The Biker 1

The school parking lot is in the basement of one of the buildings. It’s a particularly gloomy and lonely place. I’m usually the last to leave because I’m the principal. Today I stayed especially late because I’m finishing signing the grade lists; I sent my secretary home to rest an hour ago because I’d already taken up too much of her time.

I’m finishing my first year as the school principal. I feel proud that, at thirty years old, I managed to get a position like this, although I had to move to a coastal city to get the job.

After closing the office, I hear a noise in the hallway that leads from the principal’s office to the classrooms… there shouldn’t be anyone left on the premises, and I assume it must be the night watchman.

“Javier?” I ask loudly, my voice carrying the authority of the man in charge of the institution. “Javier!” I insist, but the watchman doesn’t answer.

I make sure the office door is locked. I don’t want the lists stolen; you never know how creative students can be. It’s a private school in a small coastal town devoted almost entirely to tourism.

Among my students are the children of wealthy hotel owners, the children of their employees, and some humble boys whose parents make enormous efforts to send them to a private school.

Among them there are very noble boys and also sons of bitches, and any one of them might want to break into the office to steal a list out of desperation. The school walls are low, and it’s easy for someone to sneak inside. The school can barely afford payroll, so there’s only one camera at the main entrance. “I’m going to buy a camera for my office with my own money,” I think as I go down the stairs of the central building and then pass through a narrow hallway to take a half-hidden staircase that leads to the basement. During the day, the entrance to that staircase remains closed, but once the students have left, we leave it open so we can get down to the cars without bothering Javier, the watchman.

I hear the sound of my footsteps through the damp garage with its cement floor as I walk toward my car, parked in the middle of the lot.

I press the lock button, and my car turns on its lights, and I hear the doors unlock.

When I’m close to the car, I see the silhouette of a tall, sturdy man step out from behind it. My blood runs cold, and I freeze. He’s a robust man, his body covered in a biker suit, with a helmet hiding his face.

He rushes toward me at full speed. “What’s going on?! Who are you?” I ask him, trembling with fear, barely paying attention to what I’m saying.

I try to run, but I slip on the damp floor and fall face-first. Barely an instant later, the man grabs me by the arms and lifts me with great strength. “What do you want?!” I ask, howling in a kind of plea.

The man puts me face-down against the hood of my car and presses my...