Chapter 1
The bells struck seven. Tiago was late. Taking a last swig of Estrella Galicia for luck, he gathered keys, mobile, jacket, the CD and the flowers. Were roses too much? Maybe if they were red, signalling an obvious agenda. But yellow should be innocent enough. No, leave them, it’s embarrassing. No, take them, it’s a lovely gesture. Yellow rosebuds could signify the start of something.
Gazing into the fragrant whorls was only making him later, definitely a negative message on a first date. He ran out the door, leaping the stairs three at a time. On the second landing, Doña Llorente, complete with shopping, dogs and inhaler, blocked his path. He greeted her with a wave, the spaniels with a pat, and on impulse, thrust the flowers into her hand.
With a gallant bow, he slipped past before she got her breath back. He hit the street and recognised a smart decision. Ana wouldn’t want flowers. Independent music with quirky artwork, perhaps, but no old-fashioned gestures. The right choice. Saved from cliché and into Doña Llorente’s good books.
His instinct to reach for a cigarette was countered by a desire for fresh breath. At least for the greeting kisses. His smile spread as he recalled the email. Not only word for word, but every single character.
Meet me @ El Papagaio on Sunday, 19.00.
Let’s NOT talk about work. Ax.
One extra letter. An X. Its effect was disproportionate, but still. Ana Luisa Herrero had sent him a kiss. It had taken him an hour and a half to compose a reply, and another fifteen minutes debating the pros and cons of adding a kiss.
OK. Looking forward to it. Tx
He sped up, almost breaking into a run.
The uplight illuminated a cartoonish parrot, painted in primary colours, as he approached the door. A solitary smoker stood outside, leaning against an empty table. He didn’t return Tiago’s Buenas tardes.
The restaurant was unusually empty. But Tiago only ever came in here on week nights after work, so had no idea about the bar’s weekend trade. Two men sitting at a corner table looked up and nodded. The only other person was a barman Tiago didn’t recognise. Strange not to see Enrique. Perhaps he didn’t work weekends.
But most importantly, Ana was later than him. Relieved, he sat facing the door. He would order two beers. Or should he wait? No, he needed a drink. And maybe some olives, mainly to give him something to do with his hands. He sent her a rapid text message.
The barman approached, unsmiling.
“Two beers and a ...”
“She’s in the back.” He jerked his head towards the rear of the room.
Tiago glanced in the same direction and frowned.
The barman shrugged. “She said you should go in the back. She’s waiting.”
Tiago scrambled from his seat, confused. In all the time he’d been coming here, he’d never been ‘in the back’. He didn’t even know there was another room. Was it the same sort of ‘back room’ as the one in Gatos? Everyone knew what went on in that kind of place. He got up and followed the barman’s louche stroll. He knew he was being watched.
The lack of clientele, the new barman, the silence ... something felt wrong. He stopped. The front door opened and the smoker returned, locking the door behind him. Tiago’s pulse pounded as the barman pressed a hand to his shoulder, guiding him firmly through the door. When he resisted, he was shoved forwards, falling across the jamb onto all fours. Fear shot through his veins like acid as he tried to make out where he was.
A door opened ahead of him, blue light and cold air spilling into the dark corridor. The fridge room. His scalp contracted as he saw the chair inside, with attachments. Every nerve urged him to run, but he had no idea which way. He pushed himself to his feet and turned to face the men behind him.
“What’s going on? What do you want?”
Without answering, they moved forwards. He attempted to duck past, tripped over rubbish bags and landed on the floor.
They dragged him to his feet and into the fridge. He twisted and bucked like a fish on a line, but the smoker and barman wrestled him into the chair. His arms were cuffed behind him, his legs spread and secured at knees and ankles with leather straps. Shallow breaths made small panicky clouds in the cold air as he tried to keep from shaking. He heard the suction of the closing door. He scanned the four unfamiliar faces, searching for an explanation. The two older men from the corner table were relaxed and unhurried. One had a missing forefinger, the other’s face sagged on one side. A pair of tough old tomcats. The smoker and the barman, both built like bulls, wore identical tense expressions. Muscle, no doubt. But who the hell would send four heavies after him? And where did Ana fit in?
His voice was unsteady. “Look, I don’t know what the problem is, but we can work something out, I’m sure. Please, can we talk? What have I done?”
No one moved.
The greyer of the tomcats spoke. His voice was hoarse and creaky, as if it didn’t get out much.
“No, Tiago. No more talking. That is part of your problem. You were warned. Twice. There is no third chance.” He motioned to the smoker, who handed something to the barman. A pair of garden shears. They both donned plastic gloves.
Tiago shook his head, unable to speak, blinking to clear his vision. He had no idea what warnings he was talking about. No one had tried to dissuade him from pursuing Ana. His colleagues even encouraged him. Were these men some Portuguese relatives come to defend her honour? He hadn’t even kissed her yet.
“You see, Tiago, it’s like gambling. Only join the game if you can afford to take the losses.”
Two figures approached, but through his flooded eyes, he could no longer differentiate between individuals. As he rocked and yanked against his restraints, he squeezed his lids shut and screamed, a desperate howl bouncing off white-tiled walls and indifferent ears. When his lungs could produce nothing more than hyperventilating gasps, the hoarse and rasping voice came to its conclusion.
“When a man sticks something where he shouldn’t, he must be prepared to lose it.”
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