Page 59 of The Secret Dinner

“Nobody here was at Largo do Machado,” I assured the detective.

“It must be some friend of yours trying to mess with you, Dante,” ventured Cora.

Suddenly it hit me: Miguel had made the call. It had to be. He’d done much worse than telling his mom or Rachel: He’d ratted us out to the cops.

“Can I go to the garage and take a look for myself?” asked Detective Amóz, getting up from the couch.

“Sure,” I replied, screaming Fuck no! in my head. “Would you like some more water first?”

He declined. Cora took it as her cue to light another cigarette and escape to Piglet’s room. I led the detective through the kitchen and past the laundry room. We took the back elevator, squeezing into the cabin buzzing with mosquitoes from up the shaft. Amóz was droning on about something to do with traffic policies; meanwhile I saw my entire life flash before my eyes, like a convict on death row.

The garage was dark and cramped. I let the detective go ahead of me. I prayed Bukowski wasn’t there, but in vain: The car was facing the wall, just as it had been since Friday night. Amóz had to squeeze between Bukowski and the third-floor neighbor’s well-kept blue VW Beetle to reach the front. As he crouched down to inspect the fender, I knew it was the end for me. I could try to lie, fight him, even kill him to get rid of the problem, but it would just snowball. Besides, I wasn’t a murderer. I didn’t have the courage to take anyone’s life. It was better to go ahead and pay now for my mistakes.

“Okay,” Detective Amóz said. “Someone from forensics might come by later this week … but it’s just procedure, okay?”

“No problem,” I replied, concealing my surprise.

We shook hands and I made a point of accompanying him up the ramp to the building’s entrance. As soon as the detective turned the corner, I sprinted back to the garage. I couldn’t believe my eyes: Bukowski’s front fender was perfect, not a single scratch.

2

Was I hallucinating? Of course not, that was impossible. So what was it? I called Hugo and Miguel about fourteen times, no luck. Beside me, Cora was painting her toenails red and whistling an unfamiliar tune.

“Don’t worry, Hugo must have fixed Bukowski,” she said.

That wasn’t enough. I needed him to confirm, so I kept on calling. It was already four in the afternoon. Piglet came into the living room in his Pokémon boxers, wiping the sleep from his half-closed eyes.

“What are you guys up to?”

I told him about the detective’s visit. Piglet put his hands to his ears.

“Jesus, I already regret asking … You look like shit. How long’s it been since you got laid, Dante?”

“Do you have any idea the huge pile of shit we’re in right now?” I snapped back.

“Whatever. I just wanna make love. Ready, baby girl?”

Piglet grabbed Cora by the waist and pulled her toward him. She got up, leaving her open bottle of nail polish and cotton balls on the coffee table. She gave a little wave before disappearing down the hall with Piglet. Now alone, I tried again to reach Miguel and Hugo. My fingers were sore, but I resisted the urge to hurl my phone against the wall. It didn’t take long for the moans, or rather, the shameless, wild howls—escalating rapidly from low- to high-pitched—to reach the living room. Cora was anything but discreet in bed.

Fed up, I grabbed the little slip of paper I’d left on my nightstand and called the sales assistant from the housewares store. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey, stranger. We met at the store the other day. Do you feel like going out?” I asked.

We met at a bar in Lapa, close to a cheap motel I’d been to before. Here’s a little life tip for you: When somebody starts a conversation with “Hey, stranger,” either they’re about to ask you for a favor or it’s a booty call.

3

It was a good night, considering the circumstances. I don’t want to talk about my sex life here. Even during this confession, a little bit of privacy should be preserved. All I’ll say is that it was enjoyable enough to get me out of my own head, at least until I came back home late Monday morning. I wanted to make a quick stop at the bank to transfer the rent payment before heading to work. The idea was to take a shower, change, and be out the door in under ten minutes, but then I found Hugo in the kitchen making grilled cheese.

“I called you all weekend,” I said.

“I didn’t have my phone on me. Cora told me what happened yesterday.”

“It was a close call, Hugo.”

“It was nothing.” There was contempt in his voice. “The car was clean.”

“Where did you take it to get it fixed? Maybe the guys at the mechanic suspected something.”