The Queen of the Northwest

by Javier Montes Gómez

  —We came for the evidence you have hidden about the murder of Lorena Vazquez, —said one of the hooded men.

  —But I gave it to Lucia yesterday afternoon.

  —Bullshit, we have analysed the hair that she gave us and is not Natasha’s, as for the tape sure you have a copy.

  —It is true, if I give it to you with the original sample of the hair, will you leave us alone at once?

  But what will I give to them! If I have nothing here, thought Nicholas, if only I had been careful to put a fake sample of hair in a bag, as for the tape. I'll be able to give them a copy, anyway. Who could assure them that we would not have hundreds of them in the command? They should know that that evidence, without an affidavit from the witness before a judge, was not worth a damn.

  —If you give us all the copies of the tape you have along with the real sample of Natasha's hair, you won’t only save your life, but also that of your partner and family, —said the hunk.

  The first impulse of Nicholas was to warn them about the terrible consequences that would mean for them to assassinate in cold blood and in his house an agent of the Civil Guard, but at the moment he abandoned the idea, with those men any type of reasoning was useless. Surely this wasn’t the first time they had annihilated someone, they were probably hired killers under Diego Suances and his men, with the order to try to recover the evidence, before murdering him and if they didn’t manage to eliminate him from everyone modes. The test was not a priority, no doubt his real mission was to kill him. Why not if they had taken so much trouble to send that pair of thugs to his house those hours of the morning? If only they thought to scare him. Why mufflers? Perhaps not enough with more conventional weapons.

  Nicholas was glad he hadn’t tried to convince them that they really had no conclusive evidence against them.

  After so many lies in this case, surely the truth would not be well received. He could also have told them that the evidence they were looking for was not in his possession at the time, perhaps he would gain time or perhaps a bullet in his temple would have been embedded. So he only had one chance, if he failed he was lost. He remembered the old cardboard box in the attic where he kept his spare gun, hidden among a pile of papers. He must try to calm himself, any false step would be his end. He prayed that he wouldn’t have left his insurance, that thousandths of a second that would take him away, would be a few bullets in his body. The weapon was loaded, that lesson was at least well learned. A gun with no bullets, it was like trying to sleep with an unknown girl without a condom on a Saturday night.

  —All right, —he said at last, trying to measure his words to the utmost—, I'll give you the sample you ask me, along with the tapes, I have three, I swear there are no more copies you can tell Mr. Red to be calm.

  —We'll tell him, but we want the evidence first, —said the one with the magic belly.

  The parallel shadows are now chasing him down the aisle toward the attic, his senses of smell and hearing sharpened suddenly like those of a wounded animal, he can almost smell the scent of those murderous dogs, a smell of stale sweat and dirt soaking their faces, as well as a second skin, providing them with a kind of impermeable protective film. Nicholas tries to reduce the pulse of his heartbeat to a minimum. Quiet boy are just old dogs too sure of themselves after having fought in many squares. The worst thing that can happen to you is to die from lead poisoning, it's not that bad. Much worse is to die asphyxiated as happened to Maria Guzman, feeling inside you as the veins of the brain swell without being able to do anything to avoid it. You shouldn’t show fear that would be your end, stand firm at all times. Remember Al Pacino in the first part of the godfather picking that manipulated revolver from the inside of the cistern of one of those old toilets suspended two meters above the ground.

  Then returning again to the restaurant with the weapon hidden in the pocket of that elegant jacket. He could have lost his temper and started shooting like crazy, but instead he sits back quietly at the table with those hated gangsters who tried to murder his father a few days before. In the next scene the camera focuses on his face. His eyes are moving restlessly looking everywhere. If his trusty enemies had had him in greater consideration they wouldn’t lose sight of his gaze, they would watch his eyes. These would certainly give him away, they would have enough time to be aware that Mikel Corleone was up to something. They would take out their weapons and annihilate him with bullets; however, they made the biggest mistake a gangster could make, overconfidence and paid their mistake with a bullet in the centre of the skull each. Nicholás tried to appear clumsy and frightened, even pretending to trip on a stool, when he went into the kitchen to get the keys to the attic. Waiting for him to be taken by a hen and to relax. But the wolves are not fools, they don’t cease to aim him with their weapons when he opens one of the drawers of the kitchen to pick up the keys. Attentive to any suspicious moves they might make, they seem like real professionals. Nicholas begins to be aware of reality. It will be difficult to lose them, his life is in grave danger.

  For a few moments, he regrets meeting Lucía Márquez. He regrets that thought instantly. If it weren’t for her his life would have no incentive. It was really worth dying for that pair of eyes. For him they were like the windows of an immortal soul, heavenly, angelic and eternally young as a goddess of the Olympus. He would die as many times as necessary to pass even a single minute with her. Everything else was of no consequence. These thoughts encouraged him as he climbed the wooden stairway leading to the attic entrance. Nicholás opened a kind of mouth on the ceiling, without incisors, premolars, false teeth, gold teeth or any other type of dental piece that could devour them, as much as Nicholas wished, it was simply the trapdoor that was entered to the attic. Once inside, Nicholas thought of slamming the trapdoor into the nostrils of his pursuers. But it wouldn’t have served him much, unfortunately the bolt of the same, was on the outside of the attic and from the inside would be practically impossible to lock it.

  The attic was practically in the half-light, only a faint halo of light from the outside entered through two windows at the bottom of the room, he thought of turning on the light, the key was on his right, but he gave up the idea, darkness suited him more for his purposes. He looked for the box closely guarded by the mouths of his enemies' weapons. He was glad that it was in the darkest part of the place. The more darkness, the more confusion. He prayed that they wouldn’t think of emptying the box and revealing the weapon. That would certainly be the end. Surely they would be very cunning, real mafiosos, didn’t make childish mistakes as in the movies. They were likely to move the box into a zone of more light so that it could be examined more calmly. He asked God for them not to do this. He had to think fast or he was lost. Beside the box, where the weapon was hidden, there were several more boxes, full of books, old photographs, vinyl records and all kinds of useless relics, which he kept without knowing very well since the high school. Nicholás approached one of the boxes hesitantly. "I believe it is this," he said, knowing that it wasn’t. He didn’t quite know what he was doing trying to confuse them, perhaps digging his own grave. At last he heard from one of the men what he was most afraid to hear.

  —We should all move them to an area of ​​more light and dump them on the ground, until you find what we are looking for."

  That bastard seemed to read the thought to him, he was lost he couldn’t deceive them and take out the weapon in time. Maybe he should turn on the light, which was more likely to die now than later, there than elsewhere. If something wasn’t happening soon, he was lost. He felt horrible nausea piercing his stomach like daggers. Think, think Damn it! You run out of time.

  —They're too many and they weigh a lot, I'd better turn on the light so I can see them more clearly, I'll find the one containing the evidence fast.

  The men seemed to hesitate for a moment. After which, they accepted his idea, went to the switch of light with the pulse at more than a thousand revolutions per second and turned on the light; maybe deep
down was not a bad idea, remembered that the wolves saw better in the dark, luckily the store was much more messed up than he thought. That might give you more options. He had to convince them not to drop the boxes on the floor or hear the sound of the gun falling.

  —I think it's this one, —he said, this time moving to a different box than the previous one, where he thought he'd put the gun away. His pulse was racing, he had to hide his nerves as he was, he tried to keep his hands from shaking as he pointed, one of the men, overturning the box on the floor. The papers scattered everywhere, he was surprised that he did not hear the sound of the gun falling, at the moment realized the reason was it was the wrong box. The men began to stir everything like crazy, the box was full of notes of the academy belonging to his time of the opposition.

  —Damn you upset me everything, so you will never find them, thank goodness, that I think I've got the wrong box, —Nicholás said in anger.

  The strongest man began to lose his temper, leaned his gun barrel on his forehead, and in an irritating voice said:

  —Find them all at once, piece of shit, or I'll spread your brains all over this damn block!

  Nicholas ducked his obedient head and knelt in front of another of the boxes, carefully moving the papers. It had to be there. But how could he shoot them if they didn’t stop pointing at him? While with his left hand he simulated looking for evidence between a pile of documents with the right hand he reached the bottom of the box, and there it was. He felt the cold feel of the barrel on his fingers. He gripped the gun by the hilt, making sure his index finger was on the trigger. As he was with his back at them, they couldn’t see his eyes moving wildly without looking at any fixed place. Totally out of control, nervous, panic seemed to keep him immobilized, he would only have a chance, he could not fail.

  Now he just had to turn around and try to shoot them. Without being aware of what was happening, but they were too much above him, if he tried, even if he was the fastest gunman in the west. He couldn’t prevent a bullet in his brain. They were two, he was just one. He had to get them to relax, how could he do it, if they kept aiming for him? Then suddenly there was a sound of a car in the distance approaching the house.

  —It must be Sergeant Guillermo, —he said hopefully.

  That worked, he got the men to look away for a moment at the skylight in the background, alerted to the possibility of the arrival of another agent. The overhead light from the outside dazzled them. It was only a few thousandths of a second, but enough for Nicholás to draw the gun from the bottom of the box and shoot at them with the speed and precision that took him to the highest mark in shooting exercises in the time of the Military school.

  It was done, the men fell to the ground plunged by the bullets. He had shot them directly to the heart, and when he pulled back his balaclava, he could see that he was totally mistaken. His surprise was a big one when he discovered that he had not been charged with a pair of hit men, but with the same gentlemen Blue and Green. The corpses of Diego Suances and Don Silvio now floated in a pool of blood of considerable size. Nicholás turned away, trying not to smear his shoes, as he would explain now that the mess was the least. The important thing was that life had given him a new opportunity and he didn’t think to waste it. He received the purring of that unknown motor, like the wake of a Messiah who had just illuminated him with his light, instantly releasing him from a terrible mortal disease. If it weren’t for that unknown car, which had just stopped in front of his house, probably at this time he would be dead. Surely it was the baker or the mail van. It didn’t matter, he went down to meet this stranger as if he were a prophet in that land of cattlemen and nonsense.

  Surprises never ceased on that day, like a succession of continuous currents that seemed to have no end. When Nicholas opened the door of the house and found himself with the parallel shadows of four men armed with AK 44 assault rifles, he was aware that his fate had at last seemed exhausted. He had ended up with the leaders of the pack; but the rest of the wolves were there, in front of him, just as Mireia had described them in her famous stories, so often read that she could almost tell who is who. The one on the left, who like the rest did not stop pointing his gun, was certainly Ramon Gonzalez or the Red Lord, next to the one with the blonde hair and blue eyes, he could not be other than Isaac Jimenez more well-known in the world of the football as Softie, then were two of the hardcore of the band: Abellás that in spite of his years did not seem to shake the pulse to him to hold the gun and Don Pablo four years younger than this one, whose fine moustache covered his masculine face with great elegance.

  It was the end, he closed his eyes hoping that the bullets would completely sweep him away. At least I will not suffer! Come on bastards shoot at once! In an instant he saw his whole life suddenly before his eyes. When he finally opened them, he was surprised that he was still alive. He seemed to find himself in front of a firing squad in which no one dared to open fire. Suddenly to their surprise, everyone lowered their weapons in unison. Why did he continue to live? What the hell was going on?

  —We've been watching your footsteps for days on Lucia's orders. —Peluso was the first to speak— in the fear that Don Silvio and Diego Suances would try to assassinate you, we regret that we lost track this morning. We were having breakfast and didn’t see you leave with the blacksmith's car, when we noticed your absence in the house we came here as soon as possible What the hell has happened there?

  —I've charged your bosses, that's what happened! Damn! When I saw you with all that stuff, I almost peed in my pants.

  —I'm sorry, my friend, but not all the gangsters, are murderers, quite the opposite. We're just business people. The two of us were the exception, you did us a favour by getting rid of them, now we will be less at the time of handing out the cake. We can continue with the business, since Lucia has been determined to abandon us as soon as she leaves the jail, I wish you the best in your new life together.

  —Thank you, my friends, —said Nicolas— you can go, I'll take care of this mess. You do not want to be here when the whole party arrives, you must hurry, and perhaps Lucia's life may be in danger at any moment.

  Nicholás watched in amazement as these men, all dressed in smartly dressed robes, left the house in a luxurious vehicle. It was then when his cell phone rang, it was Guillermo Troutia informed him of what had happened to Lucia with the Russians in jail. She was resting in the infirmary, she had regained consciousness and was longing to see him. After being informed of what had happened in the house and the true identities of his enemies, Nicolas asked him to take care of the cold cuts, which continued to bleed in the attic, while he would go to the prison to visit his beloved.

  Epilogue

  I still remember with nostalgia that day when we both saw death so closely. I would like to tell that the experience united us forever, that we swear eternal love and all those things that lovers are always said at all times with desperate desire, product of the fear of losing the other and stay in solitude forever. But ours didn’t happen that way. When we saw ourselves, there was no need for desperate promises like I will love you forever, I will never leave you, I will be by your side until death do us part and other similar topics. Promises that most of the occasions are forgotten and couples continue to repeat for years, dragged by inertia, although the passion has long since vanished from their lives.

  However, for the time being, despite the years we have been together, we still feel the cold tingling of electricity that continues to emit our bodies whenever our eyes meet. It's not that I did not want others. The desire is still there around the corner on each neckline of every girl I cross paths with on the street. That sweet window to which one always tempts you to peer, because our masculine nature leads us precisely to that point of no return in which we become constant victims of the wandering of the feminine, without being able to avoid it, prisoners of that sensation hardly controllable to be lost in the shadow of a breasts, or the curvatures of some hips; or the cleft of a navel;
or the morbidity of a tattoo on the neck; or the unstoppable heel of any stranger impregnating you with your perfume as you pass by. Leaving you paralyzed, more inclined to turn to watch it behind your back trotting, than the lamp that you almost fell as you passed.

  That same uncontrollable and disturbing desire I feel at the step of any stranger with long legs, stilettos, wild wrecks, the sensual flight of the skirts; still alive inside me every minute of the day, that I cross with Lucia. That is why neither of us needs to talk about eternal love, marriage, domestic partnership or any other kind of euphemism, which ends up turning the word desire into something forced; or rather conditioned by routine or despair, trying to avoid the end of a cycle that will definitely end with the breakup of the couple.

  We have both seen death too closely, that distant day of early October 2004. When your whole life passes before your eyes in just a few seconds, you feel that strange sensation, a mixture of terror and calm. The calm that gives you the acceptance, that everything is over when you're going to die! It does not matter too much everyone dies someday. Sometimes I feel as if I had died that day, when the wolves pointed at me with their weapons, without blinking for a second. Maybe from that day, I've been walking around like a ghost all over the city, wondering if I've ever really been born or if my life is but an endless dream without end.

  I see her as beautiful, sensitive, affectionate, sympathetic and at the same time tender and kind. When I see her I have no choice but to admire her courage, as she left the difficult world of narcotics, without a doubt, without even blinking; erasing all her past suddenly to take refuge in my arms. She did not object to my choice of the city of Santander as a new destination, so far from the land she has loved so much. But in which she has also suffered and wept prey to misfortune, in which she was about to lose her life and at the same time to end mine. At night while I hold her, I try to convey all my affection; nevertheless I always receive much more than I give or that same affection multiplied by ten, in the form of soft caresses and sweet kisses coming from her sensual lips, crashing against the wall of my forehead, the feminine softness of her neck or the soft foliage of the valley of her neck, to end up falling in the froth of her mouth until I came to gather the tongue, giving me her saliva with infinite generosity.