Chapter 1
Duncan heard noises in the patio and was immediately alert. His chest heaved heavily. It was always a rush to take a life. He looked at the still body on the floor and, once again, wondered what it would be like to feel something for it. He thought that maybe pity would do, perhaps even disgust. But he knew it was useless; he was incapable of feelings other than physical; and he was used to it. He took a last look at the young dead woman and then started to comb the house. On an old night table, there was a picture of the dead woman gaily hugging a serious-looking man of about thirty-five. On the right side of the picture, the blurred image of a boy -no older than sixteen, clearly in motion- was visible. His face was partially trapped in that featured moment and what could be seen of it was unmistakable: that was the son of those two. So, that serious-looking guy was Ruman Lopez, the target. He snatched the picture off the frame and split it in two halves. He took the image of Ruman and the kid, and threw the woman’s side of the picture on her lifeless body. He found the action amusing, following some macabre sense of humor.
After some minutes of close inspection in closets, drawers, under the bed, and inside cabinets, he gave up his search and took off. Never again did he, not even quickly, look down at the dead woman he’d just raped and murdered. He had totally forgotten about the whole incident in a matter of minutes.
Chapter 2
Ruman’s heart was about to explode. He knew he just couldn’t keep running. He just couldn’t. He had to stop, breath, and maybe think. Instinctively, he felt for the booklet in his pocket. He knew it was there, but had to be sure. At the entrance to a patio, he kept glancing right and left, and over his shoulder, trying to figure out the way he’d come out.
He was leaning on the cement wall, panting with exaggeration, surely about to faint, but he managed to stay focused. After several minutes, he started to calm down. He kept looking at all sides, looking for a sign of the man in the yellow jacket, but the guy was not around. Not visible anyways. He told himself he had time to think then, and the first thing that occurred to him was to phone his wife. He had to make sure she was all right and, like a sledgehammer, it hit him suddenly: it was evident that his family would be in danger now that he’d decided to run away with this money. He felt nauseous. Fear clawed in.
His son would not arrive home until 1:30 pm, still forty minutes ahead, but Lucilla was there. And this guy knew his cell phone number; of course he knew where he lived! He dialed his house number, certain that calling from his cell was a mistake, it could be tracked like in those American movies, but he had no choice. He had to make sure his wife would run away, fetch Joshua at school before they got to them. The phone rang five times. The phone company recorded message told him to try later. He tried again, let it ring five or six times, then hung up and retried. Nothing. Ruman started to feel sick to his stomach again. He felt a bit dizzy and held on to the wall. What if they had already gotten to his wife? He flipped open the old cell phone again and saw he had three missed calls. He knew it was the stranger. The owner of the money, the one who called himself Dylan. He thought the stranger would tell him that they had his wife and that they were about to kill her. When it rang again, poor Ruman was so scared he dropped the cell phone. As he picked it up from the floor and tried to speak into it, tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Mr. Lopez, I am trying, but I still cannot understand why you have decided to delay our little deal. The amount of money in your savings account is obviously a lot more than you can possibly handle. Surely, you are smart enough to know you would eventually be caught by the authorities should you consider keeping it, so why are you doing this? Why are you complicating your life so ridiculously?” Ruman wanted to scream to this guy. He wanted to call him names, to insult him, to threaten him that If anything happened to his family, he would…he would…
he just listened in disbelief and in utter terror. “Mr. Lopez, we still have a chance of straightening this up without retorting to… violence. My partners and I would appreciate it if you complied with your part of the deal. Get to the bank and follow on the steps of Mrs. Reyes, as I explained before. As a token of my goodwill, I will see to it that you still receive your hundred grand, after the transaction has been successfully effected.” Ruman was sweating, feeling real sick now. He tried to say yes, but his voice came out like a muted chirp. He was trying to think, but his brain felt numb. He managed a guttural yes when the voice asked him, again, if he would comply. The stranger hung up.
Ruman
tried to call his wife again, but without success. She was not answering and he
tried to calm himself by thinking that maybe she was out on some errand, she
could be anywhere, maybe at the grocery store. The stranger had not mentioned
her. He had not threatened his family nor made any allusions to them in any
form. Maybe they did not even know where he lived, but then he admitted to himself
that that was a childish thought. He made up his mind then. He’d return the goddamn
money and be over with all that shit. If the guy kept his promise, he’d get a
hundred thousand pesos, but, to say the truth, he’d have enough with just
returning to his simple, monotonous life in one piece. He felt for the booklet
again and, this time, tapped it three times. He was feeling better already.
Chapter 3
Brookes received a call from Duncan to report that he already knew what the guy looked like and that he was looking around for him. He informed him Ruman was not home and told him to send the cops to his house because the poor guy’s lady had just been raped and murdered. Brookes, disgusted and instantly angry, shouted into the phone, but the line was already dead. As he dialed captain Terrero's number, the mess-cleaner on the payroll of Mr. Sheldon’s, he wondered why he kept keeping up with Duncan’s shit. But he knew the answer to that: the son of a bitch was reliable. No one escaped from Duncan. No one ever had.
to be continued...
