“Gustavo? Gustavo who?”
“Gustavo,” I repeated. “He told me to meet him for a drink at this address.”
Clearly, this guy wasn’t the owner of the house.
“Hey, Raúl, do you know someone called Gustavo?” he shouted. But the others paid no attention to him. They were laughing, toasting each other, all talking at once. Finally a stocky, medium-sized guy got up and came to the door.
“He says Gustavo invited him.”
“Gustavo who?”
The other man shrugged his shoulders. No one here knew anybody called Gustavo. I had the wrong address and I should leave. They closed the door in my face. I knocked again. Raúl opened the door. He stood on the threshold, menacing.
“What the hell do you want?”
I took another sip and nodded towards the inside of the house.
“Are you Don Raúl Pineda?” I asked.
He seemed confused and turned to look over at his buddies.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he said. “Get to the point. I’m busy here.”
“I have some letters,” I mumbled. “Letters sent by Mrs. Aurora Pineda to Don Jacinto Bustillo, both deceased, incidentally. I wanted to know if you were interested. .”
His face changed. Without a word, he grabbed me by the lapels and hauled me over to the table where the others were drinking. They jumped up and took out their guns.
“Get this motherfucker!” He screamed, enraged.
They picked me up by the arms and started beating me. “No one fucking blackmails me!” he shouted in between kicks and punches. They dropped me on the floor, beaten but still conscious. Raúl grabbed my hair, dragged me over to the door and kicked me out onto the street. “Next time I kill you, you piece of shit!” He came over again and booted me in the ribs.
I stayed there, lying on the street, my face swollen and bloody, unable to breathe or move. I moaned and spit out a couple of teeth. I managed to get on my hands and knees to vomit. Everything was spinning. Finally, I got up, stumbling and balancing myself against trees, walls, and cars. I passed groups of people who moved away from me, whispering as I walked by. I needed a drink but my bottle had dropped when he’d dragged me into the house. I left the neighbourhood. I was disoriented. I staggered to one of those gas stations with a supermarket attached to it and an enormous parking lot. It was full of cars and teenagers drinking and shouting over the roar of their sound systems. I looked for a faucet to drink some water and splash my face. I lay down on some grass to rest when a smiling, drunk fat guy came over to piss next to me and decided to take advantage of my unfortunate condition.
“Let’s see if you grow some branches,” he said, laughing as he doused me with his steaming piss.
“You shit,” I said, and tried to get up.
“What did you say!” he yelled. He came closer and aimed the stream in my face. I tried to cover myself with my hands. Furious, he shook it off, spit at me and kicked me a few times. I rolled backwards, even though my whole body ached. I hobbled over to a side street, wiping my face with my shirt, and headed down the road that would lead me back to my yellow Chevrolet. I climbed into the car, completely shattered, and looked for more rum. Without even turning on the flashlight, I let my body fall, hoping to sleep until the next day. But Beti was awake.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
I told her I’d gone to find Don Jacinto’s mistress’s husband, that he’d beaten me to a pulp and later, at a gas station, a fat guy had pissed on me. She was indignant. How could I have gone to find that man without taking them? I didn’t know what to say. I just wanted to rest. The other three were awake now and they pressed for more details. I told them about my ordeal, but as I talked, my pain and exhaustion turned into rage. I hadn’t even been able to use my pocketknife. Assholes.
“Let’s go settle the score with those people,” Carmela said decisively. She didn’t want to stop and discuss it and the others were just as riled up.
I got on the stool, took the cardboard off the windshield and took off towards the gas station. I stopped the car at the entrance of the parking lot. I opened the car door and told them the fat guy was with that group over there. I took another swig of rum and lit a cigarette. It was a Friday night and the fun was about to begin. I’d never seen the ladies so furious. Carmela did a somersault and coiled herself around the fat guy’s neck so hard she nearly took his head off. The other three bit him before turning on his friends. The terror spread instantly. Some people were rushing into their cars; others were running to hide in the supermarket. Many didn’t even know what had caused the stampede. I took out my pocketknife and cleaned the dirt out from under my fingernails. In all the confusion, several cars collided trying to escape. A long-haired guy who’d been bitten managed to climb into his brand-new car and tear out at full speed, but lost control and smashed into the gas pumps. First there was a series of small explosions. Then there was a roar so loud I was afraid the explosion would fry the Chevrolet. The ladies scrambled inside, terrified by the fire. I put the car in reverse and managed to get out of the chaos. We headed to Raúl Pineda’s house. Slowly, the ladies regained their composure. I parked in the entrance of the driveway.
“Be careful. These guys have guns,” I warned before turning off the car. Loli turned and looked at me doubtfully. “All four of you don’t have to go,” I said. I wanted a drink, but I’d already finished all the rum that was left. We got out. None of the ladies stayed behind. The groups of people had already broken up. There were only a few couples here and there in the driveways, talking. I told them to make sure no one saw them; otherwise, there’d be such a fuss the men inside would escape.
I rang the bell and moved to the side of the door. One of the men opened it without asking who was there. Beti bit his hand. In a fraction of a second, the four of them threw themselves at him and all the people inside, who’d barely got to their feet. They were terrified, perhaps thinking that this was all a hallucination caused by too much mixing of booze and marijuana. I peeked inside, but I didn’t see Raúl among the convulsing bodies. He must have been in the bathroom. He’d probably barricaded himself there, thinking that a bunch of his enemies had attacked the house. I stealthily went inside and closed the door behind me. I grabbed all the bottles that were on the table, and was lucky enough to find several bags of marijuana and cocaine there, too. The silence was intense. The men couldn’t complain; their tongues were too stiff. All they could do was foam at the mouth. The ladies looked at me questioningly.
“Raúl is missing,” I mouthed, pointing at what I thought was the bathroom door. The ladies went into formation, ready to attack. I told them to keep quiet and not move their tails, especially Valentina. I hid under the table, because I knew Raúl wouldn’t come out without a gun. I took a big sip of rum and waited. Over a minute passed. The lock on the door started to turn very slowly, very carefully. But Valentina couldn’t contain herself. Alerted by her hissing, he came out shooting, running towards the back bedroom. The blasts frightened the ladies. A shot blew Valentina’s head apart.
“Help!” Raúl managed to yell just seconds before Carmela flew onto his neck. He fired again, but Beti caught his wrist. I took his gun, stuck it under my shirt and ran to the door. Loli stopped, seemingly paralyzed in front of Valentina’s corpse. She started to cry uncontrollably.
“Let’s go!” I yelled.
When I got to the driveway, carrying Valentina’s destroyed remains, several neighbours were peeking out through their windows and half-opened doors, but they disappeared as soon as they saw the other three ladies slithering behind me. We got to the yellow Chevrolet and left, heads bowed in sadness. The execution of Raúl Pineda was worth nothing compared to the death of our most beloved and beautiful Valentina.