Free The Barcelona Brothers by Carlos Zanón, John Cullen Page A

girl with the tattooed blue eyelids. The one who never cries. The one who doesn’t wait for anybody.

7
    EPI THOUGHT HE COULD MAKE USE OF THE TIME TIFFANY would need to get to the apartment on Granada Street by talking to his brother. But the call was cut off, so he decided to go home and wait for him there or call him on their apartment’s landline. Now, however, he doesn’t want the taxi driver to drop him off in front of the building. A certain paranoia has come over him, and he asks the cabbie to let him out a few blocks away. Though limping, he walks rapidly, almost militarily. He’s aching and exhausted. If he lies on the bed, he could sleep for years. He meets no one in the lobby or on the stairs. When he goes into the apartment, he locks the door behind him. Unfortunately, Alex isn’t home.
    He looks for the cordless telephone, which as usual is not in its cradle. He presses the search button and locates the receiver. On his way to get it, he raises the blinds in his room and the dining room in two swift jerks, using so much forcehe fears he’s broken something. At those hours, the sunlight crosses the apartment from one side to the other, creating walls glistening with golden dust.
The sun regenerates sick bodies and minds
. He remembers a period when his brother used to say that. It must have been one of the adages Alex had been made to learn by heart in one of his detox centers. Epi can tell that Alex has been rummaging around in his stuff. On the computer, some eMule files have been completed. He takes the opportunity to clear the list. Then he dials Alex’s number on the landline phone. Busy.
    In the bathroom he takes off his bloody T-shirt. He turns around in front of the mirror and looks over his shoulder at the impact marks on his back, blue-and-purple welts, some scratches. All the blood is apparently Tanveer’s. It’s true that his face is yellowish, or maybe it just seems that way to him. The long, straight hair, the little ears, the elongated countenance. The small eyes look frightened, like a child’s eyes in an adult’s face. He empties his pockets. He ought to look for his cell phone’s charging cable, but he’ll do that later. He calls Alex on the landline again. The number’s still busy.
    He sits on the edge of the bathtub and takes off his shoes and socks. The little toe on his left foot looks bad. It’s so small he can’t tell if it’s broken or not. He reaches out an arm, inserts the stopper in the drain, turns on the cold water tap, and sticks his foot under it. He won’t dedicate much time to this activity—he knows how little Tiffany likes to wait—but his toe feels better already. Cupping both hands under the bathtub faucet, he washes his face. Then he putshis socks back on and leaves the bathroom with the intention of looking for another T-shirt, a clean one, if possible. And in any case, he thinks he’ll take the bloodstained shirt along with him. He doesn’t yet know how he’ll get rid of it, but he’s convinced that leaving it in the house or wearing it would be an extremely bad idea. As he’s pondering this problem, the telephone rings.
    “Epi!”
    “Don’t yell.”
    “Are you home?”
    “You called here, man.”
    “Right, right, of course.”
    “Alex, you have to help me.”
    “Don’t pull any more stupid stunts. Everything’s under control.”
    “I had to do it, man. I had to kill him.”
    “Epi, don’t say anything, all right? Do you understand? You do, don’t you? I’m coming home, and we’ll talk. Don’t move from there.”
    “Better hurry. I’ve got to go.”
    “Where are you going?”
    “I can’t stay here.”
    “Sure you can. Let me explain when I get there. Nothing’s happened yet.”
    “Yes it has. It’s been happening for days now, lots of days.”
    “What the hell are you talking about? Look, we’ll see each other in a minute.”
    “Just one thing.”
    “What?”
    “Do you know where my cell phone charger is?”
    Alex