Read Online The Shadow of the Shadow by Paco Ignacio Taibo II - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paco Ignacio Taibo II
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could go on and search another
part of the house. He scratched again just to be sure and then heard
a noise coming from the front hall. Someone turned on a light.
The lawyer opened the door and stepped quickly into Conchita's
bedroom. The light from the street shed a vague glimmer over the
empty bed. "Dammit," murmured Verdugo.
"No, Ramon, that's not the way it is." He heard Conchita's
voice.
A man's hoarse voice answered her, but the lawyer couldn't
make out what he said. The sound of their steps approached the
room and, as the voices became clearer, the lawyer slipped inside a
large wardrobe next to the dressing table.
"She thinks she can run the whole show. But the truth is, we
have as much right as any of the others do. As much as her or the
colonel."
"You don't understand. They've been doing all right up until
now, so let them go ahead with it, I say. Our time will come."
"The fact of the matter, Ramon, is that you let yourself be led
around too easily. You're a very servile person when it comes right
down to it. It's in your blood," said Conchita, opening the door.
The lawyer made himself as small as he could inside the wardrobe,
surrounded by Conchita's lacy silk dresses, his head wedged into
the tiny space between the clothes rack and a shelf crammed with
shoe boxes. The door to the wardrobe didn't shut properly and he
could see out into the room through a slight crack.
Now he watched as Conchita stepped inside, trailed by the
hard-faced Spaniard he'd picked out on the night of the party as a
member of the widow's inner circle.' he Spaniard hesitated in the
doorway as if waiting for permission to go any farther.
"Can I come in?"
"I don't know, little boy. Can you? What are you afraid of?"
said Conchita.
The lawyer watched from his hiding place as the Spaniard's
face puckered into a grimace, a look of hatred flashing across his
eyes.
Conchita sat down in front of the dressing table, out of the
lawyer's line of sight. All he could see was her feet.
"Come on in, little boy. And close the door," said Conchita.
"Lucky for you I'm not the widow, she would have kicked you out
of her bedroom in half a second."
Ramon the Spic stepped into the room and flopped down
on the bed. Verdugo could hardly contain himself. He hated to
think he was going to have to stand there and witness the amorous
relations between Conchita and Ramon the Spic.
"Take your shoes off, you dirty pig. I don't know why I even
let you in here."
"Maybe it's because you like to fuck with me," said Ramon
prosaically. Verdugo struggled to keep from laughing out loud.
"You're the most vulgar little boy I know, Ramon," said
Conchita, moving back into Verdugo's field of vision, but this
time without nearly as many clothes on. She wore a transparent
white silk nightgown. The hair on Verdugo's neck stood on end at
the sight of his friend's shapely, swaying buttocks, clearly visible
through the gauzy fabric.
"Ramon, if you don't take your shoes off, I'm going to throw
you out of here right now."
"Excuse me, but I happen to like to do it with my shoes on, you
know that," said the pouty-faced Spic, standing up and allowing
the woman to take his place on the bed. Conchita slid across the
covers, letting off little sparks of static electricity.
"Shit," thought Verdugo, staring longingly at the thick curly
mat of reddish pubic hair between his friend's legs, until the
Spaniard stepped between Conchita and his hiding place, ruining
his view.
"What is it with you, anyway? You think it's more sophisticated to do it with your shoes on, is that it? Makes you feel like
the goddam Prince of Barcelona, or something? And I suppose
you're not going to take your clothes off, either. What, are you
scared someone's going to come in and find us here?"
"Who else comes here?" asked Ramon as he unbuttoned his
trousers.
"Nobody. Who do you think? Hey, stand back a little farther."
Ramon stepped back from the bed and
part of the house. He scratched again just to be sure and then heard
a noise coming from the front hall. Someone turned on a light.
The lawyer opened the door and stepped quickly into Conchita's
bedroom. The light from the street shed a vague glimmer over the
empty bed. "Dammit," murmured Verdugo.
"No, Ramon, that's not the way it is." He heard Conchita's
voice.
A man's hoarse voice answered her, but the lawyer couldn't
make out what he said. The sound of their steps approached the
room and, as the voices became clearer, the lawyer slipped inside a
large wardrobe next to the dressing table.
"She thinks she can run the whole show. But the truth is, we
have as much right as any of the others do. As much as her or the
colonel."
"You don't understand. They've been doing all right up until
now, so let them go ahead with it, I say. Our time will come."
"The fact of the matter, Ramon, is that you let yourself be led
around too easily. You're a very servile person when it comes right
down to it. It's in your blood," said Conchita, opening the door.
The lawyer made himself as small as he could inside the wardrobe,
surrounded by Conchita's lacy silk dresses, his head wedged into
the tiny space between the clothes rack and a shelf crammed with
shoe boxes. The door to the wardrobe didn't shut properly and he
could see out into the room through a slight crack.
Now he watched as Conchita stepped inside, trailed by the
hard-faced Spaniard he'd picked out on the night of the party as a
member of the widow's inner circle.' he Spaniard hesitated in the
doorway as if waiting for permission to go any farther.
"Can I come in?"
"I don't know, little boy. Can you? What are you afraid of?"
said Conchita.
The lawyer watched from his hiding place as the Spaniard's
face puckered into a grimace, a look of hatred flashing across his
eyes.
Conchita sat down in front of the dressing table, out of the
lawyer's line of sight. All he could see was her feet.
"Come on in, little boy. And close the door," said Conchita.
"Lucky for you I'm not the widow, she would have kicked you out
of her bedroom in half a second."
Ramon the Spic stepped into the room and flopped down
on the bed. Verdugo could hardly contain himself. He hated to
think he was going to have to stand there and witness the amorous
relations between Conchita and Ramon the Spic.
"Take your shoes off, you dirty pig. I don't know why I even
let you in here."
"Maybe it's because you like to fuck with me," said Ramon
prosaically. Verdugo struggled to keep from laughing out loud.
"You're the most vulgar little boy I know, Ramon," said
Conchita, moving back into Verdugo's field of vision, but this
time without nearly as many clothes on. She wore a transparent
white silk nightgown. The hair on Verdugo's neck stood on end at
the sight of his friend's shapely, swaying buttocks, clearly visible
through the gauzy fabric.
"Ramon, if you don't take your shoes off, I'm going to throw
you out of here right now."
"Excuse me, but I happen to like to do it with my shoes on, you
know that," said the pouty-faced Spic, standing up and allowing
the woman to take his place on the bed. Conchita slid across the
covers, letting off little sparks of static electricity.
"Shit," thought Verdugo, staring longingly at the thick curly
mat of reddish pubic hair between his friend's legs, until the
Spaniard stepped between Conchita and his hiding place, ruining
his view.
"What is it with you, anyway? You think it's more sophisticated to do it with your shoes on, is that it? Makes you feel like
the goddam Prince of Barcelona, or something? And I suppose
you're not going to take your clothes off, either. What, are you
scared someone's going to come in and find us here?"
"Who else comes here?" asked Ramon as he unbuttoned his
trousers.
"Nobody. Who do you think? Hey, stand back a little farther."
Ramon stepped back from the bed and
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