Gunpowder, money and a glass of red. Erick Poladov

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      A loud, annoying sound filled the room. The phone rang. Pablo turned on the lamp on the bedside table and looked at the clock. The hands showed twenty minutes to midnight. He picked up the phone and the ringing that was beating through his brain stopped. A man’s voice was heard at the other end of the line:

      – Hello. This is Massimo.

      A second later, Pablo’s still-unawakened brain gave birth to an incomprehensible answer:

      – Ah… hi.

      – Did I wake you?

      Pablo’s half-open eyes once again met the hands on the clock.

      – Nothing. I’m all yours.

      – Listen, I have a conversation with you.

      – Yes, yes. Speak. I’m listening to.

      Silence lingered on the phone, replaced only by the dull crackling of the communication line. After a few seconds, Massimo continued:

      – Can we talk at your place?

      – Now?

      – Yes. Jorge left the car at my house. I have the keys too. He said he was leaving somewhere with his parents. There won’t be any until the end of the month. So I can come to you right now.

      Without hesitation, Pablo replied:

      – Sure.

      – Great. I’ll be there in five minutes.

      Massimo hung up and left the payphone booth that stood across the street from the house. He didn’t even think about calling from home. For some reason he is always drawn to the street. Even such a small thing as calling a friend forces him to choose a street phone, just to have a reason to leave the house.

      He got behind the wheel and, as if by clockwork, stood at the door of Pablo’s rented apartment five minutes later. They settled down in the kitchen. In view of how animatedly Massimo started the conversation, as well as what was the subject of discussion, Pablo decided that sleep could wait and made them a cup of coffee.