He lies on the Jester's cart - 27
The phone rings. He’s in bed, his eyes have been open for a while. The wrinkled sheet is on his knees, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
- Hello?
- I’m still here. In the end, no movement. They went up last night and haven’t left.
- Did you see them go up?
- No, but their scooter is still parked here.
- But you haven’t seen them since?
- No. – Silence. – I did what you told me. Everything's fine.
- Can you see anything?
- Nothing. Nothing will be seen.
- Stay there. Let me know of any movement.
He places the phone on the nightstand.
The room is dark. The shutters are closed. The light from the screen briefly illuminates the walls with a grayish hue before going dark again.
He brings his hand to his chin, his beard unkempt, rough. He tugs at it, trying to release his frustration. The relief is brief, not enough.
He jumps out of bed and heads to the window, opening it with a sharp gesture. He throws the shutters open, letting in air and light.
He looks down at the street and sees the cars already parked in double rows.
He grabs the phone from the nightstand and heads to the kitchen for his first coffee of the day. Walking barefoot, he enters the room, grabs the moka pot, opens it, and cleans it before filling the tank with water and the filter with coffee. The powder spills along the edges of the split machine. He grabs a cloth from the counter and tightens it forcefully. He places the pot on the stove and lights the flame.
He looks at the black ring left by the coffee powder. With a quick hand, he wipes it away. He moves toward the window and opens it with another sharp motion. The shutters thud dully against the building’s walls.
He touches the phone in his pocket.
He takes it out, unlocks it, and dials a number.
The phone rings.
It rings for a long time. It rings until the call disconnects.
He stares at the display as it returns to standby.
He sits at the table. Counts to ten.
He tries calling again.
The phone rings.
It rings for a long time.
Someone answers.
- It’s me. The situation is complicated. I don’t trust it. I feel like we need to do something. – He pauses and listens to the other person. – Yes, you’re right, but I don’t think that’ll be enough. And this business with the girl, no one knows this girl, I don’t trust her. – Another pause. Then he continues – Yes, I understand, we should’ve met her, but we didn’t. What do you want to do? Complain to someone? – The other person responds, raising their voice – Man, your money’s worth as much as a joker card. I’m telling you what’s best to do now to manage the situation, otherwise, if you want to handle it on your own, I’ll wash my hands of it, and it’ll be your problem. It’s not hard for me to disappear. – He stops, but there’s no response from the other side. – So – he says more calmly – if you want to listen to my advice, which you paid good money for, you’d better act. After all, didn’t your friend already jump ship and vanish? – A brief pause – So we’re clear. We switch gears and close this case. We sweep away the dirt with a couple of strong strokes. My way.
He ends the call. He puts the phone on the table and stands up. The coffee is starting to brew. He returns to the kitchen with a hammer and a pair of scissors. He grabs the phone with his left hand and sends a message:
Proceed with the alternative plan.
He opens the phone cover, removes the SIM card, and cuts it in two with the scissors, setting the pieces aside. Then he wraps the phone in the cloth and strikes it four times, violently, with the hammer.
The coffee is ready.
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