Emilio

by Sophie Masson

  ‘Then how—’

  ‘I think it’s worth trying another tack. That’s why I’ve come. She may speak to someone from the family. Your aunt has agreed to have a go.’

  ‘I want to come too,’ said Emilio at once.

  ‘Milo, I don’t think—’

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I’m the one she’s met. I spoke to her. I bought one of her medals. I’m about her age. She might speak to me. Please let me try.’ Seeing they were still hesitating, he added, ‘And besides, I’ll be able to say for sure it was her.’

  Tía Isabel looked at Castro, who nodded. ‘Very well. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.’

  All the way to the hospital, Emilio’s anger was rising as he thought about Evita Delgado’s part in the kidnap plot. He’d shout at her, shake her, he thought, force her to tell him what she knew. But his feelings changed when he first glimpsed her through the window of the small room. She looked awful. There was a bandage around her head, she had a big black eye, and cuts and bruises on her face and her skinny arms. Huddled in the narrow hospital bed, she was staring at a TV without appearing to be really watching it.

  Castro looked at him. ‘Is that the girl you saw at La Villa?’

  Emilio nodded. ‘It’s her, for sure.’

  His aunt said, ‘She’s so tiny.’

  ‘She’s twelve,’ Castro said. Emilio’s heart clenched. She was the same age as Luz. ‘She’s an orphan,’ Castro went on. ‘A cousin from here took her in – he was a rather dodgy character, and was shot in a gang incident a year or so ago. She’s been alone on the streets since then.’

  ‘Poor child,’ breathed Tía Isabel. ‘The people who beat her—’

  ‘They’d say they were within their rights. After all, she’s a thief. It wasn’t the first time she’d been seen hanging about there.’ Then his tone softened. ‘Look, I’ve made sure she can stay for a day or two at least. She’ll be fed and looked after. And she can help herself, depending on what she does now. Either she goes back to juvenile prison or she goes free.’

  ‘Back to the streets?’

  ‘Well, that depends. Your Padre Benitez. He might help. They tell me he’s got connections to a good orphanage. But she’s not the only one in need, you understand. Now, shall we go in?’

  She didn’t look at them as they came in. Castro said, ‘Evita, there are some people who want to talk to you.’

  ‘Evita,’ said Tía Isabel gently, ‘we really need your help. Please.’

  The girl didn’t reply. Instead she stared fixedly at the TV, on which a rerun of a popular cartoon, Oggy y las cucarachas, was playing at full blast. As a little kid, Emilio had loved the antics of the lazy blue cat Oggy in his eternal battles with three clever cockroaches, called Joey, Dee Dee and Markey.

  Castro said, ‘I’m going to turn it off. Can’t hear ourselves think here.’

  Evita said nothing, though her hands clenched on the sheet. But Emilio said, ‘Please don’t. This is a really good episode. I’d like to see it again if that’s okay.’

  Tía Isabel understood at once, Castro an instant later. He shrugged, and with a nod at Emilio, he followed Tía Isabel out of the room. Emilio and Evita were left alone.

  Emilio pulled out the plastic chair that stood in the corner of the room, and sat where he’d be facing the TV, not looking at her. He knew it was important that he did not spook her. And though it was a weird situation to be in, he was kind of enjoying watching the cartoon anyway, laughing again at the silliness of it. It wasn’t until the final music died away and an ad came on that he said, ‘What’s on next, do you know?’

  This time she did look at him. She shook her head.

  ‘This is an old TV so they won’t have a menu, but I can look up the list of programs on my phone. It’s Cartoon Network, right?’

  She nodded, and watched him as his fingers scrolled rapidly over the screen of his phone. ‘Hey, it’s Johnny Bravo,’ he said. ‘Do you like that?’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s okay,’ she muttered, speaking for the first time.

  ‘Well, maybe you want to watch some more Oggy? They’ve got lots of episodes on YouTube. I can get them on my phone.’

  Her eyes lit up. ‘Okay,’ she said. So he turned down the sound on the TV and brought up an episode of Oggy, which they watched together, he laughing, she much more serious. But maybe it hurts the poor chica to laugh right now, Emilio thought, what with all those bruises.

  They finished watching that one and he was about to bring up another when she said, ‘You are the boy from La Villa.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and his heart began to race. ‘My name is Emilio. Emilio Mendoza Lopez.’

  ‘You can ask me if you like, Emilio,’ she said, looking at the screen of the phone and not at him.

  His heart raced faster. ‘The – the person who asked you to give me the phone – did you know them?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘Did they give you a name?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘He just gave me money.’

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Can you describe him?’

  She looked away.

  ‘Please,’ he begged. ‘Please. My mother – my mother has been missing for two weeks now and I am so afraid for her—’

  There was a silence. Then she said, seemingly not answering the question, ‘I saw him again last night.’

  Bewildered, he said, ‘What?

  She pointed to her bruises. ‘I saw him at the place where they gave me this.’

  Emilio stared. ‘You mean – he was one of the security guards who bashed you?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘But he saw them do it. And he didn’t care. He and his girlfriend, they just walked into the nightclub. It was someone else who called the cops.’

  ‘He and his girlfriend?’ repeated Emilio.

  ‘Hanging all over him,’ said Evita scornfully.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Emilio. ‘Are you sure? I mean, that it was him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Evita,’ he said, ‘will you—’ She nodded.

  ‘Can I go and get my aunt? And Señor Castro?’

  ‘Not him. Her, yes.’

  ‘Okay.’ He looked at her. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much.’

  She shrugged, and jerked her head at his phone. ‘I want to watch Oggy again now.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘You watch whatever you like, Evita,’ and he raced off to find his aunt.

  Chapter 20

  The nightclub turned over its security-camera footage to the police, insisting that only Emilio and his aunt be in the hospital room with Evita when she identified the man she had seen. Emilio stared at the image. The man hadn’t troubled to hide his face from the camera – obviously he felt utterly safe. He looked to be in his late twenties, with the nuggety build of a boxer under the trendy clothes, and there was a San Malverde tattoo clearly to be seen on his bare forearm, suggesting he might have been one of the kidnap team.

  The young woman with him was pretty, with long, wavy, light brown hair, wearing an outfit that showed off her curvy figure, plus high heels and a diamond heart on a chain around her neck. Evita said she’d never seen her before. But was she involved too?, Emilio wondered. Could she even be Flor? She didn’t look like a lethal gangster. But then, why would she? Even the man, apart from that tattoo, looked like any young guy out with his girl, having a good time.

  Castro told them that police records had come up with an identity for the man. Four years ago police had been called to a gym a few streets away from Lopez Travel after a violent quarrel between the manager and a client who gave his name as Miguel Luna Esposito. As to the girl, she was not associated with the gym in any way – nobody there recognised her – and face recognition showed she wasn’t in the criminal records either.

  From the manager the police learned that Esposito had been working at the time for a private security firm called Mirasol Security – the security firm that Medin
a, el Capitán, had owned until a couple of years ago. So the link to the gang was there too.

  Now Emilio and his aunt worried about Evita. ‘She’s a street kid and wary as a lizard,’ said Tía Isabel to Castro, ‘but she is still only a child, after all.’

  ‘If the gang finds out that she gave us information,’ said Emilio, ‘they’ll punish her. Bash her or even kill her.’

  ‘You can rest assured we’ll keep her safe,’ said the policeman. ‘And she’s under age. She can’t be forced to be a witness at any trial, so the gang will never know a thing. And afterwards – well, you heard what Padre Benitez said. That orphanage he works for will take her, as soon as she’s released from hospital.’

  ‘Have you told Evita about that?’ Emilio asked Castro.

  ‘No. Best not to. But she’ll be okay once she’s there.’

  Emilio wasn’t sure about that. ‘Tía,’ he said to his aunt, when Castro had left, ‘could we – er – maybe – could Evita come and stay with us?’

  His aunt looked at him in surprise. ‘No, Emilio, it’s too dangerous. For her as much as us. Remember that phone call Señora Valdez got about Alda. They’re watching. They will know who Evita is. If they see her there with us, they’ll know she’s talked.’

  He knew that was true, but he still felt bad, so he spent most of the money in his bank account on a smartphone for Evita, complete with a six-month pre-paid SIM card so that she could watch YouTube whenever she wanted. He gave it to her that very day. ‘It’s for me?’ she repeated. ‘For me?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Show me how it works,’ she ordered. So he showed her everything about the phone and what you could do with it, and then he added impulsively, ‘You can call or text me if you like, any time.’ He put his number in the contact list, with just ‘Milo’ as the identifier, as a precaution. She met his eyes and nodded, once. Then she looked down at the phone and began playing with the buttons and he knew she wanted to be left alone with her new toy.

  A spurt of the old anger rose in him. She’d not thanked him, any more than she’d said she was sorry that she’d helped the kidnappers, even if in a small way. But the anger didn’t last. This skinny stray was what her hard life had made her, he reasoned, and needed help not punishment. But there was nothing else he could do for her right now. He’d done all he could, Tía Isabel assured him. More than he should, Tío Vicente grumbled when he heard. But Juanita and Luz understood how he felt, and so did Alda, who afterwards came to tell him that like Padre Benitez, she’d also try to keep an eye on what happened to Evita in the future.

  Chapter 21

  The next morning, they received the email they’d been hoping for. Clearly the kidnappers had no idea they’d been tricked about the hotel shares, because though they didn’t even mention the papers being ‘in order’, they gave their usual arrogant instructions. Alda said, ‘These people will never say thank you or please or even give you the merest indication they are pleased with what you’ve done, but take it from me, everything has worked. And they think they hold all the cards.’

  They read the email several times.

  These are your next steps. Cash to be delivered tonight. Midnight, San Gregorio cemetery, exact place to be texted. Entire sum to be in one bag. All the family to be there. But only family. No release for Gloria until our messenger safely back with money. Any police or others attempt to stop our messenger, any attempt to vary anything, and Gloria dies. We will be watching. And you will never see us.

  ‘It’s going to be very difficult to spot anything suspicious there,’ said Juanita. ‘It’s so huge! And there’ll be countless people praying and partying at relatives’ graves. They know what they’re doing, this gang.’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Alda. ‘You heard what Lieutenant Castro said. Even if he had the men and budget to stake out the entire place, which he doesn’t, it would be difficult.’

  ‘Soon we’re going to hand over almost all our family savings. And our American friends have to play a very dangerous game with their property,’ said Emilio’s uncle. ‘Yet there’s no guarantee of Gloria’s release. Seems to me the kidnappers have snatched their cards back.’

  ‘And Señor Castro says he hasn’t made any more progress on finding Esposito and Flor, or discovering more about their connection with el Capitán’s gang,’ said Alda.

  It was a frantic day and yet one that seemed to unfold as slowly as an old man’s curse. In the morning Emilio and Luz had to stay at home while the adults, including Alda and Juanita, went out to collect the money from the bank manager. Just before she went out, Alda asked the two cousins to keep an eye on things. ‘Both on the laptop and the phone, and call me at once if anything changes.’ she said. ‘Okay?’

  Emilio and Luz nodded. Alda smiled and gave them a thumbs-up. ‘It’ll be fine, you’ll see,’ she said, and went out.

  Emilio and Luz looked at each other. ‘Hope she’s right,’ said Luz. ‘Emilio, what do you think – I mean, what do you think we’re going to see in San Gregorio?’

  Emilio’s skin crawled. I can imagine all too many things, he thought, but I’m certainly not going to say them out loud. ‘No idea,’ he snapped.

  ‘I mean, how do you think they’re going to collect the money? Do you think they’ll send someone like Evita again?’

  ‘How should I know?’ said Emilio. ‘Please, Luz,’ he added, as his cousin opened her mouth again, ‘I really don’t feel like talking. Let’s watch some TV instead, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Luz, shrugging. They sat side by side watching TV, with the laptop open in front of them. Or at least Luz watched TV. Emilio couldn’t settle. Jumping up from the sofa, he paced around and around the flat. I feel like a rat on a wheel, he thought, going mad. I can’t wait till midnight but I’m so scared of it too. Because Mamá might be released then. But also she might not. She might even be killed. He tried to keep out the fearful and excited voices in his head by drowning them with loud music in his headphones, but even through his favourite songs he could hear the voices and it made him feel as though he was being pursued by demons.

  Out of the window, he could see people passing by dressed in holiday clothes, and streams of cars heading for the Plaza a short distance away, where there were going to be parades and a fair and all kinds of celebrations. The cars were decorated with images of dancing skeleton couples in top hats and frilly dresses, and skeletons drinking beer, and skeleton cowboys on horseback, and skeleton musicians playing guitar, and skeletons doing all kinds of things, and it was as though they were mocking him, as if their bare skulls and bony cheeks shook with laughter at what was happening to him.

  At one stage, he locked the bathroom door, sat on the floor, closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on a game his father and he had played when he was younger. It was the game of telepathy. You had to try and ‘see’ what the other person was thinking by closing your eyes and concentrating really hard on them, in your mind. Emilio wasn’t much good at it. But his father had been excellent, he had ‘seen’ a few times what Emilio was thinking. At least, that’s what Emilio had thought when he was small. He’d been impressed, and a little frightened too. He must never lie to his father, he’d thought, because his father would know for sure. Now Emilio suspected that his father had merely made accurate guesses, because he was an adult and adults had been children once and so could work out more easily what a child might be thinking. He thought, Maybe it’ll work if I concentrate really hard on Mamá. I might be able to send her a thought somehow, so that she can feel she’s not alone, and will soon be safe home with us—

  He concentrated and concentrated but it was as though she was in a grey fog and he couldn’t get through. It was a stupid idea, he told himself angrily as he got up and splashed water on his face, hardly realising he’d been crying.

  Suddenly his phone rang, and he grabbed it, his heart hammering. But it wasn’t the kidnappers. It was Pablo. ‘Just calling to see how things are going, Milo,’ his friend said.

&
nbsp; ‘How do you think they are?’ Emilio shouted. ‘Are you an idiot?’ He clicked the phone off, only to call back a few seconds later to apologise.

  ‘It’s okay, hermano,’ said Pablo awkwardly. ‘I get it, we all get it.’

  Emilio could hear street noise in the background and he knew Pablo must be out somewhere, enjoying the holiday with his family and friends. A terrible longing filled him then. If only he was Pablo. If only he was Sergio. Or any other of his friends, anyone other than himself. Then he could be out there having a good time, feeling sorry for a friend going through a bad time, sure, but not actually having to go through that bad time.

  Not long after, Emilio’s grandfather called. ‘I’ve been lighting candles at the church, Milo,’ he told Emilio. ‘For both your Papá and your Mamá.’ Mamá’s not dead yet, Abuelo!, Emilio wanted to yell, even though he knew his grandfather hadn’t meant it that way. The candles for Gloria were for her safe return, just as they’d lit candles at the church here the other day. They weren’t for the repose of her soul. But still, it was the Day of the Dead, and so a bad omen, and he wished his abuelo hadn’t said it, and wished too that the old man hadn’t sounded, well, really like an old man, much older and more tired than Emilio had ever heard him, with a croaky voice rather than his usual sharp, firm tone. And when he first called, he had said to Tía Isabel, ‘I want to hear my grandson’s voice.’ That, too, was unlike him. Emilio heard himself promising to come down south with his mother ‘when she is well enough’. Which brought him back to his fevered thoughts about midnight, and the endless waiting.

  The adults were back just before lunch, Juanita carrying the money in the big, flowery-skull canvas shoulderbag that she’d bought from a street stall the year before. It was exactly the sort of thing you could carry on the Day of the Dead without attracting any attention; and the money in it, though it was so much, hardly made more than a small hump in it. But though the bag was put away in a cupboard out of sight during lunch, its presence hovered among them like a malevolent ghost. In it were pretty much all Gloria’s savings, a large slice of her father-in-law’s money, and some of his aunt’s and uncle’s too. It meant a big financial sacrifice for all of them. More than that, those notes, those coloured pieces of plastic, represented, horribly, the price of Gloria’s freedom, the value of her life. It was hateful. Shameful. How could people think this way? Did they have no heart, no soul at all?