Matias Nespolo - Seven Ways to Kill a Cat

‘How do you know it was them?’ asks El Jetita.

‘Cos of the watch.’

‘This watch here?’ El Jetita is trying to sound reasonable. ‘Is this your watch, Farías?’

‘Fifteen years I’ve had that watch — you think I don’t recognise it? There’s a small crack in the glass near the bottom.’

Chueco looks at the Citizen like he’s checking the time, then goes for broke. It’s all or nothing. He’s paler than the pages of Rubén’s notebook.

‘Are you saying this is your watch, Farías?’ he says angrily. ‘This is my fucking watch. I nicked it off a couple of kids yesterday, so it’s mine. What the hell’s got into you, Farías? You nearly broke my arm, you fuckwit.’

Chueco’s a genius when it comes to bullshitting. All we need now is for them to buy it. Fat Farías clearly doesn’t believe a word.

‘ Hijo de puta , I’m going to fuck you up …’

El Jetita isn’t buying it either, but he plays along. He winks at Rubén who’s still stony-faced, and reassumes his role as a grown-up refereeing a kids’ game.

‘Let me see that watch. Where did you get it? Tell me, or I’ll end you —’

‘I told you, it’s mine. I robbed it off a couple of kids yesterday —’

‘What kids? Charly’s gang?’ says El Jetita, gently hinting at where Chueco needs to go with this.

‘They were taking the piss —’ Chueco says, testing the water.

‘You’re the one taking the piss … I told you to run them out of the barrio, not rob the little fuckers.’

It’s like El Jetita has superpowers, like his orders get carried out even before he gives them. Putting pressure on Charly’s kids is one of the things he asked us to do a few minutes ago, but now he’s taking it for granted that that’s what we were doing yesterday. Things are starting to become clearer. I take a breath.

‘Give him back the watch, Chueco,’ El Jetita says, all paternal.

‘It’s fucking mine, if they stole it from him, too fucking bad —’

‘Give it back, che !’ El Jetita roars, smacking him round the head.

It’s all an act, but they’re good, really good — even I’m starting to believe this shit. Chueco takes off the Citizen and hands it to Farías like he’s only doing it because he has to. El Jetita slaps Fat Farías on the back and explains the moral of the story.

‘You see, Farías, what did I tell you? Charly’s fucking with both of us. He’s stealing customers from me, and he robbed your place. The guy’s trying to set himself up on our turf, and if we don’t stop him, he’ll bury us.’

El Jetita is the one who’s trying to set up operations here in the bar and I’m betting it’s so he can use the place as a base for his dealing. Charly is the local dealer in Zavaleta. He’s been expanding his operation lately. And it’s true that his delivery boys have no respect for boundaries. Shit, even I’ve bought weed from them a couple of times. The prices are better than El Jetita’s. But from there it’s a pretty big stretch to think Charly is trying muscle in on his turf. There’s no way he could do it. He’d have to take down General Jetita and all his top brass first, then co-opt all his middle-ranking officers. The list would be too long. And it wouldn’t be like shooting ducks at a fair.

‘So what about these two?’ Fat Farías can’t believe what he’s hearing. ‘Whose side d’you think they’re on, viejo ? Because I’m telling you, I still think they’re the fuckers who robbed me —’

‘You dissing me, Gordo?’ Chueco jumps up. ‘Because I’ll break your —’

‘Shut the fuck up.’ El Jetita cuts him dead and goes back to being the peacemaker. ‘You’re wrong, Gordo. The boys are working with me. You think I don’t know who I’ve on my team? Chill. You’ve got your watch back, so stop busting my balls. Now, let’s strike camp.’

All the time El Jetita’s been banging on, Rubén has been staring at us stone-faced from behind Fat Farías. The others can’t see him, but we can. He gives us a wink and runs his finger across his throat.

When the big boss is done talking, we all troop out of the kitchen. Rubén and El Negro Sosa sit at the bar. The skinny runt Fabían heads off. El Jetita stops in the doorway chatting to Fat Farías.

‘Let’s bounce,’ whispers Chueco.

And we’re about to leave when El Jetita calls us. He takes a couple of steps towards us with a fuck-off smile tattooed on his face. He’s acting all friendly again.

‘Kids,’ he says in a low voice, ‘what can you do with them? You give them a simple little job and they land you in the shit.’

Chueco opens his hands, palms up, raises his eyebrows, like it’s nothing to do with him. I stand there, deadpan. I don’t know what little job he’s talking about

‘You little fucktard.’ He starts poking his finger hard into Chueco’s chest. ‘What, am I speaking Chinese or something? I told you straight up to shake down Farías and make sure you weren’t seen and you show up here wearing his watch, rubbing his face in it? What is it, you got shit for brains or have you been sniffing something?’

Chueco clicks his tongue. He shakes his head. He’s pale. Everything’s starting to fall into place for me. The fifty he was flashing in the bar before we did over Fat Farías wasn’t snide like he said it was. It was front money. And fuck knows how much he got for doing the job. The worst thing is, I went along with it and I didn’t have a fucking clue. And I didn’t get a peso out of it. So that’s how it is, Chueco, you lowlife hijo de puta . You play me for a fool and you don’t even tell me what’s going down — you even make me think I’m the one who gave you the idea to fuck Farías over. Have to hand it to you, you played me good … until now. Because from now on, you can go fuck yourself.

‘A complete balls-up,’ El Jetita says like he can read my mind, ‘and now Gordo is on to you … Dumb fucking kids …’ he swears under his breath, his jaw clenched so Fat Farías can’t overhear.

He stares at us, sparks a cigarette and makes like he’s thinking.

‘OK, kids,’ El Jetita says, the fake smile plastered over his face. The bastard knows how to make someone brick it. ‘Let me tell you how this is going to go. I’m going to let this one slide, but I’ve got you by the balls now, so you’d better do exactly what I tell you, because the first sign of any shit I’m going to rip them off. You get me?’

He turns before we’ve got a chance to say anything, and heads over to Fat Farías.

We walk three blocks in silence. Me thinking about my shit, Chueco thinking about his. Suddenly, I decide I’m sick of his crap, so I start spoiling for a fight — but I play dumb. I make like I haven’t worked out what’s going on.

‘So, you going to turn the tables on that fat fucker?’

‘Shut the fuck up, Gringo.’

‘Cos it looked to me like he was the one doing the turning … and he turned you out good.’

‘Shut your hole!’

‘OK. It’s fine,’ I say. ‘I’ll be your second in command, OK? You lead the way and I’ll follow … you piece of fucking shit!’

‘SO TELL ME, gunslinger,’ I taunt Chueco, ‘why didn’t you pull the gat when Fat Farías was bitch-slapping you?’

It’s rare for Chueco to be the one to back down. Usually, however fucked up the situation, he acts first and deals with the consequences later. Luckily this time it was the other way round. If anyone had known he was strapped, the whole thing could have turned into a shitstorm and there’d have been a bunch of collateral damage. And when you’ve got people firing at random like that, there’s nothing you can do, the bad guys always win.