Chapter 4
I called Miguel six times, but he didn’t answer.
So the first thing I did when I got home that night was look in his room.
There was no sign that Miguel had been there since the previous day.
That worried me. He could have told his mother what we’d done or, worse, his girlfriend, Rachel, who’d never liked us and she thought we were a bad influence. She was right.
On Sunday morning, I called Miguel again a dozen times, and still no answer. Exhausted, I lay down on the couch to scroll social media and get my mind off things. Minutes later, Cora came out of Piglet’s room.
“Something is eating you up inside,” she said. “I can feel it from here.”
She came over and sat down beside me. She was wearing makeup, but she still looked half asleep. Her fingers drummed on her thighs.
“Wanna talk?” she asked and let out a yawn.
“Okay … How did you get rid of the remains of the two bodies?”
“I buried them.”
“Where?”
“If I tell you, I’d have to kill you,” Cora said with a wink.
“Okay then, James Bond.”
She scooted closer and nudged me to put my head on her lap, then started to play with my hair.
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about anything else.
It was impossible. I looked up at Cora and realized how strange it was to see her like this, from the bottom up—all I could see were her firm breasts and the tip of her chin.
“I was thinking, Dante…” she said. “You don’t have to pay me anything for helping with the butchering. You can keep all the money for the back rent.”
“Thank you, Cora.”
I sat up again. I clasped her hands in mine and looked deep into her eyes. She was a struggling but hardworking woman. Rude yet sensitive.
“It’s just … you guys … you’re like my new family.”
She turned her face slightly, wiping away a tear that had run down her cheek, smudging her makeup.
She took a cigarette from the coffee table and lit it, crossing her legs, regaining her self-possessed posture.
I found this quick, almost desperate transformation beautiful, and I realized that if I needed to talk to someone, Cora was the perfect person.
“I haven’t seen Hugo since yesterday,” I said. “And Miguel disappeared on Friday. I’ve been trying to call him, but he isn’t picking up. I’m afraid he’s going to ruin everything.”
“Like telling that basic-bitch girlfriend of his what we did?”
“Yeah.”
“I get it,” she said, bringing the cigarette to her lips again. “Miguel is a bit of a wild card, and his girlfriend may act like a saint, but she’s dangerous and controlling. She likes to keep him on a short leash. I know women like that. In the garden of life, there’s always a stick in the mud.”
I laughed, and for a moment I forgot about the weight I’d been carrying. I wanted to talk about Hugo and the homeless man’s body, but it wasn’t right to bring Cora into all my problems. I changed the subject. “And Piglet? Still in bed?”
“Snoring like a freight train,” she said with a smile. “Sometimes the nightstand even starts to shake, like in an earthquake. Good thing I’m a heavy sleeper.”
I worried about their relationship. An obese man and a prostitute … In my mind, that couldn’t be sustainable. I was afraid Piglet was going to get hurt or go completely crazy. All I saw were red flags.
“Cora, don’t take this the wrong way. I know you’re a nice woman and that you’re doing a lot of good for Piglet, but … I just have one request.”
From my tone, she realized what I was about to say wasn’t a good thing and she sat up straight, attentive.
“What is it?”
“I don’t want you to charge him anymore. I know it’s your job, but—”
“It’s not,” she cut me off. “We’re in a relationship, I’m in love. I don’t charge the person I love for sex.”
She caught me off guard.
“You’re not charging him anything?”
“Of course not!”
“But … the only reason we owed all that money was because he was paying you!”
“We weren’t a couple back then, so I had to charge,” she said. She put out her cigarette and caressed my face. “You really don’t get it, do you? You think it’s impossible for me to like him, but I do. Piglet is cute and smart.”
“Okay,” I said, shrugging. “To each their own.”
“Only gay men like buff guys, Dante. Women like guys with dad bods, the chubby ones, who work hard to please you and don’t think they’re God’s gift in bed. Piglet understands me, he respects my job. He’s still learning, but I love to teach. And I completely lose track of time when we talk.”
What Cora and Piglet could possibly be talking about when they were in bed was beyond me. But if they were really getting along that well and Piglet wasn’t going to be spending any more of our money on her, I had no reason to interfere.
Cora lit another cigarette.
“Dante, I’ve been wanting to ask you something, too. Piglet doesn’t really talk about his past. I know there’s something, but whenever I try to bring it up…”
“I’d rather not get involved.”
“Just tell me something. I know Leit?o is his last name and Piglet is his nickname, but I have no idea what his first name is! That’s not right. We’re in a relationship.”
“He doesn’t like his first name.”
“I know, but you can tell me,” she begged. “I promise I won’t say anything to him.”
“Jorge Luiz.”
“Jorge Luiz … That’s beautiful. Jorge Luiz!” she said, savoring every letter. “What happened back in your hometown?”
“Look, Cora, you’re asking too much.”
“Throw me a bone at least, come on.”
“Piglet’s a good guy, but he had a tough childhood,” I said. “I can tell you one thing. When we were about five or six years old, our teacher asked each student to draw something they liked to do for fun with their family. I still have Piglet’s drawing, I saved it all this time.”
“Can I see it?”
“Hold on.”
I’ve always been organized, and I quickly located the folders in my room where I kept postcards, letters, souvenirs, things like that. I handed the drawing to Cora. She stared at the image like it was a Rembrandt.
“Is that him?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Eating, of course.”
Cora smiled. “And these women?”
“I already said I’m not going to tell you more.”
She went back to studying the lines, like that drawing might reveal every truth about her boyfriend.
I would have stood there for hours, watching her gaze wander over the yellowed paper, but the doorbell rang.
I got up to answer it. Hugo must have forgotten his keys, or maybe it was Miguel.
I opened the door and was met by the sight of a tall, thin man, wearing jeans and a green polo shirt, with the least interesting face I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Are you Dante?” he asked.
“Yes. And you are…?”
He reached into his jeans pocket and handed me his badge.
“The police.”