Page 108 of Two Marlboros

“To find Ryan.”

If I couldn’t bring a smile back to his face, at least I could help him decide. He looked at me, one foot ready to snap, the other firmly anchored to the ground. I extended a hand to him, waiting for him to take it. He turned his gaze to me again, seeking reassurance, which I communicated with a smile.

He grasped my hand.

We scouted Ryan not far from our coffee table. I glimpsed him a moment before Nathan, who stopped a step ahead of me. There was white powder laid out in strips on a table and a rolled-up bill carrying it right into Ryan’s nose.

That scene could have been a huge leap forward in the investigation, but as I observed Nathan, I immediately felt guilty in having thought such a thing. He in fact was upset. He kept his eyes fixed on his friend, never blinking. I was surprised by his disbelief, perhaps because I had always imagined him as a boy from the lower boroughs who was used to this sort of things; instead, it became increasingly clear to me that Nathan was nothing more than a good guy with bad habits, perhaps too optimistic to believe that the one sitting at the table, making cocaine leads disappear, could be a friend with whom he had shared many days studying.

His chest rose and fell with greater amplitude than usual, and on his face, I could only read a grimace of disappointmentsteeped in sadness. I approached him, but he did not react; nor did he when Ryan stood up, in the grip of an exhilaration that certainly did not belong to him. We watched him head for a side exit, and only then did Nathan move, but I blocked him.

“Let’s not make any rash moves.”

He released himself from my grasp. “I want to see where he goes.”

He set off like a lone wolf in search of his prey and walked through that door through which, moments before, Ryan had also passed. I thought it wiser not to leave him alone, so I followed him.

The moment I opened the threshold, I realized that Nathan’s gesture had indeed been rash, for it must have represented an emergency exit, which gave onto a gray, anonymous staircase.

I heard Nathan’s footsteps and heard, if only for an instant, another pair of footsteps, followed by the creak of a closed door in the distance. I stayed listening for another handful of seconds and, when I was certain that those steps were being walked only by Nathan, I hurried to catch up with him, without regard of the noise.

As I was behind him, however, he turned back to me, looking irritate.

“Look, this is just about me, alright? Why do you keep following me?”

“I’m just worried about you; I don’t want you to do anything stupid.”

“I’m just going to talk to him! What should you be worried about?”

The answer came to me at just the right time. “Do I need to remind you that last time he didn’t think twice before hitting you? He slammed you against the wall and you almost fell against the sink.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

He started back toward the door Ryan had opened moments earlier and walked through it without even checking to see who or what was behind it. I lost a beat but recovered it when I realized we were in an underground parking lot, and no one was there.

Every footstep echoed around the perimeter of the parking lot, bouncing off the walls and creeping into every corner; I could almost feel Nathan’s swollen breathing and the agitation he exuded. Neither of us knew what to expect, but he was the one who would take the biggest disappointment.

Our steps became asynchronous. I tried to follow his pace so that he would not notice me, but I certainly had no intention of hiding from him, that would be impossible; but since he seemed to reject my presence, I tried to become his shadow. However, agitation prevented him from always following the same rhythm, which accelerated and decelerated based on his hesitation.

The asynchrony increased. His steps were filled by mine and vice versa, creating an indefinite shuffling of soles on the linoleum, which soon got on his nerves.

“Stop following me. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I just want to make sure nothing happens to you.”

More footsteps, and they weren’t ours.

“I already told you that-”

I pressed a hand over his mouth. He found himself gasping and breathing hard, so I removed my hand and motioned with my finger for him to be quiet.

I took him by the wrist and led him slowly into a niche for only three cars. It wasn’t much of a hiding place, but at least it allowed us not to be seen right away. I leaned toward the rest of the parking lot in search of the perpetrator of the footstepsbut failed. It was still less challenging than keeping Nathan from getting out of there.

“Be quiet!” I whispered.

My voice boomed less, but I always had the feeling that anyone could hear us.

“Can you explain to me what the problem is? I just don’t understand.”

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