The thought of his wife's disappointed face managed to keep him quiet for ten minutes of the interview. Thoughts of the upcoming baby kept him going for the rest of it, even despite the frankly ridiculous questions he was being asked.
He stared aimlessly at the face of the chief security officer, who was in turn sizing up his admittedly blank resumé.
"So, do I have the job?"
The half-white sheet of paper fell to the table and the man leaned across, magnifying his slowly-developing wrinkles and frown lines.
"Here's the deal" he said in a voice so grizzled it was near-comical. "You patrol the fences, move away paparazzi, occasionally take out the rubbish. Senor de la Cruz does not like to be interrupted unless he asks to be, so just keep it to yourself."
"I'm going to take that as a yes, then. Hooray for me."
He expected a sarcastic sneer or eye-roll; what he got instead was much more out of proportion. The man leaned across the desk and physically grabbed him by the collar, pulling him forward so that they were now nose-to-nose.
"A word to the wise. I don't take cheek. Senor de la Cruz is also a great admirer of efficiency and if it means giving you a beating hard enough to ensure the message sinks in, he'll let it happen. Bear that in mind."
And it's a pleasure to be working with you too, Javier sir, he so dearly wanted to say. As a general rule, he preferred not to be beaten semi-conscious if he could avoid it. The pauper's wedding he'd had was proof enough of their dwindling funds, the last thing they could afford was to launch a lawsuit when he lost the ability to walk.
"Of course" he chose to respond instead.
"Of course, sir" Javier emphasised.
He hated it when people did that. Sticking "sir" on the end expectantly, despite not having done anything to earn his respect. His parents had done it, his father using it as an obvious distancing tactic when he declared he was going to spend the rest of his life with a common prostitute. He was unsure if her parents would have been like that too – well, if they hadn't cut off all communication with their daughter and kicked her to the curb long beforehand.
"Of course…sir."
He made it a point to sneak in as much sarcasm as he thought he could get away with.
"Are you alright, mija?"
Victoria looked up from her almost-untouched soup, noticing fatherly concern etched all over Julio's features. People seemed to be asking her that question a lot, lately.
"Yes, Papa, I'm fine. It was just a rather tiring day, is all."
"Ah yes, of course. How could we forget?" came a voice from further down, laced with facetiousness. Oscar. Of course it was Oscar. Which meant Felipe would be sure to speak up next.
"The library is indeed a tiring place to be" his brother grinned, proving her right.
"So exhausting."
"Sitting up there, reading books."
"Imagine the back-breaking pain."
"The blood, sweat and tears."
"The hours of unrelenting –"
Imelda, who had come in from the kitchen with a dish of bread from the family to share, hit Felipe around the back of the head. He almost went face-first into his own bowl, causing Victoria to crack just the faintest glimmer of a smile.
"Quiet" she scolded, "If Victoria has had a busy day, then she's had a busy day."
She turned to look at someone else as she sat herself down again.
"May I ask what's so funny, Rosita? You seem to have come over rather giggly this evening."
Oh, God.
"Nothing, Mama Imelda" she smiled. Victoria made the fatal mistake of making eye contact with her aunt for that split second. "Say, mija, do you think your gentleman friend is as worn out as you are?"
The atmosphere shifted right there and then, all heads turning to face her. Victoria immediately felt the urge to hide under the table, or, even better, have the ground open up and swallow her right there and then.
Great job, tía. Very subtle.
"A gentleman friend?" Imelda repeated, hand drifting, almost casually, towards her boot. Victoria knew it wasn't because of her; her grandmother's own experience with a man had been far from satisfactory and it stood to reason she'd immediately want to hunt Anton down. And if that wasn't reason enough, their argument in the front of the shop yesterday provided another.
Oscar and Felipe turned to each other, faces growing identical smirks, no doubt mentally communicating and deciding the best ways they could tease her about it. Julio just looked ready to start hyperventilating.
"Sí, abuelita" she decided to respond simply. "A detective. He was working in the library and I noticed him pass by the section I was reading in a few times. I asked him if he needed any help and he did. So we worked together on one of his cases for the rest of the time."
She'd rather impressed herself with how well she'd been able to lie. It was probably a good idea to add more and allay any remaining suspicion.
"We got on talking as we left; nothing major. He's nice enough, but chances are we won't see each other again."
Imelda hummed, clearly happy with this explanation. "Well, just be careful. You never know how he feels about your little meeting."
"What was his case about, mija?" Rosita asked, unwilling to let the pain end.
Victoria sighed and reached for the bread. "Nothing much. It was mainly made up of speculation, really. He was raving on about Pishtacos –"
"The legendary monsters?" asked Oscar.
"Who eat flesh and fat?" Felipe added. Imelda tutted.
"The very same. He was a bit of a lunatic, to be honest." She imagined Anton's insulted tone if he'd been there to respond to her comment and she found herself fighting the urge to laugh again. "The most grounded bit of talking we did was about some tabloid-famous serial killer. The Invisible Man, I think he was called."
A loud clatter echoed from beside her, Mama Imelda had dropped her spoon into her soup, eyes wide. Rosita had let out a little gasp and now Julio definitely seemed to be hyperventilating.
Whatever reaction Victoria had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been that.
"…what?"
"Well, Victoria, you see, uh…" Felipe tried. Imelda grabbed a bread roll and threw it at him.
"Nothing, mija." Her response was much too quick to be real. "It's just…well, he was quite notorious around Santa Cecilia at one point. Isn't that right?" she asked with more force than necessary, which she only ever did when making sure everyone was going to agree with her,
Sure enough, everyone nodded, the twins' heads looking ready to come off.
They ate in silence after that and Rosita didn't bring up the subject again.
Before going to sleep, after making sure there wasn't a violent stranger in their back garden for the second night in a row, Victoria propped herself up with her pillows and scoured through the papers she'd taken from the library with her. She'd been wrong in assuming it was just front-page fodder to trick buyers, some copies had more information on the inside, including a list of names.
Every time there'd been an unexplained murder which resulted in the bodies missing limbs, the victim's name had been lumped into the same category. With each passing issue, the number of names just grew and grew. She'd spent an hour reading each new addition, no noise reaching her room except for the twins arguing and Imelda threatening to make them sleep on the street if they didn't shut up.
Alejandro Montenegro…Gloria Bastago…
Her eyes felt heavy.
Pele Chillano…Victoria Rivera…
One more issue and maybe she'd call it a night. And this time, she'd remembered to get her glass of water beforehand, no longer risking another late-night excursion downstairs.
Pepe Iglesias…
Wait, what?
A sensation not unlike having a bucket full of freezing water poured over her hit Victoria. She looked back at the list.
That was definitely her name. And right next to it, the words "Santa Cecilia".
If she was a more imaginative woman, she'd have tried to convince herself it was an unlikely coincidence. But in her heart, she couldn't believe it. The universe was rarely so careless.
But my heart just gave out one day when I was out collecting supplies. Exhaustion, Papa told me…everyone said it…
But she'd been outdoors, surrounded by strangers.
She'd never liked to dwell on her death, even if it was something as simple as heart failure. As if unconsciously blocking it out.
And those had been some strange reactions at dinnertime in response to what should have been a name the family had never heard before.
She let the paper slip from her numb fingers as she flopped backwards.
She'd been murdered. Murdered without realising it. And the whole family had kept it from her.
A mild spark of irritation flashed within her chest. Did they not think she was capable of handling the truth? It certainly would have made things easier to grasp, being taken to one side and talked to calmly rather than seeing her name in an obituary in cold, black print. It was if she couldn't trust anyone, or at the very least, they didn't believe they could trust her.
How many limbs had been removed from her corpse? Were they eaten or was the killer interrupted before doing so? Julio had told her it had been an open-casket funeral, but that could easily have been another lie.
Regardless of her repulsion, she let her thoughts unjumble themselves. They were then swarmed by newly-steeled determination, as a memory replayed itself.
I like you, Victoria. You make me laugh. So, my offer will always stand, if you wish to accept it…
…would it be too late to take him up on that?
Anton, it transpired, was incredibly hard to find when you were actively seeking him out. After dinner that day, Victoria had left the house under the pretence of fresh air. And for the first time, she felt no regret in lying to her family.
At first, the aim was this: follow the wearer of the first vivacious jacket she saw. It wasn't a common sight to see fully-grown men in bright-red suits, after all. But one detail she'd forgotten to factor into her plan was the rapidly-approaching Día de los Muertos festival, which was coming up in five days. Naturally, seeing as how it was such a big deal, streamers and colourful bunting were being put everywhere and she was now finding it much more difficult to avoid the mariachis on the street corners.
Even despite what she supposed was a brand-new rebellious streak, old habits died hard.
As look would have it, she bumped into Chichárron, who was cleaning pint glasses on a nearby bench, avoiding the wary gazes of the better-remembered.
"Looking for the jolly red asshat?" he asked gruffly, not even looking up to acknowledge her presence.
"Yes" she replied simply, deciding he wasn't worth any manners.
"He'll be around here somewhere. He likes to wander this part of town when he's bored; tends to scour through the bins or feed the cockroaches. Why do you want him, anyway?"
"I have a case I'd like him to solve. He also gave me the opportunity to join him as his investigative partner a couple of days ago; I've decided to take it."
Chichárron finally looked up, an ugly smirk on his face.
"He'll be over the moon to hear that" he said, sounding bitter. "He was down in Shantytown again last night, bugging me. Couldn't go five minutes without your name being dragged into the mix – you're Victoria, ain't ya?"
Victoria's self-consciousness flared up again. Chichárron carried on talking, not noticing.
"Honest to Dios, it was Victoria this and Victoria that. That lovely woman Victoria says…Victoria was of the opinion that…Did I tell you I met Victoria again?" he mimicked in a cruel but rather accurate impersonation. "You've got a little something by your shoe there."
Victoria looked down at the cobblestones, only just stopping herself from jumping back at the sight of a cockroach starting to claw its way up the side of her boot, luminous green and not looking the least bit friendly. She was unsure of what exactly to do – any unexpected physical contact, whether the perpetrator was big or small, made her immediately freeze. Was it an alebrije or a mutant creature from the pages of a comic book?
"Aw, there's the widdle guy!"
Well, that solved that mystery.
Anton sauntered over and Victoria had to do a double take as Chichárron grimaced and slid further along the bench. Identical cockroaches were crawling up his jacket sleeves, in and out of cuffs and shirt: essentially, anyway they could fit. There weren't many, maybe eleven or twelve in all, but their size more than made up for their lack of numbers.
Their owner was oblivious to the frosty reception, instead bending down as if Victoria wasn't even there and guiding the straggler into his hands.
"Now, Stefano, what have I told you about wandering off? Call yourself a spirit guide, honestly, all you ever lead me to are mounds of particularly inviting-looking litter. If you're bored, you can always play with Pablo; he's down my left trouser leg somewhere…hold on…"
He dug his free hand down his trousers, pulling out another from a location that looked rather uncomfortable. The two insects circled each other in his palm before nuzzling together, seemingly content and disappearing down his sleeve.
"Ah, Victoria" he said cordially, dusting his hands off. "How can I help you this fine evening?"
All of Victoria's original thoughts had been blasted from her mind by the spectacle she'd just witnessed.
"Do you…you named a bunch of cockroaches?"
"Excuse you" he said, raising an eyebrow, "my bunch of cockroaches. A very special bunch, as it were."
What with Pepita, Victoria had thought she'd seen it all when it came to alebrijes. She'd obviously been mistaken.
"So…you… do you take them with you everywhere you go? In the library, you had those things down your trousers or shirt or goodness knows where else?"
"No, not everywhere. Not always. I let them have a bit of a free reign, you see; it doesn't do a pet any good to be cooped up at all hours. As long as I have their mother on me, who is more than happy to remain by my side during the day, the rest will follow if I so wish."
"Meaning you had the mother with you yesterday."
"I did, yes. Would you like to see her?"
Her morbid curiosity was once again getting the better of her. Dios, had she not learnt anything?
"Yes, please."
Anton unbuttoned his waistcoat; Victoria put a hand over her eyes, more out of decency's sake that anything else, as he dug a hand into his ribcage. When he told her she could remove it, the smile evident in his voice, she wished she'd ignored him. This time, she actually did jump back and was so startled that she failed to even feel annoyed at herself for doing so.
The mama roach had clearly followed the Pepita-route when it came to becoming an alebrije, having grown exponentially to an unrealistic proportion. In this case, its back and front were too large for Anton's hand and instead curled around it. It retained the same neon colour as the others, with the added bonus of bright slime dripping from its mandibles.
Chichárron through up his hands. "That's it. I'm out. Have fun" he said simply, and stormed off. Victoria briefly watched him leave, silently begging for him to take her too.
"What do you call her?" she asked hesitantly, forcing herself to be polite. She'd asked to see it, after all.
"Ingrid" he answered happily, stroking the thing like a puppy. A thin layer of slime latched itself between the cockroach's back and his glove and Victoria decided it was high time she changed the subject before the contents of her non-existent stomach came back up.
"I've thought about the offer you made me a few nights ago" she began, ignoring the way Ingrid's many legs moved as she wriggled her way back into Anton's in-built hidey-hole. "I've decided to accept, on one condition."
"Yes?"
"We find out who the Invisible Man was."
"…I must admit, that wasn't a response I was expecting. May I peruse the reason?"
"No, you may not."
"But you know what? I'm going to ignore that statement and peruse it anyway. A sudden interest in a seemingly random topic usually means you've been, or believe to have been, affected by it in some way. A family member carved up and served, or…?"
His voice trailed off.
"No. You being carved up and served."
"I don't want to picture myself being cannibalised, thank you" she snapped.
"And how exactly did you work it out?"
She swallowed thickly. "My name was listed in the column of victims', as well as my hometown, where I died. I daresay it's a little too perfect to be a coincidence."
"A valid hypothesis, yes, but I fail to see how you were butchered in the street like a sheep carcass and failed to realise it was happening."
"It was quick and sudden. My family said it was heart failure. So either they never found out the truth because they didn't read the newspaper that week –" even as the words left her mouth, she knew how far-fetched they were, "- or my grandmother and parents lied to me."
"Great family you've got there."
"One more remark like that and I won't hesitate to knock you silly with my boot."
"Oh, right, yes. I'm supposed to be empathetic around this point, aren't I? Well Victoria, I'm very sorry for the pain your murder and subsequent –"
"I don't care about your fake apologies, Anton. What I want to know is whether or not we have a deal."
Anton's smile grew so wide Victoria was worried that he was about to eat his own face.
"Yes, Victoria. We have a deal."
"When you said a studio, I expected something a lot more high-end."
"Well, this is the fire escape. I'm sure the main entrance is a lot nicer to look at, but I'm not able to enter that way anymore."
Victoria sighed exasperatedly. "Banned?"
"Banned."
"Do I want to know the reason why?"
"That depends. Do you want to know why I had to set a mountain of sugar skulls on fire?"
Victoria's silence was all the answer required.
Anton outstretched a hand towards the ladder, which had been pulled up to the first-floor window. For a bizarre moment, she expected him to pull off some form of undisclosed magical power and summon it to them. But instead, one of his cockroaches crawled out from his breast pocket and up his arm, flying upwards a few feet and settling on the sill.
The thing jumped around a bit, flashing its wings as if having a seizure, clearly wanting to distract someone on the other side of the glass. Sure enough, the window was eventually flung open to the accompaniment of an irritated grumble as a bushy-haired, angry-looking woman stuck her head out.
"What do you want, Anton?" she snapped, picking up the roach and flicking back at him using her thumb and forefinger.
"This is what I love about you, Ceci. You're always so cheerful all the time. I need to see Héctor, please."
"What makes you think he's here?" Ceci huffed.
"Oh, please. It's five days until Día de los Muertos. Where would he be if not here, working on yet another inevitably doomed attempt to cross the Marigold Bridge?"
Ceci just rolled her eyes, hitting the mechanism to drop the ladder. Anton's roach scooted out the way just in time, snaking up his trouser leg as the thing hit the cobblestones with a resounding bang.
"Good girl, Ofelia" he said, patting his leg affectionately before climbing up.
Victoria clambered through the window after him, surrounded suddenly on all sides by mannequins. No lights were on in the area despite the growing darkness, Ceci threading a dress whilst muttering darkly to herself.
"…and if I'm not giving out free costumes to some idiot who never returns what he borrows, I'm allowing someone who's banned from this space to waltz on in…I may as well be harbouring fugitives…"
"Busy night, Ceci?"
Ceci whirled around, pointing a needle at his chin.
"Sit down" she commanded, eyes narrowed as she pointed at a flimsy wooden chair in the corner. "I'm not letting you wander off anywhere after last time."
Anton shrugged. "Alright. But I maintain the notion that the burning of those sugar skulls was imperative for me solving that case."
"Which is bad enough, but then of course you have to do it right next to a rack of flammable dresses and a stockpile of fireworks! The blaze took three hours to get under control, Anton!"
"But look on the bright side: no more fly infestation."
Ceci growled at him, spinning on her heel and stabbing the dress again, clearly wishing it was the man's throat.
"Hey Ceci, where did you say you kept the plastic spoons again?"
The head of a young man poked its way around the doorframe; it was yellowed, with a goatee. Despite this, they seemed to have lost none of their evidently vibrant personality, smiling happily like a child promised an extra sweet just for being in the room. But it wasn't like Anton's smiles, which seemed to penetrate your very soul. This one had an almost paternal friendliness to it, despite his physical age.
Ceci drew a long sigh through her nose and put her head in her hands.
"Héctor, it…it doesn't matter. Leave the coffee, I didn't want any, not really. Just get in here, Anton wants to see you."
"Anton!" Héctor cried, tripping over his own feet whilst making his way over to the detective. He was the first person Victoria had run into who didn't treat the man with immediate dislike, which was in and of itself an enormous surprise. "How are you, amigo? How's the case been going?"
Anton prised himself from the bear hug he'd been forced into, the discomfort evident in his eyes.
"It's coming along swimmingly, Héctor", the smoothness never having left his voice. "However, there's a little something I believe you might have that would help speed proceedings along a little."
"Wha -?" Héctor managed, before a clattering sound echoed across the wooden floor and one of the cockroaches appeared, trailing a set of keys along behind it. "Hey! Anton, I need those! If my first plan doesn't work, I'll need those to-"
"And you shall have them, Héctor. We just need to borrow them for tonight."
"We?" Héctor repeated, clocking the use of the collective noun. Victoria felt the need to introduce herself.
"Hello" she said crisply. Héctor yelped and jumped back nearly three feet.
Victoria stared.
"How did she do that?" he gasped.
"She's my investigatory partner and criminal-scaring utility. If you think her dwelling in the shadows is scary, just wait until she glares at you."
Victoria opened her mouth to snap indignantly, but then Ceci spoke up. "I quite like it. At least someone's around to keep you in line and I'm glad I'm not the only childminder for once."
"Hey!" both Anton and Héctor protested at the same time. Victoria had to laugh as Ceci gave her a flat look which couldn't communicate any message other than "men".
"Anyway, I'm afraid we must be going" Anton said abruptly, pushing Héctor aside as he strolled back towards the window. "It's been lovely, Ceci, and by that I mean it was the most insufferable three minutes of my afterlife."
"It's called relaxation, Anton. It won't kill you a second time."
"Idleness is the enemy of top-notch time-keeping."
"I think I read that on the back of a cereal box once" Héctor commented, scratching his goatee.
"Understandable" Anton nodded. "That's where I get all my wisdom from. Now then, Victoria, how about we - Victoria?"
Victoria was only half-listening, focused on the door leading out of the seamstress' studio and into the larger design space. "What's through there?"
Ceci finished up the last of her stitching with a flourish. "Oh, that's the design area. It's the biggest space we have; it's used for prop design and band rehearsals."
"It's also in no way relevant or interesting." Anton of course felt the urge to add. "So naturally we can get back on track as I'm sure you wouldn't be interested in this year's new displays of artistic mediocrity."
She glared at him.
"See?" he said simply, splaying his arms with a cursory glance towards Héctor.
"Yeesh" Héctor agreed.
Ignoring them, she pushed the door aside and slowly strolled into the area, hoping not to disturb anybody. It looked fairly abandoned other than a bored-looking janitor and the echoing sounds of…
…music?
Her mind drifted almost automatically to defence mode before she realised that she had no real right to be offended. It was their neck of the woods after all, she was the one who'd walked in uninvited. Rather than back away, she decided to let it lead her onwards towards the slightly misted full-wall windows at the far end.
Just around the corner was a contingent of about five or six musicians; the one at the front had a particularly pungent air of self-superiority about him. And after spending time with Anton, that was definitely saying something. A pork pie hat, flourishing neck beard and overly-shined shoes simply screamed that he was a man who was desperately trying to prove something.
"Oh, hello there, senorita" he grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, "what's a good-looking young woman like yourself doing in a place like this?"
Urgh.
"Nothing" she responded icily, making sure to fix him with her sternest gaze yet. Seriously, had that line ever worked? "I'm just having a walk around. Please continue with…whatever it was you were doing."
"Whatever it was?" the man repeated, lowering his violin as the other members of the orchestra either chuckled or snorted pompously. His tone was cordial, but the way his grin turned leery told her she'd regret her choice of words. "Senorita, this is our piece for the Sunlight Spectacular in three days. Could you at least try and give a compliment?"
The orchestra's other members chuckled sycophantically.
Could you at least try to keep your cliché, heavy-handed advances to yourself?
"Here's one, Gustavo. You can certainly recognise the motif. To be clear, the motif was a chipmunk being flattened by a demolition ball, yes?"
Gustavo yelped indignantly as a gloved hand placed itself on his shoulder; Anton had followed them out. Héctor was a standing a further distance away from them, as if not wanting to be seen.
"Anton!" he said, shuddering slightly as he relinquished himself from the unexpected grip. Victoria allowed herself to smirk at how flustered he was. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be fighting loan sharks in a back alley somewhere?"
"You missed the news, Gustavo, that was last week" Anton replied without missing a beat. "Don't worry, this isn't a courtesy call. My associate Victoria here grew rather interested in the studio and unfortunately happened to wander into your disgusting little contingent whilst exploring."
Gustavo smirked. "And she seemed such a smart woman, too."
"She has a name" Victoria snapped.
"Ooh" one of the members of the orchestra giggled sarcastically.
"Of course!" came the oily response from the violinist. "I apologise for offending your delicate sensibilities with a little bit of fun, Vicky. Where's Chorizo, by the way? If only we had him here too; this would be a nice little get-together."
Out the corner of her eye, she noticed Héctor back further into the shadows with a saddened look on his face. It couldn't a coincidence. She turned to look Anton deep in what remained of his eyes and he nodded, getting the message.
"You can hit him if you want. I won't tell anyone."
Gustavo gave a fake gasp, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I give up! Don't let the lady strike me!"
Victoria was all too ready to wipe the grin away with a well-aimed pound of leather to the face, but the next words caught her off guard.
"How's your job as the guy's attack dog, anyway? Has he not remembered how to do it himself?"
Victoria narrowed her eyes, half-leaning down, grip tightening by her leg. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Gustavo suddenly looked deliriously happy. "What, he never told you what he was like when he first died?"
The rest of the orchestra laughed, shaking their heads and whispering to each other, apparently having heard this story before. Anton didn't say anything. He didn't even move.
"So, he first shows up at the studio, right? Wandering around aimlessly, constant dazed look on his face. Ceci goes out to see if he's alright, probably assuming he's on something, and you know what the first thing he says to her is? Are you my wife?"
He wheezed out a laugh and the orchestra predictably followed suit.
"Every woman he came into contact with, he asked them that question. At first it was funny, then it got sad. But then it got funny again. My guess? The woman left him in life, knocking him out for good measure. Except the hit addled his brains and he died of a haemorrhage or something."
Victoria felt horrified for Anton. Even if she didn't necessarily like him, this was most likely extremely personal information the loudmouth músico was throwing away like it was nobody's business.
"Or maybe you killed her after you went mad from looking at her so long. I mean, falling for you? She must have had real low standards, or been really ugly. Let me guess, single, with a child? I heard that was pretty common in those days."
She was by this point fully prepared to beat him senseless with her boot. Not wasting any more time, she was stopped mid-removal only by a single raised hand from Anton himself.
"I say, Gustavo" he murmured slowly. Victoria felt herself shiver slightly. Hidden under the usual pomp, his words were like ice. The chasms seemed deeper and darker than before. But she felt like she was the only one to notice. "I didn't realise I was so fascinating. You seem to have done quite a bit of theorising about me."
Gustavo shrugged, evidently assuming his work was done. "Eh, what can I say? The folk down at Shantytown are real big gossips. None of them seem to like you that much, either."
The temperature of the room suddenly seemed to drop a few degrees. The ensuing silence was punctuated by the squeaking of leather as Anton's gloves tightened into fists. Victoria unconsciously took a step back and she noticed Héctor hide himself slightly behind a stage curtain.
"If you know so much about me, then you'll know about the tales some of the folk in Shantytown have made up. Some of the things I've been rumoured to have done in life in order to stay so well-remembered."
He spoke as calmly as ever, but something in his voice told Victoria that the line had been crossed.
"Yeah. So?" Gustavo said, smirk failing him.
Anton bent forwards and for the violinist, the world seemed to shrink into a very small corner. No-one in the orchestra was smiling now.
"So the rumours are nothing compared to the truth, Gustavo dearest. And the truth is nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you if you insult my wife again. Am I clear?"
Gustavo gulped. "Yeah…yes, I mean, uh – yes."
Anton perked back up as fast as a finger snap. "Good" he said cheerily. "Victoria?"
Victoria gladly took the invitation this time. Flinging Gustavo and his group a suitably filthy glare, she followed him back into the sewing room and to the window, the detective not even stopping to say goodbye to Héctor or Ceci.
Someone grabbed her shoulder and she turned to see the seamstress, a new and unexpected look of concern on her face.
"What happened?" she asked, sounding worried all of a sudden.
Victoria frowned and was immediately cut across.
"And don't say "nothing". When you've known Anton as long as I have, you can tell when something's up."
It made sense, Victoria supposed. If the facial expression never changed, you'd be forced to recognise emotion in the more subtle ways.
"Gustavo" she explained. "Talked out loud about some really personal stuff of his."
The name alone was enough of a trigger for Ceci to pinch her brow and sigh annoyedly. "That cabrón. I'll speak to him, don't worry. Whether he'll listen though, that's…another story."
The two of them stood there in a silence of mutual sympathy.
"Just…ay Dios, when did life suddenly become so complicated?" she added, speaking for the both of them. She fiddled with her glasses and Victoria caught herself staring. They were nice glasses, bold but not brash. They'd never suit Victoria, but they complimented the other woman's face perfectly.
Realising she was staring, she snapped out of it as she was handed a small slip of paper.
"A telephone number for the studio" Ceci explained. "Ring me if there's any problems with Anton."
"What am I, his babysitter?" Victoria huffed.
Ceci shrugged. "Let's be honest, it's not far from the truth, sí?"
She had her there, she had to admit. "…sí."
"He likes you, you know. Anton."
"In what way?" Victoria hesitantly asked. She'd always been guarded when something vaguely hinting at romance was involved, she'd never made clear her preferences in life and didn't plan on starting now, either.
Ceci's shrug did nothing to alleviate her concern.
"Who knows? But he's introduced you with fairly respectable terms and not insulted you once in the last fifteen minutes. When it comes to him, that's basically proposing marriage."
"I sincerely hope not."
Ceci chuckled. It was a pretty chuckle.
Dammit Victoria, get a grip!
"I think you should hurry up after him" she said, nodding towards the window. "He's making quite a bit of headway; his strop must be spurring him on."
Victoria pocketed the slip of paper in her apron, giving a slight smile before heading back to the emergency stairs.