Chapter 52 Happy Endings Are Only in the Movies
Happy Endings Are Only in the Movies
They looked at each other without saying a word, like two chess players about to embark on the endgame.
“I thought you were dead,” Roberto eventually managed to say.
“You aren’t the first to make that mistake.” The cold smile on Osvaldo’s face grew a little wider. “A costly one.”
Antía. Diego. I have to get them out of here.
“Uh-uh.” Osvaldo shook his head, guessing Roberto’s thoughts. “If you’re wondering about that woman of yours and the kid, they’re outside. Someone’s asked them to go pick up a present for you. A little surprise.”
“Let me guess. No present.”
“But it is a surprise, right?” Osvaldo raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, they’re in good company, don’t worry.”
“What do you want?”
Osvaldo looked at him with mock astonishment. “What do you think I want?” He held out a copy of Stormy Night. “Your signature. And a little chat, of course.”
As he took the book, Roberto felt he had fallen into some kind of nightmare.
No one in the line had noticed anything—they all continued to wait their turn, chatting away like normal.
Carmen Gavín, who was accompanying Roberto for the signing, was over in a corner, engaged in a seemingly lengthy phone conversation.
He looked around in desperation, but not a single employee of the bookstore was nearby.
It was a Saturday afternoon, and they were all run off their feet.
He spotted three guys who looked very out of place. Tall, muscle-bound, pretending to be browsing the shelves but each clearly with one eye on Roberto and Osvaldo.
“Don’t do anything dumb,” Osvaldo said, “or this thing turns ugly.”
“I can cry out. Call for help.”
“And what are you going to say? That I threatened you? That I’m one of the characters in your book?” Osvaldo rubbed his temples. “Nobody knows me, I don’t have a record in your country, and neither do any of my men. Besides . . .”
“Besides what?” Roberto’s mouth was dry.
“I’m sure you’d love to see that girl of yours again, and the kid. Am I wrong? Like I say, they’re outside, and they’re being well looked after.”
Roberto bowed his head, defeated. “What do you want me to do?”
“First, sign the book.” Osvaldo glanced over his shoulder. “People are beginning to stare.”
Mechanically, Roberto opened the book and wrote his signature inside.
“Great book, I really enjoyed it, but it’s full of lies.”
“I changed the names, like we said.”
“I don’t mean that,” Osvaldo said sharply. “I’m talking about the money.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, yes you do.” Another icy smile. “Before the boat capsized, I had time to look. There was some actual money in the bags but mainly just a crapload of flyers and maps. You can imagine how upset I was.”
Roberto shrugged. There was no use denying the obvious.
“You tricked me, Lobeira. And I don’t like being tricked.”
Just then, the next person in line blew out their cheeks loudly and said, “Man, this guy’s taking his time. We’ve been waiting an hour now . . .”
Osvaldo turned and gave the man a death stare. The man flushed and dropped his gaze.
“Now, you’re gonna tell me where the money is,” Osvaldo said, turning back to Roberto with a wolfish smile. “Every last bill.”
Roberto squeezed the marker pen in his hand and briefly entertained just stabbing Osvaldo in the eye with it. But he knew there was nothing he could do as long as they had Antía and Diego.
“Let’s just look at this quickly,” said Osvaldo.
Osvaldo took out a cell phone, moved around the table so that he was beside Roberto, and placed the phone in front of them both. Draping an arm over Roberto’s shoulder, he smiled. Anyone would think they were taking a selfie.
“You said you liked movies,” he whispered. “Here’s one I want to show you . . .”
He tapped the screen, and the video began to roll: In the middle of an empty, white-walled room, a man sat naked and tied to a chair, his body covered in welts and bruises, his head inside a burlap sack.
Suddenly, his head having been drooping forward, he seemed to be alerted by a sound—Osvaldo had the video on mute—and started manically casting around for the source.
His whole body began to tremble as a shadow passed behind him, and then there was Osvaldo beside him. He wore a white plastic apron and was holding a pair of pliers.
Roberto was almost grateful that the video was on mute for what happened next. Osvaldo, with an icy smile, grabbed one of the man’s hands and proceeded to cut off his fingers, as the man writhed and struggled madly with his bindings.
“This is nothing compared to what your woman and the kid will get—if I don’t get the money in the next twenty-four hours.
” Osvaldo pocketed the phone and walked back around to the other side of the table.
“Surely you know that happy endings are only in the movies. Now, you’re gonna make your apologies and come with me to—”
“No.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, no.”
“I don’t think you understand the situation here, Lobeira.”
“Oh no, I understand perfectly.” He smiled and nodded reassuringly at Carmen Gavín, who, still on the phone, was now looking over, no doubt wondering why he was taking so long with this particular fan. “I think you don’t understand.”
The Colombian blinked very slowly a couple of times. The fluttering of a deadly butterfly. “All it takes is a signal from me,” he said, “and they’re gone.”
“As you’ve already said. But there’s also a movie I want to show you.” Roberto took his own phone out. “You know how much I love movies.”
Osvaldo gave him a severe look, but there was just the smallest hint of worry in his eyes too.
Roberto tapped the screen, and a video started to play. It was in black and white, shot from an elevated position, and there was a time code in the bottom left-hand corner.
“Look familiar? It’s from the security camera at the lighthouse,” he said. “Amazingly clear, right?”
Out in the center of the lighthouse yard stood the two of them, talking, with the members of the Freire and Docampo families looking on.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to—”
“Just a moment . . . Now!”
Antía and Diego entered from the right, carrying the duffel bags. They placed them down in front of Osvaldo, who took out a handful of bills and thumbed it before, looking satisfied, putting it back in the bag and turning away. The video ended there.
“So what?” Osvaldo shrugged. “I know what happened. I was there.”
“Precisely. Now, I suppose you know I was a journalist before I became a writer, right?”
Osvaldo just gave a noncommittal grunt.
“I still have lots of contacts, especially in Mexico.” He looked the Colombian squarely in the eye. “People who know people. People who know things, like who your boss is. And how to reach him by email.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Osvaldo.
“Your boss is not a person known for his patience, or his compassionate nature. Some say he’s even slightly paranoid after so many years of playing cat and mouse with the authorities. I’m sure you can imagine how he might view this video, showing you receiving the money.”
“It changes nothing. I’ll tell him what happened. He trusts me. I’ll just tell him—”
“Hold on, hold on,” said Roberto, cutting in. “Now comes the best part. The money happens to be sitting in an account in the Cayman Islands, and I want you to guess whose name it’s in.”
Osvaldo’s expression went from bewilderment to understanding in a split second. And from that, to one of panic.
“My name,” he finally said, his voice tiny.
“Yours, exactly! Seventy-five million euros in the name of Osvaldo Salazar, the Scorpion of Cali himself. I’ve also had time to do a little research on you . . .” He smiled. “Sadly, you don’t have the access code to the account.”
Osvaldo gulped, a hot flush running through him. But that was nothing compared to the whirlwind tearing through his mind.
A whirlwind of possibilities.
A whirlwind of ramifications.
All of which, at best, concluded with him ending up just like the man in his video.
“Just so we’re really clear,” Roberto continued mercilessly, “I have no interest in keeping that dirty money for myself, but it is my life insurance.”
Osvaldo tried to say something, but his eyes were glassy as if he’d just been dealt a knockout blow.
“If I see you again, even from afar, I’ll send the video and the bank account information to your boss.
If anything happens to me or to anyone close to me, the email will be sent automatically.
If you should so much as breathe within a hundred yards of me again, the email will be sent.
If you chew in a way I don’t like, the email will be sent.
Anything, any attempt to fuck with me, the email will be sent. Have I made myself clear?”
“Very clear.” Osvaldo sounded like he was being strangled. He said nothing more. He didn’t need to. They both remained silent for a few seconds, staring at each other. The game was up; there were no pieces left to move.
“It’s time you left,” Roberto sighed, and pointed to the door. “There are lots of people waiting. And tell Antía and Diego to come back in, if you’d be so kind.”
Roberto gestured to the next man in line, who stepped forward, paying the stunned Osvaldo no mind.
Osvaldo Salazar was not a coward, but he wasn’t stupid either. No one reached his age in his line of work otherwise. He knew when he had lost.
With slumped shoulders, he turned and signaled to his men that they were leaving.
“Osvaldo!” Roberto called out, and the man swiveled back around. “You’re forgetting this.” Roberto held up the signed book. “So you have something to read on your way home.”
Osvaldo gave him a withering look but grasped hold of the book without a word. There was nothing to say.
Roberto held his breath until the gunmen had gone out, away into the crowds of Plaza de Callao. When Antía and Diego entered again, both looking confused, he finally exhaled. He smiled to signal that it was all over, and the relief on their faces was obvious. He would explain everything later.
They had survived the storm.
More important, they had survived its consequences.
And for now, the sun was shining.