Read Online The Black Minutes by Martín Solares - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Martín Solares
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Suspense, Fiction - General, Mexico, Mystery & Detective, Mystery, Police, Police Procedural, Mystery & Detective - General, Mystery And Suspense Fiction, Cold cases (Criminal investigation), Tamaulipas (State), Tamaulipas (Mexico)
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working.”
Cabrera looked for the remote control, and his hand almost cramped up again when he couldn’t find it. It was still hidden. He shouted, asking for it, and his wife got offended. He threw himself on the couch and stared out the window. After fifteen minutes of silence, his wife asked, “What are you thinking about, Ramón?”
“A lot of stuff. About Padre Fritz Tschanz, about the dead journalist, about Xilitla, and about a suspect whose name is Vicente Rangel.”
His wife, who was still organizing the papers, dropped a stack of them. Cabrera noticed it and walked away to the kitchen. He was in an awful mood.
He fixed himself a grilled fish with lime juice and sliced onion—bachelor food, since his wife didn’t like onions. She asked him if he was OK, and he told her about his argument with Chávez and his doubts about the Paracuán cartel’s responsibility. His food was almost ready when his wife suggested he should let the new guys handle the case, and he grabbed the pan and threw it against the wall. They yelled at each other and he ran out, slamming the door behind him.
He spent the next half hour driving around aimlessly in his car. His rage ended up leading him to the beach, where he ended up whenever he needed to think. He stopped at El Venado’s stand and bought two Tecates and six beef tacos.
There were no cars on the beachfront highway, and he parked in the dunes. The sea was rough and choppy, and the sand was stained with oil: maybe there was an accident at the refinery or another leak on the platforms. He ate the tacos with salsa, drank the Tecates, and smoked a cigarette: the perfect recipe for a bad case of gastritis. He had to go pee twice. If things kept up like this, he’d have to see a doctor.
He would’ve paid to find out what had gotten into the chief. Why’d he ask him to investigate the murder and then change his mind? But even more, he was wondering what was happening between him and his wife. Were things between them coming to an end? Was he so blind he couldn’t see it? It was no secret that of the two of them he had more to lose. His wife was still beautiful, she had admirers; he felt old and clumsy, with nothing going for him. Except for Rosa Isela, he had to work hard to make the social service girls look at him twice. There were two seagulls next to his car, and he asked them if his wife was about to leave him. As if to answer his question, the more capricious of the two seagulls flew away, leaving the other one alone next to the car.
Ay, cabrón
. Never try to tell the future with seagulls.
In the last few weeks they had fought more than the whole time they had known each other. He asked himself if they had a future together, if they worked or not. Perhaps he was the only one really interested in the relationship. He said to himself, Maybe it’s finished, and felt a knot in his throat. Bueno, if it’s over, it’s over; there’s nothing I can do about it. He had to be mature, he said to himself, and accept these things.
After analyzing everything he had heard and seen that day, he decided that she might have a lover. It was definitely a possibility. He was on the street all day, he only ate with her every now and then, sometimes he got home so exhausted he only wanted to watch TV. He imagined her making love with someone else and felt queasy in the stomach, that anxiety that comes when really important things come to an end.
He looked at the rough water. The sea was as black as the oil-stained sand. He was so focused it took him a minute to respondto a kid carrying a foldable table who approached to offer him coconut candies.
“
Condesa? Cocada?
”
How was it possible for a candy seller to appear next to his car in the most deserted area of the beach? He said no thank you, started his car, and drove back to the city.
11
He pulled up to the city archives as the employees were getting back from lunch. Now that he had three days off, he would do things a
Cabrera looked for the remote control, and his hand almost cramped up again when he couldn’t find it. It was still hidden. He shouted, asking for it, and his wife got offended. He threw himself on the couch and stared out the window. After fifteen minutes of silence, his wife asked, “What are you thinking about, Ramón?”
“A lot of stuff. About Padre Fritz Tschanz, about the dead journalist, about Xilitla, and about a suspect whose name is Vicente Rangel.”
His wife, who was still organizing the papers, dropped a stack of them. Cabrera noticed it and walked away to the kitchen. He was in an awful mood.
He fixed himself a grilled fish with lime juice and sliced onion—bachelor food, since his wife didn’t like onions. She asked him if he was OK, and he told her about his argument with Chávez and his doubts about the Paracuán cartel’s responsibility. His food was almost ready when his wife suggested he should let the new guys handle the case, and he grabbed the pan and threw it against the wall. They yelled at each other and he ran out, slamming the door behind him.
He spent the next half hour driving around aimlessly in his car. His rage ended up leading him to the beach, where he ended up whenever he needed to think. He stopped at El Venado’s stand and bought two Tecates and six beef tacos.
There were no cars on the beachfront highway, and he parked in the dunes. The sea was rough and choppy, and the sand was stained with oil: maybe there was an accident at the refinery or another leak on the platforms. He ate the tacos with salsa, drank the Tecates, and smoked a cigarette: the perfect recipe for a bad case of gastritis. He had to go pee twice. If things kept up like this, he’d have to see a doctor.
He would’ve paid to find out what had gotten into the chief. Why’d he ask him to investigate the murder and then change his mind? But even more, he was wondering what was happening between him and his wife. Were things between them coming to an end? Was he so blind he couldn’t see it? It was no secret that of the two of them he had more to lose. His wife was still beautiful, she had admirers; he felt old and clumsy, with nothing going for him. Except for Rosa Isela, he had to work hard to make the social service girls look at him twice. There were two seagulls next to his car, and he asked them if his wife was about to leave him. As if to answer his question, the more capricious of the two seagulls flew away, leaving the other one alone next to the car.
Ay, cabrón
. Never try to tell the future with seagulls.
In the last few weeks they had fought more than the whole time they had known each other. He asked himself if they had a future together, if they worked or not. Perhaps he was the only one really interested in the relationship. He said to himself, Maybe it’s finished, and felt a knot in his throat. Bueno, if it’s over, it’s over; there’s nothing I can do about it. He had to be mature, he said to himself, and accept these things.
After analyzing everything he had heard and seen that day, he decided that she might have a lover. It was definitely a possibility. He was on the street all day, he only ate with her every now and then, sometimes he got home so exhausted he only wanted to watch TV. He imagined her making love with someone else and felt queasy in the stomach, that anxiety that comes when really important things come to an end.
He looked at the rough water. The sea was as black as the oil-stained sand. He was so focused it took him a minute to respondto a kid carrying a foldable table who approached to offer him coconut candies.
“
Condesa? Cocada?
”
How was it possible for a candy seller to appear next to his car in the most deserted area of the beach? He said no thank you, started his car, and drove back to the city.
11
He pulled up to the city archives as the employees were getting back from lunch. Now that he had three days off, he would do things a
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