He reached the cashier's desk. The woman behind the counter shot him a look of pure disgust as soon as she saw Jose.
"Here's your bill, sir. Please pay as soon as possible. Otherwise, we won't be able to help your parents," she said coldly, typing on her computer without even glancing at him again.
The bill was covered in zeroes. For someone like Jose, it looked like a mountain he could never climb.
"Ma'am, can I pay a little later?" Jose's voice cracked.
"No. The owner made it very clear. Either you pay or vacate the room," she replied bluntly, eyes still glued to her screen.
"Ma'am, please...… I just need a little time. Please," Jose's eyes welled up with tears, but he quickly wiped them away.
"Hnnnnn..… fine. Bring twenty percent of the bill by tomorrow. Then we can give you a two-day extension," she said, shuffling through her papers.
The sun was setting. A warm orange hue filled the road as Jose stood in front of a house. He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and stared at it for a long time.
The door creaked open. In the hallway, two people sat drinking wine.
"Oh, Jose. Is it collection time already? You're early this month," the man said, swirling his glass. "We're a bit busy. Come back later."
"Uncle, please…... I need some money now. I have to pay twenty percent of the total by tomorrow," Jose said, folding his hands together.
"So what? We've got to buy expensive wine too. That takes money," his aunt said, taking another sip.
"Aunt, please…... if I don't pay, they'll stop the treatment," Jose said, kneeling down.
"Why should we care? You think we earn money for them? We've already helped you three, four...maybe twenty times. We're not your personal ATM. Get a job and pay for their treatment yourself," she said, putting her glass down.
Jose clenched his fists tighter. His breath grew shallow. He bit down hard, refusing to look her in the eyes.
"No job pays enough for me to cover this. Not with my current situation. Please, Aunt...… I'm begging you…..." His voice broke as tears welled up again.
"Damn you and those crocodile tears," she snapped, standing up and heading to her room.
His uncle just sat there, sipping wine as if nothing had happened. A few moments later, his aunt returned with a cheque.
"Here. You know what would be even better? Ask the doctors to give your parents a painless death. They're nothing but a burden now," she said, tossing the cheque at him.
"Thanks…... Aunt. Uncle," Jose muttered. He picked up the cheque and slowly turned to leave.
Outside, he pulled out Francisco's card and looked up at the sky.
It was Saturday.
6 PM.
A person in a hoodie, white sneakers, and cargo pants walked through the night market in Miragia, near the Douro River.
He turned into a narrow alleyway. Flickering lights buzzed overhead. Cats and dogs dug through the garbage. As he stepped deeper into the shadows, two figures in black hoodies kept a watchful eye on him.
Jose dialed Francisco's number.
Before the call connected, a hand gripped his shoulder from behind.
"Ahhh!" Jose jumped forward in alarm.
"Relax. It's us," Angelo said, pulling down his hood. Francisco followed right after.
"Good. Now follow us," Francisco said, taking the lead.
They walked through winding, narrow streets. Jose began to grow restless.
"Where are we going?" he asked, voice tense with unease.
"To our source," Angelo replied without turning around.
"Is he selling out in the open?" Jose asked, stopping in his tracks.
"Yes and no. The cops are watching him constantly," Francisco said, halting.
"What? Then why the hell are we dealing with him?" Jose stepped back, two paces.
"You'll understand soon enough. Just trust us," Francisco said, continuing forward.
They arrived at a toy shop swarming with kids. Laughter echoed. Parents haggled. To an outsider, it was just another evening in Rua das Sombras.
But Vero wasn't an outsider.
Across the street, he stood with a cigarette burning low, watching Francisco and Angelo step inside.....just like they did every month, without fail.
For eight months, he'd monitored them.
Eight months.
No proof.
No arrests.
No leaks.
The shopkeeper—Mendez—was too clean. Not a single raid had found anything. Not even with solid intel.
Someone was feeding him information.
And every cop who got too close?
They vanished.
There was a mole in the force.
He was sure of it.
Every time the case gained traction, people disappeared. First, the detectives. Then the informants.
Now, only he was left.
Vero hadn't volunteered for this assignment.
He was just the only one still breathing.
When Costa....one of the few he still trusted...offered to back him up, he didn't argue.
"You're gonna get yourself killed," Costa said months ago.
"Then at least someone will know why," Vero had replied.
Tonight, something changed.
A new face.
Vero's eyes narrowed at the nervous, fidgeting kid standing between Francisco and Angelo.
A rookie. First time.
Costa leaned against a post nearby, watching Vero watch them.
"Something wrong?" Costa asked, exhaling smoke.
Vero nodded toward Jose. "He doesn't fit."
Costa barely glanced. "Relax, man. It's a toy shop."
But Costa always downplayed things.
Vero didn't respond.
When Jose's turn came, he entered the shop with Francisco and Angelo.
The shopkeeper had long hair and tattoos covering his arms. Two henchmen stood nearby...one fat, the other lean and muscular.
"So, what do you want?" the shopkeeper asked Jose.
"Uhh....…" Jose looked between Francisco and the man, unsure.
"We'll take two soccer balls," Angelo stepped in smoothly.
"Hey, Bruno! Bring out two soccer balls," the shopkeeper called out.
Jose leaned toward them, confused. "Why two?"
"Just watch. Meet us tomorrow, 9 AM, at Quinta do Covelo," Francisco said.
They left with the soccer balls—Francisco carrying both.
Vero didn't let them go this time.
He reached into his jacket, pulled out his phone, and snapped a photo of Jose.
If I'm right, this kid is my way in.
And if I'm wrong….....
Then I'll at least know if he disappears too.