventory all the remaining stock.”
“Did he sell this clock five years ago?”
“How should I know?”
“Look at this: it’s the clock in his office.”
“Yes, it is. So? He must have taken the photo for a sale or for his inventory.”
“Five years ago?”
“I guess.”
“That’s what’s thrown me all this time. I’ve been staring at this photo for two days, and I couldn’t work out why. But you know what? Now I have. Because of the lamp behind it. That shitty little lamp. My dad showed it to me less than a year ago because he was proud of his find. I didn’t give a shit. I’d forgotten all about it, but now I know. This photo wasn’t taken five years ago. It was taken a month ago. The clock was always here, and now you’ve sold it. God knows to whom.”
“Your father stored a few things in a warehouse—he kept some of the stock there because it was safer or something. It was a secret he kept with someone he knew. No one knew he used it, not even the owner of the warehouse. I knew about it from when we worked together.”
“And when he moved things there, he issued a receipt.”
“Of course, to keep track. That’s why there wasn’t a sales price. He just wrote W for warehouse.”
“He never sold the clock.”
“No, it was in the warehouse.”
“There never was a buyer. No one was worried about being found—we’ve been chasing a mirage this whole time. He just wanted to sell it. And now you and your buddy have sold it like it was any old piece.”
“Yes, of course. I don’t know what . . .”
“You sold the clock even though you knew that it was why your brother had been killed!”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do! You know everyone! You know very well! You just wanted to get rid of everything so you could look the other way!”
“That’s not true.”
“He was your brother, but more importantly he was my dad. I want the address of the warehouse.”
Jota finished a cigarette in his car and dropped the butt next to the other five. He checked his watch again, annoyed to be wasting time. He had no idea if Rafa would come or not. But he had to—he couldn’t leave merchandise in customs, or it might get returned. Was he scared enough to cut out on a deal? That didn’t seem likely, not even in these circumstances. Maybe there was another option Jota hadn’t taken into account. By way of an answer, a figure appeared. Jota’s eyes burned: Gabriel, Rafa’s assistant, his face still bruised from the beating Jota had given him. Jota got out of his car and stood in his way. When Gabriel saw him, he tried to turn and run, but he still couldn’t move very fast. Jota jumped on his back, and they both fell to the ground. Then he turned Gabriel over and hit him twice in the face, and then he covered Gabriel’s mouth and started to bark orders.
“Tell me where Rafael is. I won’t ask twice.”
Gabriel sized up his threatening visage and nodded. Jota took his hand away.
“He called me this morning to tell me to pick up an order. I saw him for a second to get the paperwork—here, I have it with me.”
“Why? Where did he go?”
“I thought you knew. He said he had a meeting with you and Xavi, and then they’d be taking a bus, leaving their cars behind. He was going to contact me in a few days. Then this morning he called to say that there’d been a change of plans. He couldn’t come to pick up the order today, so I had to come instead. That’s all he told me.”
“Xavi’s dead. He was killed a few hours ago. Where was Rafa going—when did he leave?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about this. He said he’d be taking a bus because it was a good way to get away incognito, but I don’t know when or where he was going. I only saw him an hour ago. He probably hasn’t left yet.”
Jota hid Gabriel’s car at one end of the lot. Then he bound and gagged Gabriel in his seat. Gabriel meekly allowed himself to be tied up, offering no resistance. Jota took his phone.
“Don’t try to escape. I’ll be back for you.”
Jota’s car roared off toward the bus station. The ticket counter was sixty feet long and milling with travelers of all kinds. Jota went to look at the departures board to check the different destinations. Then he walked around the entire station, peering at faces and bodies. He went down to the platforms and searched the buses through the windows. Then he went back up and walked through the stores and restaurant. It was very possible that he’d missed him. He did a second tour of the ticket offices and crowds. Then he went back to the shopping area. Suddenly, he saw Rafa in a candy store, carrying a suitcase. Jota waited patiently for him to come out and came up behind him. He put an arm around him, the point of his knife discreetly pressed against Rafa’s flesh.
“Hello, Rafa. I know you weren’t expecting me, but here I am. Let’s have a little chat before you leave. I have absolutely no problem cutting a chunk into your back. It wouldn’t be fatal, but I doubt you’ll be hard to find in hospital.”
Rafa didn’t answer. They walked together down a narrow corridor, past a cleaning cart. Then they went down to a platform and slipped into an empty bathroom. Jota locked the door from the inside. He knocked Rafa down and then lifted him up again. Rafa looked at him in surprise.
“Are you with them? Are you going to kill me?”
“Who are they?”
“How should I know?”
“Then what do you know? What was Xavi going to tell me? Were you going to meet him at seven?”
“No. He was going to meet you alone. We didn’t know what you were planning. If you came to an agreement, he was going to call me to come meet up. If I didn’t get a call from him, we’d each go our separate ways. We wouldn’t know where the other was going. But he was sure you’d play ball, so I was surprised when he didn’t call. I ignored what we’d said and called him. When he didn’t answer, I went to his apartment. I saw what happened.”
“And you decided to run away.”
“I wasn’t planning on going. I thought we were safe. Xavi was the one who wanted to leave by bus—it was the easiest way to escape without anyone knowing. I went along with him because I didn’t think it’d be necessary. When I got to his apartment, I realized that I really did have to disappear. I thought you were dead too.”
“You gave him my phone number.”
“Of course. When you broke into his apartment, he thought that they’d found him, but when he gave me a description, I knew it was you. He thought you were his last chance. He knew that after the old man, he was the only one left.”
“So why were you safe?”
“Because otherwise I’d have been killed the day after Diego. You’ve come because of that, haven’t you? To find out why.”
“Yes.”
“It all began with the clock you were looking for, our clock, the one Diego sold.”
“How did you know about it?”
“Because I got it for him five years ago. No one ever mentioned it again. Then you came along like a bull in a china shop, ransacking all the different suppliers for a worthless clock.”
“How did he find out that I was looking for it?”
“I found out. It was your clock man. He had the photo on his workbench. I went to pick up a job and saw it. I recognized it immediately. You know the old man—he tried to play dumb, but I got him to spill his guts in about ten minutes. You never knew who to trust. I didn’t like what I heard, so I went to talk to Diego. He didn’t care about the clock; he just wanted to screw you. He said that he could get it without any trouble and offered to cut me in if I could track down your client. I told him that I wasn’t interested.”
“Yeah, you were too honest. Don’t give me that shit.”
“You can believe whatever you like, but I never heard anything more about it. I didn’t want anything to do with it. You think if I’d been involved, Diego would have had to send Raul to get his information? Diego didn’t know how to do that kind of thing. I charged a commission for the information and forgot all about it.”
“Why?”
“Because I had the clock once, and I don’t ever want to see it again.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From a house in the country.”
“The kind you used to burgle.”
“I didn’t burgle; I did deals.”
“Yeah, like you always do.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I haven’t done that kind of thing for a long time.”
“Go on.”
“It was an easy job. The information came from a security guard: the house didn’t have any security systems, and there was plenty of money inside. It was going to be empty that weekend. I called Xavi, but our usual guys weren’t available that weekend. He found other people, two professionals. But the information turned out to be shit, and everything went wrong. There wasn’t anything of value in the house, and it wasn’t empty. The owners were still there, an old couple. While we were going through the living room, the other two guys went up to the bedrooms and found them. They weren’t professionals—they were a pair of fucked-up drug addicts looking for trouble. We heard what they were doing. By the time we got there, they’d killed them. We ran the hell out of there and never saw them again.”
“Yeah, yeah, stop. You’re bringing tears to my eyes.”
“It wasn’t normal. You should have seen . . . they were sick. I never did another break-in. I don’t know if Xavi did, but I didn’t. The lot was worthless. It was so easy to trace.”
“And this wasn’t just a robbery.”
“Right, it was a double murder. We split the lot as usual: Xavi got one half, and I got the other. He sold his to the old man, and I sold mine to Diego. He never cared where the lots came from. I got the clock. It was just a coincidence. Diego decided to store it away until it was safe. I didn’t see it again until the photograph at your clock man’s shop. It was a shock. It reminded me of a horrible experience.”
“So you tell Diego, and he decides to go get the clock. And they get him.”
“Yeah. Right from the start, I knew there was a connection, but I didn’t want to get involved.”
“Is there any chance it was worth more than you thought?”
“Huh, like a hidden jewel? You tell me. You’re the one looking for it.”
“I’m not anymore.”
“Oh, I’m so pleased,” Rafa said sarcastically. “Let’s tell Xavi. It’ll be a big help to him. This isn’t about what the clock is worth—forget it. There’s no hidden secrets. I’ve seen it. I’ve held it in my hands. At first I thought that Diego had a problem with the current owner, but for some other reason, not the clock. Maybe something related to where it came from . . . or Raul . . . maybe he tried to steal it or something, but that couldn’t be right either. If it had been worth something or had some connection to where it is now, I would have followed right after Diego.”
“If they knew where it came from . . .”
“Of course, so as the days went by, I knew I was safe. No one was looking for me, and I didn’t give them any reason to. But then they got the old man. It made no sense: the old man didn’t have anything to do with the clock. Why kill him and not me? Xavi thought he was in danger, and so did I. If they weren’t following me, he had nothing to fear either. Obviously, I was wrong.”
“Maybe it was the other robbers?”
“Why? Plus, they didn’t know Diego or the old man. They’d have killed us first. You’re not seeing it, Jota, just like I didn’t want to admit it until this morning. Xavi was very smart. He did see it: they got them, our ‘partners,’ first. They’re both dead: one a while ago as he was trying to steal a car. The other just a couple of months ago. They slit his throat in the middle of the street. They’d killed them before you started looking for anything. I didn’t want to believe it, but Xavi was right. There was a list. It was just a list, and we were last on it.”
“So you don’t think it has anything to do with the clock? What else did Xavi know that might help me? Why did he think that I’d be able to help you?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter now. You found me, and they will too. Open your eyes: nobody else is left. They’ll kill me and maybe you next. There’s no one else, Jota. No one.”
“You’re wrong. There is somebody. I need to undo a path I should have undone a while ago instead of heading blindly forward like an idiot. You could come back with me and try to get to the bottom of this.”
“Thank you, Jota, but I want to take my last chance. They might well be here already. They’ve probably found us.”
Jota took note of these words as he came out of the bathroom. He went out of the station, scanning his surroundings. Had they found him? Could they have followed him from Xavi’s apartment? He couldn’t see the blond man watching from an upper floor, letting him go while he stayed near the bathroom where Rafa had been left sitting on the floor, staring straight ahead.
Laura, covered in sweat and dust, walked past several warehouses. She went over to a man in work overalls.
“Excuse me, can you tell me where the Torres antiques warehouse is?”
“Over there, on Yunque Street. It’s the third one. The shop is the first, and the biggest one is the warehouse.”
Fran, Torres’s foreman, was cleaning his face after going through the most recent delivery of merchandise. A worker came over.
“Boss, there’s a girl looking for you.”
He turned around in surprise and recognized Laura immediately. “Hello, you’re Diego’s daughter. Who are you looking for?”
“You. You’re Fran, aren’t you? My uncle told me about you. I’ve come for something that belongs to me.”
“Listen, I know you’re going through a hard time—”
“I’m seeing this through to the end. Anything you don’t give me now, I’ll report to the police as stolen.”
“If you’ve come to threaten me, there’s the door.”
“Fine. I’ll be back.” She turned around and walked off decisively without looking back.
He watched her go but called out before she got to the door. “Wait! How do you know I have what you’re looking for?”
Laura took out a photo of the clock. “You lied to Jota, didn’t you? I know that too.”
“Come with me.”
He led her into the back, where there was a hallway lined by small rooms. “Your father did business with me for years. He kept things here that he needed hidden for a while, for various different reasons. It was a deal we had; no one else knew about it.”
“Stolen things?”
“Not just that. They call them ‘stained.’ They’re problematic pieces. A few weeks ago he came to get back a piece he’d had in the warehouse for years.”
“The clock.”
As they spoke, they went into one of the rooms. Fran unlocked a chain, went in alone, and came back out with a box.
“Here.”
It was the clock, the one from Jota’s photograph, the one from Raul’s photograph. A chunk of metal that had led to the deaths of who knew how many people. Her father had had it all this time, with it only ever leaving the warehouse for a stupid photo.
“Why did he bring it back?”
“Because he wanted to keep it here, I suppose. I don’t ask questions.”
“Is it worth much?”
“No. Take it.”
Laura held the clock in her hands and waited for the sign-off.
“Do you know why I’m giving it to you?”
“So I won’t report you.”
“Give me the photograph.”
She handed it to him, and he tore it up, putting the pieces in his pocket.
“Report what you like. I’ve helped you. I expect the same of you. You were never here; we never met. Say what you like about the clock, that your father kept it in the basement maybe, but never tell Jota about this. He must never know that I hid it from him. That’s my only condition.”
Laura just nodded.
“So I have your word. Now go.”
Laura was sitting at a suburban bus stop looking at the clock. She took a card out of her pocket and made a call.
Clara Morgades was looking through some bills when her internal line buzzed.
“Yes?”
“Diego Blanco’s daughter on the phone.”
The name was a shock. It took her a few moments to react. “Did you say Diego Blanco?”
“Yes, she says she’s his daughter, Laura. I don’t know her.”
“Put her through.”
Laura heard the call get passed on.
“Hello?”
“Is this Clara Morgades?”
