A Killer Bet: A gripping detective crime novel (PI Crime Mystery Maldonado Book 2) by Pablo Poveda

Author:Pablo Poveda [Poveda, Pablo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nova Illice Media Pub
Published: 2024-05-06T00:00:00+00:00

19

Several minutes had passed, yet he could still smell the scent of burnt gunpowder in his nose and the sharp pain in his knee. Rarely had he seen death so up close. Had the cannonball hit him, it would have been game over for the detective.

He drove to Madrid with questions piling up in his mind and the pain subsiding as he relaxed his leg.

“What was that man doing there? Why was he armed and why was he now working for Romero?”

For Maldonado, the case was beginning to make sense and everything else faded into the background.

“A settling of scores, a revenge, a betrayal.”

He suspected that Romero wouldn’t have had much trouble corrupting the caretaker.

“Surely, Ochoa was paying him peanuts.”

With the businessman out of the picture, there would be no more competition at the racetrack. But the doping issue still bothered him.

It was comforting to see the panoramic lookout over the city, another symbol of Madrid. The cable cars crossed Pintor Rosales and the traffic was typical for a Wednesday that had not started off well. Recovered from the shock, he heard his stomach growl and thought it was time to meet up with Marla.

“Where are you?” he asked over the phone as soon as she picked up. “Can you talk?”

“I’m near Goya Street,” she replied in a low voice, blending with the noise of the traffic. “Are you okay? You sound a bit upset.”

“But only a bit.”

“You won’t believe what I’ve seen. That woman is full of surprises.”

“Today I’m prepared for anything, Marla,” he responded and checked the time on the car’s clock. He needed to change his route if he didn’t want to end up stuck in a dreadful traffic jam. “I’ll see you in half an hour at the VIPS on Velázquez, okay?”

“You, at a VIPS?”

“Listen, Marla. I’m hungry, I’m tired, I don’t know many places in that area, and I’m not up for any fuss. What’s so surprising?”

She cleared her throat.

Maldonado was right and whatever she answered would be immaterial to him.

“You’re just a grumpy old man, Javier. Someone has to tell you,” she replied, though her words were so sweet, he just listened. “I’ll see you later.”

He ended the call, turned up the volume on the speakers where a rock music program from Radio 3 was playing, and stopped in front of a crosswalk with the traffic light red.

Pedestrians crossed in front of him, ignoring him.

Sometimes he felt like part of a backdrop, like an art piece in a gallery unnoticed and unbought.

“We all are that painting at some point in our lives.”

Then he contemplated Marla’s words.

“So a grumpy old man, eh?”

The traffic light changed. Maldonado pressed the clutch, shifted into first gear, and accelerated, leaving a cloud of smoke.

* * *

The VIPS was an icon, one of those establishments that were a part of the social imagination, of different people’s lifetimes. The city was filled with restaurants like that one. The white initials on the red sign marked its location. The Velázquez one was one of the largest in the capital, filled with customers of all ages at any hour.

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