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The small door inside the two larger ones opens and Marcia Parini appears in the threshold. She takes a drag on her cigarette-shaped plastic mentholated inhaler with a thoughtful face. The tortoiseshell Versace glasses Iris is wearing have aquamarine and blue sapphire chips on the sides. She is also wearing a burgundy Versace dress and black gloves up to her elbows. As he eats what looks like a reddish cloud of cotton candy.
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Lucas makes a sign for his guest to sit down in the armchair on the other side of the Louis XV cartonnier. Mr. Bocanegra drops himself heavily into the armchair and leans back against the wide back with his arms extended. There is certainly something familiar about him. It’s not his wide, mustachioed and slightly sweaty face, or the way he talks. It’s more the way his features adjust to his different emotional states without losing a constant trace of underlying cruelty.
The finger is pointing to the face of a black guy with his mouth open very wide in some sort of chemically induced expression of enthusiasm. With his eyes open unrealistically wide. With an overall expression of chemically induced enthusiasm whose effect is vaguely terrifying. An enthusiasm buzzArab that surpasses all known limits of the healthy and normal. The black woman with the ample ass walks to the jukebox with the black man that accompanies her and they both start to flip through the record selection system. A large part of the clientele of the bar is black people.
CHAPTER 51. People Are the Ones That Leave
One of the two men points to black double doors. With some sort of climbing plants carved into them. Lucas Giraut turns on the flashlight and the beam of light runs over the inside of Apartment 13. Dust covers the floor and all the furniture. The apartment consists of a room with a double bed stuck to the wall, a television, a built-in closet, and a couple of dressers. A door at the back of the room leads to a tiny bathroom with a shower that barely has room for one person.
Hanging between his legs, his penis also appears to be posing for a battery of invisible photographers. Partially erect and with something similar to a lazy smile on the glans. For a moment it seems that the pause is some sort of reaction to what her daughter just said. However, a second later it becomes clear that she was just taking in air to cry even harder.
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In fact, the only thing he can see clearly from his chair is Leon’s square, unibrowed face. Beyond Leon, past the groups of rats that scrabble around and which Pavel can only see as quick little stains on the floor, he glimpses another figure. Someone too corpulent to be Donald Duck. And too far from the lightbulb that hangs from the ceiling of LEON’S GARAGE for Pavel to see his face.
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The sound of intestinal exertion coming from the stall has changed into something similar to a gurgle of satisfaction. With his shoulders very straight and his arms crossed over his lap. He studies Valentina’s soft face and straight hair over vaguely dull eyes. The nurse chaperone with too much makeup and svelte legs clears her throat. The nurse sticks her arms into the trap door, takes the package and starts to remove the wrapping paper. Now some sort of guttural growls are heard behind Giraut’s back.
Someone lets out a whistle of admiration. Someone comments that after all, in the end, the Crooked Cops’ Party only really needs one observation tower. Saudade grabs on to the scaffolding-like structure with one hand and starts frantically patting down his pockets with the other. The salesgirl looks at the painting again.
