Inexplicably, God seemed to have remembered him.
It was either that or luck had finally knocked on his door. Although he suspected that neither was the case, perhaps, as Karla told him, coincidences did exist and, mysteriously, he had had one of those coincidences. And just when he needed it most.
With a bored gesture, Maurer kept his hands inside the pockets of his faded jeans. It was already dark and the cold was beginning to ruffle the hairs on his body, even though he was wrapped in a brown turtleneck sweater and a jean jacket on top of it. Which was quite ironic, because practically all his childhood he had had to live with the cold that the dirty and lonely streets offered him, and after what he liked to call: his time in paradise where he had known what a home was and what it felt like to have a real family, he had returned to those same streets, so he was supposed to be used to it by now. But no, the truth was that he couldn't get used to the blissful cold, indeed, he hated it, and if it weren't for his debts to the devil he would have already gone somewhere else where warmth was the prevailing climate.
A grimace of disgust settled on his lips as he read for the third time the sign that read: "The Abyss" Club. And he wondered, very bitterly, how was it that people did not realize the atmosphere that was really going on in there. How did they not realize that this place was actually one of the many gates to hell: one that falsely offered nights where many felt they could touch heaven. <
Maurer looked down at the soles of his shoes and wondered how it was that fate played so much in favor and, at the same time, so much against human beings. Yes, he had magically gotten Hakan Daigo herself -since he had arrived home, after the encounter, he had repeated the name to himself about five times every five minutes-, to openly invite him into her world, an invitation he was very glad to take advantage of; however, that his pass towards his new life had taken him right there, to the place that fucked up the most beautiful thing he would ever have and the main responsible for him currently being in that situation, did not cease to seem very ironic and cruel to him. Besides, he felt the pressure that he was going to be watched as soon as he crossed those wooden doors: the devil's faggot and all her entourage were going to be watching him at all times -a man with his size and build was very easy to recognize, so he supposed that they would catch his presence as soon as he entered-, so he had to make a lot more effort.
He pulled out a crushed pack of mint gum and popped one into his mouth, trying to ignore the slight twinge of anxiety at the sight of a guy with the looks of a millionaire on break, which meant: in street clothes but expensive enough to buy about ten changes of clothes for himself; smoking a cigarette. Actually, it was the third one he'd lit up, and although for Maurer that was one of the few vices he was least attracted to, it was still just that: a vice. And one to which he had become addicted for a long time, but, for reasons of following the rules imposed to carry out his mission well, he had to deprive himself completely.
Apparently and unsurprisingly, Miss Hakan Daigo did not like guys who smoked, drank or in any case, who put a little powder up their nose from time to time. Which was puzzling as well as amusing, because according to the documentary she'd had to swallow at the devil's faggot's command, her soon-to-be ex-husband did all that, except for the part where he got high. So Maurer had had to put her newfound good manners into practice. And he had done well, until today, because human beings were not made of stone, and he least of all, if anything, was more likely to fall into temptation than to dodge it.
The guy finished the third one and went for the other one without hesitation: you could tell he was a nicotine addict, he even knew some little tricks and everything, for he threw a bunch of smoke rings into the air and then swallowed them with incredible agility and fortitude. He had tried it once, but a near death by drowning had cured him of trying again. However - to his complete chagrin - he ended up throwing it suddenly to the ground and extinguished it, being brand new.
Maurer sighed. <
Then he noticed that the guy was following with his eyes a group of young people who had just arrived at the Club -another stupid to add to his long list-, and he also detailed that he was looking at one girl in particular, one who stood out from the rest because her skin was quite dark, her hair curled to the middle of her back and, because of the surrounding lighting, the black color of her hair was throwing bluish sparkles. From his perspective, Maurer understood why he was looking at her so raptly: she had the face of a doll, with full lips painted dark brown and eyelashes that from a distance looked incredibly long.
The young girl was beautiful, yes, but she also looked very, very young. In her opinion, she would say that the guy was wrong if he was thinking of conquering her; however, when she saw him turn around, press his lips together and close his eyes, he realized that he agreed to that
Sure, the guy looked like a magazine model-just because he was a man and liked women didn't stop him from accepting everyone's-but he also looked pretty close to her age, not that close, but yes. Maurer wasn't really old either, being thirty-two didn't make him a geezer, but next to that little girl he did feel that way.
He wondered, oddly enough, if the guy also felt that way every time he saw her.
Maurer took a step back, hiding in the shadows, when he saw the guy with the cigarettes step forward. The two were facing each other; however, Maurer was leaning against the wall in front of the Club, and the guy was leaning against the wall surrounding it.
She followed him with her eyes until she saw him stop in front of a black car that had just parked in front of the Club, and was surprised holding her breath when she recognized the pale, kilometer-long legs of her new target, pale legs of her new target, which helped her get out of said van as soon as the cigarette guy kindly opened the passenger side door for her.
With a blood-red smile, Hakan Daigo accepted the outstretched hand and stepped completely out of the van. His very long hair as black as coal billowed seductively through the heavy blizzards of that freezing night. She wore it gloriously loose and, if it weren't for the air, I wouldn't have noticed that her tiny black dress totally exposed her back.
Maurer bit his lip and ran a hand through his also long hair - Karla liked to see him like that, and despite him not liking it much, he hadn't yet had the courage to cut it, which meant it was down to his shoulders - then he shook his head and looked up at the sky.
<
He had seen Hakan before in several photos that had been passed to him, along with her personal history so that he could get to know her and have an easier time cajoling her: knowing her tastes and weaknesses could save him a lot of time; however, no one forewarned him of such a visual impact. The woman, a full-fledged one, was the embodiment of sensuality and beauty. In photos in her executive outfit she looked irresistible, but live and direct and in street clothes, she looked unattainable. And Maurer needed her to stop being unattainable.
Or sooner rather than later she would throw away all those years of celibacy she had been carrying around. Which was a lot. And it wasn't something he could afford; nevertheless, between duty and want, there was a big stretch, and that appetizing little body was becoming even more irresistible to him than he could have imagined at the time.
Plus she had dreamy eyes. Because fuck, those brown eyes were an exotic thing, slanted and in conjunction with that perfect face with her pale skin -he guessed, an Asian heritage-, they made her the most beautiful and exotic woman he had ever met. And that his Karla was a Spanish beauty from head to toe, starting with that wavy, blonde hair....
A prick in his heart made him crudely return to the reality he was facing and living day by day: neither Karla nor Mauricio were, nor were they ever going to be again, and that woman, as beautiful as she was, was his only and last pass to recover, at least, a little of that former life that he liked to remember with such longing and affection from time to time -because despite the years it still hurt him as if it had happened yesterday and the wound was bleeding and throbbing all the time, without giving him respite. Because maybe, even if he didn't get back the one good thing that would always be worth it in his life, at least he could get back a little peace.
That was it: peace. Maurer wanted peace for once, and the thought of getting between the panties of a scorned damsel wasn't going to get it for him, not unless he used it for the only reason he'd ever met her: to dupe her into paying off his debts to the devil.