Free Havana Noir by Achy Obejas Page B

moral values anymore. Our whole culture is in crisis. Do you know why? Because of globalization and neoliberalism.”
    “Oh, well said. A better world is possible! Ha! Ha! But you know, you sarcastic bitch, these things would never happen if you were with me, at least now and then…Not because I can’t do it alone, of course—don’t ever think that, okay, bitch?—I don’t need you one twit! But the girls, if they saw a couple instead of just a guy…well, you know, they’d feel safer. Don’t you think? Oh yes! They’d all fall in the trap! Each and every one of them! Ha! Ha! C’mon, Momma, c’mon, don’t be so hard on me…C’mon, what’s the big deal with helping me out, huh? Look, just tell me whenever you want me to come by in the flying saucer and I’ll—”
    “Please, stop that, for God’s sake. Don’t you get tired of that, baby? I’ve already told you a million times yes , I think it’s an genius idea; I’m going to go out with you one of these nights and do whatever you want…when I’m done with my work. What language do I need to use for you understand? Don’t be so immature, man.”
    “Work, work, work! What an obsession! You’re going to burn out, Momma. Believe me, I’m serious. You’re going to go nuts if you continue like that. Absolutely nuts. Because that’s no way to live, working away in your cave like that. And anyway…what is your work?”
    “Nothing important. Forget it. I’ve already told you: As soon as I’m done with this, we’ll go out together, we’ll go hunt bunnies. Do you think I don’t want to go? Of course I want to go. Hmm. Very much. Ted Bundy, you have no idea how much fun we’re going to have!”
    “Bunnies? Mmm. I get hard just hearing you say it…So when the fuck do we get together?”
    “Well, I don’t know…exactly. But I’ll let you know, don’t worry. Soon.”
    Besides the business with the car, there were other discrepancies between the nurse’s story and the guy’s previous mischief. In the past, he’d never cared if anyone saw his face. He didn’t kill his victims to keep them from reporting the kidnapping, rape, and torture. He killed them because —because of hate, because of boredom, because of some atavistic blood thirst, or because of revenge, or because of power, or because whatever. The fact is, he always went out to kill. What the hell did he care if the passengers in his flying saucer got a good look at him? There was even the possibility that he actually wanted them to see him as he went about his infernal exploits, that he actually showed himself on purpose, as if he were saying, “This is me, yes, me, you piece of shit, so what? In the end—ha! ha!—there’s nothing you can do anyway,” or something along those lines.
    For his part, he never said he was crazy during our conversations. To the contrary, he considered himself quite sane, and more lucid than most. He was capable of distinguishing between good and evil as well as I could, or as well as anyone, except that he preferred evil deliberately, just because he had the blessed balls to commit it—that’s how he said it—and he bragged about it without the slightest inhibition. According to his philosophy, there are two kinds of people in the world: the strong and the weak. The former (among whom he, of course, included himself) have every right, by virtue of their very strength, to destroy the latter whenever and however they choose. And if the written law didn’t sanction this, well, too bad; those laws were hypocritical and unjust and there was no reason to respect them. In any case, he was above any law. Why? Because. That’s why.
    I remember I asked him one night what he considered the ideal parameters to catalog anyone as strong or weak. He said that I belonged to the weak group, of course, because I was female, but that, for the moment, he would spare my life because he got such a kick—oh, yes, such a kick! ha! ha!—out of my aimless arrogance, the