Short story - Alfonso

Alfonso was a serious man. Every morning, he made sure his clothes were perfect: clean and neatly ironed, with a well-defined crease in his trousers. He had several suits, but his favorites were the gray ones. He usually paired them with black or brown ties. Occasionally, very occasionally, he felt bolder and wore ties with polka dots or subtle patterns.

Alfonso was an important man, and he knew it. Despite his short stature, it was impossible to mistake him for a child. His thick eyebrows and pronounced nose betrayed his age. These, combined with his confident gait, made it immediately clear to anyone seeing him that they were in the presence of someone significant.

In his office stood a massive desk that contrasted with his height.

He was surrounded by books, many of them law books and reports, as Alfonso was a lawyer. On the desk were several miniature ships, building them being his way of taking a break from the words and numbers he dealt with daily. Among the ships, there was a photo of his eldest son with his newborn grandson and another of his wife—his second wife. To Alfonso, family was important, and he wanted anyone entering his office to realize this immediately.

“Celia,” he called out loudly. “Please cancel my afternoon meetings. I have a headache, and I need to finish this report for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mr. Alfonso. Should I bring you a glass of water?”

Alfonso accepted the water and closed the door separating him from Celia, his secretary. While drinking, he opened the third drawer of his desk and pulled out some folders. He checked the back of the drawer carefully. He needed to make sure "it" was still there. Someone knocked on the door, and Alfonso quickly shut the drawer.

“All done, Mr. Alfonso. Your meetings have been rescheduled for next Tuesday, except for the 5 p.m. one, which is now on Thursday,” said Celia from behind the door.

Alfonso sighed. He really needed to finish that report, which had been sitting there for weeks, but "it" wouldn't let him concentrate. “Everything for the family,” he thought. “This is the best thing for my family and those to come.” He stood and looked out the window. A group of students was singing, protesting about something—they were always protesting about something. In his youth, Alfonso had protested too, but back then, he thought, people fought for important causes, unlike the youth of today.

He sat back down, opened the drawer again, and checked that "it" was still there. The proximity of Graciela made him nervous; she might discover what he had hidden. Celia was a responsible woman, the best of her class, recommended by the secretarial school itself. Her work was meticulous and efficient; he hadn’t yet found a single typo. For that very reason, Alfonso knew he could never trust her.

He drank his water and glanced out the window. The students were gone. Of course, they wouldn't have achieved anything but wasting time and would now be comfortably at home, Alfonso thought.

Nightfall was approaching, and Alfonso struggled to make progress on the report without much success. He told Celia to go home; there was nothing more to be done, and it was late. However, he did ask her to buy him some dinner and leave it at the reception desk so he wouldn’t have to go out when he got hungry. He walked to the door and locked it.

He looked at the report. He looked at the drawer. He couldn’t stop looking at the drawer. He checked the time.

“They’re close,” he said aloud, startling himself by hearing his own voice.

He got up to look out the window—it seemed like that day all he could manage was getting up to look out the window. It was already dark. A man with a food cart was slowly crossing the street, and someone was standing on the corner, waiting.

Alfonso heard a whistle and distant footsteps outside the door. He hurriedly opened the drawer. Carefully, he took out "it," the object he’d kept hidden all week in his desk. The footsteps grew louder. Cautiously, he unwrapped the package in his hands and waited. The footsteps were no longer audible—they were right outside the door. Someone laughed.

“Come on, Alfonso! We don’t have all day!” one of them shouted.

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” said another.

Alfonso looked at his desk, the photos of his family, his ships, his books, the cursed report. It was likely that all of that would end now.

“If you’re not coming out, at least hand us the bomb,” said the first voice.

Alfonso glanced at the photos again. Then at the bomb in his ha