Bab 10: DETECTIVE BORGES

I am Detective Péricles Morgado Borges and I began to investigate, as of today, September 14, 1995, that case of a murder, committed, I must say, in a very stupid way, by someone desperate and unprepared. The difficulty in the investigation, however, is that the victim, Agenor Dellagnol, was a big caliber. Swindler of the worst kind. There was no lack of reasons or people who wanted to kill him. Betrayed husbands, bad debt collectors and even their mistresses, who were at least three. Forensics did not get a complete fingerprint on the body or partially charred car.

But a taxi driver named Afrânio was the starting point for me to get where I am today. In a few minutes we will meet at a very grubby pub. Of all those who raced around, he was the only one who attended to a client who fit the suspect's profile. I had the horrible coffee from the police station, with a sleeping donut left over from the donut box I ordered yesterday. I looked at the clock on the wall at 4:30. I made an appointment with the guy at 17h. It was good to be going, because with this traffic, you never know. This city just got on my nerves. And I don't mean just traffic. The people in general. Mediocre people, without perspective.

Five years ago it seemed like a good thing to be moved to a smaller city. It just seemed. It's all right. You can't even demand much. Someone like me, single, without children, or anything that would hold me here, could leave if I wanted to. The work? He could be transferred back or he would work as a private individual. Matrimonial investigation. Those who investigate suspected infidelity. The bar was really a joint. Dirty, with a strong smell of frying, sweat and a strong marofa that mixed with the rest. The attendant was a middle-aged man with a mustache and bald head. Towel on the shoulder, pencil tucked behind the ear, like a Portuguese bakery. Those who were there chattered and drank as if there was no tomorrow and nothing else mattered outside. Well, I was not far from that reality to discriminate against them. As it was my job to observe draw conclusions based on observations, I took a good look at all of them to see who was the taxi driver. My flair or nose fell on a tall, dark guy in a T-shirt and jeans.

He looked about 25 years old and had a mocking look, chewing gum and telling jokes to a drunk beside him who laughed at everything. I knew it was him. I approached. The drunk with him was staring at me with the glass in his hand. - You are Afrânio, aren't you? - I said, looking at him over the shoulder of the drunk, who got up and stared at me. Then he tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I have to empty, buddy," going to the bathroom. - I'm the one you're looking for. Baby something? - Sure. But I can ask for it myself. Tell me more about the guy who got into your taxi on Saturday, September 9th. I asked, straight to the point. The guy avoided his eyes, excited, turned his beer glass over and said: - As I told you on the phone, investigator. He was very nervous and dirty, sweaty. He was always rubbing his hands and whispering. I didn't understand what he was talking about. He was upset and he looked crazy. I remember asking if everything was okay or if he needed help. And he yelled at me, "No! Just drive. Just drive!"

- And where did you leave him? - I can speak? I thought that kind of information was confidential. - replied the boy, playing smart. I raised my arm and called the waiter. I ordered a beer and lit a cigarette. I offered it to him but he rejected it, saying that he only smoked his brand, that it was Camel, I smoked Marlboro. - It is not confidential when this information can lead to the suspect of a crime. It's called breach of secrecy. It is provided by law. The address is noted there, boss. Rua Machado de Assis, number 297, is in an upscale neighborhood. He left with wide eyes. He looked everywhere. I went on my way. This guy had already pissed me off a lot. One more crazy. I don't know about you, you must have seen a lot of crazy in this profession. But you don't know how many crazy people cross your path if you're a taxi driver. - Yes. Crazy people are everywhere. And so? That's it? Haven't you seen or heard anything else that might help? Because it doesn't help much and it was almost everything you said to me on the phone. - There was an hour that seemed to say a name, - He paused, he thought, closed his eyes, - oh man, I don't remember. I think it was. Um, Dona Alma. He said: "You will thank me, Dona Alma." That's it. We talked some more. I paid a round. Although he was dumb, he looked like an honest guy. Half asshole, sleepy, but honest. It was already more than I could have expected. As I said, it was a complicated case, given the victim's troubled past. I couldn't end that day any other way than by visiting the cousins' house. I paid Cecilia all night. A beautiful, young girl, 18 years old. I was in love with her. I received a hefty illness allowance for breaking my leg while on the job while chasing a suspect at my last job. And it was more than sex with her. In fact, sex was the least important. I would like to talk to her. I didn't owe her any satisfaction and she didn't charge me for anything either.

- Don't mind him. He's a harmless asshole. I feel sorry, poor thing. His wife cheated on him. It must be a slash. - But that is no reason for that idiot to disgrace you. What does he think he is? Why do I never meet him when I come here? I only wanted to run into him once. - Ah, relax Dodô. There are as many as he does every day. We learn to deal with men like that. Okay. - Then dance for me, will you? For me to relax. Do a little show. Roll that ass slowly, like only you do. Cecília, wearing a black garter belt and corset. All black lingerie and that striking makeup. The red lipstick, pink shade covering the eyelids and all that blush marking the cheekbones. She pulled me by the tie, which I was still wearing, and leaned over me, leaving her breasts at the level of my mouth and then kissed me and threw me back on the bed. He made faces and mouths exuding all that sensuality. Naughty smile, winking, pouting. In front of the TV on, her body seemed to have an aura. And when she moved, when her arms went up and down and her body changed the path of light, she looked more like an angel. The sex angel. Her hand went to her pussy and she played there, then sucked the same fingers so provocatively that it made me shiver. He turned, bent down, holding his legs. He looked at me through them and laughed. What an elastic body. I am a witness to the wonders she was able to do with him. It was wonderful. What night.

PERTIMBANGAN PENCIPTA
AndersonRosario

I wrote Detective Borges three days ago. Reviewing the chapters and rearranging the story even more so that other adventures and characters emerge. It is the stone in Reinaldo's shoe. Are you going to investigate Agenor's death and who knows what is yet to come? Who neither I, the author himself, still know the paths that this story will take. But Borges is funny, sarcastic. I guarantee you will like it.

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