Read Online Necropolis by Santiago Gamboa - Free Book Online Page A

saying to myself, what heaven did this angel fall from? I must have said it out loud because he immediately replied, my name isn’t Angel, I’m Walter now and I’ve come to save you, and I replied, no kidding, pleased to hear it, it’s about time things started moving upstairs, I’ve been waiting for years, how long have you had my details, but then I guess the Eternal Commander, the Big Enchilada, sometimes takes his time, right? but well, better late than never, so let’s take it one step at a time, if you’ve really come to save me the first thing you have to do is transfer fifty dollars into my account, and my account is right here in my pocket, the number is zero one, you could make the transfer by telepathy but the machine’s out of order, so it’ll be better if you do it by hand, which is the most efficient method, and then, when the money’s gone in, we’ll be able to sit down like two civilized people and talk about God or Muhammad or Madonna’s lesbian cousin, whatever you like, and he said, no, my friend, that’s not the way it goes, that’s not the kind of salvation I came to bring you, we’re going to have to understand each other, but I interrupted him irritably and said, is there any other kind? don’t come here and get my hopes up, get out of here, you huckster, the Grim Reaper prowls these frozen cellblocks, get out now and don’t come back, but he insisted, you don’t understand, my friend, the Big Man won’t help you if you don’t beg forgiveness first, you need Him more than He needs you, remember that, it’s your life that’s in the mud, or rather, in the shit, but you possess something wonderful, and that’s free will, my friend, what did you do with that? and I said, get out of here with your spiel, and I’ll pass on this information, the cellblock you want is number nine, plenty of faggots there, all races, put some oil in your ass first, just in case, now leave me alone, goodbye, I don’t have time for faggots, and he said, of course you do, and he gave me a punch in the face that by some miracle didn’t knock my nose upside down, and I fell to the ground.
    My first reaction was to take out my weapon, a fork that I’d sharpened on a stone, but before I could lift it even an inch he hit me three more times, making my head whirl, and smashing me against the wall so that I fell again, unconscious this time. A moment later I opened my eyes and saw his foot, with his huge body attached to it. From down there on the ground, he looked like a giant. I tried to get up but he put his boot on my neck and said, beg God for forgiveness or I’ll break your neck right now, you insulted Him, count to ten, and he began, one, two, three, and he pressed down on me with his foot. I felt a sour taste in my mouth, I could hardly breathe, and I fainted, gently drifted away God knows where, and I didn’t know anything more until I opened my eyes and found I was lying on a table.
    A whole lot of inmates were near me, crying: Dead man walking! Dead man walking!
    I sat up and saw him.
    I saw the impressive image of Christ tattooed on his back, because as I was recovering consciousness he’d started doing a series of silent exercises, like an animal gearing up for a fight in which it may lose its life. I got down off the table and looked for my fork, thinking to attack quickly, stick it in under his ribs and kill him stone dead, but when I was halfway he turned his eyes on me, my friends, and what can I tell you, they were like two streams of fire, like the swords the Jedi use in
Star Wars
, something you really can’t define, and I mean that. I couldn’t retreat because the whole cellblock was following the fight and placing bets. If I’d chickened out I’d have lost respect and the consequence, as everyone knows, would have been to suck cocks for the rest of the year in the toilets or be