Free The Killer's Tears by Anne-Laure Bondoux Page B

looking for.
    “Do you see that large red ship?” he asked Paolo.
    “Yes.”
    “We're in luck.”
    “Are we going aboard?”
    “No, they check the passenger list.”
    Without trying to understand, Paolo continued to trot alongside Angel, who was taking long strides as he headed toward the ship. The child could see the red cuirass of the boat against the white cliff behind it.
B-o-t-e
. Luis had forgotten to tell him how to spell this word correctly and he thought he might never find out. Why was it that people did not finish what they started? Only Angel, it seemed to him, was able to finish the task he set his mind on: killing someone was a way to finish things. And right now he could feel the power of the murderer, his determination and obstinance. Paolo trusted him: if Angel had promised not to abandon him
ever
, he would keep his word. And maybe he would even manage to buy the lamb, though with the posters of Angel plastered over every fence in the cattle market, it was unlikely.
    Close to the red ship were travelers, piles of bags, stacks of heavy trunks, as well as employees of the shipping line, who were checking tickets.
    “Wait for me here,” Angel said. “Don't move.”
    Paolo stayed near the trunks. He couldn't see what Angel was up to, and his heart beat madly.
    Angel rushed toward the line of passengers. Just as he had thought, Delia and Luis were there. From the moment he had seen them at the bank, Angel had grasped their plan.
    Their backs were turned to him. They looked like newlyweds going off on their honeymoon. Angel's hand went under his vest. The knife was in the same spot in his pocket. He placed the blade directly between Luis's shoulder blades, stinging him.
    “Not a word,” Angel whispered in Luis's ear. “Come with me. And Delia too, or else I'll kill you.”
    Quick, discreet, that was Angel's way. He was used to the reaction of his victims. Their bodies went limp and they broke into a sweat; then he could do whatever he wanted with them.
    Delia and Luis left the passenger line. Angel pushed them toward the big metallic trunks, where Paolo was waiting quietly. There Angel pushed a little more on the knife handle until Luis's face contorted in pain. With his other hand, the murderer held the back of Delia's neck, his fingers clenched in her thick hair.
    “Why don't you tell Paolo?” Angel said. “He'll be very surprised to learn what you were about to do.”
    Paolo looked at Luis and did not need words to understand.
    “Are you going around the world with Delia?” he asked, just for confirmation.
    Breathless and shaking, Luis could do nothing but nod.
    “But … the weird vegetables?” Paolo said. “And the water that makes you sick? And the heat that gives you headaches?”
    “There comes a time when you have to confront your fears,” Luis answered, his eyes filled with sorrow.
    He could not explain to this young and naive child that he had at last gathered the strength to pull away from his own childhood, and that he could never become a man unless he went away now. That was the way it was: cruel and necessary.
    Paolo turned to Delia. He wanted to know how she had managed to convince Luis to go. But he didn't ask her, guessing that there must be secrets only adults knew.
    Angel pushed on the knife handle again, and the blade went through Luis's shirt. Luis winced.
    “You forgot to give Paolo money to buy the sheep,” Angel went on. “That's not nice.”
    “The sheep and the lamb,” Paolo specified.
    Delia had started to cry. Angel shook her.
    “You draw nice portraits,” he blurted out. “But I prefer your landscapes.”
    “Don't kill us!” Delia begged.
    “If Luis gives me half of his money, I'll let you board the ship.”
    Angel had said all he had to say. No negotiation was possible. Luis collapsed a little more. In addition to fear, he could feel shame knotting his stomach. Paolo's eyes, honest and full of hope, hurt him much more than the knife between his