Chapter Two
Apologies for the technical issues with the text beforehand, absolutely no clue what happened on my end. Hopefully the chapter's actually legible now.
One side of Victoria's brain screamed at her to duck, but the logical side refused to agree, telling her that there was not a chance in hell that this person hadn't seen her gawking out of the window at them by now. The result was a state of mild paralysis, fingers gripping the glass so hard she momentarily feared it would shatter.
Wrestling herself out of her own mental half-nelson, she put the glass down slowly on the bench and weighed up her options.
The main plan was to either confront them, or wake up the rest of the family and confront them together. But by the time she roused everyone, the figure would most likely be long gone.
And it wasn't like they could kill her…
Incapacitate her, yes. Possibly very painfully…
No, we're going out.
She steeled her reserve and walked to the back door. She was a grown woman; she didn't need to hide behind other people's skirts. If Mama Imelda had a duty to protect the family, then so did she. True, she was more likely considering music when she said those words – a far cry from shadowy figures of potential doom – but Victoria convinced herself that the basic principle still applied.
The figure had its back to her as she approached, but she could make out a mariachi-like suit, all in black. Its legs were exaggeratedly long, from what she could make out, they made up the majority of his height. The jacket was rather small, giving a disproportionate look, but all thoughts of size left her mind when she noticed what seemed to be long tendrils of smoke emanating from its head and shoulders, curling as it rose into the night air.
Victoria cleared her throat when she decided she was close enough, making sure she was wearing her sternest glare.
The figure turned, but she was unable to see a face. A white starch collar covered the bottom half, whilst the top was obscured by a stitched hood, once again in black. This really was her day for meeting strange people.
"Rivera?" came a voice. There was no mouth she could make out, but it sounded like both a man and a woman were speaking at once, overlapping at the exact same time.
Victoria flatly refused to let the surprise register on her face.
"Yes" she answered curtly.
The figure gave no sudden reply, nor did it make any violent moves. The way it spoke made it sound even vaguely bored with proceedings.
"Where is he?"
"And just who do you refer to byhe?"
"The musician."
That threw Victoria for a loop. She'd assume this person had broken into the wrong property, but they knew her name somehow. This was bad, no matter which way she looked at it.
"You obviously don't know this family very well" she said sternly. "And even if I knew who you were talking about, I daresay I wouldn't exactly be inclined to help you."
"I'm not here to have a chat about your pathetic family, woman. I'm here to know whether you've at all been in contact with him."
Victoria could only assume that he was talking about her mysterious grandfather. Once again, she was in two minds: either tell the man the truth and that no, she had not even set eyes on him let alone talked to him, or remain silent.
She remained silent, trying not let her surprise at the fact that this man was dead (not to mention supposedly residing in the same district as them) show on her face.
The figure just sighed in response.
"He's been seen near your house many times over the past month. And that's something I'm afraid we cannot allow to happen."
A hand slipped behind its back and the shadow of a long, thin object slid into view. Victoria had opened up enough crates of leather imports to recognise a crowbar when she saw one.
"If you're telling the truth and you genuinely don't know, then we still need a way to deter him from doing so again. I'm sure a broken bone and a threatening letter will do."
Victoria's mouth was suddenly very dry. She wished that glass of water was somewhere close. Just why was this man, who the rest of her family seemed to absolutely and without reservation despise, such a big deal for them? What did they care whether he came near the house or not? Were they an overzealous police officer of some sort?
The figure advanced and the light finally caught the gap between his hood and collar. A rotting gas mask was strapped to his face, the musty lenses boring into her soul.
As quick as a flash, Victoria's boot was in her hand and she swung, grateful she'd put them on when she got out of bed. The extra practice she'd had as a child in case of particularly grabby boys was something she definitely attributed her speed to.
All that speed was wasted, however, as the figure grabbed her swinging arm and slammed the end of the crowbar into her chest in a manner that looked almost effortless. She stumbled back a few paces, winded.
"I only plan to break one bone" the figure added, a vague edge of annoyance to his voice. "singular. However, if you continue to annoy me, I will easily settle for plural."
Victoria desperately turned and looked to the windows, which were still dark. Nobody else had heard the commotion. Nobody had switched on their light. And where on Earth was Pepita?
"In short, do not attempt to hit me again."
"What about me? Can I hit you?"
A muffled banging sound echoed from atop the garden fence. Another, much scrawnier figure lifted itself over in what Victoria believed to be possibly the least graceful way possible, before falling face-first into the flowerbed with a blunt "ouch".
She squinted. She recognised that voice…
The figure picked itself up out of the dirt and sure enough, the face of Anton Doucet smiled right back at her.
"Oh, hello!" he smiled, his words somewhat slurred. Had he been drinking? "Fancy seeing you here."
Victoria wanted to shout at him that this was not really the time for a conversation, but she then noticed the shadow creature looking at him as well, tilting its head as if unable to comprehend the ridiculousness of what it was seeing.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" it hissed.
"I was dumpster diving for tamales when I heard a commotion" he replied jovially, as if they were old friends catching up. "As any upstanding citizen would, I naturally decided to investigate."
"You are not wanted. Leave."
"But that would defeat the whole purpose of me coming here."
A second enraged hiss.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Haven't a clue."
"Then I suggest you go. The Rivera woman is important, but you are disposable. I will not hesitate to erase you."
"Them's fighting words, your hideousness."
The figure swung the crowbar, but Doucet was fast, faster than Victoria had ever expected a human to be, swerving out of its path and kicking the figure in the shin. They grunted in pain and went for a second attempt, but Doucet responded by grabbing the arm holding the weapon and twisting slightly. The crowbar dropped to the ground and Victoria kicked it away with her foot, deciding it unwise to get involved in a conflict that had escalated to hand-to-hand wrestling.
The figure punched Doucet where his gut would have once been. The fabric of his red suit sunk inwards from the impact – did the man even sleep? – and he responded by sticking his leg out and tripping his opponent over onto the flowerbed.
They both went down, hitting and kicking, crushing all of the flowers Rosita had carefully pruned around them.
There was a sudden snapping noise and Doucet threw something else aside with a triumphant "a-ha!", Victoria recognised it as the filter of the figure's gas mask as it rolled over by her feet.
Something warm hit the back of her neck and she turned to see one of the house's bedroom lights had been turned on. Finally, someone had been woken up by all the racket.
One of the two wrestling in the dirt cursed under their breath. A black-covered leg shot up from the ground and kicked Doucet directly in the jaw with enough force for it to come off; it went sailing a good few feet and landed in a bush by the pathway. As Doucet scrambled for his missing body part, the figure rose back to its feet and for one horrific moment, Victoria feared that he was going to go for her again. But the figure instead gave a scornful glare (even with the mask on, she could recognise the intensity of the gaze) and leaped over the fence with much more finesse than Doucet had managed without so much as a single word.
A click drew her attention; Doucet had managed to re-attach his jawbone, the smile back to its usual state.
"Well" he said airily, "that's not something you see every day."
Victoria was stuck dead in the middle of the path. She suddenly had no energy to move her arms or legs in any way.
"What happened out here?"
The back door had been flung open and Mama Imelda stood illuminated in its frame, every atom around her crackling with anger. Victoria couldn't even begin to formulate an excuse and felt almost ready to burst into tears.
Then she noticed that her grandmothers' anger was directed more towards the state of the garden. The look she gave her was more of pity and worry. And whilst Victoria often despised being on the receiving end of both those things, her family were the only exception.
"Burglars, mija?"
Victoria could only nod numbly. Any moment now, she'd notice Doucet and it would all be over.
"Actually" she said, her own voice sounding foreign to her. "I think it may have been a rogue alebrije, abuelita. It's not like anyone actually got into the house."
"Hmph. Only because they encountered my granddaughter first."
A thin smirk crossed Imelda's lips and despite herself, Victoria smiled too.
"Let me take a look at the damage" she announced suddenly. Before Victoria could even think about protesting, she was halfway along the path and observing the ruined flowerbed.
But somehow, Doucet was long gone. He'd slipped away without so much as a sound.
After a minute, Imelda hmphed again and turned back to face her. Victoria could hear rustling and mumbling behind her; the rest of the family had been awoken by now as well. Julio's moustache was ragged and unkempt, Rosita looked downright strange with no flowers in her hair, and Oscar and Felipe were squinting slightly, unaware they'd accidentally put on each other's glasses.
"Should, I, uh…should I call the police?" Julio asked hesitantly.
"No" Imelda declared. "They're useless and besides, it's not like any real damage has been done."
Rosita let out an indignant sniff over the state of her garden. Imelda pointedly ignored her.
"If it happens again, we call them. Victoria's right, it could have just been a lost animal. Now let's just get back to bed, shall we?"
The family nodded and yawned as one, moving back into the house. Victoria was quick to follow them, not wanting to have to be summoned upstairs again, refusing to look back. She made sure to grab her water on the way – there was little point in ever heading into the kitchen in the first place if she didn't get what she came for – and shut her bedroom door tightly behind her.
Sleep was a long time coming.
By the next morning, after three helpings of huevos y chorizo from Rosita, Victoria felt a lot healthier and happier. She'd even managed to half-convince herself by half past ten that the events of last night had been some bizarre fever dream brought on by stress and that she'd merely been sleepwalking.
Whatever it was, fixing the shoes had become a much easier task, though that may have been due to the calming rhythm of the workshop during the daytime. The sewing machine, hammers and other tools all built an atmosphere that was borderline relaxing for Victoria, even despite the heavy workloads they had to fulfil.
She'd just finished the last stitch when the bell on the counter was rung. Nobody was attending the front of house thanks to the amount of orders, so Victoria got up to see the customer in the next room, with a good idea of who it was.
Then the unthinkable happened. The bell was rung again six times over, with split-second pauses of noticeably different lengths between them. It was, undeniably, a tune.
Victoria winced. If she'd heard it, then the rest of the family definitely had. Sure enough, it seemed as if time had stood still. All the noise had stopped. Every eye turned to Mama Imelda, who was squeezing the plimsoll she had in her grip as if throttling the life out of it.
"I think I'll deal with this customer, mija" she said in a tone that dared someone to argue with her decision. Sure enough, no-one did.
She stalked across the room, flinging the door open and vanishing into the front. The door swung closed, but not to the extent that the conversation outside couldn't be heard.
"Good morning, lady. That's a lovely boot you've got in your hand, but I was always of the belief that they belonged on your feet."
"What does the sign, placed clearly in the centre of our wall, say in big, bold letters?"
"…no music?"
"No music. So tell me why you felt the urge to ring that…that…disgusting tune out!"
"Oh, you mean the bell. Well, it only lasted three seconds and consisted of seven little sounds. Some would barely call that a melody, let alone music."
There was the unmistakeable sound of Imelda growling like a panther.
"What" she hissed, "do you want?"
"I'm here to pick up a pair of shoes" came the ever-joyful response, not sounding in the least bit fazed. "I left them yesterday and was told to collect them for eleven o' clock. I understand I'm a tad early, so if they're not ready yet then by all means, we can continue this scintillating conversation if you wish."
"I will go back inside and see if they're ready. No música" she added as a final warning. Victoria took this as her cue to go through the door, as her grandmother came back in.
"Okay, so just to be clear" Doucet called, "I can't do this."
And he whistled the exact same tune.
Imelda stopped dead in her tracks. The twins gasped as one. Julio looked ready to dive for shelter and for once, Victoria couldn't blame him.
She was nearly bowled over as Imelda stormed back out, pulled Doucet across the counter with one hand and gave him a good, firm whack across the face with the other.
"You come into this zapatería, you abide by its rules!" she yelled. "Take your shoes and leave this place! You're not welcome here again! Sorry for bumping into you, mija" she added in a low voice to Victoria as she passed by. Giving Doucet one last filthy look, she slammed the door behind her so hard that Victoria was surprised the plaster didn't crack.
It was Doucet who broke the silence, of course.
"What a lovely woman" he said, without a single trace of sarcasm.
"Is this something you do daily, going into establishments and starting fights?" Victoria asked scathingly, placing his shoes down and typing numbers into the till.
"Only on Thursdays. You say that like I go out of my way to do so. I call it my unique charm."
"Most would refer to it as an inability to keep quiet."
"Keeping quiet's one of my few flaws, admittedly."
"I never would have guessed" she mumbled dryly, passing the shoes over. "Fifty pesos, por favor."
Doucet was silent for a moment, sticking a hand into his pocket. "Ah."
His fingers came straight out the bottom. Victoria's eyes narrowed, knowing full well what he was going to say next.
"I appear not to have fifty pesos. I don't suppose I could pay you back later…?"
"No" she said flatly. "You go back out, you get the money, we give you the shoes. No compromises."
"The shouty woman said I wasn't allowed to return after this."
"You'll just have to face her wrath a second time. And maybe, just maybe, not attempt to provoke her when you do so."
"Says the one who confronted a violent stranger in her back garden."
Just like that, the fantasy Victoria had built came crumbling down.
"Shush!" she growled, looking towards the door and hoping nobody was still listening in.
Doucet's head tilted, giving his smile a rather condescending look.
"I take it the family doesn't know?"
"No. And it's going to stay that way. Look, just – get out of here and get your money!"
"As her majesty wishes" he said simply, skipping away. His suit was even filthier from his impromptu boxing match last night, mud and a few petals were splattered across the bottom of the tails, down his trousers and –
"You're not wearing shoes" Victoria blurted out despite herself.
Doucet frowned slightly, as if unable to see the problem.
"Of course I'm not. You have them."
From the short distance between them, she could make out a pair of odd socks: one purple with multi-coloured polka dots and another bright pink, with pictures of unicorns. They were so hideously garish that she didn't understand how on earth she'd missed them the day before.
"You can't be allowed to just wander around without shoes" Victoria said, more to herself than him. To the Riveras, if a person could afford a pair of shoes, going barefoot in public was tantamount to swearing in church.
"Then it appears we may be at an impasse."
Victoria huffed through her nose, glad she was still able to do so despite lacking an actual nose itself. It was time she made another positively reckless decision as an experienced Rivera shoemaker. In all honesty, it was starting to be rather unbecoming of her.
She pushed the shoes further towards him, as far as they could go without falling off the counter.
"Put on your shoes" she said. "I will go with you to get your money. But be warned, I will not leave until you do so."
"The amount of faith you have in me is heart-warming, it really is" he grinned back. The smile never succeeded in truly reaching the empty holes he had for eyes. He slid the shoes onto his feet. "Handsome devils" he said lovingly.
Victoria allowed the rare feeling of pride to swell within her once again.
It had taken multiple excuses trying to persuade the rest of the family why she needed to go out, other than I didn't make sure a customer was actually able to pay before taking their order. More material, hunting down a supplier – it wasn't easy, but she eventually bombarded them with enough details that they evidently decided to just let her go, lest they suffer more confusion.
It hurt a tad, she had to admit. Did they consider her that unimportant, to the extent that they'd just shrug their shoulders and let her leave amidst all their work?
Doucet had taken a pair of red-tinted sunglasses from his breast pocket the second they'd stepped out of the door, covering the soul-sucking holes. He still received the odd look from passers-by as they walked, but she assumed it was merely the meticulous coordination of red across his outfit. Not to mention the way it was then ruined by all the dirt on it.
"These shoes have become surprisingly snug" he commented as the turned the corner that thankfully led away from Plaza de la Cruz.
"Rivera-brand shoes are nothing but the best" Victoria responded idly, reciting one of the business' mottos.
"Now, if you're just going to keep bleating memorised lines at me like some kind of sheep, I may as well not try and talk to you."
Good.
"What say you to skipping the preliminaries and discussing more pressing matters? Such as what crowbar-man was wanting when he broke into your property."
Less good.
"Why do you care?"
"About your safety? Rest assured, I don't. I just believe it may be of importance in relation to…personal matters of mine."
"You're not planning on trying to break one of my bones too, are you?" she asked, only half-jokingly.
Anton laughed in a way that sounded genuine, but it still had creepily malicious undertones.
"No, no, of course not. Doing such a thing would be terribly rude of me. It's simply a belief of mine that this mystery fellow could be linked to a case I'm working on."
Case. A very particular choice of words in Victoria's eyes.
"What are you, a detective?"
"Yes" he replied simply, seeming happy that she'd worked it out.
"With the police?" she probed further.
"…no" he added after a moment's silence.
That gave her a bit more confidence in the hiring practices of afterlife law enforcement, at least. Despite Mama Imelda's insistence that the entire department was inept, they obviously still held standards when it came to choosing their detectives.
In her novels, detectives were low-browed, gravel-voiced sleuths who wore fedoras and trench coats, hanging out smoking in back alleys.
The man walking alongside her had a suit so vivacious he was essentially a walking dartboard and he couldn't be trusted to even own a second pair of shoes. She doubted he had a high success rate.
"Did you die on a case?" she asked, trying to voice her thoughts in a more roundabout way.
"…no" he repeated, pause and all.
And for the first time, Victoria detected something in his voice that wasn't similar to happiness. Hesitancy, maybe. He was trying to hide it, but he wasn't comfortable on the subject.
Well, at least we have that much in common.
He came to a sudden stop by a rocky outcrop, so fast that she almost walked directly into the back of him. Only then did she notice that as they had walked, they'd left the bright lights and bustling noise of the city behind. The footpath had become more cracked and the buildings around them more desolate and colourless. Other than few sour-looking fox alebrijes, there was no sign of life except them.
"Shantytown" she breathed as realisation struck.
Doucet just nodded.