Harry’s Adventure

Harry was working until late that night. It had been a clumped week for the aurors. He wanted to qualify it by finishing one of his biggest cases yet: the case of the missing burrito.

Once, it was 1895. Harry hadn’t been born yet. Well, actually, nobody he knew or was directly related to his birth were there at all. Hm, that’s not really true though. Nonetheless, it was the birth of an enveloped dish. Just like Felix Ramos y Duarte had described it, it was a rolled tortilla filled with meat or other ingredients. There we had it folks, our very first documented burrito. That wasn’t the one Harry was looking for though. No. This new one was much more elusive. Its elusiveness was such that no mere parochial mind could possibly comprehend it.

Our hero, our veracious and self-galvanizing hero, was sitting by himself. A cigarette peeled-off by the table; cookie crumbs scattered and spread all over; chair tilted back a bit, and eyes gazing off to nowhere. A true hard-mind at work, relentless, restless. He was trying to trace every little clue, every hint that was found up to the day of the reported missing meat envelope. It didn’t make any sense though, so he started drawing on the whiteboard… all of it, step-by-step, overanalyzing each detail. So, it shows:

• Carlos was sitting by himself, at his desk, filling some spreadsheets or looking at porn (no one knows, no one cares);
• The eye-witness, Julio, was over three desks away and eye sighted the sufferer, the mindless victim;
• There was not another soul with them;
• The light was dimmed down and they were off the clock, doing some extra hours for piled up work;
• Harry and the others were out partying like crazy, because our good-boy Harry had just solved another big case — everybody loved him so much;
• When Julio looks back, the burrito was gone;
• Carlos was asleep.

Those were the clues.

Nobody knew what could have possibly gone wrong there. Obviously somebody got into the office without them knowing, kidnapped the food and got away unnoticed, unannounced. The acrimony was in the air, bittering Harry’s thoughts, bringing his assertiveness to the floor. What could have been precluding the precinct for all this time? Three months and yet nothing of the Latin nutriment.

• Ok! — said Harry to nobody — enough is enough. I need to get to the bottom of this!

He got up from his chair, at 4 o’clock in the morning and started scouring the office for yet more clues.

• Who goes thereee? — said Juanitta, the cleaning lady — Harry, is that you?
• Ah? — Gasped Harry, without looking to see who it was — ya, Miss Juanitta, that’s Harry.
• What are you doing here this late, dear? — scoffing a bit, she indulged him in a one-sided dialogue.
• You know what I’m doing — Harry rolled his eyes — we’ve been through this.
• Ok dear, you go right… — muffled laughter — you go right ahead and find la Cena del Señor Carlos.

Persistent, so he went. He gave very little attention to our laconic cleaning lady’s tone. However, his endeavor didn’t last long this time, given how tired he was. Sleeping not that much, eating barely what was enough for him and also doing his regular auror job; it was a wonder our boy who survived was still alive at that point. Imagine being forty and not being restive from all of that. Many still considered that to be due to his fledgling mind, one that didn’t develop as much as it should considering all the trauma and subsequent attention life has given him. The poor kid, now middle-aged man, you might wonder: suffering? Extant. Egregious intended coworkers? You bet. Self awareness? He lost that the second time he died.

Harry thought about seeking help from one of his closer comrades, Ronaldo Weasley. Rumors say that Ronaldo has lost his mind. He’d become reclusive, demurred by his own ineptitudes. Others think he’s just pretending, playing the outcast role, because he (or anyone else) couldn’t live up to Harry, who was venerated beyond belief. Even though nowadays it was only by single Quidditch moms.

In a foolish attempt to become the iconoclast of his closest friend’s shitty reputation, Harry went to meet the unsolvable at his ice cream truck, which is where he lives nowadays. Basically homeless. Fitting for a Weasley.

His truck was all over to the other side of town, the bad side. There were no active aurors or cops close to that area, it was a no-man’s land. Harry had to go by car, because the laws in that part of town were shady and using magic could put him in danger. Several hours later, he finally got to his destination. Feeling winded from the fumes of his vehicle, he got out and saw in the nearest corner the edge of a colorful truck, most likely one that sells (or used to sell) ice cream.

Coming closer, the picture became clearer. Smudges of ice cream were spread, like a Jackson Pollock’s painting, as far as the eye could see, tracing from the truck to a round silhouette. This robust figure, sitting, sleeping, half-awake, rocking back and forth on his second hand wooden chair, was a man. Wife-beater with dark and yellow spots, a jacket rolled over to his side, jeans with no pant flaps for the ankles, because they wouldn’t reach that far. Slippers are very damaged, as if they could state a whole diatribe about the horrors they’ve witnessed over such a careless owner. There was nothing else that could be said that would be sadder than that vision, which at a glance could make the sanest mind lose itself to madness.

Despite all of that, when the creature eye-sights our hero, he turns his depressed, helpless expression into an acquiescent one. Years of adulating our hero, following him like a weasel left and right, almost willingly giving up on the love of his life for him, which wasn’t required, because if it was, she’d go; there he was, this half-breed of a breathing and shtting mechanism; this orchestra of nothing; ready to serve.

• Harr-ey…? — squinting his eyes to make sure he wasn’t going to make an effort for just some random bum — Haarr-eay! — recognizing his friend, he gets up, barely, and then limping over to his friend — what bringsh you to these parts??
• Ron! — gives him a firm hug — Ron! Fuck… how long has it been man?
• I dunno… it’sh been a while, that’sh for ssure! — a tear rolls down from his lazy-eye — here… sit! — he points to the floor — welcome to my humble abode!
• You’re very generous Ron, as always, thank you… thank you — sits on just literally anywhere his eyes could find, after all, his friend’s couch was the floor, so there seem to be endless possibilities.

After gasping for a bit whilst remembering how to breathe like a human, the creature is now more composed than it was in the very beginning. Maybe anything different than that would be impossible, but there we had it. Being chastised severely by life and now by the Sun, the son of poverty itself had just mustered the courage to address such a remarkable specimen, Harry.

• So… Harr-ey… what brings you heaar? — he asks again, maybe now with a little concern in his tone, belied by a layer of grease and musk.
• Oh buddy, maybe I could use another pair of eyes in a case I’m working on — Harry puts his hands back, with his elbows locked, supporting his back and stretching his legs forward, getting comfortable — could you help me?
• Uuuurhg — A small yet long grunt comes out of the creature’s mouth, not really saying anything. His eyes are gazing back to his better self. However intrepid, feeling a mercurial swing about to take him off his balance — I don’t undershtand… Why would… Would you need me for?
• Oh Ron, I can’t think straight. You know… — his eyes wander to the clouds, looking for words, or maybe answers — I am not the hotshot auror everyone thinks I am, you know? People give me easy cases, help me to solve them. The Captain thinks that if I do my job right and show results, it will inspire the others, so in reality I am not doing any work. Hell, a few busts that I’ve gotten weren’t even real! They were put there, paid actors and shit, just to act out my success. I tried to get a few palpable, difficult cases here and there, but I got upbraided by my superiors. This really enervates me, you know? — Back from the clouds and directly to the thing again — Do you know what I mean, Ron?
• Harr-ey… to speak the truth, no… I havv no idea whatcha mean… — frugally living his life, there was no way it could understand what the auror was complaining about — I’m not sure what I can do for ya…
• Could you help me with this one case? Just this one? I know I shouldn’t ask, but… I am hopeless! It’s the one actual real case I have been given and… I can’t really get anywhere with it.
• Harr-ey… if you can’t… what can I… — the creature looks for a quip, a grip, anything that he can grab, but nothing comes — it seems to me your place of work is just worried about venality, Harr… — he stops. Then, after a few seconds, he comes back to it — tell me about the case, whatta hell…
• Ok, it’s simple! Difficult, but simple. A burrito has gone missing.
• Ohh… ok… and?
• And that’s it.
• That’s all?
• Pretty much.
• Ok… — it thinks for five seconds — someone ate it.
• Ahm… No, Ron, I am being serious.
• Well, me too…
• How come that’s your answer then? Someone ate it… that’s preposterous!
• Harr-ey, tell me… is it a magical burrito? Is it the product of a profligate precinct corkiness? Is it of a prodigal nature? Is it special in any way, shape or form?
• No, Ron, it’s just a meat envelope with beans and other ingredients. It’s a burrito, you know? Nothing else to it.
• Well then… someone ate, Harr-ey. Pure and simple — he crosses his arms, feeling proud of himself, as if he’s been unerring all his life.
• But Ron!! We are talking about a place full of frugality! A place that admonishes, no, precludes any type of extravagance! We are parsimonious to the core, Ron, to the core!
• I am sure they are Harr-ey… — the creature’s predilection towards our hero usually has its judgment clouded, but something about the friend’s stupidity gave him the confidence to keep going against him, to intimate his opposition — but it seemsh to me that that’s all there is to it. Tell me… were there people close to the burrito?
• There was a sleeping man, Ron, sleeping! — with no time for being terse, Harry was repeating and elevating his words and tone, getting angry — the concoction of the facts go together with that of the meal, Ron! They are just not going together! Two men, one far away and another one sleeping, could not have done it! It’s foolishly auspicious of you to think that I haven’t gone over that about the case already! — trying to harangue his friend out of his resistance, he kept going — they are waiting, Ron! I can’t let them down.

Despite the fact that the ice cream loving creature was amenable, there was no way around it. He had finally realized the fraud of his fellowship. Once and for all, he rose up, even though in an ingenuous manner, and stated, loud and clear:

• They were lying to ya, Harr-ey!

And there we had it, the final blow.

Harry’s mind was spinning out of control. Emotions in an amalgam of feelings. Could the innocuous duo at the precinct have lied? Is that possible? If so, who else was involved? Was Juanitta in with them? Harry’s life was a lie, but this took a toll on his behalf. It was most likely the last straw.

Harry gets up, takes his jacket off, along with his badge and his cap and starts walking. Ronaldo, eagerly watching him, remained silent. Harry threw his things into the trash and started walking back. He sat down beside his friend, took an ice cream and started sucking.