We hid behind some rusted barrels about twenty yards from the main door. At 11:15, we saw the lights of a motorcycle. The noise of the engine got louder. It was him. The motorcycle stopped in front of the warehouse. The man took off his helmet. It was Darius Buzzard. He was carrying two large plastic bags. He approached the metal shutter and kicked it three times, following a rhythm. *Hard, soft, hard.* The shutter rose with a screech. A yellowish light projected from the interior.
Out of the darkness came a man. He was wearing a dirty tank top, shorts, and flip-flops. He had long, messy hair, and a neglected beard covered half his face. He was darker and thinner, but those eyes, that nose, that slightly hunched back. There was no doubt. It was Marcus, my husband, the father of my son, the man for whom I had mourned for five years. He was there in flesh and blood in front of me. Although I had prepared for it, seeing him with my own eyes left me breathless. I had to bite my lip until it bled not to scream.
“Did you bring everything?” Marcus’s voice was hoarse and cutting.
“Everything. Beer, food, smokes, new clothes. You live here like a king,” said Darius, laughing as he gave him the bags.
“A king, my ass. This is an oven and the mosquitoes are eating me alive. I’m about to go crazy,” complained Marcus, taking the bags and turning around. Darius put the motorcycle inside and lowered the shutter.
“Come on, we have to get closer to here,” whispered Dante.
We moved stealthily to the wall of the warehouse. We found a crack through which light and sound escaped. I pressed my eye. Inside, in a corner, was Marcus’s nest: a mattress on the floor, a plastic table, a fan, and a small TV. The two men sat down and opened some beers. I turned on the recorder and pressed it to the crack. The conversation reached my ears with brutal clarity.
“Drink. It’s cold,” said Darius.
Marcus drank a long gulp and belched. “That’s good. How’s everything going? When do you plan to leave?”
“I guess in a month. I’m waiting for my parents to collect the last payment. My wife is about to finish. What a fool. She hasn’t missed a single month. Punctual as a clock. I admire my folks’ acting. They start crying poverty and she swallows it all.”
“The truth is your wife is a saint and you are a bastard. Aren’t you afraid of karma?” said Darius, laughing.
“What karma? I went to North Dakota to make money for them, but I had the bad luck to get into gambling, and I owe fifty grand to the mob up there. If I don’t escape, they kill me. I had to fake my death so they wouldn’t find my family and the $12,000 of debt. Your parents didn’t lose anything.”
Marcus let out a laugh. “I came back without a dime and with gambling debts here, too. If I didn’t get the money out of my wife, what was I going to eat? My folks’ pension wasn’t enough. With the excuse of the debt, Kesha has broken her back working. But now you make money. You could support the whole family.”
“Yeah, I make money and plenty of it. But I like taking it from her. Why not? Besides, that way my folks have an excuse to complain to the neighbors, and nobody suspects the money I give them. If suddenly they get rich, people would talk.”
“You’re a cold calculator. And your wife and son, you just abandoned them.”
Marcus was silent a moment. “Screw them. Kesha is young and pretty. She won’t lack for men. I did her a favor. Now she can rebuild her life. I take the money so she’s too busy to suspect anything. I hate her preaching even though sometimes I think about it. I was at home like a king with food on the table and a warm bed. And now I’m here in this hell.”
“Be careful. The other day your wife showed up by surprise with a massage machine. I think she suspects something. If you stay there one day, you’ll find the police at the door. Hold on a little longer. You take off to Mexico and it’s over.”
“You’re the biggest bastard I’ve ever known, Marcus,” said Darius, though his tone was joking.
“Come on, drink and shut up. If I don’t look out for me, who’s going to?”
I turned off the recorder. It was enough. The man I had loved was truly dead. The one in there was a monster. I signaled Dante for us to leave.
“Are you okay?” he asked me.
