No one in Palamós would mind if he arrived a few hours late, he thought, and girls love these kind of stories — a spic like Cindy wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation, she’d be creaming. He could drop off the boat later on. They hadn’t firmed up a delivery time, no one would miss him, and if they called, he’d say he got a flat, or make up some other excuse. He exited the highway to Palamós, headed toward Girona, stepped on the gas, and passed Llagostera again on his way to Vidreres — he’d stop in for a coffee at the community social club, he had a surprise for Cindy, a little boat trip.
“Are you nuts?”
“I’ll take pictures of you with my phone.”
He would have her get on the boat, a girl like her doesn’t weigh a thing, he’d have her sit up in the cockpit, in the white pleather pilot seat, and take her for a spin around the fields of the plain — he’d keep an eye out for police cars, but even if one passed they wouldn’t think to look in the boat, it’s just silly, it’s probably not even against the law. He’d sail her along the highway; he’d have her in his pocket, take her through the forest, along the paths, and it would seem like she was sailing through the Amazon. It would all look familiar, and what woman, what girl, if she really was that young, would say no to having her picture taken on a good-looking boat; maybe they’d find a captain’s hat in the cabin, he could tell her to put it on for a photo to post on Facebook. Back home in her country they’d envy her, their eyes as wide as saucers — and who’s that man? Whose boat is that? Have you seen Cindy? I want to move to Spain! — half an hour in the cockpit like a queen, with her hair blowing in the wind, at the time of the day when the fields have soaked up the morning’s warmth. An outing like a ship procession bearing Our Lady of Mount Carmel, Star of the Sea, Immaculate Cindy, what bliss, for a little while he’d make her forget about her miserable life as an immigrant spic. Then he’d drop her off at work, and come back to pick her up when her shift ended that evening.
“In the summer, I’ll take you out to sea. I liked you the minute I saw you yesterday. I’m just like that. I thought: why don’t you show Cindy the boat, since you’re moving it to another storage spot, it doesn’t seem like she’s having much fun at work.”
He sped up on his way to Vidreres as if the cruiser was pushing the truck. It had been years since he’d pulled something like this. He was old enough now to start doing things he was old enough to know better than to do, he thought. If Ahmed were here, he would’ve laughed and helped him. They would have been a trio. The world didn’t end in the apartment in Sils. He wouldn’t end up like his father, that’s for damn sure.
He exited the main highway. He saw the tree with the bouquet of flowers again. Something must have happened with the two brothers’ energy, he thought, two kids younger than him. Just like they passed on their tires to Isma, maybe they passed on their energy to him. Maybe that was what he felt in his blood, what made him pull back the curtain all the way.
That black spot down the hill was the same little whore from the day before. There was no way he was going to pay for sex two days in a row, especially not with Cindy in his sights. But it wasn’t even one yet; he had time for a courtesy stop. It was worth it. That girl wouldn’t be around for long. He downshifted and took a good look at her. The looking was always better than the touching, but that little body of hers had the gravity of twenty planets put together. She recognized him from a distance. She stood still, waiting for him, puzzled by what he carried on his flatbed. A boat in Vidreres, what a sight. He downshifted so she could get an eyeful. The girl put her hands on her hips again. What do you think, my love, of what I brought for you? Should we hop on board and skip town? Go east, to your country? Would you get onboard, hmm? We’ll go to the beach; I’ll untie the boat, reverse on the sand, sink the truck in the water. . fuck this truck, it’s a clunker, we’re not coming back anyway, the boat floats, we’ll climb on, see ya on the flip side. . He smiled and glanced in the mirror. Behind him the highway was empty. He braked gradually and stopped the truck right in front of the girl.
She approached him. She walked onto the asphalt, crossed a lane, and drew up close to the truck’s window. My god, the way she moved. Such beauty. You had to admit that. Cindy was a piece of shit next to her. She was hotter today than yesterday. Better and better. Let’s get married, you ballbuster. How old could she be? She was beyond age. She couldn’t be pigeonholed. She was explosive.
He lowered the window all the way down, starting to feel the erection — you’d have to be a robot to resist her, there was no point, it was impossible — she’d give her price, he’d pay it. He swallowed hard, but before asking her what she was charging, he stopped. The chick stared at him, in a way whores never do, almost defiant. Maybe she was high again. It wasn’t easy to figure out a chick like that, you had to be really cold-blooded. Maybe she’d fallen in love with him and she’d do it for free.
Suddenly, the girl raised her fist and separated out her middle finger, the same gesture as the day before, this time right in his face. Then she lifted her chin, turned around, and went back to her spot.
“Evil bitch. Who does she think she is?” He stuck his head through the window and said, in Spanish, “Come on. How much? Come on. Twenty? Is twenty OK? All right. Twenty. Come on. Twenty. OK.”
The girl shook her head and showed him an open palm.
“Five? Fifty?”
She nodded.
“No fucking way,” said Miqui.
Who did she think she was, this piece of shit with curls? Gabriella Fox, Sarah Vandella, Lorena Velásquez? Since when did goddesses of porn do it with truckers in Vidreres? Fucking worthless ignorant whore.
The shotgun was held to the roof of the cab by two hooks. It was easy to pull down. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw no one. The makeshift gun rack worked. He placed the gun on his knees. Now you’ll see. Stupid whore wasn’t expecting that, she was still laughing when Miqui lifted the shotgun and aimed it at her. She froze. She turned and started to run. Now he was the one laughing. Evil bitch didn’t know where to go. She ran like a rabbit, to the right, then the left, then she almost fell. She wouldn’t forget this soon.
First lesson, stupid whore: don’t fuck with strangers. Don’t try someone’s patience when you don’t know who you’re dealing with. Don’t be so conceited.
What if he gave her the lesson she deserved? What if he shot her? He undid the safety. You can’t just go around provoking people, you piece of shit, one day you’ll run into someone with a real nasty streak.
Seriously: he hadn’t planned on firing the gun. But things happen. Miqui heard a horn he wasn’t expecting, as if a car was about to plow into him. The jolt stiffened his fingers. His index finger pulled the trigger and the shotgun went off. He had never fired a real shotgun. The kickback sent him flying. His heart skipped a beat. He was left stunned and deaf. The cab filled with smoke and he couldn’t see anything. He coughed. The horn was still going off, frantically. His shoulder hurt. He looked through the other window and saw the van that kept track of the girl. The man inside was desperately honking the horn. Miqui’s heart was going a thousand miles an hour. His fingers and legs trembling, he put the truck into first and stepped on the gas. The wheels spun before gripping the asphalt — they were too worn, fucking Isma. Shit, shit, shit. He got into second gear, into third, and when he reached the first houses of Vidreres, he looked into the rearview mirror.