Noud reluctantly dragged himself up to the sixth floor. He pressed his lips together to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally speak. In his current state, he was only capable of whining about the suffocating, urine-scented stairwell, or cursing about their destination.
“Carlos has switched to turbo mode,” Noud chuckled.
Whenever they needed to discuss something important, the two men would usually retreat to the kitchen, where the chances of being overheard were much lower.
The threats written to Viktoria fluttered around the residents like confetti.
“Who would write something so vile to you, Viktoria?” Pauline asked, horrified.
“I thought of María José, Ted, and you,” the German mother replied in an emotionless tone.
On that Sunday morning, the birds woke the residents of Calle la Rosa 22 with an unusually loud chorus of chirping. As if some strange, invisible hand had synchronized the internal alarms of the owners and tenants of the eight houses.
“So, what are we going to do about Ludmilla?” Noud asked.
“What do you mean?”
Noud put the lid on the pot and turned off the electric stove under the thick sauce. He slowly turned around and looked Bernard straight in the eye, sitting at the kitchen table.
For Viktoria, the biggest problem was that she had no idea who could have sent the message. More precisely, several people could have been behind those harsh words. Of course, she couldn’t tell Günter—he would have immediately made a huge fuss throughout the complex, hunting for the culprit.
That night—or rather, that dawn—three men were struggling to push Viktoria out of their thoughts. The German woman was dancing a vulgar little dance in the minds of Adrian, Rob, and Günter all at once. While the first two were aroused by the intrusive images, the latter was furious.
Like wildfire, the electric tension spread from one resident to another. It didn’t take long before everyone gravitated toward the plastic table that served as a makeshift bar, hoping to find some kind of remedy.
Carlos busied himself around the grill with a scowl on his face. There was nothing left to do—everything was ready, just waiting for the meat to hit the grate. Still, he had to keep himself occupied with some pointless activity.
"What’s with all the fuss, Pauline?"
"We’re saying goodbye to the year, for heaven’s sake," his wife snapped as she adjusted his tie to perfection.