Everything was chaos that Saturday, chaos and fear and shame. Starting very early, Fernanda was already on a rampage through the house. She spoke on the phone, and then I heard her talking to Julio. They were arguing about whether she should carry a weapon. Julio was saying yes, and she was claiming that was the first thing they’d warned her about, and plus, she told him, I’m going with Jorge. Every time I heard her call the regional prosecutor Jorge, my guts twisted. Julio was insisting she shouldn’t even go, that’s what the CTI agents were for. If they don’t see me, there’s no handoff, Fernanda declared, plus I’m just going with Jorge, he’ll be there in a personal capacity. Then she said she was going to take a shower and get ready to leave.
In the kitchen I found Julio fondling the pistol Fernanda refused to take with her. Lucila was watching him out of the corner of her eye while beating some eggs.
“Mom doesn’t want to take it,” Julio complained.
“What good would it do her?” I asked.
“Self-defense.”
“She’s got other weapons,” I said. “She knows how to use them.”
“This is only one that’s any use,” he said, and pointed the gun at the window. Lucila eyed him with terror.
“Don’t worry, she’s not interested in rescuing Dad,” he said. “She’s playing for the other side.”
“Stop talking bullshit.”
“She’s only going because she wants revenge. She doesn’t care that he’s missing, or kidnapped or whatever. Everything she’s doing, she’s doing it out of jealousy.”
Lucila served us breakfast and asked us if we wanted anything else. She left us alone. Nobody can relax when somebody’s waving a pistol around. Then Fernanda came in, with her hair wet and a drink in her hand at seven-thirty in the morning.
“Put that back where it was,” she told Julio.
“What if they come here?” he asked. “What if shit hits the fan and they decide to come after us?”
“Stop being so dramatic. It’s not the first time I’ve delivered money to these people.”
“But it is the last,” Julio said.
“What are you drinking, Ma?” I asked.
She looked at the glass and placed it on the table.
“I’m nervous,” she said.
“Really?” Julio said. “Didn’t you supposedly have everything under control?”
“Not about them,” she said, “about Libardo.”
I shot Julio a look that said I told you so. For the rest of us it could be the end of a problem, but for her it was just an episode in her marriage. The doorbell rang.
“That must be Jorge,” she said.
Lucila appeared and asked if she should answer.
“Yes, go answer. If it’s the prosecutor, tell him I’ll be right there,” Fernanda told her. She looked at Julio and said, “Take that gun to your dad’s study.” She looked at me. “You help me carry the suitcase.”
“Aren’t you going to have any breakfast?” I asked.
She picked up the glass again, grabbed the pitcher of orange juice, and poured a little into her drink. She took a swig and asked, “Happy?”
The phone rang. I rushed to answer in case it was them, but it was my grandmother.
“What’s going on over there, sweetie?” she asked.
“Hi, Gran.”
Fernanda was already talking to the prosecutor. I didn’t feel comfortable saying anything.
“What’s going on, Larry?” she said again.
“Can I call you back in five minutes?”
“So something is happening,” she said.
Fernanda came over and asked, who is it? Gran, I said, and she waved her hand dismissively. I met Lucila’s gaze, and she lowered her head and went off toward the bedrooms, alarmed.
“Answer me, Larry,” Gran said.
“I’ll call you back in five minutes,” I said, and hung up.
The prosecutor had taken charge of the suitcase. He was smiling like he was heading off on his honeymoon, not a dangerous operation. Fernanda had been more agitated ever since he’d arrived. She said she was going to the bathroom one last time. Julio and I were left alone with the prosecutor.
“Is that a Jericho?” he asked Julio.
“What?”
“The pistol.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s my dad’s.”
“Let me see,” the prosecutor said.
Julio, hesitating, handed it over.
“Yes,” Cubides said, examining the pistol and stroking it. “It’s a 941. Not very common around here.”
Fernanda came back and said to the prosecutor, “All right, let’s go.”
He gave the gun to Julio and said, “Don’t take it out of the house.”
And Fernanda said, “See you later, boys. I’ll get in touch if there’s any news.”
I stood waiting for a kiss, a hug, even a tear from Fernanda. Maybe she was cold on purpose; any of those gestures I was hoping for would have seemed too dramatic, too final. The prosecutor went out, pulling the suitcase, like a pilot ambling toward his plane. He didn’t even turn to look at us before closing the front door.
“I thought he was going to keep the gun,” Julio said.
“I thought he was going to point it at us and run off with the suitcase,” I said.
The phone started ringing again. Lucila peeked in the doorway and said, “Larry, your grandmother’s asking for you.”
“What do I tell Gran?” I asked Julio.
He shrugged, thought for a moment, and said, “Best tell her the truth.”
“But there is no truth yet,” I said.
“Then don’t tell her anything.”