Matias Nespolo - Seven Ways to Kill a Cat

‘You do know who you’re dealing with?’ I say without warning.

He must have been following my train of thought because he answers with another question.

‘What? You think I’m sitting here sucking my thumb?’

‘Just saying …’

‘Yeah, I know what you’re saying. Why d’you think I asked you along?’

‘You tell me …’ I push him, but he just ignores it. He finishes his wine and watches Rubén and El Jetita wheedling Fat Farías. They’ve got him eating out of their hands. I’m guessing one of them is gently threatening and the other one’s offering protection. Same old, same old. Good cop, bad cop, just like the Feds.

Chueco finally comes closer to the table, covers his mouth with his hand and confides. ‘Because the first chance we get, we’ll turn him in to the filth,’ he whispers. ‘Because we’re going to stab him in the back, and hit him where it hurts — in his wallet. You don’t want payback for what he did to us?’

Truth is, I don’t. I got off lightly. But I’m not about to tell Chueco that. He’ll think I’m shit-scared, and it’s not that. I just don’t want any more grief. These guys are vicious bastards. You play them on their home ground, you lose. Better to give them a wide berth. El Jetita’s got his own code. He’s got the scars to prove it. The guy’s a fucking time bomb, there’s a bullet out there with his name on it and any day now he’s going to find it. I’d just rather he went looking for it on his own.

‘You’re playing with fire, you know that?’

‘ We’re playing, loco . A debt’s a debt.’

Chueco leans back in his seat, narrows his eyes and stares at me. He’s waiting for an answer that’s not coming, and he knows why. What am I going to say? He’s one step ahead of me.

‘So what’s the story, then?’

‘How do I know? El Jetita’s going to come over for a little chat with us. Whatever he says, just say yes. Afterwards we’ll work out the details and put one over on him.’

EL NEGRO SOSA IS WARMING a plate in the kitchen. He splits opens three wraps and cuts nine lines of coke with a swipe card. Rubén’s tearing sheets of paper from a pad and handing them round to everyone. Everyone’s here, but the numbers don’t add up. There are seven of us. The seventh is Fabían, a tall, skinny guy with bags under his eyes who looks slow and stupid. I’ve no idea where he showed up from. I think he came with Rubén, but I’m guessing he’s not his bodyguard.

‘Come on, Farías, don’t be afraid,’ El Jetita calls. ‘The first line’s for you, socio .’

Fat Farías pushes his way through the strip curtain and steps into the circle where El Jetita is presiding with the mirror in his hand.

What’s with the ritual? I wonder. And what the fuck are we doing here? Chueco, sitting facing me, inadvertently answers with a gesture.

‘Thanks. I’ll save it for later,’ he says, taking a cigarette from Fabían. He twirls the negro like a pencil, gives me a wink and slips it in his jacket pocket. We’ve got them in our pocket. That’s what he thinks. Or at least what he wants me to think.

This whole performance is part of the negotiations. This is how El Jetita seals his deals. And the reason we’re here is because there are two parties to this contract. Fat Farías is one, and we’re the other. I don’t know what the deal is, but I can imagine. If we’re going to join El Jetita’s army, we have to prove we’re hardcore.

Rubén hands Farías a sheet of paper and the fat fucker stares at it, confused, for a couple of seconds, then glances at El Jetita and the penny drops. Using his good hand and the bandaged hand he still has in a sling, he rolls the paper into a straw. El Jetita holds the mirror with the lines of merca on it right under Fat Farías’s chin. Farías puts the paper straw to his nose and snorts.

‘So, viejo , what d’you think?’ asks El Jetita, clapping him on the back.

‘Good … fucking good,’ Farías says in a nasal whine massaging his nostrils between his fat fingers.

El Jetita does a couple of lines.

‘This is good shit. It’s not cut,’ he says, passing the mirror.

El Negro Sosa is next. He licks his lips. He’s nervous. He snorts a line, squeezes his eyes shut, throws his head back and rolls it from side to side like he’s trying to crack his neck, then passes the merca on without a word. Chueco is next, he’s been gagging for his turn ever since this whole circus started, flailing his arms, pinching his nose.

Chueco grabs the mirror in one hand, holds his straw to his nostril but never makes it as far as the coke because a hand snatches the paper straw away and crumples it. The mirror falls and smashes on the floor.

‘What the fu—? Gordo, what the fuck are you doing?!’ El Jetita roars.

‘Chueco, you little shit!’ roars Fat Farías. ‘You motherfucker, I’m going to fucking kill you!’

With his one good hand, Farías has Chueco helpless. He’s twisted Chueco’s arm behind his back, up between his shoulder blades, and he looks like he’s about to break his wrist. Maybe his whole arm. Chueco’s on his knees now, scrabbling to reach round and claw Fat Farías’s face with his free hand, but he can’t reach. He tries to get up, but Farías twists his arm harder, forcing his face to the ground.

‘You snivelling fucking rat! I’m going to fuck you up, you and that other hijo de puta ,’ Fat Farías roars and tries to kick me in the balls. I dodge him and try to make a run for it, but I feel a hand on the scruff of my neck dragging me back.

‘Play nice, kid,’ El Negro Sosa whispers in my ear.

I try to break loose but he squeezes harder. He’s breaking my fucking neck.

‘Play nice, che ,’ he growls again.

Chueco is writhing on the ground cursing and howling in pain. Fat Farías is still bellowing threats while El Jetita wades into the chaos and tries to restore order.

‘Gordo, stop! Stop a minute. Let the kid go!’

‘Like fuck I’ll let him go, I’m going to kill the little fucker — this one and the other one.’

‘Stop, Gordo, let him go! Calm down.’ El Jetita grabs Fat Farías’s shoulder.

‘These are the fucking kids who robbed me!’ Farías carries on screaming. ‘I’m gonna kill this fucker.’ He twists Chueco’s arm viciously, making him howl even louder.

‘Chill, Farías,’ Rubén intervenes. ‘If you want, we’ll waste the pair of them, but right now just chill out.’

I see the flash of a gun. Turns out Fabián’s not slow or stupid. He’s the one who’s pulled the strap. I feel a chill run down my spine. And it’s obvious I’m limp with fear because El Negro Sosa’s hand is suddenly limp too. Farías realises what’s going on and gets to his feet, giving one last kick as he does so. Chueco doesn’t stop howling until El Jetita drags him up by the hair.

Through the strip curtain I can see Yanina’s eyes. I guess she was serving at the bar and came to see what all the screaming was about. From the scene in front of her, and from the terrified glance I shoot her, she must realise things have turned ugly.

‘Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on here?’ asks El Jetita.

‘Don’t you get it? These little fuckers are the ones who ripped me off!’ says Fat Farías.

‘You think I’d get my hands dirty robbing you, you stingy bastard?’ Chueco tries to laugh it off. ‘Who d’you think you are, fucking Rockefeller?’

And things go his way, because El Jetita laughs, and so does El Negro Sosa. Rubén is still stone-faced. Either Chueco is more cool-headed than I thought, or he’s more shit-scared than I am and it’s the panic that’s making him cunning. I know lots of people who go loopy when they’re scared.