side window with the iron butt, and taking advantage of Stamas’ surprise, grabbed his gun and threw it by the back wheel.
The woman started to shout and the two men began a peculiar struggle as one tried to open and the other to close the driver’s door. Finally, Guzmán pulled it open and dragged the man out of the car. Carlo fell on the ground. Despite his size; Guzmán handcuffed him and began to search him. The young woman looked at him, terrified. The policeman had not pronounced a single word yet and the Carlo was breathing quickly, looking at the sides without understanding what was going on. An elderly couple watched the arrest scene from a window.
“I’m a lawyer; let me tell you, you’re going to pay for this”, said Carlo Stamas, his face on the ground, as Guzmán went through his pockets.
Álvaro got hold of two bags of cocaine which he tore open and emptied steadily on the street.
“Come on, güey. You son of a bitch!” Carlo shouted angrily.
Guzmán’s gaze shifted to the vehicle where he spotted the box the young woman was holding. It was black and had a logo that looked like the wifi drawing with two ram horns: Synchro.
The lieutenant walked up to the woman, he took the box from her and opened it. Inside, he found a dozen tiny black balls the size of a pill.
“What the fuck is this?” he demanded, pointing at the box with the tiny balls.
“That’s none of your business, asshole”, she said.
Guzmán looked around; there were groups of people watching from the corners and two cars waited impatiently. He helped the handcuffed man up.
“Amigo, I’m going for lunch with my girl and you just fucked me over”, Carlo said looking down at the dirt on his shirt. “You know you can’t arrest me like this… This is, without doubt, police brutality… You let me go and I’ll let you go, deal?”
The policeman looked at his joint and then at the bag of cannabis that was still lying on the asphalt; he considered the situation. What the man said was true; this would mean heaps of problematic paperwork and explanations that evening. He released him from the handcuffs; Carlo picked up his weapon and got back in his car.
“Son of a bitch”, the girl murmured.
Guzmán dropped the black balls together with his joint and stepped on them, leaving an odd-looking black mess. Then, he left to his apartment, walking up the newly-painted main staircase.
On the landing, a sweaty young man in shorts waited for instructions holding two wooden chairs with a Cisco Home label. From inside, came a woman’s voice:
“Leave those next to that table”.
As Guzmán put his key in the keyhole, the voice that was giving the instructions, addressed him from behind:
“Hello, I’m Gloria Altolaza, the new neighbor. You must be Álvaro, the policeman; Margarita, the manager, told me about you”. She held out her hand.
Guzmán shook hands with Gloria Altolaza. Around forty, he thought. She was wearing a grey t-shirt exposing a bare shoulder and black leggings with a skull printed on one side.
“I’m Álvaro Guzmán… welcome. And Margarita is definitely the mother of this neighborhood. Careful with her, she said that stuff about me being a policeman to give you a sense of security and get a better rent”.
“It’s certainly worked with me; they should discount it from your rent, a bonus. There should even be a sign: ‘policeman living in this building’”, Gloria said and noticed the bag of cannabis that was still in his hand. “I’m going to be very safe here”.
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Now, if you’ll allow me”. Álvaro opened his door. “I’ll be here if you ever need anything”.
“In that case, I’m sure I’ll end up needing something”, replied Gloria with a cheeky smile.
Guzmán closed the door and threw the small bag on the table by the entrance. He took off his black blazer and loosened his tie. That woman’s face seemed familiar. He took a paper and opened the bag of marijuana; he had to turn his head away from the intense smell to stop himself from feeling dizzy. Expertly, he rolled another joint; he’d hardly enjoyed the previous one. He lit it with a Zippo; first, a tall green flame appeared and then the incandescent crackle of dry weed, wrapped in thin paper, and the white smoke. He was like an alcoholic who swallows but doesn’t savor. He took a first drag and then sat on the blue sofa. The leftover smoke drifted from his nostrils.
He could hear Gloria Altolaza giving instructions behind the door:
“That one goes to the right, over there… a bit further… careful, careful… Tiny bit more to the right. Slowly… slowly”.
Buzz, buzz, buzz
His phone was vibrating inside his blazer.
“Shit”.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Dad… Hey… it’s Rita”.
“Hey, kiddo”.
“Is it a bad time to call?”
“No, I’m at home, resting. Evening shifts this week; you know, I come in at three and leave at twelve, if nothing happens. The usual stuff. How are you?”
“I’m fine… Actually, it was Mom who asked me to call… She wants me to tell you… Look, Dad, I’ve made up my mind to become a youtuber… So, yeah, I’m dropping out of college”.
Guzmán went silent.
“Dad… are you there?”
“Yes, of course…”
“Look, this year has been wonderful. Braulio and I have uploaded content for over seven thousand followers… And if we focus all our potential on it, we could reach a million followers in three months, isn’t it crazy? But we need to invest time, so that we can travel and… you know. Braulio and I are on it with the power house; we want to rent out this really cool place in Gudalajara; that’s where Braulio’s from… You are going to love it. What do you think?”
“Who’s Braulio?”
“Braulio’s my boyfriend; I met him on campus; at a frat party. He’s a little older than me; he’ll finish Materials Engineering this year. Mom thinks it’s awesome”.
Guzmán stared at his joint and tried to figure out how long it had been since he had last spoken to his daughter. He had called her two months ago, but not much was said beyond ‘I love you’ and ‘hope to see you soon’. Now, his daughter was calling to bombard him with news: a new boyfriend and she was going to drop out of college, after all the effort it had taken her to get in; and she was moving to Guadalajara with this Braulio and was going to earn a living as a youtuber. The only thing he could think of saying is what parents always say:
“You’re only eighteen”.
“I’m nineteen, Dad”.
“Well,
