Agnes. Agnes is in Tokyo. She lives there with one of my former incarnations. I ask Tony if that means I'm Japanese. He tells me no, that I'm a fucking Englishman. He says it with absolute disdain—almost visceral nausea. Like the English were decomposing organic trash, full of maggots, baking under a blistering sun at the height of summer. Apparently, Tony says, my other self was in Japan pretending to be an artist. Claimed to be a film director. Said he was writing a movie for Hollywood, set in Japan. That got him a lot of aspiring Japanese actresses to sleep with. And also, to kill.
I picture myself as an Englishman. And I'm not going to lie—saying I don't find the English as revolting as the Germans would be just that: a lie. I hate those bastards who play nice while barging into every corner of the world without asking. It disgusts me to the core to think that I was ever trapped in the flesh of a human born with such a vile mark: being English. I hate the English as much as I hate the Germans. And of course, I also hate the French. Those fuckers are filth too—but the runny kind. The kind that squirts from the filthy ass of some poor bastard dying of dysentery in a tropical jungle, in the most putrid corner of the planet. And don't even get me started on the Yanks. If I go there, I'll spend the rest of my eternal nights just insulting the United States. Fuck Uncle Sam and his star-spangled asshole. But anyway, enough of that. Let's not get sidetracked. I was an Englishman. I lived in Tokyo. And then Agnes found me and turned me. And according to Tony, my English self—just like what happened to me before Du la Font gave me a second chance—also fell into one of those classic vampire depressions. The kind that eats you from the inside out, makes you question your existence, even if you have an entire eternity ahead of you to fix the wreck you're stuck in. Like being trapped in a room with no doors, no windows, no air. Sealed in. No way out. Forever. Fuck me.
Tony says:
"The version of you in Tokyo is, besides a sad little fool, a coward. I mean no offense, my friend, but that Englishman—your other self—has less backbone than a child caught in a bombing raid. He's like a gutless dog, lying flat on the ground at the first sign of danger, hiding his noble parts between his legs. I suppose you're such a little fairy because you're English. Yes. That must be it. Makes sense."
I tell Tony he can stay in the city—for now. That I'll let him know if I decide to let him stay longer in Portuondo. Tony gives me a mocking little smile. One of those smiles that says everything without saying a word. Like he's thinking: "My brothers and I are going to stay here as long as we fucking please. There's nothing you can do about it. And if you try, I'll go back to Tokyo and tell Agnes—your crazy vampire bitch—that a future version of her golden pup is right here, in Portuondo, in 1958." And so, I think about Agnes. Yeah. That vampire bitch is crazier than Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard. Although hey—let's be fair here—I won't deny that lunatic whore wears her madness well with that look she's got. A look that's a thousand times sexier than Jessica Rabbit.
When the Germans leave, I start thinking. What would happen if the Agnes from this time found out I was her creation from the future? I think. I think some more. And I still have no fucking clue. I can't make sense of it. I don't know how this Agnes would react. Would she play dumb and let it slide? Would she go to the future and tell the future Agnes that her pup is loose in 1958? Would she sneak off to meet the version of herself that's now with Du la Font? (Though I suppose "now" isn't the right word, since I'm in the past and… oh, screw it, you get what I mean.) And if she does go and tells that other Agnes, and Du la Font—maybe already tired of her—lets her off the leash so she can come for me? Then I start thinking again. If Tokyo-Agnes speaks to future-Agnes, when the hell would that happen? Because that Japanese version of her could jump to the future at the exact moment Du la Font took me to Hell. (Not to throw me in. But—much to my surprise—to pull Irene out of her eternal damnation.) And if that's the case, then the moment Du la Font and I vanished... boom. Agnes could've jumped in time and showed up right now, right here. Of course, for that to happen, Tony would've had to snitch in Tokyo. And for that not to happen—for Agnes not to show up right now—I have to let Tony and his brothers stay in Portuondo. Even if I hate it. Even if it makes my blood boil. And then I think: How the hell would Tokyo-Agnes even know the exact point in time to jump to? How could she know that Du la Font was going to send me to Hell, and that she had to appear the second we disappeared? I think: To hell with all of this. I don't even know how the fuck to conjugate verbs anymore. Past, present, cursed future—I've lost track. Thinking about this crap is going to make my brain explode.
I decide to let Tony and his brothers stay in Portuondo. Let them stay until I figure out how to kill them without staining my fangs. No risks. No injuries. On the contrary—absolutely victorious. Completely untouched.
Tony and his brothers settle in the neighborhood next to mine. San Bartolo. Rich people. Mostly social democrats. That Tony's a sly bastard. He knows what he's doing. The blood of those wealthy social democrats isn't bad at all. Finger-licking good. I've drunk a lot of them, and let me tell you—bocatto di cardinale.
A couple of months go by. Everything runs as usual. Nothing worth mentioning. And for a moment, I even start to think Tony is a man of his word. Until suddenly, I find out that bastard and his brothers have opened a vampire joint. A nightclub right in the center of the city, in the bohemian, touristy neighborhood of El Campanillo. And the worst part: that son of a bitch didn't even ask for my permission. I go straight to that German turd in his fucking club.
Cojones! I can't deny this place has its charm. It's gloomy, yeah—but with style. Refined decay. Seductive darkness. There are vampires everywhere. A live orchestra is playing, dressed like it's a Berlin cabaret during the Weimar Republic. And every bloodsucker I pass gives me a respectful nod. Still respectful. But I know that can change. It can change if Tony starts winning them over. If he keeps doing whatever the fuck he wants without saying a word to me. Tonight, he's the king of this club—Der Nachtruf (a name I actually like, despite it being German). And tomorrow night? He's the king of the fucking city. I won't allow it. I'll kill him. I swear. Him, his brothers, and anyone who dares become one of his lackeys. And how could they not fall under his spell? He gives them everything: fun, music, blood. Because of course, this place isn't just crawling with vampires. There are humans, too. Men and women—some of the finest in the city. Fresh meat. Living dinners for these motherfuckers I should rip the hearts out of, one by one.
I walk toward the main office. Before I reach the door, one of Tony's brothers intercepts me. Very brave, that one. Cocky, too. I grab him by the neck without a second thought and hurl him down the hall. His body crashes through the office door like it's made of paper. Shatters it into a thousand pieces. And I go in right after, ready to finish the job. I'm just about to kill him. The rage is boiling in my veins. But then Tony stops me. Not by touching me, of course. He stops me with words. Sweet words. Friendly.
"But look who's come to visit! Zico, my vampire partner. How great to have you here. What do you think of our business?"
"Our?" I say, hiding my confusion.
"Of course, compadre. You didn't think I'd open a club in this city without making you part of it, did you? Come on, you don't really think I've forgotten who runs this place, right?"
"Why the fuck didn't you wait for my approval?"
"Because I wanted it to be a surprise."
"A surprise? You think I'm an idiot, you piece of shit?"
"Hey, Zico, my friend," says Tony, raising his hands calmly. "There's no need for insults. I'm sorry if I offended you. That was never my intention."
The brother I threw through the door is no longer alone. Now the other two are in the office as well. There they are: the whole family.
Tony says:
"This club is mine. But even more so—it's yours, Zico. You're the one with real power here, and the vampires who come to have fun know it. They know Der Nachtruf exists thanks to you. Because you allowed my brothers and me to stay in this city. And thanks to that, we got the idea to open this marvelous place. A true temple of pleasure for our kind."
I look at him with sharp eyes. I look at him for what he truly is: my enemy. Tony continues:
"And don't worry. If you want, you can come here anytime to claim the finest blood in Portuondo. In fact, step out right now and take whichever human specimens you like. They're yours. Come on, Zico. You're the one in charge here."
Tony smiles. I leave without saying goodbye. Not a single word. And then his voice chases me down the hallway:
"Come back anytime, Zico! You're the one in charge! You're the prince of Portuondo!"
I walk toward the exit, unable to stop thinking about the exact moment when I'll reduce this place to rubble. To dust. To nothing. As I move, the orchestra plays a version of Mack the Knife. Dirty. Sensual. The perfect song for a perfect night of betrayal. This place has charm. I won't deny it.