The Anarchist Detective (Max Cámara) (13 page)

‘And another thing, where are all the saffron fields? There was a lot of saffron in that warehouse, but I don’t see much of it being grown around here. Certainly not enough to justify the piles of it we’ve just—’

CRACK!

For a moment the car sped on, neither of them speaking.

‘What . . . ?’

Cámara turned around: the back window had shattered.

‘Did we just hit a stone, or something?’

‘DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE!’ he shouted.

‘What?’

‘Put your foot down. Now! Drive!’

There was no hesitation. Immediately the car pulled away faster as Alicia accelerated. Cámara looked round at the back window once more: the bullet had left a neat hole on the left side, but the rest of the glass was about to fall in from the impact.

‘We’re being shot at. Don’t stay on a straight line. Swerve the car.’

Unbuckling his seat belt, he climbed on to the back seat and pushed away at the glass, scattering bits of it over the road as they sped along. No one was following them – the lorry had disappeared and there was no other car visible. Whoever it was was almost certainly shooting from a fixed position.

‘This is a long straight road,’ Alicia said, her voice steady but nervous.

‘Keep going. Don’t stop. But move the car around.’

He was thrown to one side as the vehicle pulled to the right and then the left.

‘Not too regularly,’ he said. ‘You have to make yourself a difficult target.’

CRACK!

Another shot. They both felt the impact as the bullet seemed to hit some part of the car.

‘Are you all right? Are you all right?’ Cámara screamed.

‘I’m OK,’ Alicia said. Their eyes met in the rear-view mirror for a second.

‘Keep going.’

The car swerved again.

‘There’s a turning ahead.’

‘He’s shooting from behind us. Go, go, GO!’

He couldn’t tell where the bullets were being fired from, but it seemed a reasonable guess. And he had to reassure Alicia somehow, tell her that if they could get to the corner and off the straight they would be all right. But would they?

He looked back through the hole he’d punched in the glass, then ducked his head again. The car bodywork offered little protection, but it was better than nothing. Alicia, however, was exposed. He heaved himself over to her side of the car: if the firing was indeed coming from behind, he might at least offer some protection with his own body.

He glanced quickly ahead: the turning was only metres away.

CRACK!

It felt like a very hard punch in the hip, as though someone had taken a large heavy stick and hit him at the top of the thigh. He let out a low grunt and surged forwards, his hands gripping at the pain.

The car turned the corner, Alicia accelerating harder as they pulled out of it and away down another straight. Shorter this time: in a few seconds they would reach another corner.

‘Keep going. Don’t slow down.’

He tried to disguise the strain in his voice.

‘Max?’

‘I’m fine. Keep driving. Don’t look back.’

She turned to look down at him curled up in the well of the back seat.

‘I’m fine.’

The car sped along. Cámara pulled his hand away from his leg: it was dry.

A minute later they joined the main road and were heading back towards the city.

‘Just take us back to the centre,’ Cámara said. ‘We’re safe now. Trust me.’

‘Are you all right?’

He undid his zip and pulled his trousers down a fraction: the skin at the side of his upper thigh was red and mottled with burst capillaries, but there was no blood. He heard something fall to the floor. Reaching down with a grunt he lifted up the bullet that had struck him. A hole in the upholstery beside him showed where it had come through the bodywork of the car.

His head fell back against the door and he closed his eyes, cold shock swimming through him with a steady pulse.

While the bullet warmed in the palm of his hand.

‘
WE NEED TO
get that seen to.’

‘I’m all right. Let me . . .’

Alicia had pulled the car to the side of the road on a quiet street. The smashed back window was attracting suspicious looks from passers-by.

Cámara opened the door and hauled himself out. Alicia jumped out from the driver’s seat and went to help him.

‘I’m OK.’

He took a step forward, grimacing at the pain shooting through his leg and hip as it took the weight.

‘It’s all right. I’ll be fine.’

‘Let me see.’

Gently, she pulled his shirt tail up where it was covering his upper leg, letting out an uncontrolled gasp when she saw the swelling skin.

‘It’s bruised, that’s all. It’s going to hurt for a bit, but I can take some anti-inflammatories.’

She stood up and kissed him tenderly near the mouth, her eyes tearful.

‘Oh, Max.’

He kissed her hair where she rested her head on his shoulder.

A bar stood a couple of doors from where she’d parked. Brushing herself down, she walked in and a couple of minutes later emerged with two plastic cups with large doses of brandy inside.

They drank in silence, both looking at each other, feeling the warmth of the liquor trickle its way down. Bit by bit, they began to breathe more deeply again, drawing cool air into their lungs.

‘I need to sit down.’

She led him round to the passenger seat, then sat back down in the driver’s seat beside him.

‘Someone was shooting at us,’ she said.

Cámara nodded.

‘Were they trying to kill us?’

‘I don’t know.’

Had someone been trying to frighten them? Or was it a serious, if failed, attempt on their lives? He couldn’t say. Perhaps the bullet, now nestling in his trouser pocket, would give a clue.

‘We need to go to the police.’

She turned to him, but he didn’t move.

‘Shouldn’t we?’

After a pause, he shook his head.

‘No. At least not now.’

She slumped back into her seat, closing her eyes and sipping on her brandy. Cámara reached into his jacket pocket, lit two cigarettes and then placed one between her lips. She accepted it without looking at him.

‘What’s going on?’ she said at last. ‘What haven’t you told me?’

A couple of teenage boys were staring in at the back of the car, where odd shards of glass were scattered over the bodywork and inside on the seats.

‘Fuck, look at that!’

‘Looks like they had a crash or something.’

‘What, reversing?’

‘Shut it.’

‘We’ll have to take this back to your friend Gerardo at the garage,’ Alicia said. ‘Or is that off the cards as well?’

‘We’re safer here than we would be at the Jefatura,’ Cámara said.

Alicia drew on her cigarette, watching the boys as they walked down the street and glanced back at the strangely damaged car.

‘It’s not clear who can be trusted.’

He finished the brandy; his leg was aching and he longed for a refill.

‘What’s going on?’ Alicia said.

‘I don’t know. There’s at least one corrupt officer, perhaps more. I haven’t had the full story myself.’

‘We were set up?’

His cigarette was burning close to the skin of his fingers.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know? We’ve just been shot at. We could have been killed. You could have been killed. And you don’t know? Where the hell have we just been? Some scam involving the saffron business, was what you said. I didn’t know we were heading into some kind of gang warfare.’

‘Neither did I.’

‘Didn’t you? Didn’t you really? You mean you had no suspicions?’

‘Look!’ He turned to face her. ‘The police may be involved in some saffron mafia. That’s what I was told. That’s what I’m telling you now. If I’d known it was going to be so dangerous I would have taken precautions. I had no idea this was going to happen. No idea.’

She stared out of the window, taking a last drag of the cigarette before throwing it out on to the road.

‘God knows I would never have brought you along if I’d known.’

She reached over and took his empty cup. A few minutes later she had returned from the bar with more brandy for both of them.

‘They’re talking about us in there,’ she said.

‘We’ll have to move.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘For the moment, it’s back to Gerardo’s’.

They manoeuvred past scattered spare parts and left the BMW in the centre of the garage, next to the office.

Gerardo grinned when he saw them. Only when he caught the expression in their eyes did he begin to have doubts.

He stood up and walked out into the workshop.

‘What happened? No, no, no. Please, tell me it’s all right.’

Wordlessly, Cámara walked him around to the back of the car. Gerardo’s face dropped when he saw the smashed rear window.

‘A stone hit you on the back?’ he asked incredulously.

Cámara sighed. With his finger he traced over the bodywork, searching, then stood up and pointed when he found the hole. Gerardo looked at him, then bent down to have a look.

He stayed there for almost a minute, then very slowly lifted himself up, still gazing down at the curious mark on the metalwork.

‘Now you’re going to tell me that it isn’t what I think it is.’

Cámara lifted his hands up and shrugged.

Gerardo gave him a look of fear and surprise.

‘Tell me that sudden limp you’ve developed isn’t anything to do with this, either,’ he said.

Cámara said nothing.

Gerardo nodded towards Alicia, who was still sitting behind the wheel.

‘Fine,’ Cámara said. ‘We’re both fine.’

Gerardo let out a deep breath.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s good news. I don’t know what’s been going on. And I don’t want to know.’

He glanced back down at the hole.

‘I never realised I was living in such a dangerous city.’

Cámara patted him on the shoulder.

‘Clean it up and you could get an extra grand for it,’ he said. ‘Goes faster than a bullet.’

He sniffed.

‘Well, almost.’

‘
I’LL TRY SOME
of that home-grown now.’

Pilar was leaving when they reached the flat. There was no sign of Hilario.

‘He said he was going for a walk. There’s some stock on the counter. You can use it to make a consommé.’

The door clicked shut and they were left alone.

‘Is she always like that?’ Alicia asked.

‘It’s probably the sight of another woman in the flat. You’re an intruder.’

He limped his way to the living room and fell down on to the sofa. Alicia followed after him.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’ve had worse.’

Earlier that year, at the start of the summer, Alicia had seen for herself the cuts Cámara had received on his hands after warding off a knife attack. She’d helped clean and dress the wounds until they had healed: the scars were still there.

‘It’s up on the shelf,’ Cámara said. ‘I’ll make you one if you don’t mind getting it.’

She reached up and passed him the box. Cámara opened it, pulled out a cigarette paper and a pinch of
maría
, and started preparing the joint. A few moments later he lit it and passed it over to her. Still standing, she took it and paced around the room, inhaling deeply.

‘This is a place of secrets,’ she said.

Cámara was silent. After a couple more drags, she sat down next to him on the sofa, curling up and resting her head on his chest. Cámara took the joint from her outstretched hand and drew in hard.

‘I’ve never been shot at before,’ Alicia said. ‘I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to feel. Fear is too simple, it doesn’t quite describe it properly.’

‘Did you see your life flash before you?’

‘I’m serious.’

‘So am I.’

She sighed.

‘Yes. No. I’m not sure. I felt so many things. I’m still trying to unravel it all.’

She sat up and looked at him.

‘Did you?’

Cámara shrugged.

‘No, I don’t think so. I was too busy trying to work out what to do.’

‘Is that what they teach you?’ Alicia asked, placing her head back on his chest. ‘At police academy? How to dodge bullets if someone shoots at you? All that swerving from side to side you told me about.’

‘No,’ Cámara said. ‘There’s nothing as useful as that. I probably got the idea from some TV programme.’

She laughed.

‘I don’t know,’ Cámara said. ‘A friend of mine is in the GEO – the special police. He may have mentioned something. Although come to think of it it was something about how little protection a car can give you against a sniper. Bullets go right through the bodywork. Unless it’s bulletproof, of course.’

‘Which BMWs aren’t.’

‘Not normally.’

‘You’d have thought they might be, what with the way people go on about them.’

Cámara leaned over to hand her the last of the joint.

‘How many shots were there?’

‘Three, I think. The first one hit the back window, the second impacted in the car somewhere, and the third . . .’

‘The third went into your leg. Or nearly.’

She took a final drag and lifted the joint up to offer him, but he shook his head. Pulling the ashtray closer on the little table in front of them, she stubbed the burning end out and watched the trail of dying smoke rise up into the foggy living-room air.

‘I have a feeling we’ve had a lucky escape,’ she said.

Cámara said nothing.

‘They were trying to kill us, weren’t they? I mean, whoever it was shooting at us. That wasn’t just a warning. You can warn in other ways. But those bullets came very close. They were shooting to kill.’

‘Possibly.’

‘So we’re still in danger.’

She stood up and turned to look down at him.

‘Here we are getting stoned in your grandfather’s flat when we should be . . . OK, I know you don’t want to go to the police, but come on, Max. We’ve got to do something. We can’t just sit here and wait for them to come knocking on the door to finish the job off.’

He beckoned her to sit down again.

‘They’re not coming here. No one’s coming here. We’re fine.’