Chapter 2
Was I hallucinating? Of course not, that was impossible. So what was it? I called Hugo and Miguel about fourteen times, no luck. Beside me, Cora was painting her toenails red and whistling an unfamiliar tune.
“Don’t worry, Hugo must have fixed Bukowski,” she said.
That wasn’t enough. I needed him to confirm, so I kept on calling. It was already four in the afternoon. Piglet came into the living room in his Pokémon boxers, wiping the sleep from his half-closed eyes.
“What are you guys up to?”
I told him about the detective’s visit. Piglet put his hands to his ears.
“Jesus, I already regret asking … You look like shit. How long’s it been since you got laid, Dante?”
“Do you have any idea the huge pile of shit we’re in right now?” I snapped back.
“Whatever. I just wanna make love. Ready, baby girl?”
Piglet grabbed Cora by the waist and pulled her toward him.
She got up, leaving her open bottle of nail polish and cotton balls on the coffee table.
She gave a little wave before disappearing down the hall with Piglet.
Now alone, I tried again to reach Miguel and Hugo.
My fingers were sore, but I resisted the urge to hurl my phone against the wall.
It didn’t take long for the moans, or rather, the shameless, wild howls—escalating rapidly from low- to high-pitched—to reach the living room. Cora was anything but discreet in bed.
Fed up, I grabbed the little slip of paper I’d left on my nightstand and called the sales assistant from the housewares store. He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, stranger. We met at the store the other day. Do you feel like going out?” I asked.
We met at a bar in Lapa, close to a cheap motel I’d been to before. Here’s a little life tip for you: When somebody starts a conversation with “Hey, stranger,” either they’re about to ask you for a favor or it’s a booty call.