Page 10 of The Perfect Stranger

Chapter Three

Ten minutes after leaving the pub I made it home. But I wasn’t alone. In the shadows I could barely make out his form. The whites of his eyes glistened, and something told me he’d been waiting for my arrival. I owned the loft of a warehouse turned apartment block. There were three other owners, and this man was not one of them. I took the small flight of stairs slowly until I reached the top where I could get a better look at my visitor.

“You after something?” I asked and was surprised by his reaction.

“Antonio Suárez?” he questioned, his South American accent thick.

“Who’s asking?”

The man took a step out of the shadows, the street light softly illuminating his features. He was a man in his twenties with a baby face unusually marred from eyes that carried a dreadful story. It wasn’t the man from the pub but they looked the same.

“Who are you?”

“If you are Antonio, I’ve come with a message.”

“From who?”

“Your father.”

The two words felt like a sucker punch.

“Where is he?”

He went to speak and hesitated. “Your father was injured, badly.” The stranger shook his head when he saw my face. “I’m sorry.” He continued, “He told me to find you. Please, my name is Josiah. I and my friend…” he pointed behind me, the man from the bar, “…Arturo, have been on the streets for days looking for you. Could you offer us a meal and water?”

My day was already fucked up. I wasn’t in a hurry to fuck it up some more, but my father was a good man. If they had something I needed to know, then I had to play the game.

“What’s my father’s name?” I tested.

“Gonzalo Frederico Suárez and your mother is Julieta.”

“How do you know my family?”

“Arturo and I have worked for your father for many years.” I could see the sadness in his eyes, which in turn told me I needed to get these men fed. Looking at them both, it was evident they had indeed been living it rough for whatever reason and could do with a decent feed.

Indicating for the men to step aside, I unlocked the foyer door, and they silently followed me up three flights of stairs until we entered my loft. Both men remained quiet, their eyes doing the talking as they scanned my environment.

I gestured for them to sit down, and I watched with some curiosity as they sat on the edge of the sofa, cautious not to get it dirty.

Pulling my cell free, I dialed the number for the Chinese restaurant down the road and ordered enough for the hungry mouths in front of me. Twisting the caps off three Coronas, I handed them one each and sat on the opposite sofa.

“You say you work for my father? So why have you no place to go? Nothing to eat? Surely he wouldn’t have sent you without some money?”

They looked to each, silently determining who would be the one to talk.

“There was no choice in the matter,” Arturo, the man from the bar said. “It wasn’t his fault. That’s why we’re here.”

“I’m sorry, but today goes on my list for being my least favorite, so if you could just start at the beginning and explain why you were sent, I’d be most appreciative.”

In broken English, he asked, “When was the last time you visited La Balsa?”

“A long time ago, but I remember it well.”

“Then you would remember just how beautiful it was. A place where we could call home. A place where we could live safe with our families.”

“And now?”

For the next half an hour I listened while Arturo and Josiah, in Spanish, told me about the atrocity that took place. It was just one week ago that things had changed. They explained that it was no longer a place I would recognize.

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