There was no one left. I went back to the Chevrolet. But in that instant, two dogs who must have hidden when they heard the first shot appeared. Loli climbed into the car as if she were being chased by the devil himself. Beti and Carmela turned to face them. The dogs growled menacingly and the ladies hissed, their heads raised and their tongues out. I was afraid this would end badly. I told them it would be best if they got in the car. My attempt to use this house as a hiding place had failed; with so many shots fired, more than one neighbour would have called the police. I shot one of the dogs. The other one ran off. I reached into the Mercedes to open the iron gate with the remote control. We took off for the city to make sure Deputy Commissioner Handal didn’t catch us in the upper part of the volcano.
“Relax, it’s over now,” I said to Loli. I could see she was still frightened.
“I hate those animals,” she said.
I lit a cigarette.
“They’re not that bad,” said Beti.
“We could’ve finished them off,” mumbled Carmela, and looked at me reproachfully, as though I’d forced them to get back in the car.
“I’m not so sure,” I said. “I could tell you were hesitating.”
The Chevrolet attracted even more attention now that it had no windshield. I stopped at a phone booth. I called the police and asked for Deputy Commissioner Handal. It wasn’t long before he was on the line.
“Deputy Commissioner Handal?”
“Who’s speaking?” His voice was hoarse and intimidating.
“The snakes just attacked Doctor Abraham Ferracuti’s house,” I said nervously. “On the street that goes up the volcano.”
“What!”
“I’m a neighbour,” I continued. “I saw the old yellow car they described in the newspaper go to the doctor’s house. Then there were shots. Then the car left and headed up the street.”
“Give me your name and address.”
“Arquímides Batres,” I said. “225 Volcán Street.”
“We’re on our way.”
I got back in the Chevrolet. I drove aimlessly, my mind a complete blank. Some drivers looked at me with curiosity, others with hostility, and still others with obvious terror, as if they recognized us. I took a long drink of rum to try to clear my mind. I kept to little side streets to see if anyone was following us. Then I had a brilliant idea. We should go to a scrapyard, the only place where we could safely spend the night without anyone noticing the yellow Chevrolet. We looked for one, and by coincidence, we found it in the same area as the Bustillo family home. It was enormous, with a single entrance and a little booth with a security guard who let me pass without asking a thing.
“The office is over there,” he said, pointing.
We went in the direction he indicated, but didn’t stop. I continued all the way to the far side of the lot, where I parked the yellow Chevrolet in the middle of a pile of old wrecks that camouflaged it perfectly. I waited a while to see if any employees came around, but the atmosphere was relaxed and gave the impression that they only paid attention to the cars that were leaving.
“It’s time to do something about Valentina,” I said.
This saddened them. In the excitement of the last few hours, they’d forgotten about their friend. I took out my pocketknife and slit her from the mouth to the tip of her tail. I skinned her as delicately as I could. She was still smooth. Then I cut her up. I gave the ladies some pieces of her meat to wolf down and put the rest of her flesh in the cans Don Jacinto had collected so that I could roast it later on.
TWO
Quit pulling my leg, I’m not in the mood,” Deputy Commissioner Lito Handal grumbled, as he leaned back in his swivel chair, his feet up on the desk, cleaning his ear with his little finger. It was Friday afternoon. He was starving and ready to go home. But the officer on the other end of the line insisted he wasn’t joking; that was the report he’d received: four deaths from snakebites at the Plaza Morena mall. “Some clown is having a laugh.” He hung up.
But as soon as he’d put the phone down, it rang again. It was the Commissioner. He sat up. He couldn’t believe it: his boss was telling him to go down to the mall immediately and investigate. “The report is pretty bizarre, sir,” he said. “This snake business is hard to believe.” But the Commissioner didn’t want his opinion; he was ordering him to take charge of the investigation. One of the victims was Doña Estela Ferracuti Linz, Dr. Abraham Ferracuti’s younger sister. Wasn’t that serious enough for him? Handal called in his two assistants, detectives Flores and Villalta. “Have you heard this crap?” he asked them, as he put on his jacket. He was a dumpy guy of medium height who was always perfectly clean-shaven but hated wearing a tie.
“There must be a lot of witnesses, boss,” said Flores, a thin guy with pale skin and light-coloured eyes.
Villalta handed the Deputy Commissioner a folder, rubbed his large jaw and wheezed in his high-pitched voice, “We’ve got a description of the suspect and his car.”
What about the snakes, Handal thought.
They hurried down the staircase of the police headquarters, known as the Black Palace, went to the parking lot and got into the Deputy Commissioner’s Nissan. Villalta drove; Flores sat in the back seat. It was too hot, the rush hour traffic was at its worst and the air conditioning in the Deputy Commissioner’s car wasn’t working. Villalta put the siren on.
The report Handal read was straightforward: a man in his fifties who looked like a beggar had come to the mall in a beat-up old American car. When security guards asked him to leave, he let his snakes out to attack them. Then he went down the supermarket aisles, sending shoppers and employees into a panic. “It doesn’t say how many snakes there were,” he said, spitting out the window onto the pavement. He had heartburn and he was hoping that all of this was nothing more than a misunderstanding so he could go home and have a good meal.
When they got to the mall, the bodies were still lying there. The judge had been delayed, explained an officer; they expected him any minute now so he could start examining the crime scene.
“I want to talk to all the witnesses,” ordered Handal, digging into his ear with his little finger.
“There are dozens of them, sir,” said the sergeant who’d been in charge.
“It doesn’t matter. I want all of them in my office this afternoon. And make sure those security guards come, too. Right away.”
Handal examined the body in the parking lot. Then he went into the mall, where Mrs. Ferracuti was lying, covered with a sheet. Some of the members of her family had already arrived.
“Are you in charge here?” a distinguished-looking older man asked. It was Dr. Abraham Ferracuti.
“Yes, sir,” said Handal.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can’t leave my sister lying here,” he said indignantly.
“We have to wait for the judge to come and examine the scene,” the Deputy Commissioner explained, as he lifted the sheet. Despite the effects of the venom, she still looked elegant and beautiful. “I’m sorry, I’m not authorized to let them take the body away.” Handal respectfully excused himself and made his way to the supermarket.
“I want you to look up every pet store and veterinarian and find out who keeps snakes as pets,” he told detective Flores.
The security guard’s body was lying near the entrance of the supermarket and the youth who’d been strangled was next to the meat counter.
“Get Forensics to talk to everyone here so they can make a composite sketch of the suspect and get me more details about his car right away,” he told Villalta.