SUSI BURNS

The midday sun beat down on Santo Domingo's Malecón, turning the asphalt into a shimmering mirror. Amid the bustle of street vendors and tourists seeking refuge under the palm trees, a figure seemed to float outside of time.

Susi Burns stepped off the bench with deliberate slowness. First, her feet appeared, pristine white shoes, touching the ground as if afraid of breaking it. Then the rest of her body followed suit, a controlled descent that defied gravity for a moment. Twenty-eight years old, wearing a white dress that clung to her curves like a second skin, a plunging neckline, a matching hat, and a red handbag that stood out like an open wound amidst so much chromatic purity.

She began to walk with her back to the Caribbean Sea, that intense blue that had witnessed centuries of stories. Her hands absentmindedly brushed against the vendors' wares: a silver crucifix, a rosary with beads worn smooth by prayer. When she smiled, her red-painted lips promised unconfessed sins.

That's when the shouting began.

"Hey, what are you doing?! Wait... no!" A man's voice was lost in the salty air. A mother in the growing crowd covered her eight-year-old son's eyes, but the boy, with the insatiable curiosity of his age, pryed one of his mother's fingers apart to peek at the spectacle.

"My God... how is this possible?" a woman murmured, bringing her hands to her mouth. "It's the apocalypse!"

What was happening on the pier defied human understanding. A group of men were throwing themselves into the sea, one after another, as if an invisible force were pulling them into the depths. Their bodies hit the water with heavy, muffled sounds. Some floated immediately. Others sank first, then surfaced like broken dolls.

"Someone stop them!" someone shouted from the shore. "I think they're going to die!" Are they committing suicide?

Three men still stood on the edge of the seawall. They stared at each other with empty eyes, then jumped. When their bodies hit the surface, something impossible happened: the blood that gushed from them wasn't red. One shed a purple liquid, another yellow, another a deep crimson. All those colors mingled against the blue of the Caribbean, painting a surreal picture that no one could forget.

From above, a crow watched. It circled in perfect loops, turned on its axis, and finally perched on the window of the nearest police station, where the events on the seawall were beginning to be recorded on bureaucratic forms.

The inside of the station smelled of stale coffee and old paper. The officer on duty, a white man in his forties, obese, with a thick mustache and visible nervousness in every movement, was taking notes on what the woman in the white dress was telling him.

“Let me see if I understand,” he said, running a sweaty hand across his forehead. “You had your pet in your bag when it suddenly escaped. And you’re scared because it’s dangerous.”

Susi didn’t answer right away. She let the silence do its work for her.

The crow tapped on the window several times. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The policeman jumped up, trying to shoo the bird away with clumsy movements of his hands. From the window, he could still see the frantic people on the pier, the bodies still being recovered, the chaos spreading like an oil slick. He ignored all of that and sat back down, focused only on the woman in front of him.

“Could you repeat your name, please?”

“Burns,” she said, each syllable falling like a drop of honey. “Susi Burns.”

The policeman looked at her silently, admiring the perfect geometry of her face, the way the light reflected in her blonde hair. “It’s hot, isn’t it?” Susi asked, leaning slightly forward.

“What?... Yes, of course. It’s hot. I think.”

“I think you’re a bad cop.” The man’s eyes involuntarily drifted down to the woman’s cleavage. When he realized what he was doing, he blushed.

“Yes, I am…” he murmured, almost without meaning to. “Excuse me, what do you need for me to help you?”

“For now, I just need this receipt for my report,” Susi said, sliding a piece of paper toward him. “And for this bad cop… my personal number.” She scribbled something on a napkin and handed it to him. The policeman swallowed hard. The bustle of the docks still filtered in through the open windows, but in that room, time seemed to have stopped.

“Thanks, Mom,” he managed to say, in a voice he didn’t recognize as his own.

Susi stood up from her chair. She looked at him one last time, with an intensity that made him shudder, and walked toward the front door. When he stepped outside, the policeman wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sighed deeply, and pulled a soda from his desk.

"Wow, what a day!" he exclaimed to no one in particular.

He took a long swig as he watched the crowd still gathered on the pier through the window.

"I think someone should call the police," he said.

The vehicle, a black sedan, pulled up in front of her. Susi opened the back door and sat behind the driver. In the rearview mirror, her eyes met his.

"Ready to go Downtown?" the driver asked.

Susi smiled. She didn't answer. The driver started the car.

The taxi traveled past several landmarks in Santo Domingo: the Colonial Zone with its cobblestone streets and colonial buildings, the National Palace with its imposing facade, the Museum of Dominican Man, the DIGECINE film studios, and finally the statue of Máximo Gómez on Veintisiete de Febrero Avenue. Susi rolled down the window slightly and looked up at the sky. Crows circled above the city, forming patterns only she could decipher.

The car parked in front of the entrance of a luxury hotel. The valet opened the gate. Susi Burns got out of the car, it drove off, and she entered the hotel through the main entrance.

The lobby was spacious and well-lit. To her right, a restaurant at the far end with carefully arranged tables. Straight ahead, a waiting room with contemporary furniture. To her left, the reception desk.

She walked toward the counter. The receptionist, a slim, smiling young Afro-Latina woman of about twenty-five, greeted her.

"Good afternoon! How can I help you?"

Susi handed her a black credit card, with no name visible, only an embossed number.

"How long will you be staying?"

Susi looked her straight in the eye.

"Indefinite."

The receptionist gave her an envelope with the electronic keys to her room and restaurant vouchers. At that moment, a tall young man of about twenty-eight, dressed in a bellboy uniform, approached.

"And your luggage, miss?"

Susi turned to face him. She looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on the name tag hanging from his chest.

“That’s a very good question… Wow…” she paused dramatically. “Fabricio.”

“Yes, where are your suitcases?”

“I haven’t decided on their destinations yet. But they’ll arrive.” She handed him the envelope with the keys and the vouchers, along with her credit card.

“However, dear Fabri, you can come with me and take my most personal belongings upstairs.” She handed him her red handbag, walked to his side, and headed for the elevator. Fabricio looked her up and down, then glanced around for the receptionist. She shrugged. He followed her to the elevator

Fabricio arrived with the handbag and the envelope. The elevator doors closed behind them. Susi stood in a corner, him beside her. The elevator went up to the eleventh floor.

When the doors opened, Susi got out first. Fabricio followed her down the eleventh-floor hallway. She looked to her right: at the end, the silhouette of a maid with her cleaning cart. She turned quickly and started walking toward room 1126, passing rooms 1124 and 1125. When she reached the door, Susi turned to Fabricio, took the envelope from him, removed the key, and unlocked the door.

"Thank you. Your services are no longer required at this time." Fabricio started walking away. A few steps later, Susi's voice stopped him.

"One more thing. Could you please return my credit card?" Fabricio stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh, yes, of course. Excuse me. I put it in my pocket so I wouldn't lose it."

"I didn't ask why." He handed her the card back, lowered his head, and tried to apologize. As he walked away, flustered, he bumped into the maid, Betty, a twenty-five-year-old Latina in a gray and white uniform.

"Watch where you're going, idiot!" Betty glared at him and frantically searched through her keys. Susi silently observed Fabricio's reaction.

"You can relax. What's wrong?"

"You don't understand, miss. Excuse me. Please step aside."

Firefighters arrived, followed by paramedics. Susi stepped aside. In room 1135, directly across from hers, the body of a young woman, small, white, pale, lay on the bed.

The firefighters placed their equipment by the door.

"Don't worry, Sam. It's another overdose. Nothing new."

Sam, the paramedic, a thirty-five-year-old redhead, entered the room and checked the victim's carotid pulse.

"It's not an overdose. Until proven otherwise."

"That's true," a voice said from the hallway.

Sam turned quickly.

"Excuse me, miss. This is a very sensitive scene.

"Don't worry." I'm used to death.

Sam closed the door to room 1135 in front of Susi and Betty; a white wolf guarded the corpse.

"We'd better leave," Betty suggested, uncomfortably.

"Why? This is my room. 1126, obviously." Susi pointed to the correct door. "By the way, what time does the restaurant close? All this drama has made me hungry."

"The restaurant closes at ten o'clock at night. You still have thr—"

Betty realized she was talking to herself. Susi was gone. The door to room 1126 was closed.

Later that night, Susi descended the lobby stairs, sensual in a silver dress with a plunging neckline and a matching purse. Fabricio watched her intently from the reception desk.

"You know you can use the elevator, right?" Susi glanced at him, smiled, and walked past. Her heels clicked on the marble floor. Fabricio stared at her from head to toe until Susi subtly turned and met his gaze. He tried to hide it, but Betty, at the lobby's grand opening, watched him with her arms crossed.

"He sighed," she said, shaking her head.

The hotel restaurant was dimly lit. Susi looked at the tables, the way the seats were arranged, and chose the one with a column behind her and the bar in front. A strategic position.

The waiter, a dark-haired man of about forty-five, approached with the menu.

"Good evening. What would you like to order?" Susi silently indicated a dish and a drink.

“Excellent choice. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”

“The moment I need you, I’ll be there.”

The waiter nodded politely and left. Later, he returned with a plate of smoked salmon with asparagus and a glass of red wine. Susi took the glass, swirled the wine, and watched the thick, translucent drops trickle down the rim.

“How did you know I like complex dishes?”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” the waiter replied, and left before she could ask what he meant.

As she ate slowly, Susi watched several men at the restaurant bar. As she cut the salmon, her mind began to wander. She imagined these men rising from their seats and walking naked toward her. Only their chests, abs, and buttocks were visible. Strong, elegant men, of all races.

She brought an asparagus spear to her mouth. A trickle of saliva escaped her lips. She caught it with her tongue and slowly rolled her eyes upward before returning to the present.

The naked men in her imagination began to melt away.

Susi glanced around. Several elegant men in the restaurant were watching her. A couple, an Asian woman and a Caribbean man with a mustache, were subtly glancing at her.

She paid the bill, got up from her table, walked past an elegant man sipping whiskey, reached the couple, took the Caribbean man's hand, kissed him passionately on the ear, and led him away.

The Asian woman's mouth fell open. Her food spilled.

"Who's paying for dinner?" she asked aloud.