Chapter 7
I just wanted to take my Klonopin and forget about the world. I wanted it all to be a big prank, a bad joke. Human flesh with vodka and green apple reduction; three thousand per person. That was supposed to be funny?
“Why the hell did you do that?” shouted Miguel.
“It was just a joke. Because of the seagull meat riddle.”
“A joke? What if the cops saw it?”
Already Miguel was worried about the police.
“They’ve got more important shit to do. It was just a joke. Imagine if the cops went after every little thing people post online.”
Still feeling dizzy, I sat on the bed, on the part that looked the least filthy, with fewer beer stains or ash. Miguel was clearly shaken, so I needed to act rationally.
“Let’s just try to calm down.”
“A dinner serving human flesh, Dante! Of course somebody will report it!”
Piglet got out of his chair, moving at the speed of a tortoise, and put out his joint in the ashtray.
“Get out of my room, Miguel. I’m tired of hearing you whining in my ear.”
“You’re the one who got us into this mess!” he said, grabbing Piglet by the shoulders and shaking him violently. “You’re the one who decided to advertise a dinner with human flesh online! Can’t you do one thing right?”
“I created a fake email account for the registration,” he replied proudly. “You didn’t actually think I’d do something like that with my real email, did you? Nobody’s going to find us.”
I tried hard to sound nonchalant:
“I’m sure the admins have taken it down by now.”
“Yeah, they did.”
“See? There’s nothing to be scared of.” I put my arm around Miguel’s waist, since I couldn’t reach his shoulder. “Have a glass of water, take a deep breath. We’ll post again later with the lamb dinner, and everything’ll be fine.”
Miguel thought for a few seconds before slowly nodding, then left the room. I looked around the pigsty of a bedroom, which smelled especially bad that evening, like sweaty clothes, filthy socks, and rotting food.
“So we’re not going to do the dinner?” Piglet asked me.
It all seemed so absurd to me that I didn’t even consider that he was being serious. I closed my eyes and smiled, joking along with him. “You’re hopeless. You know that, right?”
He repeated his question, this time with obvious frustration in his voice.
“It’s thirty thousand reals, Dante. We can pay off the debt and still have some left over! We’re really not going to do this?”
“Of course not,” I said, patting his back. “Forget it.”
I walked toward the door but turned back. “Hold on a minute, Piglet. If the site took it down, how did all that money wind up in that account?”
Piglet gave me a look I’ll never forget, one that meant there was no turning back.
Half embarrassed, half proud, he said that the page had been taken down, but he’d managed to save the email addresses of all the people willing to pay 3,000 reals for the dinner.
Thrilled at the idea of earning all that money in just a few minutes, he had sent them a message. A message that changed our lives.