Chapter 3
After the craziness of the last couple of days, I ended that night on my best behavior.
Cora and I polished off the bottle of wine, talking about everything and nothing all at once.
The sun was already up when she helped me tidy up the living room and we took an Uber back home.
I fell into bed and woke up at noon, with a splitting headache and a crushing depression weighing on my chest, a feeling I was used to the morning after taking Molly, but which had been growing increasingly strong these days.
I got up and made a sandwich. My mind kept revisiting a nightmare I’d had recently, where Umberto said horrible things as he dissolved into colorful shapes and lines like a Romero Britto painting.
Suddenly, I remembered something Umberto had told me at the slaughterhouse, about Ruth.
That was a direct order from Vladimir. Eliminating a witness. She had died because she knew too much.
I stared at the flyer with its creased, faded picture. If I wanted to find out more about the big boss, this was the best way. I locked my bedroom door, sat on the edge of my bed, and called one of the numbers on the flyer. A man answered on the first ring.
“Hi, I saw a flyer for a missing woman.”
“Yes, she’s my fiancée,” he blurted breathlessly. “I’m Arthur. Have you seen her?”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
I heard a sigh from the other end. Maybe I was the first person who’d called.
“What’s your name?”
“Dante,” I said, not quite sure why I was telling the truth.
“Can we meet?”
The hunger with which he asked the question made me wince.
“Where?”
“You choose.”
“There’s a café on Rua Duvivier, opposite Beco das Garrafas.”
“I know it,” he said eagerly. “How about in an hour?”
“Okay, see you then.”
“Listen, thank you for calling.”