He chuckled and stood up, buckling his belt as he looked at her. “I didn’t realize you liked me that much.”
“I don’t, but maybe you could grow on me.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Maybe I could.”
She leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t something that she’d normally do, too worried about what a man would think of her, whether he’d like it or not, whether she was his type or was completely off base. But she figured what the hell. If she pretended she was bold long enough, maybe she could actually be bold.
He kissed her back, and then he said they should go, and they were walking down the stairs and into the car. It was raining outside, and traffic was heavy. By the time they reached Asterisk, the streetlights had bloomed into life.
Familiar faces awaited them in the office. Jackie, sitting behind a desk; the man who had been in the background last time was also there, smoking, sitting by the window. And Emilio Lomelí: he was leaning against Jackie’s desk, bending down to tell her something.
The notes of “The Girl from Ipanema” drifted from an open window on another floor.
“What’s he doing here?” Rubén asked gruffly, pointing at Emilio, who simply quirked an eyebrow at them.
“You said you needed a photographer,” Jackie told him. “This is what I could do on short notice. He’s fast, he knows how to use the equipment. What did you want, a first-year student?”
“Fuck, Jackie, are you serious? Him! Of all people!”
“I’ve financed this space so I think I’m allowed to step foot in it,” Emilio said. “Besides, I also want to see what’s on the film.”
“This jackass will sell us out for five cents.”
“Unlike you, I don’t need five cents, thanks.”
“Yes, rub it in, rub all your money in our faces.”
“Not all of us can be deadbeats.”
Emilio chuckled, and then Rubén jumped forward and threw a punch, just like that, no warning, straight to the jaw, and Emilio yelped, his back hitting the desk. Rubén attempted another punch, but Emilio moved and the young man missed. And then it was Emilio throwing a punch and hitting Rubén in the belly.
It was like watching two orangutans fight in the jungle. Maite had never been to the jungle, but there were orangutans in her comic books, and when they snarled, they looked like these men, their eyes narrowed and the mouths savage. She almost expected them to beat their fists against their chests and start biting each other.
Jackie yelled at the men, telling them to stop it, to stop being stupid. In his corner by the window, the man in the suede jacket observed the spectacle with amusement, but did not seem interested in stopping it. Maite merely clutched her purse and pressed herself against a bookcase, far from the brawlers.
“What do you two think you’re doing?”
Maite turned her head. Four men had walked into the office. She recognized the one who had spoken. He was the fellow who had visited Maite’s office: Anaya. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking puzzled. The men standing next to him had their guns out and had pointed them at Emilio and Rubén.
“Hands up in the air,” one of the men ordered.
Everyone was silent. Emilio and Rubén slowly stood up and raised their hands.
“You too, in the back.”
The man in the suede jacket shrugged and obeyed, raising his hands up high. The altercation between Rubén and Emilio had not interested him, and this didn’t seem to ruffle him either.
“Let’s give up all the guns,” Anaya said. “All the guns, or everyone is going to get shot.”
Rubén slowly took out his gun and tossed it onto the floor.
“Is that it?” Anaya asked. “If I find you have a gun, you fuckers, I’m going to shoot it up your ass. Line up. Come on.”
They lined up. Rubén stood next to Maite. She wanted to clutch his hand but didn’t dare move; she was holding her purse tight. Bossa nova was still playing nearby.
“Now where’s the film?”
“How do you know we’ve got the film?” Rubén asked.
