City of Crime

By Carlo Angelo Torres

There is this criminal organization. One of the middle managers, hungry for power, kills the boss in such a way that everybody thinks it was a rival group. However, some people realize what happened, and a war between factions begins. The police are trying to dismantle the organization, though without success because most of the leaders are unknown. At the same time, a young university student is recruited. He has no idea of the hell he is entering. A young woman that murdered somebody becomes a whore and a killer, but she falls in love. Everything happens in the middle of the war, and alliances and betrayals happen between the Colombians and other ethnic groups, such as the Calabrians and the Germans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514480755

Carlo Angelo Torres

The author is an engineer working in Venezuela and living in Bogota. He is married and has three children. He began writing in English because it was like a hobby to practice the language, but after four years, he realized the book had over two hundred thousand words, so he decided to publish it. He likes to be with his family, work, read, watch TV, run, and write.

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 by Carlo Angelo Torres.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016905265

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5144-8077-9

                Softcover        978-1-5144-8076-2

                eBook             978-1-5144-8075-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 5/3/2016

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Contents

Prologue

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Epilogue

Prologue

The afternoon was sunny. The guy was driving by Bogota downtown. He had driven from the north part of the city through the North Avenue, which crossed Bogota till south. There were no lights, so it was supposedly to be a fast avenue. What a shame that the number of cars and the lack of other avenues caused the traffic to be so stuck. He watched the time in the watch that he had in the right forearm. He had to go to see the doctor. There was an allergy or something related with the watch; it was made of rubber, and apparently that material was causing it. He had the watch in the left arm before and had now little red grains; afterward, he had removed the watch and had been scratching the grains. He had put the watch over the copilot seat, which was empty, but he lasted too many seconds to see the time each time he wanted to, so it was dangerous; because of that, he was using the watch in his right forearm now. The guy drove by the NQS Avenue and made the ear, taking Nineteenth Street toward Bogota downtown, passing through the Paloquemado neighborhood. He tried to pass quickly but had to stop in the red light; he didn’t like it there because it was ugly and a bunch of street inhabitants used to ask for money as they cleaned the windshields and back glasses of the cars while the light remained in red. While he was there, two guys came and cleaned the windshield. He lowered the glass and gave one of the men a few coins. There were people buying groceries in the Plaza de Paloquemado. The red light became green. He pushed the accelerator with his right foot and drove quickly until he arrived at Caracas Avenue, along Nineteenth Street. The girls could be seen standing in the street, waiting for clients. He made another ear, taking the Caracas to the north, then another ear to take a street to the west, and finally he left the car parked near a whorehouse. He took a bag from the trunk. It was long and narrow. He was wearing sport clothing. The strange thing was there were no gyms in that part of the city. It was 6:00 pm. There were two guys walking by the street. One of them was big, huge. The muscles could be seen although he was wearing a suit. His suit was dark, and his shirt was white. The skin was white too, the eyes big, the eyebrows thick; he was in his early forties. The other guy was a little bit fatter, with a round face. The guy that had been driving saw them at the distance; he began to walk very quickly. He took his assault rifle from the bag; it was brand-new. He walked toward them; he was going to open fire, but he was too slow. The rifle was not his favorite weapon. A black woman that was standing against a wall, smoking a cigarette, screamed and ran. Bitch, the guy with the rifle thought. Thanks to her, now his victims were aware of him. One of them, the huge guy, at least seven feet tall, opened fire first, while his pal, the other one who was a little bit shorter and fatter, with thick eyebrows, opened the door of their car. They were the Italians. The guy with the rifle fired back several times, but the two of them had quickly gone into their car. He fired against the windshield, but it was armored. The bullets ricocheted against it, scratching it, but nothing happened. The man with the rifle was walking, coming nearer, shooting against the car. Then he heard the shooting and felt the pain. A guy with black clothing, a black hat, and glasses was shooting back. He had emerged from the shadows. The man with the rifle fell to the ground. The last thing he saw was the sky, the stars, because it was already dark. He remembered when he was a child, playing in the huge patio of his parents’ house. He was almost dead. The guy that shot him was known as the Black Raven. He approached the guy, who was lying on the floor, still alive, but another man with a gun appeared suddenly, shooting the Black Raven too. The sirens of the police could be heard in the distance. The Italians came out of the car and killed the attacker; they talked to the Black Raven, who was bleeding, and put him in the car.

Io ho freddo, he said, meaning he was cold.

Don’t worry, my friend, you are going to be all right, Jerry said. Help me here, he said to Bruno, who had his gun in the right hand, just in case another hit man appeared. They put the Black Raven in the rear seat of the car. The guy with the rifle was still alive; he was taking the rifle and pointed to the car. He shot.

Motherfucker, Jerry said. The bullet ricocheted against the windshield. Some whores were over the ground, screaming. Some men that had been fucking in the whorehouses and were walking by the street were lying over the sidewalk too. Jerry passed the car over the man with the rifle. He almost felt how the guy’s bones crushed below the heavy car; the police sirens could be heard nearer each time, but they were delayed thanks to the heavy car traffic. More women were crying and yelling. They drove quickly for several streets. Finally they stopped; the windshield was too scratched. It barely let Jerry see the road; thus it was a matter of time before the police found the car. He tried to take the Black Raven out, but it was too late. He was dead, so he and Bruno set the car on fire and walked quickly by the neighborhood. They went to Caracas Avenue and took a bus to the north.

1

Jerry was tall and fat, with black eyes, a prominent and parted-in-two chin, thick eyebrows, and long eyelashes—black ones, below the eyes. They made him seem as if he used some kind of eyelash makeup. The black hair, the guttural voice, the gray and recently shaved part of his face where he used to grow a savage beard if he stopped from shaving a few days. The head was big and round, the skin white, with an ample smile, which could be turned into a shadow in any moment, before the violence could appear. He had those elegant suits, the shoes, the watches. He was a fancy man, walking by the street with Bruno, who was his assistant and bodyguard. Jerry had been born in the heart of Calabria and was considered a man of respect; he represented the interests of one of the Coscas, which were very powerful in the old country. He had cousins in Canada, in Australia, Germany, and, of course, in the United States. Given the profitability and high quality of Colombian products, his clan had established links with old cartels many years ago. After they disappeared, the new branches of different criminal organizations filled the vacuum. One of his amicos, an old immigrant whose business at first was oil, decided to diversify his activities, and now his son Fabiano was the absolute boss of the Colombian bottoms, with influence in the political spheres. He didn’t deal directly, because he had a lot of people working for him.

There were several criminal groups, but Fabiano had pacified them all. There were the Sierra brothers, a very violent group; they owned the Atlantic coast, including the micro traffic in the largest cities. They had links with the Mexican cartels. The people of the so-called black industry owned the eastern llanos, and they sent their products to Mexico and the United States. The Shadows of the Night was a group that worked primarily in the Pacific and sold their shit in Medellin, Caldas, Manizales, and many other cities. They also sent drugs to the United States and Canada. The so-called Company was composed of assassins that inherited the business left behind the fall of powerful capos. Jerry had come to the country as the manager of a little oil field company, and he had his offices located in the north part of the city, in a luxury building near the R. Hotel, on 116th and Ninth streets. He was in his fifties, with his elegant suit and a brown leather briefcase in one hand and an umbrella in the other. That day was a very important one; he had to arrange a deal with Fabiano to send a ship full of merchandising to Europe. The operation included sending the drugs, and other shipment, to a near country using a Russian submarine.

Get the hell out of here, Bruno said to a pair of guys that were going to catch a cab in the street. He lifted the edge of his elegant suit, and the two frightened guys could see the big weapon he had. They got lost. Bruno smiled. Fucking young people don’t respect the elders, Bruno said.

What is your fucking problem? You want to attract attention, prick? Jerry said. Bruno opened the door of the cab, and both of them went into the taxi, which carried them to a building near a mall in the north part of the city. They didn’t have a car. Some days before, there was an accident. Somebody had shot them with a rifle, and they didn’t know who the hell had done that. According to Johnny, it was the Company; they had last recruited Salvatruchas and Mexicans, who were patrolling the Medellin streets. But Jerry couldn’t believe that. Fabiano was a wise man, and he was fair with everybody. He doubted that somebody would try to touch them. So he was going to discuss things with Fabiano directly.

The taxi driver was frightened, as were the two guys that had tried to take the taxi before they saw Bruno and his weapon.

Please, don’t do anything to me, the taxi driver said.

Don’t worry, we are honorable people, Jerry said. After the trip, Jerry gave him about five times the value of the service and told him to forget everything if he had any idea of the beauty of life. They went outside and walked by the street, coming into a building. Bruno passed through the metal detector with his gun.

Sir, I am sorry, you should leave the weapon here, the guard said. Bruno took away the bullets and gave him the gun. They took an elevator and arrived to the third floor. Walked by a little corridor and arrived to an office with the door closed. On the outside, on the door, there was some notice about a petroleum engineering company. Jerry pushed the doorbell. Oil Services IIEI, good day, a voice said.

I am here, my friend, Jerry said.

That’s right, I am going out now, Eduardo answered, while a felon called Ivan opened the door. They already knew about Jerry’s visit because the guards had called them.

Hello, Jerry, how the fuck is everything? Eduardo said. He was very elegant using a suit. Come in, come in please, sit. How are you doing? he said. Both of them, Bruno and Jerry, came into the little office.

What can I tell you, getting older and richer. Jerry smiled and laughed. He stepped toward Eduardo and kissed him on both cheeks, just in the Italian way, despite Eduardo being Colombian. Bruno was behind Jerry all the time, and Ivan was watching everything.

How the hell is our soldier over there? Jerry asked Ivan, who didn’t smile, only nodded, trying to demonstrate some affection, but he was as cold as a piece of ice.

He is crazier than before, but thank God he is on our side. Eduardo said. "Please sit down. You want something to drink? I got whisky, aguardiente, coffee, soda, and sambuca. What do you want?" Eduardo asked Bruno.

Get the fuck out of here. Sambuca with coffee would be great, Bruno said.

Well, my people are waiting for the package, you know, Jerry said.

OK, we have everything under control. The thing is going to happen. The guy with the package will leave in any moment, Eduardo said.

Are you sure there are no microphones here? Jerry said.

Each day we review, and until I know I am not a public enemy, I am very careful, Eduardo said.

Because I am tired of speaking in fucking key, Jerry complained.

It is for safety. You know we ought to be very careful. There is a lot on the plate. The guys are going to be told to pick up the package. Once that happens, we will arrange the way to bring the money paid for the package back. Tell your cousins over there they will get the package in two or three weeks, one month if things become delayed. Eduardo sipped from his coffee; he had been drinking one, as well as Ivan and Jerry. Bruno was the only one drinking something with alcohol at that time. Suddenly somebody knocked on the door.

What the fuck? Jerry said. He put his hand on the gun, and Bruno did the same.

Slow down, it is only breakfast. I had already called the corner bakery store to bring us some tamales and hot chocolate with bread. I know you love tamales. Eduardo was smiling.

Yes, you are a hundred percent right, Jerry said and squeezed one of Eduardo’s cheeks with affection.

I like scrambled eggs, Bruno said.

Don’t worry, they brought them too, Eduardo said while Ivan opened the door. The delivery boy had a gray uniform and a gray hat. After he put the breakfast on the table, Ivan gave him the money and a generous tip. They sat down again and ate.

How is the big guy? Jerry asked Eduardo while they were eating. When he asked, he had a mouthful of tamal, and some rice grains flew by the air. I am sorry, he said.

He is OK. There are big things, important things, for us in the future, Eduardo said.

Well, you know the thing that happened. I am worried about that, because it is pretty strange. I thought I was a funny guy, Jerry said. Our people are not happy. The Black Raven was my bodyguard and a made man. He had survived several wars, and had been chased by the carabinieri. He had been OK until he arrived here, Jerry said. He was not smiling now. Everyone was silent for a few embarrassing seconds.

I am worried too, and I am very sorry for him and his family. We are going to pay a considerable amount to his family. Our people are trying to find out what the fuck happened. Meanwhile, you must be careful. No offense, Bruno, but although you are big and the best of the best, more help would not hurt. Eduardo said, then ate some scrambled eggs with onions and tomatoes. We are going to solve this at once. We are not interested in losing partners like you. And two of my best guys will be with you all the time, if you agree. Eduardo continued eating.

You know what, no offense, but Bruno is enough, Jerry said.

Some of your friends say it’s the C men who were behind that. Bruno had ended the tamal, but he took another one. Eduardo knew how he and Jerry loved Colombian breakfasts. The C stood for the Company, the criminal group.

Eduardo shrugged. Yes, but we ought to corroborate that. We have been in peace for many months. I don’t see any clear reason for this happening now. Eduardo sipped from his hot chocolate and took some bread. He parted it with his fingers and dipped a piece of bread into the chocolate. Then he blew at it, because it was hot, and put it into his mouth.

You know that I don’t like your friend, the one with the big nose. He is not reliable for us. Bruno was speaking with a mouthful of scrambled eggs. He had very big round black eyes and massive muscles, which were seen even wearing a suit that seemed to be too adjusted to his body. He was talking about Johnny.

We must find out. Meanwhile, we will be OK protected by Eduardo and Fabiano, the totally reliable friends one man can have. Jerry was smiling. He ended the tamal and passed to the eggs, sipping hot chocolate and eating bread too.

After the meeting, he and Bruno walked out of the building. They crossed Seventh Avenue and walked toward the mall entrance. The mall had white walls and stone floors.

What do you think about our friends? Jerry asked Bruno, who was looking at the butt of a black woman that was walking by the front corridor.

I don’t know, Bruno said. I like them, he said.

Yes, me too, but I wouldn’t hesitate if I have to smash their fucking faces with a hammer. But you are right. The one that tried to kill us was none of them. But maybe he is around them, Jerry said.

I believe you ought to accept their help. We are in danger, Bruno said.

Yes, I will call Eduardo and tell him I rethought about it, Jerry said. They walked by the halls of the mall. Eduardo, Jerry said over the phone, we accept you offer.

Where are you? Eduardo asked.

In front of you, in the mall, Jerry said.

OK, a pair of guys is going there, Eduardo said. Be careful in the malls. A rebel group is going to put a bomb these days.

How do you know? Jerry asked.

We have friends. They told us, Eduardo said.

Oh, Jerry said.

Johnny has some extreme methods to make people understand, Eduardo said.

Oh, Jerry said. Please tell the boys you are sending me to wait for me in the parking lot, he added. He hung up his cellular phone and walked beside Bruno. They met with a dark-skinned guy who had a scar on his face, left side. Beside him, there was a big guy with the face burned. They seemed to have come from a gangster movie, the four of them.

Come stai? Jerry said.

Sto Bene, Caramandi said. He was the guy with the scar.

Che cosa tu pensi? Jerry said. I can’t speak Italian well, he said.

Io parlo Englese, Caramandi said.

Well, we were talking with those guys. I think your people can have an eye on them. They are going to provide me two bodyguards, Jerry said.

E tu pensi that it is safe? Caramandi said.

I think that Eduardo is reliable, Jerry said.

Don’t rely even in la tua mama, Caramandi said. Some of my boys will be with you too, he said. A white guy, thin and little, with a black suit and a mustache, was with them

Nicky, now you are going to protect Jerry even with your life, Caramandi said. They went to a restaurant, where they continued talking, and later Caramandi, Jerry, Bruno, Fabrizzio, Nicky, and the two guys Eduardo had lent him, called Orange and Apple, went away from there.

2

Eduardo was driving by Nineteenth Avenue; the neighborhood was called Cedro Bolivar in Bogota. There was a little avenue, the Nineteenth one, with only two ways, one to the north and the other to the south. Each one of them was wide enough to allow two cars to go at the same time. In the middle of the two ways, there was a bicycle lane, which was used for runners too. Eduardo loved that part of the city; on both sides of the avenue were plenty of fancy restaurants, pubs, and luxury stores. He continued driving.

Fucking buses, he said to Javier B., who was seated at his side. All the fucking stuck traffic is because of them, and the taxis, and the mayor and all the people that do nothing to improve the quality of the highways, he said.

That’s because maybe the corruption we generate doesn’t allow this city to be better, Javier thought, but he kept that thought to himself. Despite all, as Eduardo always said, if you didn’t fuck a woman, another one would do it; if you didn’t do the things you were supposed to do, another corrupt person would do that and take the money, so what the fuck.

Eduardo was in his early forties. He was tall, about six feet. He had a big chin and a nice nose. His eyes were big, and his skin was white.

He drove to the south, by the 138th Street, and then U-turned to the north again. The sun was shining; it was about 1300 hours. The traffic was terrible. Finally he managed to find a parking building and drove his big blue SUV to the right. The guy at the entrance helped him push the button and gave him a plastic card; once the pole was up, he passed under it. He had to go to the third floor to park. He went out of the vehicle.

He was wearing a gray suit and a light blue shirt with no tie; he hated ties. Javier wore blue jeans and a leather jacket. He was about five feet and nine inches tall and was thin. He had black eyes and a hook-shaped nose, his skin was a little dark, and his hair dark, straight, and long. It seemed he had makeup around his eyes.

So, what are we going to do? he asked Eduardo.

First, let’s get something to eat, and later we have to see the guys of the construction business, Eduardo said. They were involved in the construction business through several contracts to build new highways and repair the existing ones. And they also have contracts to build some government buildings. They used to control or monopolize those contracts, but to get that, they have a lot of people to pay and lawyers.

Eduardo was a little bit out of shape. He had some stomach; he used to eat a lot. And lately he did not carry out enough exercise.

Good morning, sir, may I help you? What would you like to eat? The waitress was a young girl with black hair and white skin. She was good-looking and used a white uniform with a skirt and a kind of hat made of fabric over her head. She was speaking with Javier, and Eduardo looked to a table where a young couple was eating. They seemed very happy, and there were some napkins folded like triangles on the table, and the bread had been cut up in triangle shapes too. He remembered when he was a boy, a little one, once he had seen a couple too. They were happy, and there were triangles of bread and napkins on the table too. He had wished he could find someone one day and be as happy. But life was a bitch, he thought. He had passed through many things, and his marriage was a mess. There was not such happiness. If so, the people who could get it were very lucky. Real life was very different from the one a little child could imagine.

Sir, sir, the waitress said.

I am sorry, he said. He regretted those feelings. He could not seem weak; in his world, weakness was death. He was a businessman. And in business one ought to be tough.

I didn’t sleep well last night. The neighbor was having an argument with his wife, Eduardo said. I would like to have some sushi, this kind. He pointed with the finger of his left hand to the menu he was holding in his right. You are beautiful, he said to the girl, flirting. She smiled and walked away. She had already taken Javier’s order.

After lunch, they drove away downtown. The building was an old one, located in the Candelaria neighborhood. They walked near Seventh Avenue, entered a building, and went to the third floor by the stairs. Once they were in an office, a man sitting down behind a desk got up

Mr. Eduardo, how are you? Mr. Javier, it’s a pleasure. Then he said to his secretary, who had a very well-shaped body, Berta, please bring something to drink to the gentlemen. He asked, Sirs, what would you like to drink, whisky?

No, I don’t think so, thanks. A coffee would be OK, was Eduardo’s answer.

Me too, Javier said.

You know, began Eduardo, I am here to make ourselves clear about a lot of things.

Javier put a finger over his lips, meaning for Otoniel, which was the name of the man behind the desk, to remain silent. He wrote on a piece of paper that Otoniel would have to take off all his clothes to see if he had a wire. In another piece of paper, Javier wrote, Keep chitchatting. And once they were sure he was clean, they went out with him to walk a little bit. They were on the street and began to walk to Thirteenth Avenue. Eduardo put his hand over his mouth as he was going to cough.

Do the same while you are speaking. They could have people that can read the lips, he said. I am sorry, Otoniel, but there has been some trouble due to wires. So it is better to avoid problems. We have to clean five million dollars. How much is going to cost us to do that? He continued talking to Otoniel with a hand over his mouth.

Eduardo, only 10 percent as always, Otoniel said. Otoniel had links with some people for laundering the money. He also was intending to be the mayor of a little city and needed Eduardo and his friends to help him.

OK done. Please take care. And remember that we got all the contracts about the construction of the new avenues in the city. Be aware of the people who are necessary to feed in order to keep things going, OK? Eduardo said.

3

Fat Blair was a big man. Like seven feet tall. His face was big, with those little eyes, blond curly hair, and cheeks that were fat. He was sweating.

Motherfucker, where do you have the rest of that money. Tell me if you do not want me to take your daughter and your wife right in front of you. I will rape them, and then will kill them. But if you are a nice guy, I will only kill you and maybe, maybe, they will live, he said.

Gosh fucksh yourselfsh, motherfuckersh, yoush cantsh. They aresh in Italish, fuckingsh moronsh, the guy answered. He was sitting down on a chair. He had his mouth broken, with blood. Suddenly, Fat Blair slapped him once more in the face. His left eye was almost closed and purple. The front had a scar that had been bleeding, but the hemorrhage had stopped hours ago. It didn’t bleed more because it was one of the few places of the poor’s guy body that had not received a hit recently. His head ached, a lot. It was an overwhelming pain, something he had never felt before. He knew he was dead.

Motherfuckersh, the man said. He had been surprised by those men in the street. He had not had time to escape, but he was not afraid; he was a man of honor.

I willsh killsh you, my familysh willsh, the guy said. His lower lip practically didn’t exist anymore, and the left part of his jaw was broken. His chin was inclined to the left and swollen due to the hits it had been receiving all that morning and the day before.

Where is it? asked Fat Blair. His eyes were shining. They were cold, with those bags under them.

Where is the cock-sucking money, motherfucker? Mole! he shouted to the guy that was standing in another part of the room. Bring the chain saw, Fat B said. The Mole walked to the opposite wall. The room was a little warehouse. The light came from a lamp that was hung from the ceiling by a cord that, at the same time, provided the electrical power. The Mole brought the chain saw. The guy looked at it and tried to spit, but his mouth was very dry.

Motherfuckersh assholesh! the guy was trying to shout, but the yelling did not have strength.

Tell me where do you have your money and I will kill you quickly, no more pain, Fat B said. His face had changed to a red tone, and the words came out from a twisted mouth. The veins in his neck seemed thick and full like little hoses.

Bush I am the bossh friendsh. He willsh not besh happy with you neither Johnnysh, said the guy, who could barely speak. Ish have no moneysh, the guy said. Fat Blair slapped him once more in the face.

The Mole lowered his sight to the ground. That guy was not able to keep his mouth shut, which could enrage Fat B more, if that was possible.

Yeah, you are right, he would not be happy. Because of that you are not going to be found. Your body will be sent to the bottom of the sea. If you don’t tell me where the money is, the same will happen to your daughter and your wife, Fat B said.

You cantash toush themsh. They aresh in Italysh, fucking Colombiansh moron, said the man in agony.

Motherfucker. Mole, connect the chain saw and cut his right arm off, Fat B said. The Mole took the cable and the plug and began to look for an electric port in order to get the chain saw connected. He took out a flashlight from his pocket, but it fell to the ground. He began to look for it.

What are you doing? Fat B asked him. He got up. He looked again, but there was no place to connect the chain saw. The TV was on, and there was a plug available, but it was burned. The Mole disconnected the TV plug to connect the chain saw, which triggered Fat B’s fury.

What are you doing, motherfucker? Don’t you see I was watching? he yelled to the Mole.

OK, OK, give me one minute, the Mole answered, and he connected the TV quickly. His hands were trembling. After the TV was on again, Fat B stepped nearer the tortured guy and took a jackknife from his pocket. He pulled the guy’s tongue and skillfully, systematically, took it away from the rest of the body. The guy would have been able to try to yell, but Fat B had put a wet fabric inside his mouth. The Mole looked at him amazed. This fucking guy is totally crazy, he thought about Fat B.

Now you say nothing, pal. Fat B smiled. Mole! he shouted. Help me here. Put his right hand on the table, he said. The tortured guy had been in a chair, and the Mole brought a little wooden table from one corner. It seemed it had been used before in torturing people, because it was dirty with some dry layers, which could have been blood. The guy had his eyes very open. One of them was like dead and bigger, compared with the other, maybe because Fat B had put his head into a machine and had squeezed, but he didn’t want to kill him so had changed his mind and looked for another method. He liked to use the things he learned in the movies and shows he used to see on TV.

The Mole put the man’s right hand on the table, and the guy was trying to resist, but the Mole slapped him strongly in the face. A third guy known as El Puppy emerged from the shadows and helped maintain the guy under control, while Fat B cut some fingers off from his right hand. He was smiling when the guy was being hit again and again. Don’t kill him. Try to cure this motherfucker. I don’t want him to bleed off, at least not now, Fat B said. I am going to prepare some sandwiches. Who wants one? he asked.

Now how is he supposed to tell you where the money is if he has no tongue? the Mole said.

4

Elizabeth had had a very hard day and a very hard life. She walked by Nineteenth Street in Bogota. She was living in that neighborhood, which was at the north of the city. Usually the north houses and colonies were the best; that neighborhood had some good places, but some of its colonies were the exception. Some parts of it, which was like a town in Bogota, were poor. The streets were horrible, with plenty of holes. Where she lived was the worst place in all the surroundings, she thought. The flat where she lived with her sister and mom and little Simon was a rat hole. She didn’t even have decent furniture for the living room. All she had was a bunch of garbage. Her father had been a drunken who never thought about the future. He was a sick man addicted to alcohol and whores, and once he had been in jail because he used to sell drugs too. But now he was gone, and despite everything, she had loved him and had tried to help him, but it was too late. At the same time she hated him, because due to him she had had to get out of her house. He used to beat her mother, her sister, and her. The mother was always thinking someday things would be better, and the sister too; Elizabeth was different and without a buck in her pocket left home, if that shit could be called that. She was helped by her boyfriend, and she went to live with him, till she discovered she was with a monster worse than her own father. Maybe God had punished her because she always criticized her mother for marrying such an asshole.

One given night, he arrived home and slapped her. He was drunk, and she was furious. She suspected he was cheating on her. The fight was over. It had been her fault, because she had beaten him, and he slapped her again. She loved him. So she forgave him, the same way her mother always did with her father.

After some days, things didn’t improve, so she decided to leave, but before she did it, another night, the boyfriend arrived with one of the idiots he used to hang around with. This time they were more than drunk; they had been using drugs. And he began to kiss her and invited his friend to touch her. She punched the friend, but two guys were too much for her to fight against. Both of them raped her and left her lying on the bed, and they went out to the dining room; they sat down on a pair of old chairs. That little flat was another rat hole. They were laughing and were using.

They were having a great time when Eli came to the dining room. Both of them kept silent because her eyes were weird; there was something in her stare. Something was wrong.

What’s the matter, honey? Had you not lain with two guys before? Bitch? Didn’t you like it? asked her boyfriend, who had a rubber band in the left arm. He was going to hit himself with some heroin. The friend was laughing; he was already high. In the stereo they had been listening to some rock ’n’ roll.

The big titanium knife entered the boyfriend’s chest; she pushed it as deep as her rage allowed. He looked at her, amazed. His big eyes were already reddened, and the smile on his face began to fade away in the seconds he saw her face, because immediately she pulled out the knife, and his body fell to the ground. The friend had stopped smiling; he began to look pale when he saw how his pal remained over a lake of blood that at the beginning was little but expanded quickly over the floor; the air became thick with the smell of the blood and something less pleasing. Surely the body had released the sphincter.

The friend tried to run but fell when, in his terror, he didn’t see the little table used to keep the phone and the magazines. Once on the floor, he tried to get up while screaming and crying, but she cut his neck. She took him by the hair from behind and passed the blade as though killing an animal. The blood went out like water from a broken hose.

She lay beside the two bodies; now they didn’t seem as happy. There was not a feeling of shame or blame but a feeling of power. She was now better. She only hoped that these guys did not have sexually transmission diseases. That thought made her run to the shower, where she washed herself several times.

Once she came back to the dining room, the floor had plenty of blood, and the bodies had lost their color; now they looked gray. There was a giant lake of thick blood on the floor below each one of the corpses. She had read in the paper the past week that the police had caught a man in the south part of Bogota; he had killed his own father and had left the body in the house, which was really made of zinc roofing, wooden tables, and cardboard. There were very poor people in certain parts of the city. The corpse had begun to smell badly, and the neighbors called the police. Now the son was in jail. What an asshole.

She began to cry, to feel terrible, and then the blame came. Assassin, assassin, she repeated to herself mentally. But there was no time to cry. The bodies would begin to decompose, so she would have to dispose of them quickly, but how could she do that? She could not even move one of them alone, at least not the whole body. She didn’t want to be caught like the man in the story told by the newspaper. The livor mortis had acted, and afterward the rigor mortis, beginning by the jaw, as she had read in one of her favorite books. Fuck the books she read. Shit, she used to pay for them with a credit card—bad idea. If the police arrest her, they would find that. It would be suspicious, wouldn’t it? Now she was paranoid. She felt bad again and thought about what those motherfuckers had done to her. After all, it had not been her fault. They had raped her, and they deserved what had happened to them. She looked through the window at the town, which she hated. How was she supposed to dispose of two bodies without anybody noticing it? It was almost impossible. She looked for her notebook; she had the phone numbers of several friends. Then she remembered him. He had been in love with her, so he would help her.

Ivan? she asked. She was crying.

Yeah, it’s me. What is happening? he said.

Well, I need you here. Can you come? She was totally quiet now; she moved her tears away from her eyes with her hand.

OK, but tell me what is happening, he said.

I am sorry I can’t tell you, she said.

Once there, he saw in amazement what he had seen several times in the field, where he and his partners had to patrol and sometimes shoot the rebels over there in the mountains. He had seen bodies after an invisible plane had localized and fired with .30 and .50 guns. Those bodies would have made most men have nightmares for a long time. No, he was not amazed by death, but how could this girl have done that? She told him everything.

"OK, now we are going to buy a lot of things we need to solve this problem. We can’t take these corpses in one piece, and the blood must be exhaustively cleaned. The