Viveca was crying.
“I beg the forgiveness of all the law enforcement officers here, especially the man that I injured and I’m very sorry about that. I am a man, yes, but since I was a child my mother dressed me as a girl and I always liked to play with dolls. I’m a man because my name is Jorge, but that’s the only reason. I have the soul of a woman, and I suffer because I’m not a woman and can’t have children like other women. I’m wretched. Then that man in the Mercedes picked me up at the beach and said, Come with me, boy; and I answered, I’m not a boy, I’m a woman; and he said, Woman my foot, get in, tonight I feel like something different. He said he’d pay me five hundred, and I have my mother and grandmother to support, and so I went. When we got there, besides doing all sorts of immoral things to me, he beat me and cut me with the razor blade. Then I grabbed the blade and said I’d kill myself if he didn’t give me five hundred. He said he didn’t have it and telephoned a friend of his and that man there showed up and brought me here and I lost my head, please forgive me. I’m a delicate person; I went crazy over the unfairness and the bad things they did to me.”
“What’s your client’s name?” said a suspicious cop.
“I’m not at liberty to say. He’s committed no crime. This guy’s lying,” I said.
In reality I wasn’t sure of a damned thing, but a client is a client.
“Lying! Me?!” Tears ran down Viveca’s makeup. “Just because I’m weak and poor and the other one’s rich and powerful, I’m going to be crucified?” Viveca screamed, between sobs.
“Rich people don’t run things here,” one of the cops said.
“What about that car?” said the injured cop, in the middle of the confusion. Luckily nobody else heard him.
“It’s mine, I bought it yesterday, I haven’t had time to transfer the title yet,” I said, as the cop took notes on a piece of paper.
“We’re going to wait for the commissioner,” the cop said.
“This guy stole two thousand from my client. It must be hidden somewhere on his person,” I said.
“You can frisk me. Go ahead, frisk me!” Viveca challenged, spreading his arms.
None of the policemen showed any interest in frisking Viveca. That’s when I had the flash. I grabbed Viveca’s hair and yanked it. The hair came off in my hand and four bills of five hundred flew into the air and fell to the floor.
“That’s the money he stole from my client,” I said, relieved.
“He gave it to me, he gave it to me, I swear it,” said Viveca, without much conviction.
Before they put Viveca in the lockup, they noticed he had a number of old marks on both arms. He must have used that trick several times before.
“You’ll have to wait for the commissioner,” the injured cop said.
I gave him my card. “I’ll stop by later, OK? One other thing, let’s pretend we didn’t find the money, all right? My client won’t mind.”
“We’ll need to talk with you, if not tonight, one of these days.” I looked at him and saw we’d just made a deal.
“No problem. Just give me a call,” I said.
I took off like a jet in the Mercedes. I got to the hotel and looked up the manager. I took two of the twenty notes of five hundred that I had in my pocket, gave them to him and said, “I want to see the registration card for a guest who was here a couple of hours ago.”
“I can’t do that,” he said.
I gave him two more bills. “The guy’s my client,” I said.
“I don’t want any trouble!”
“Give me the card, you sonofabitch, or you’ll have trouble you’ll never see the end of. It was a minor he had with him, and you’ll be royally screwed.”
The manager brought me the cards. There was J.J.’s full name. Profession: bank employee. Irony or lack of imagination? The other card read Viveca Lindfords, resident of Nova Iguaçu. Where the shit had he gotten that name? I put both cards in my pocket.
I rushed home. What a car that was. I’d have to transfer the title to my name backdated to Friday, for the protection of my client….I got home and went in shouting, “Princess! I’m back.” But the blonde had vanished. My pockets full of money, a Mercedes at the curb, and what? I was a sad and unlucky man. I’d never see the rich blonde again, I knew.
kisses on the cheek
“YOUR BLADDER WILL HAVE TO BE removed entirely,” Roberto said. “And in these cases a place is prepared for the urine to be stored before it’s excreted. A part of your intestine will be converted into a small sac, connected to the ureters. The urine from that receptacle will be directed to a bag placed in an opening in your abdominal wall. I’m describing the procedure in layman’s terms so you can understand. The bag will be hidden by your clothes and will have to be emptied periodically. Have I been clear?”
“Yes,” I replied, lighting a cigarette.
“I’d like to schedule the surgery immediately following the tests I’m asking for. Did I tell you about the relationship between bladder cancer and smoking?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Three out of five cases of bladder cancer are linked to smoking. The link between smoking and bladder cancer is especially strong among men.”
“I promise I’ll stop smoking.”
“This year, worldwide, there will be close to three hundred thousand cases of bladder cancer.”
“Really?”
“It’s the fourth most common type of cancer and the seventh leading cause of death from cancer.”
I felt like telling Roberto to stop bugging me, but besides being my doctor he was also my friend.
“Bladder cancer,” he continued, “can occur at any age, but it usually hits people over fifty. You’ll be fifty next month. You’re a month older than me.”
“I’m late for an appointment. I have to go, Roberto.”
“Don’t forget to have the tests done.”
I ran out. I didn’t have any appointment. I wanted to smoke another cigarette in peace. And I also needed to meet with someone who could get me a gun. I remembered my brother.
I phoned him.
“Do you still have that weapon?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Want to sell it?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you afraid one of your children will find the gun and shoot the other one in the head? Something like that happened the other day. It was in the papers.”
“My gun is locked inside a drawer.”
“According to the paper, so was that poor guy’s.”
“I didn’t read anything about it.”
“You always say you only read the headlines. That didn’t make the headlines because it happens every day.”
“And just how did it happen?”
“The boy was playing cowboys and Indians with his brother and the tragedy occurred. Any day now I’m going to read in the newspaper that one nephew of mine killed the other playing a game.”
“Enough with the foreboding.”
“I’ll stop by there tonight.”
When I got to my brother’s house he said, “Take a look at this drawer. You think a couple of kids could break that lock?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Want to see me break into that piece of shit?”
“You’re an adult.”
“Where’s Helena?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Have her come out here.”
I told his wife about the article in the newspaper, which I had made up.
“I’m constantly asking Carlos to get rid of that damned thing, but he won’t listen,” said Helena.
“I came here to buy the revolver, but this idiot doesn’t want to sell.”
“What are you going to do with the gun?” Carlos asked.
“Nothing. Own it, that’s all. I’ve always wanted a revolver.”