Part 8 (2/2)

Teresa heard her own laugh before she realized she was laughing. ”Hijole!” ”Hijole!” she said. ”Just like Abbe Faria.” she said. ”Just like Abbe Faria.”

”Yeah.” Patty laughed too. ”Except I don't intend to die in here. ... In fact, I don't intend to die anywhere.”

”What kind of treasure?” Teresa was curious.

”Something that got lost and everybody looked for, but that n.o.body found because the people who hid it are dead.... Like in the movies, huh?” ”I don't think it's like the movies. It's like life.”

The two were silent for a while. I'm not sure, thought Teresa. I'm not totally convinced that I want to hear your secrets, Lieutenant. Maybe because you know more than I do and you're smarter than I am and older and everything, and I always catch you looking at me that way you look at me. Or maybe because I'm not crazy about the fact that you come when I kiss you. If a person's tired, there are things that shouldn't be talked about. And tonight I'm very tired, maybe because I drank and smoked and snorted too much, and now I can't sleep. This year year I'm very tired. h.e.l.l, this I'm very tired. h.e.l.l, this life. life. For the moment, the word ”tomorrow” doesn't exist. My lawyer only came to see me once. Since then all I've gotten from him is a letter telling me he invested our money in paintings whose value has dropped to almost nothing and there's not even enough left to pay for a coffin if I kick the bucket. But the truth is, I don't care about that. The one good thing about being in here is that this is all there is. And that keeps you from thinking about what you left outside. Or what's waiting for you out there. For the moment, the word ”tomorrow” doesn't exist. My lawyer only came to see me once. Since then all I've gotten from him is a letter telling me he invested our money in paintings whose value has dropped to almost nothing and there's not even enough left to pay for a coffin if I kick the bucket. But the truth is, I don't care about that. The one good thing about being in here is that this is all there is. And that keeps you from thinking about what you left outside. Or what's waiting for you out there.

”That kind of treasure is dangerous,” Teresa said.

”Of course it is.” Patty was speaking slowly, very softly, as though she were weighing every word. ”I've paid a high price myself... got shot, you know. Bang bang. And here we are.”

”So what about about this f.u.c.king treasure, Lieutenant O'Farrell?” this f.u.c.king treasure, Lieutenant O'Farrell?”

They laughed again in the darkness. Then there was a quick burst o f light at the head of Patty's bunk-she had just lit a cigarette.

”Well, I'm going to go look for it,” she said, ”when I get out of here.”

”But you don't need that. You've got money.”

”Not enough. What I spend in here is not mine, it's my family's.” Her voice turned sarcastic when she p.r.o.nounced that last word. ”And the treasure that I'm talking about is real money. A lot of it. The kind that sometimes makes lots more, and more, and more.”

”You really know where it is?”

”Sure.”

”But somebody owns it.... I mean somebody besides you. Who owns it?”

The ember of the cigarette glowed. Silence. ”That's a good question.” ”Chale. ”Chale. That's That's the the question.” question.”

They fell silent again. You may know a lot more things than I do, thought Teresa-you've got education, and cla.s.s, and a lawyer that comes to see you once in a while, and a good chunk of money in the bank, even if it belongs to your family. But what you're talking to me about-that, I know about, and it's very possible that I know quite a bit more about it than you do. Even if you've got two scars like little stars and a boyfriend in the cemetery, you're still like above it all. But me, I've seen it from down below. I've had mud on my bare feet when I was a kid, in Las Siete Gotas, where the drunks knocked on my mother's door in the middle of the night. I've also seen Gato Fierros' smile. And the Leon Rock. I've thrown fortunes overboard at fifty knots, with a chopper on my a.s.s. So let's cut the c.r.a.p. I know about, and it's very possible that I know quite a bit more about it than you do. Even if you've got two scars like little stars and a boyfriend in the cemetery, you're still like above it all. But me, I've seen it from down below. I've had mud on my bare feet when I was a kid, in Las Siete Gotas, where the drunks knocked on my mother's door in the middle of the night. I've also seen Gato Fierros' smile. And the Leon Rock. I've thrown fortunes overboard at fifty knots, with a chopper on my a.s.s. So let's cut the c.r.a.p.

”That question is hard to answer,” Patty finally said. ”There are people that were looking for it, sure. They thought they had a certain right to it, you know But that was a while back. Now n.o.body knows that I know.”

”So why are you telling me about it?”

The red glow of the cigarette grew brighter a couple of times before the reply came. ”I don't know. Or maybe I do.”

”I never figured you for such a talker,” said Teresa. ”I could turn out to be the kind of girl who can't keep a secret. I could rat you out.”

”Uh-uh. We've been in here together for a while, and I've been watching you. You aren't like that.”

Another silence. This time longer than the others.

”You keep your mouth shut. You're loyal.”

”You are too,” Teresa replied.

”No. I'm other things.”

Teresa saw the cigarette go out. She was curious, but she also wanted this conversation to be over. Let's get this behind us, Let's get this behind us, she thought. I don't want you to wake up tomorrow and regret having said things you shouldn't have. About things that I don't need to know, places where I can't follow you. Or better yet, if you go to sleep now, we can always forget this happened, blame it on the party and the tequila and the c.o.ke. she thought. I don't want you to wake up tomorrow and regret having said things you shouldn't have. About things that I don't need to know, places where I can't follow you. Or better yet, if you go to sleep now, we can always forget this happened, blame it on the party and the tequila and the c.o.ke.

”One day I may get you to help me recover that treasure,” Patty suddenly concluded. ”You and I, together.”

Teresa held her breath. Oh s.h.i.+t, she said to herself. Now we can never pretend that this conversation never took place.

”Why me?” Teresa asked. She couldn't just say nothing. But she couldn't say flat-out yes or no, either. So that question was her only possible reply.

She heard Patty turn over in her bunk, toward the wall, before she answered.

”I'll tell you when the moment comes. If it does.”

8. Kilo bricks

There are people whose good luck derives from misfortunes,” Eddie Alvarez concluded. ”And that was the case of Teresa Mendoza.” The lenses of his gla.s.ses made his wary eyes look smaller. It had taken me time and a couple of intermediaries to get him to this point, sitting in front of me, but there he was, putting his hands in his jacket pockets and pulling them out again, after offering me just the tips of his fingers to shake. We were chatting on the terrace of the Rock Hotel in Gibraltar, with the sun filtering in through the ivy, ferns, and palms of the hanging garden on the face of the Rock itself. Down below, on the other side of the white bal.u.s.trade, lay the Bay of Algeciras, bright and blurry in the blue haze of the afternoon: white ferries at the end of long straight wakes, the coast of Africa a hint of gray out beyond the Strait, the boats at anchor with their bows all pointing east.

”Well, I understand that at the beginning you you helped her,” I said. ”By which I mean, you made some of those 'misfortunes' possible.” helped her,” I said. ”By which I mean, you made some of those 'misfortunes' possible.”

The lawyer blinked twice, twirled his gla.s.s on the table, and looked at me again.

”You shouldn't talk about things you don't know anything about.” It sounded like reproach, and advice. ”I did my job. That's how I make my living. And back then, she was n.o.body. No one could possibly have imagined . ..”

His face underwent two or three changes of expression, almost involuntarily, and there was displeasure, discomfort, a squirming quality there, as though somebody had told him a bad joke, one that it took a while to get. ”Couldn't possibly ...” he mused.

”Perhaps you're mistaken. Perhaps somebody could could have imagined how things would go.” have imagined how things would go.”

”We're often mistaken.” Alvarez seemed to console himself with that plural. ”Although in that chain of mistakes, I was the least of them.”

He pa.s.sed a hand across his spa.r.s.e, curly hair, which he wore too long and which gave him an air of seediness. Then he touched the broad-mouthed gla.s.s again: his whisky was an unappetizing chocolaty color.

”In this life, everything comes with a price,” he said after thinking for a moment. ”Some pay in advance, others during, and still others afterward In the case of the Mexicana, she paid in advance.

She had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. And that's what she did.”

”People say that you abandoned her in prison. Without a penny.”

He looked truly offended. Although in a guy like him, with his background-I had taken the trouble to look into it-that meant absolutely nothing.

”I don't know what these 'people' might have told you, but that's not quite accurate. I can be as practical as the next man, understand?... It's perfectly normal in my profession. But that's not the point. I didn't abandon her.”

With that out of the way, he gave a series of more or less reasonable justifications. Teresa Mendoza and Santiago Fisterra had, in fact, entrusted a certain amount of money to him. Not an extraordinary amount, just some funds that he proceeded to discreetly launder. The problem was that he invested almost all of it in paintings: landscapes, seascapes, and so on. A couple of nice portraits. Yes. And this happened to be just after the Gallego's death, when Teresa was in prison. And the painters were not very well known. Their parents may not even have claimed them-he smiled-which was why he invested in them. Appreciation, of course. But then the crisis came along and he'd had to sell off everything, to the last canvas, plus their small interest in a bar on Main Street and a few other things. From all that he deducted his fees-there were late payments and other matters-and the rest of the money went toward Teresa's defense. That entailed a considerable amount of money in expenses, of course-an arm and a leg, you might say. And after all was said and done, she'd spent only a year in prison.

”They say,” I told him, ”that that was thanks to Patricia O'Farrell, because it was her lawyers who did the paperwork.”

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