The Queen of the Northwest

by Javier Montes Gómez

  —But these men are Russians, —was the first thing he could think of.

  —You are mistaken, they are Galicians of pure stock. Their face may ring. Years ago they worked as actors in a theatre set in full civil war, they interpreted two members of the international brigades of Soviet origin. It wasn’t too long of a piece, but it required full mastery of the Russian accent, -Mireia said.

  —I said they looked like actors, I remember, I was in that play. Maybe it sounds like that to me, —Nicholas lied, not really knowing them at all.

  Nicholás felt like a four-year-old boy after he had smacked himself against the head of the bed, he still could not explain how he could have been so easily deceived. A gratifying sense of relief filled him when he discovered that the Russian mafia was not following in his footsteps, everything had been a very well-planned montage by his enemies. Now at last it seemed that after hard days of investigation, they began to fit the pieces into that creepy puzzle. If Mr. Red was Ramón González and Mr. Blue, Mr. Silvio, Mr. Green could not be other than Diego Suances the right hand of Lucia and the leader of the band, Nicholás decided to accept the invitation of Mireia and spend the night with them. It would do him good to relax, now that he had discovered that his enemies were not as powerful as he believed. In any case tomorrow he didn’t have to get up early, because it was the afternoon shift and he didn’t go into service until two in the afternoon. Then there would be time to inform Guillermo about his progress in the investigation.

  About twelve o'clock, after chatting amiably on various topics. Nicholas said goodbye to the girls and retired to one of the rooms facing north. He needed to relax and get his ideas in order. But he was too tired to think. He knew the true identities of his enemies, at least now the wolves had faces. Ever since he had met Lucia and tasted the softness of her skin, he found it hard to get used to loneliness, the nights and days in winter were too long to pass them without the company of a woman. Despite his fatigue, his head kept spinning. If he got the wolves of the Northwest to face their Queen, it would be his end. He wondered how much they would trust her. It frightened him that Lucia could run any kind of danger in jail, while he was resting so quietly at her best friend's house.

  6—Adjusting accounts.

  Lucia couldn’t close her eyes on what she had been waiting for at night for Natasha's movements. She sensed she could be her next victim. She did not know where she was from, whether it was from Nicholas or from Mr. Green. If the war broke out between them, as it seemed to happen, she should take sides with one side or the other before it was too late. She had known Diego Suances for a long time, if he insisted on treating her as a traitor, he would go after her as he did with Lorena. After interviewing with Nicholas this afternoon, she telephoned Diego directly from prison. One of his gorillas told her that he was busy with some business. In half an hour he would call her.

  Diego Suances never made her wait, they both knew that their calls always had priority. Something strange had to be going through Mr. Green's mind. Maybe he was busy planning her murder. When the phone finally rang, Lucía made an effort to control her nerves. She had to control the tone of her voice. If Diego sensed that she was frightened, his distrust of her would increase. Lucia spoke with a feigned security trying to convince him of something she didn’t even believe herself.

  —He's a poor fool. He is in love with me, for my misfortune. He says he wants to marry me and invite you to the wedding.

  — And the evidence, what about the evidence?

  —I have them, he had given them to me. I have the tape with the statement of a witness who witnessed the crime and the samples of Natasha's hair for you to proceed to its destruction.

  Lucia had torn a strand of her own hair that was similar to Natasha's hair and had them in a small plastic bag with a seal. He would deliver it with the tape to Mr. Green's emissary an hour later.

  —What if he has copies?

  —I don’t think so. He is a poor fool.

  —Look Lucia, do not worry. You must continue pretending, we trust you as always, —said Diego Suances.

  After cutting off the communication, Lucia got in touch with Nicholas to inform him of her conversation with Mr. Green. He was in his car on the way to Chandrexa.

  —Be careful, my love. Maybe he did not believe it, watch your back, —she said before hanging up.

  She should try to get some sleep, but it was impossible, and it was after three in the morning, she calmed herself thinking that Natasha would never try to attack her in the cell, that would make her a suspect of murder. Maybe she would try it tomorrow, in the gym locker room, just like they did with Lorena. If she did, she would be ready. Lucia noticed the cold contact of the steel of her knife in the crotch, hidden under the panties. She had to rest as she was, she thought of Nicholas: fate had in fact made him her only ally. Now she finally knew which side I was on.

  Eight hours later, after her morning gym session, Lucia picked up her towel and headed for the showers. A few steps without an owner followed her restlessly behind her. If it had to happen the sooner the better. It was time to avenge Lorena's death. That would be her job. She looked uneasily at both sides. The room was empty. There was no soul in the changing rooms. Her enemies could not have it easier. She opened the lock of the locker, took off her clothes, and shoved it inside. She tied the towel around her waist so that the knife was half hidden in the cloth, she had stopped listening to the steps but she knew they were near, waiting. As soon as she opened the shower key they would go inside. The quarrel would be uneven. Two against one. She knew that they were superior in number and strength. They also had more experience. But it was late to retreat. If it had to happen better now that she was prepared to be caught unawares, just like Lorena. Her heart was pounding. Oh, Nicholas! It's for you, my love! She heads resolutely towards the showers and barefoot. For she fears that the flip-flops will deprive her of freedom of movement. It reassures you to feel the cold feel of the tiles under the soles of your feet.

  She hears them entering. It seems that bitches are in a hurry. Instead of entering the showers they are locked in one of the toilets and rise to the toilet hanging from the dividing wall. She watches them in silence. They wear latex gloves. All the same, like the other time. They plan to murder her by smashing her skull against the tiling. The same modus operandi. At about the same time that Lorena was murdered, nothing has changed. The same place. The same crime. The same way of acting. Lucia's eyes shudder at the thought. She can’t help urinating above panic. Eyes reddened by rage, she knows it's her only chance. If she doesn’t end all this now tomorrow will be too late. She jumps down from the toilet. Run the bolt. She kicks the door open. Closed there is at a disadvantage prefer to fight them on open ground. Surprise would be her great asset. She wields the razor-sharp steel of the razor before the astonished face of her enemies, who soon take out his own: semiautomatic, about the size of Lucia's.

  Surprised by their sudden appearance, the Russians had backtracked a couple of steps. There are all three in the middle of the hallways of the dressing rooms. To the right the showers. To the left the washbasins. In the background behind Natasha and Milla the lockers.

  Behind Lucia, a half-open window, like an eclipse, reveals a little light. Lucia's eyes move rapidly from left to right, watching as the Russian women approach.

  —Are you sure you know how to handle that? —Says Natasha.

  The truth is that she is right, Lucia thinks. Then comes to mind forgotten scenes of the cinema of the Japanese director Akira Kurosawa regarding the way of acting of the samurai. "Use the heart." "Do not think, act." If those old warriors had survived dozens of battles, why wouldn’t she? She had to attack quickly, improvisation would be her best weapon. To the surprise of her enemies Lucia unravelled the towel that she had tied to the chest and remaining naked it opened like a cloak and threw it to the left on the face of Natasha, the most bloodthirsty of the Russian ones, obstructing her by a few tenths of a second her vision.
Milla took the opportunity to throw a knife in her hand, where Lucia sensed that her heart was. And she did so with a loud, brutal scream, the echo of which bounced against the walls of the dressing room, spreading throughout the prison, the thrust was deadly. The blade sank all over Natasha's chest that fell instantly to the ground. With what she did not tell Lucia was with the reaction of Milla that surprised her by the back pricking it in the right side while she removed the cold steel stained red from Natasha’s heart. Fortunately for Lucia the wound, although very painful, failed to reach any vital organ or main artery.

  When she finally recovered her weapon, Lucia fought furiously against her enemy who retreated scared in her footsteps. She tried to stop the blood from gushing down her side, squeezing the wound tightly with her left hand. She sensed that her hour had not yet come. The hardest thing was done. If she managed to keep her opponent at bay before the guards arrived, she would be saved. Lucia knew that Milla without Natasha was much less dangerous, but she should not be trusted anyway. The wound hurt more and more. She should strike fast before exposing herself to continual loss of blood, but she could barely walk. She prayed that someone in prison would have heard her cry. Milla now stood between her and the five yards that separated her from the only exit door brandishing the razor with renewed energy.

  —You're going to die, motherfucker, just like Lorena. The traitors all end up the same.

  —Come if you dare. Stupid devil! —Lucia shouted with all her might, hoping someone would hear her out there and come to her aid.

  Milla at the words of Lucia, she raged angrily like a giant cobra in the midst of the mud, trying to bring down with her deadly bite her infallible enemy who stood, razor in hand, staring at her rival, without yielding a span of land. Lucia dodged her terrible onslaughts with great skill and fortitude producing several cuts on the arms of the Russian.

  —Is that all you know how to do? No wonder, after all those years of making the street for Mr. Green.

  This time Lucia's words hurt deep in her being to Milla. Lucia was right. During the first years of their stay in our country Natasha and Milla had sold their body, in exchange for money in a club run by Mr. Green; Although they never got to work in the street as Lucia suggested. If they had done so in addition to the club, as prostitutes luxury home. Her ad appeared for months in the local newspaper: «Very vicious arrivals from the East. Model, submissive and experienced body. French, Greek or whatever you like. Hotel or address. »

  Milla tried again to enter the defensive field of Lucia, throwing lunges to right and sinister trying to find a hole to penetrate with the edge of her steel. But Lucia, even if she was expecting it, stood firm, defending herself with circular motions, trying to reach the pale arms of Milla. The wound hurt now much more acutely. If she did not stop moving and practiced a bandage fast she would end up losing too much blood and that would be her end. The forces began to fail her and soon her opponent would take advantage of her weakness to end her life. Her pulse began to tremble. Soon she could not even hold the weapon. She had to attack and she had to do it fast!

  But she did not have the strength to try. She was much more debilitated than she thought. "You have come so far. I'm sorry, my love, you almost got it. "Suddenly the legs no longer responded. Everything began to revolve around her, she is forced to lean on a column, to try to maintain the balance. Milla notices her situation and rushes on her with a voracious attack, using the knife as a spear point, attacks with a deathly thrust against her adversary. Lucia lay back to the ground trying to avoid the trajectory of the weapon. She got it for a few thousandths of a second. The steel passed only a few millimetres from her chest, almost touching it. She had almost saved herself. It did not matter. In the haul she had lost her razor. Now she was unarmed at the foot of Milla. When she had fallen, she had struck the back of her neck and had partially lost consciousness, she was exhausted and at the mercy of her enemy.

  —I got you! Milla said. Farewell to the Northwest Queen!

  Kneeling over Lucia's body, she lifted her arm to stab her to death. It was then that a rubber ball thrown by one of the prison guards hit her in the face. The impact caught her off guard making her drop the weapon and almost lose consciousness. When she tried to take the knife again, she was beaten to pieces by three uniformed guards who hit her mercilessly until she finally vanished.

  7—Parallel Shadows.

  Awakening is always pleasant, especially when someone brings you hot coffee to bed, if the above is accompanied by a kiss on the forehead of sensual lips and the soft touch of a caress provided by one of the most attractive girls of the area, makes one feel much better. Nicholas knows and thanks her, would like to lay her there by his side, regrets not having the courage to do so. Mireia watches him giving her an interesting view of her tight bra, partially visible through her low-cut nightgown. Again the desire arises like a dog without master, like so many other times, she offers her body for nothing. He can’t help it, he may not love her, but the stiffness of his sculptural male body, full of body hair even in the darkest corners draws her constantly. She knows that he does not love her, that his heart is occupied by another person. It makes her feel like a solitary invader, raider of foreign dwellings, thief of the desires and yearnings of another, disoriented walker in a field of mines. For some strange reason her peculiar situation annuls her conscience, exempting it from the cruel reveries of human conscience, freeing it at the same time from any feeling of guilt.

  This time he stops her, he can’t, he has never felt as close to someone else as he feels in those moments with Lucia. Now that they can soon be together again, walk again through the endless meadows and fields filled with lilies under a sky full of amorphous stars, illuminating the path. He apologized, pulling away the sheets, maybe it was not a good idea to stay there that night. He was aware of the dark, dirty, staining desire that his presence bestowed upon her. He admitted to being comfortable under the fire of her eyes and although nothing prevented him from taking advantage of his advantageous position, he decided that it was time to let Mireia seek her own destiny. He would never cross her path, she deserved more than those kisses, borrowed, given without being possessed, unowned kisses thrown into the abyss, whose affection she would never have, kisses without meaning ferocious like the cry of a child, destined to be lost in the nothigness.

  He dressed ignoring her fleeting glances and the shelter of some hips, offering him for the last time, the misfortune of her sleeplessness. Susana had left at dawn for what the two of them were. He hurried to adjust his jeans with a tight belt, while he tucked the silver buckle into the corresponding hole with the precision of a furrier. His shoes were bright, he tucked the shirt he had placed with careful care on the chair, trying to avoid unwanted wrinkles in his anatomy, finally slipped on an aviator's jacket, whose sheepskin lining protected him from the arrival of the first frosted autumn breeze.

  He took leave of her, not without a final kiss on the cheek, it was getting late, he drove his car to her house, it took only five minutes to arrive. As soon as he got out of the car, he was overcome by the strange feeling that something was not in place, even though the garden vegetables remained with their usual immobility under the shade of the apple trees, the closed house door and the windows with the shuttered shutters as he left them to go. Something strange seemed to prowl in the warmth of the morning like a fleeting shadow crouched behind the garages. The shadow was slow to make itself visible, it seemed to mutate into two parallel, indivisible human forms that rushed to it. They were two faceless souls, this one remained covered by a military green balaclava. They ordered him not to move as they aimed at him with two pistols with a built-in muffler, unnecessary in a place as far away as the one where he doubted so much, that any soul could be found hundreds of meters away at that hour of the morning.

  The parallel figures were of identical stature and similar size, clones drawn from the sketch of a cartoonist of superheroes, silhouettes of spirits of old warriors whose s
uccesses preceded later calamities. As they approached him, Nicholas perceived considerable differences in their anatomy, while the one on his left seemed to have taken the measure of the different machinery that compose the hall of a gym, the one on his left displayed with shameless embarrassment a considerable belly, proper to the good life of the average citizen of any modern city. Nicholás raised his arms obeying his orders. One of the men searched him all the way to the standard weapon that every good agent always wears on as if it were a second member. After disarming him, they ordered him into the house. Once inside, his face had paled to the point that his skin offered a nifty look, similar to the makeup of a classical dancer. Anyone watching him might confuse him with the new Billy Eliot from Orense. But the truth was that a strange static terror had taken possession of him. Perhaps he had gone too far with that investigation, but now it was too late to regret it. At this point there was no going back, he had to focus on trying to save his life and not be overpowered by nervousness or haste. Act with caution and try to satisfy whatever the demands of those men, who insisted on continuing to speak with an authoritarian and threatening voice.

  They went into the living room and ordered him to sit on the same sofa where he had so often possessed Mireia, they took a seat in front of him, while they continued aiming with weapons. The furnishings of the court had an austere appearance, which was in keeping with its disorder, dust accumulated on the shelves, on the books and different adornments, offering a disastrous image, unfit for the neatness and discipline of an agent belonging to a military hierarchy. The house had known better days, especially when his relationship with the journalist was at its best, as this was declining, Nicholas was putting aside his daily chores, perhaps too busy trying to solve the murder cases he had pending.