Gunpowder, money and a glass of red

Murillo has returned.

Massimo asked a question:

– Where is your cook? I can’t hear him for some reason.

Murillo answered, keeping his gaze on the boy’s face for a long time, as if he was trying to make out something:

– His father fell ill, and he went homeland to see him.

– So your kitchen is not working now?

– Not really. The kitchen is working. Before he left, he found a person to replace him for a while.

– Really? And how does he cook?

– At least the food hasn’t lost its taste.

Taking a deep breath, Massimo said in a calm voice:

– Well, that’s already great.

Murillo was satisfied with this form of answer, but his face remained carefree.

– And I see you have a new waitress.

Murillo made a small correction:

– More precisely the second one. Karla asked to be released early. There are too many clients. It’s hard for one.

Massimo fell silent for a while. It was clear from his furrowed eyebrows that he was thinking deeply about something. Soon his thoughts were interrupted by his own voice:

– Listen, I’ve been wanting to ask for a long time, but I keep forgetting. Do you have any relatives left in Cuba?

Murillo shook his head.

– In 1955, my brother and I buried our father, and two years before that, our mother. We had no one else in Havana. We immigrated here and settled in this area. Already here my brother got married in the first year. Immediately nine months later my niece was born. A year later – the second niece. That, in fact, is all the relatives I have. True, there is another one. As a child, he helped me in the bar, and in return I would pour him lemonade or treat him to a hot dog.

With a grin, Massimo added:

– Or pour him some wine.

They both smiled casually.

Murillo continued to carry on the conversation while serving customers at the bar. The conversation lasted for almost an hour, after which Massimo decided to leave. When asked how much he owed for the wine, Murillo politely asked him to go to hell for an answer. In response, Massimo thanked the Cuban again and went home.

Climbing the stairs, Massimo passed his floor and went to the roof. There he crouched on the edge of the ledge. His legs hung in the air, and his eyes rushed to examine the expanses of Little Rome under the cover of darkness. Somewhere, behind the residential high-rise buildings, it was possible to see some objects outside of Little Rome. For example, a high-rise television tower, the last few floors of the Eden Hotel, the luminous multi-colored peaks of a suspension bridge. From the east, the lights of planes taking off and landing at the city airport were often visible. On the western side, in the distance, the rays of spotlights sparkled at the stadium, where the world stars of «Disco» were giving a concert. Spending time here, Massimo imagined how somewhere outside of Little Rome life was in full swing and crowds of people were rushing from place to place. His hypnotic gaze seemed to be examining an alien planet, on which everything was arranged completely differently. Everyone is in a hurry to get somewhere. Everyone has something to hurry about. Busy everyday life of the middle class, into which the residents of Little Rome do not fit in. Yes. It was an alien planet, and it was so far away.

Massimo was mesmerized by the views from the roof. He leaned his hand on the edge of the cornice. Suddenly he experienced a strange sensation. Something crunched under his hand. He lifted the hand from the reinforced concrete covering and examined the strange object that came under his hand. They were shards of broken glass, most likely from a soda or beer bottle. Massimo noticed that his palm was bleeding. He examined the cuts in several places. And yet the feeling was very strange. He felt his own fluid spreading over his skin, but he didn’t feel much pain. It was more like a slight tingling sensation, as if a splinter had entered in five or six places.

Murillo? – thought Massimo.

He guessed that it had something to do with the glass of wine that Murillo poured him at the bar.

Out of curiosity, Massimo decided to apply pressure to the wounds to increase the pain. But there was no increase in pain. Massimo’s body seemed not to pay attention to the open wound and refused to use its protective reflexes to the maximum.

For a while he was distracted and continued to examine the lights of the night city. He thought it would be nice to have something cold or a cup of coffee on hand now, even if it was hot. He wanted to sit on the roof in an atmosphere that was at least a little reminiscent of how it is shown in the movies. His mind suddenly began to give birth to vivid pictures. He imagined how excited he would be to get behind the wheel of a beige Cadillac convertible and drive along the boardwalk, watching the crashing waves of the ocean and the clear moonrise. And he also imagined in all colors how he was sitting in a restaurant at a table that he had booked in advance. He saw how a waiter offered him a menu for review, and a head waiter came up and asked if everything suited him or if he might want something else.

Is this real?

All this happens to someone in these very minutes and in the same city, while he is sitting and humbly watching everything that is happening from the side. So YES! This is SO FUCKING real! To do this, he just needs…

Massimo went home. He took out a bottle of alcohol and a piece of cotton wool from the kitchen set. After the wound was disinfected, Massimo wrapped his hand in a bandage. In the end, he suffered for a long time, trying to tie it into a bow, but he didn’t have enough patience and he made a careless tight knot.

A loud, annoying sound filled the room. The phone rang. Pablo turned on the lamp on the bedside table and looked at the clock. The hands showed twenty minutes to midnight. He picked up the phone and the ringing that was beating through his brain stopped. A man’s voice was heard at the other end of the line:

– Hello. This is Massimo.

A second later, Pablo’s still-unawakened brain gave birth to an incomprehensible answer:

– Ah… hi.

– Did I wake you?

Pablo’s half-open eyes once again met the hands on the clock.

– Nothing. I’m all yours.

– Listen, I have a conversation with you.

– Yes, yes. Speak. I’m listening to.

Silence lingered on the phone, replaced only by the dull crackling of the communication line. After a few seconds, Massimo continued:

– Can we talk at your place?

– Now?

– Yes. Jorge left the car at my house. I have the keys too. He said he was leaving somewhere with his parents. There won’t be any until the end of the month. So I can come to you right now.

Without hesitation, Pablo replied:

– Sure.

– Great. I’ll be there in five minutes.

Massimo hung up and left the payphone booth that stood across the street from the house. He didn’t even think about calling from home. For some reason he is always drawn to the street. Even such a small thing as calling a friend forces him to choose a street phone, just to have a reason to leave the house.

He got behind the wheel and, as if by clockwork, stood at the door of Pablo’s rented apartment five minutes later. They settled down in the kitchen. In view of how animatedly Massimo started the conversation, as well as what was the subject of discussion, Pablo decided that sleep could wait and made them a cup of coffee.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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