Seven Ways to Kill a Cat Read Free Page A

the pots and jars on the shelves. Pasta, beans,
mate
, sugar …
    ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I hiss.
    ‘What’s it look like,
dumbfuck
? Misers always stash their cash in weird places. Don’t you know anything?’
    When Chueco starts making like he knows everything, I want to strangle the bastard, but I don’t say anything. Anyway, maybe he’s right. Probably best to check everywhere. I leave him to it and head into the next room. It’s Yanina’s room. I can tell from the photos pinned on the walls and the clothes strewn all over on the floor: a cotton blouse, a bra and a pair of Lycra shorts. I pick up the shorts, stretch them, and picturing her tight arse in them gives me a fucking hard-on. I check the wardrobe, turn the bed over, rummage through the drawers in the bedside table. I know there’s no way Farías’s money is in here, but since Chueco’s being thorough searching the kitchen, I figure it’s a good excuse for me to go through Yanina’s stuff.
    Her room is a tip too, but everything in it is impregnated with the smell of her. I like it. In a drawer in the dressing table, among the lipsticks, the make-up and the nail polish, I find a spliff and tuck it behind my ear. There’s a bunch of photos and papers in the other drawers and I’m reading them when Chueco starts shouting and distracts me.
    ‘What did I tell you?! That
hijo de puta
– come and see this – it’s fucking unbelievable.’ He sounds genuinely surprised. ‘It’s not even like Gordo works in a bank.’
    I find him in Fat Farías’s bedroom looking so amazed it’s like he’s dislocated his jaw.
    ‘It’s just like in the movies, Gringo. I can’t fucking believe it!’
    ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ I hate it when he’s all mysterious, it makes me nervous. ‘Did you find the cash?’
    ‘Look,’ he says, pointing to the built-in wardrobe, the mesh screen door covered in fly shit.
    He rips it open, pushes Fat Farías’s clothes along the rail and suddenly I see what’s got him all worked up. At the back of the wardrobe there’s a safe – one of those old green safes with a little black dial where you put in the combination and all that shit. I glance over at Chueco, and when I see the look of misery on his face, all my tension is released and I burst out laughing.
    ‘What the fuck you giggling at, you moron? What are we supposed to do now?’
    I can’t say anything. I’m holding my sides, laughing so hard I feel like I’m about to dislocate something. As I wipe tears from my face, I hear a metallic twang I recognise. It’s the spring of his flick knife.
    ‘Only one thing for it, we’ll have to wake up our fat friend and persuade him to give us the combination,’ he says, running his thumb along the blade, and the almost affectionate tone of his voice scares the shit out of me.
    ‘Hold up, you mad fucker. Look at this thing.’ I rap on the safe with my knuckles. ‘Can’t you see it’s a piece of shit?’
    It sounds like a biscuit tin, which surprises even me. The door’s rusted along the bottom, at the top and around the lock itself, which has one of those big handles you get on bank vaults. It’s a Mickey Mouse safe. A toy for gullible misers. The sort of thing a kid would pull apart just to see how it works.
    Without a word, I retrace my steps, pick up the crowbar I whacked Farías with and head back into the bedroom. Chueco is pale. He opens his mouth but he doesn’t say anything. I signal for him to stand back. I give the handle a vicious clout and it comes loose from the rust-eaten door. I jiggle it until it comes off, blow into the hole, some flakes of rust flutter out, and I slip my fingers inside. Using a fingernail I release the catch and the safe opens. Simple as. Like I’ve been doing this shit my whole life.
    I don’t have time to wonder how I came up with this brainwave because Chueco has already got both hands in the safe and is pulling everything out: old documents,