Cecilia managed to talk her parents into allowing her to go with us to the chocolate and rum bar to watch the concert livestream that night. Honestly, they didn’t put up much of a fight, so she got her way easily. I think they recognized that she was leaving the world of children behind as she grew into womanhood, so it was time to treat her like a young adult and not a kid.
Following Mamá and Cecilia, Rafael and I talked in low voices about Night Children stuff. He told me that a number of people he knows had commented on the appearance of some really black tourists they’d seen. Rafael said that all he’d heard from his acquaintances was curiosity, and thought that was a good sign.
I asked him if he’d heard anything about Emiliano Suárez, and he admitted that his contact hadn’t gotten back to him yet.
“It’s probably nothing, but…” I said with a shrug. “He’s probably just a successful businessman who’s used to attention from the ladies.”
“You said he knew who you are,” Rafael countered.
“A lot of people recognize me,” I replied. “I’ve been on the cover of a lot of tabloid magazines and things like that, so it’s not uncommon.”
“Perhaps,” Rafael admitted, sounding skeptical.
The house band was playing when we arrived at the rum bar and the place was mostly full. I spotted Maggie and Jody sitting at a table with a Colombian couple I didn’t recognize. Maggie was wearing a white cotton summer dress, which really made her charcoal-black skin seem even darker. Jody had on one of the ubiquitous short-sleeve button-up shirts that half the men in town seemed to be wearing. I was pleased to see that they’d opted for clothes that fit in with the local scene and seemed like any other couple enjoying the evening. I gave Jody a nod, but apart from that we didn’t interact.
Michael was waiting for us at an otherwise empty table, waving when we entered. Once we sat down I introduced him to Mamá and Cecilia.
“I like this music,” Michael said after we’d gotten our drink orders in. “It suits this region. Very tropical.”
Rafael, proud as ever of his city’s culture, explained that Cartagena was a place where many different groups came together and fashioned their own interpretations of traditional forms. Afro-Caribbean influences mixed with Andean and Spanish, producing what we were listening to now.
Cecilia caught my glance and rolled her eyes in dismay at her dad’s long-winded exposition, appalled by her parents in the way of teenagers everywhere.
During a break, Ignacio and Raymundo came over to our table. They had clearly taken note of Maggie and Michael, but it was me (by way of Rafael) that they wanted to talk to.
“Our boss said that we’re going to get paid for the full night, even though we are only going to play until eleven,” Rafael translated for Ignacio.
“Yes, I’ll even pay you a bit extra,” I told him. “But you have to stay and watch the video of the concert. If you leave early, no pay.”
“Why?”
“I want you to see sixty-five thousand people cheering for Emmy. I want you to see a woman who shows her true face and the world sees it,” I explained. “This is important.”
When the two guys returned to the bandstand, Cecilia tugged on my arm to get my attention.
“Who are those men?” she asked.
“They are Night Children like Emmy or Michael here. They’re just covering it up with makeup.”
“En serio?”
Rafael leaned in and spoke to Cecilia in Spanish, too quietly and quickly for me to follow. When he was done, she leaned back and crossed her arms, frowning as she looked around at the bar’s patrons, presumably wondering who else might be covering up.
A few minutes before eleven the bar’s owner took to the stage and explained that the club had a special presentation. As he spoke the band cleared out their instruments and a couple of guys pulled down a large screen where the musicians’ backdrop had been.
The HD projector got turned on and within moments the expectant crowd at Mexico City’s Foro Sol concert stadium filled the screen.
Rafael quietly translated as the bar owner explained that the rock star Emmy De Lascaux had been in Cartagena, and in fact, came into this very bar and enjoyed local rums and chocolates, and of course, the music. He said that he’d talked with her and found her to be a truly wonderful person, and so he thought it would be a special thing to show the livestream of her concert in his bar in her honor.
Of course it was half bullshit, but that was fine. It was believable and helped make a connection with Cartagena, and that was what mattered. A few bar patrons didn’t seem to appreciate the change in the night’s entertainment, but nobody actually got up and left.
Wondering what they were going to see, everybody hushed when the stadium’s lights dimmed and the spotlights focused on Emmy walking out onto the stage, carrying her acoustic guitar. She took a seat on a stool and settled the guitar on her lap, taking her time and letting the suspense build. Finally satisfied, she looked out over the capacity crowd and smiled, still not saying a word.
Looking down at the guitar, she strummed a soft chord, then as it faded away, looked up and right into the camera. With a gentle smile, she returned her gaze to the instrument in her lap and began to pluck out a hauntingly familiar melody. I knew by The Downfall’s self-imposed rules it had to be an original improvisation, but it sounded like so many of the classical Spanish guitar pieces I’d heard her play over the years that I could have sworn I’d heard it many times before.
Those sixty-five thousand Mexican fans listened intently, as did everyone in the packed bar there in Cartagena. Aside from the music and the muted noise of the traffic outside, nobody made a sound as we all watched Emmy’s fingers fly over the frets, pouring out music that expressed emotions without words. After a couple of minutes solo, Jackson joined Emmy, but he did something different than I’d ever seen before- he pulled out a bow and played his upright bass like a giant cello, giving the guitar a deep, soulful accompaniment. Lee joined soon after, but at the keyboard instead of his usual drums. His piano line danced around Emmy’s guitar melody, sometimes mirroring it, sometimes playing in counterpoint.
The video crew did an excellent job of mixing in shots of the rapturous audience, silently holding up their phones, making the darkened stadium look like a see of pale stars.
The three members of The Downfall played like that for a little while, the music gradually picking up speed and energy until, at some signal I couldn’t detect, Lee let his piano line fade away, stepping away from the keyboard and taking up his seat behind the drums. Emmy was next to stop, leaving Jackson playing his bass alone, with what almost sounded like a voice singing, deep and sonorous.
When he drew out his last note the stadium erupted in noise, the fans having been completely silent up until that moment. With a little shock of surprise, I realized that the bar had been just as quiet. The patrons, the servers, and especially the house band musicians were all completely focused on the giant screen.
Emmy strolled to the front of the stage, her old turquoise Thunderbird low on her hip. Silently, she looked out over the capacity audience, waiting until the cheering and applause stopped. Anxiously anticipating what Emmy might say or do, everybody seemed to be holding their breath.
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Emmy looked out again, scanned the crowd once more, and then stepped to the microphone to speak.
But she didn’t say anything. Instead, she screamed that hair-raising screech to start ‘Killer In The Dark’, making everyone absolutely jump out of their skin- me included. Somebody dropped a glass there in the bar, prompting some nervous laughter as we all understood why it had happened.
Emmy tore into the famous opening guitar riff, completely shredding the mellow mood the concert intro had set up. It took me a moment to realize that Emmy was singing in Spanish, making me wonder if she’d sung it that way at the Bogotá show and I just hadn’t noticed.
Once the initial shock wore off, the bar returned to its normal activity, with servers serving, people conversing, and more than a few silently singing along when The Downfall played a tune they knew.
I signaled to Rafael, and he followed me to the table with the house band musicians. Through Rafael’s interpreting, I asked Ignacio what he thought of the concert. He replied that she was a true talent, and although the music wasn’t his style, he could appreciate the band’s ability.
“Look at that crowd,” I told him as the camera crew panned over the audience. “Sixty-five thousand day walkers, all to see her.”
I could see this had an effect on both Ignacio and Raymundo, who were lost in thought.
Standing up, I signaled to the waiter and told him that I’d buy a round of the good stuff for everybody at the table, and he was happy to take their orders. I clapped Ignacio on the shoulder and he smiled.
We stayed until the concert finished and I settled up with the bar’s owner, thanking him for agreeing to the deal. I had Rafael tell him that I was in the industry and that if he ever were to consider selling, I might want to buy the bar from him. I saw him looking thoughtfully at my business card as we left.
Michael went with Jody and Maggie to find some other night spot, while I strolled back to the Castro home with my in-laws.
“Emmy is the best guitarrista in the whole world!” Cecilia said as we walked through the light but warm rain. “She is incredible!”
“I think so,” I agreed.
“And her voz! She can sing anything!”
Mamá and Papá smiled affectionately at their younger daughter, so filled with enthusiasm and energy. Honestly, I found myself smiling, too. I could see a lot of what I loved about Angela in her little sister- the same joy for life, and of course, the same way they wore their emotions on their sleeves.
I said goodbye at their door, then walked the two blocks back to my hotel. I still thought my rationale for staying at the hotel was valid, but next time I’d definitely accept the in-laws’ hospitality and stay with them.
The next day I ran into Mr Interesting after my midday swim. He was at the pool bar as usual, but this time he had a stunningly beautiful woman about my age with him.
“Leah Farmer,” he said, waving me over as I made my way to the bar to order lunch. “Come sit with us. I’d like you to meet my daughter Katrina. Katrina, this is the woman I was telling you about,” he said to the brunette, as if I hadn’t just been swimming for an hour right in front of them.
I hesitated for a moment, but then sat down and waved the waiter over. I figured that if Emiliano really was just a Very Interesting Man, why not be friendly? After all, he was a great conversationalist and had made no attempt to get in my pants. He’d also taken the hint gracefully when I told him to buzz off, too. If, on the other hand, he was a CIA asset, then maybe talking to him would lead me to understanding why he’d shown interest in me.
I supposed there was a third possibility- he was a spy, but wasn’t assigned to find out more about me. Just friendly. Hey, it could happen, right?
“Katrina is a student at the University Of Miami,” Emiliano said. “She’s studying international business.”
“Following in your father’s footsteps?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she admitted with a dazzling smile. “As embarrassing as it is to say it, I’m definitely nepo baby material at his company. I’ll get a good gig right out of school.”
Chuckling at her candor, I told her that having a head start is a great way to win a race.
“I know, right?” she agreed.
I wound up sitting there with the two of them for well over two hours, talking about this or that. I did my best to discern if Emiliano or Katrina were steering the conversation in any way, but if they were it was too well done for me to detect. Mostly we talked about college in Miami, and how that’s where the family actually lived. Emiliano had moved everybody there back when Colombia was a whole lot less safe, and now Katrina’s oldest brother just had a baby, making it two generations born in the US.
Neither Emiliano or Katrina asked any probing questions beyond, “Seriously, Stanford? What was that like?”
Eventually I excused myself, saying that I had to make some business calls.
“We should go out tonight!” Katrina suggested. “Hit some clubs or something!”
I made some noncommittal noises, thanked Emiliano for lunch, and went back to my room to give Hayate in Japan a call. He’d texted several times over the last hour, letting me know that Mrs Tanaka and her granddaughter would be willing to join me wherever I was, and to travel with me as needed.
He answered his phone immediately, proving that he was very motivated for everything to work out. I asked him if he and his father were still living without the makeup and he said that they were, and both had gotten used to the stares they received.
“It gets easier with time,” I assured him.
“It is already becoming more easy,” he agreed. “A few others are also trying it now, too.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” I told him. “Anything I can do to help…”
“That is why Mrs Tanaka is traveling to see you,” he admitted. “Our council has some… ideas, some plans they wish to discuss with you.”
“Perfect,” I told him. When I said that I was in Cartagena, Colombia, he seemed quite surprised, but ran with it. While we spoke on the phone I could hear his keyboard clacking as he looked up flights. Going back and forth, I told him to break it up a bit since thirty hours’ travel time was a bit too much for an old lady like her. We finally settled on a flight with an overnight in Los Angeles and travel on to Colombia the next day. I assured him that although I wasn’t in Los Angeles, my people would take care of everything there. I’d also take care of any further travel arrangements, including their return to Japan when the time came. I told him to text me the flight details when it was locked in, and to make sure the ladies understood that I wouldn’t be there in LA, but I would meet them at the airport here in Colombia.
Mrs Tanaka, whom I’d already started to think of as the shinobi’s ambassador, would arrive in Colombia in five days. That gave me plenty of time to make any necessary arrangements, and was near the time I hoped to be able to leave Colombia for the UK.
The unexpected discovery of Cartagena’s large Night Children community had thrown a giant monkey wrench into my scheduling- I’d planned to be back in Los Angeles the same day Emmy and Angela got home, but now it looked as if they might beat me by weeks at the rate things were going.
I missed the two very much, but I’d been so busy that I didn’t think about it all that often- usually just when I found myself alone in that hotel’s big bed. Thinking about how Emmy and Angela would be home in a few days but it might be a few more weeks for me made me, well, not exactly homesick, but definitely wishing I was with the two of them.
Now, though, I was going to have to somehow impress the shinobi delegate with what was going on here in Colombia and then in London, which really wasn’t Night Children business at all. Back in Los Angeles I could take them to see any number of local Night Children at their jobs, but by then first impressions would already have been cemented in place.
I was thinking about the shinobi when Katrina called my name as I passed through the hotel lobby on my way to meet with Michael, Jody and Ricky.
“Hey, Leah!” she called out. “Where are you going? Care for some company? It’s really boring here, just hanging around the hotel while Dad works.”
“I’ve got some business to take care of,” I told her. “Boring stuff of my own.”
“Ugh,” she said, dropping down into one of the chairs there in the entryway. Getting a hopeful look on her face, she asked, “Later, then? Dad doesn’t want me going out by myself. He says Cartagena is safe, but still…”
I sighed, but gave in. “Yeah, sure, we can go out this evening. Things don’t really start happening until after eleven, though. Maybe be ready at ten?”
“Awesome! Thanks a lot!” she said, all perfect-teeth smile.
“I’ll meet you here then,” I confirmed and headed out. Flagging down a taxi, I pondered Katrina and her possible intentions.
The cab driver seemed very surprised when I told him where I wanted to go. In his very broken English he tried to convince me that I must have had the address wrong, but I assured him that I understood it was well outside the tourist zone and that I really did want a ride there. He then said that, as a single woman, it was not safe for me, but I told him I was meeting friends and that I’d be O.K.
Sighing as if to communicate that he did his best to help me out but he couldn’t fix stupid, he put the cab in gear and off we went, leaving the old walled city behind. Soon we were deep in a poor, but not too desperately poor, neighborhood. The main street we drove down had ramshackle auto repair places, bodegas, questionable pharmacies and the like by way of businesses, but no abandoned buildings or anything. There were a lot of people on the busy street, but most looked as if they had something to do, which meant jobs and homes to go to.
When the cab stopped in front of a corner restaurant, the driver asked me if this was really the place. I checked my texts and told him this was, in fact, where I was going to meet my friends. Sighing again, the taxi driver took my money and wished me safe travels before he turned around and headed back to where people had money for cab rides.
Looking around, I didn’t get any sense of danger from the neighborhood. Sure, it was Third World, but not ‘scrap wood huts’ poor. It looked a lot like some of the parts of Tijuana that you see from the highway but have no real reason to ever wander into. Poor on a level we just don’t see in the US, but honestly, these people had permanent, reasonably well-built homes and weren’t starving or dying of cholera or whatever, so it wasn’t that bad.
Jody stepped outside the moment I got out of the cab. “We’re all here,” he said, leading me back inside the restaurant.