Lonely Stories by Xavier St John (best management books of all time .txt) 📕

a slice of bacon.
"I used to have more, but I lost my ration card and the black market is expensive."
The woman was unresponsive, staring at the concrete floor as she sat on Arlo's bed. His apartment was small; it was a concrete rectangle, 10 metres wide and about 12 metres across. His bed was pushed up against the wall, exactly opposite to the door, and a cabinet ran all the way along the wall, behind his pillow. On the cabinet, a pressure cooker, hob and kettle lived, and the rest was covered with pieces of paper and acrylic paints. Running along the opposite wall to the cabinet was a washing line, filled with paintings haphazardly swinging all the way along it. A small, low coffee table was placed in the centre of the floor, with a yellow plastic chair beside it. The kettle whistled and Arlo poured the steaming water into two mugs filled with instant coffee, stirring it with a spoon as he walked over to the woman and offered her one. Looking up, she wiped her face and faintly smiled, taking the coffee as the bacon sizzled and popped. Swearing as he ran back to the hob, Arlo switched off the gas before slicing the bacon off the pan, as it had welded itself to the bottom, with a slightly rusted spatula. He added the fried egg to the plate and returned to the woman, handing her the small meal. Arlo grabbed an open box of Coco Pops, pulled the plastic chair to the bed and sat facing the woman, munching cereal before pursing his lips and speaking.
"So... My name is Arlo, Arlo Perez. What's your name?"
The woman, struggling to cut the burnt bacon, looked up at him.
"My name is Valentina Rodriguez," she said with a strong, south American accent.
"I live a few houses down."
Arlo nodded.
"What happened?" he asked carefully. Valentina stopped eating, put down her cutlery and met his gaze, with tears welling in her eyes.
"My Johana... She's gone."

Arlo paced the room as Valentina stood beside the washing line of paintings.
"And you say she's always come back before?" Arlo ventured.
Valentina nodded vigorously, her hands shaking slightly as she gripped them behind her back.
"She's always home before sunrise, and I looked at the beach. I couldn't see anything." Valentina moved closer as Arlo circulated around the door.
"Sir, please help me. I've heard about you. Find her like you found those boys. Please." Valentina's eyes pleaded with Arlo as he shook his head.
"I only found them by luck, all I wanted to do was paint the cave. I didn't know they were in there," he said, an air of sympathy and reluctance clinging to his words. Valentina slumped back against the far wall, head in her hands as she began crying again. Arlo's pacing stopped and he rushed over to Valentina. His hand on her shoulder, he said asked slowly:
"Which beach?"

Arlo's car was an ancient red Chevrolet, a miracle on wheels. One of the perks of living in a government-controlled state - old, beautiful cars all round. It crunched into life as Arlo shifted it into gear and accelerated out of his front yard, onto the road. After 5 minutes, they were there. The beach, Playa de las Hermanitas, was long and sandy, the ocean lapping at the shore as wave upon wave crashed down. The road followed parallel to the sea, still about 300m from the watee itself, but nothing separated the roadside from the sand. The tide was out, and the shoreline stretched on for about 200 metres in either direction until it was cut off by cliffs. Arlo stepped out of the car, which he had parked at the roadside, and onto tarmac. Hopping out of the passenger side, Valentina's feet immediately hit the sand.
"Where did you park when you looked?" Arlo asked, his eyes digesting the landscape. Valentina pointed to the left.
"About 100 metres from that cliff, on the sand. It's where she likes to lie, the cliff helps block some of the light pollution. Why?"
"Just good to know everything," Arlo murmured.
Trudging off towards the right, the two scanned the beach. Nothing at all was out of the ordinary. A few footprints here and there, but that was normal - the local Cubans were known for frequenting the beaches for early morning swims. Valentina was gradually growing more exasperated with the search.
"Johana! JOHANA!" she yelled.
Arlo ignored her, carefully combing the last few metres of sand. Valentina, still shouting, met him with a look of despair. As they walked back towards the car, Arlo suddenly stopped before striding forwards, faster than before. Valentina hurriedly jogged after him.
"Sir! What is it?" she asked, slightly out of breath. Arlo continued his stride, speaking without turning to her.
"I think I may know where the tracks are."
Valentina's eyes widened and she ran alongside him as Arlo walked towards the cliffs.

"This is where you parked?" Arlo asked. Valentina gasped as she looked down.
"Y-yes. How?" On the sand, the outline of Valentina's tyre tracks outlined the mass of footprints on the sand, nucleated in a small patch.
"Luck. You accidentally parked on the evidence, which is why you couldn't see it." Valentina knelt down and traced the footprints with her fingers.
"Where do they go? They had to leave somehow, but I can't see any more footprints."
Arlo pointed at the tyre tracks and grinned.
"Valentina, your car does not have 8 wheels, no?" The tyre tracks, although very close together, were not one but two sets of individual tracks. Arlo grinned as he began following the tracks away from the shoreline.

The two tracks diverged about 50m from the main road. Valentina pointed at hers, which drove off the main road in a straight line onto the beach. The other set drifted off to the right, almost parallel with the road but slightly angled so they would eventually meet it. Jogging alongside Valentina, Arlo's mind whirred as he followed the track. Arlo swore at the ground and stopped running. The track had suddenly ended, joining the road and leaving no further mark - after all, tyre's don't sink into tarmac. Breathing heavily, he rested his hands on his knees as he bent over and his eyes flitted around. On his left, the road was normal for Cuba - potholed, very wide and covered in a grey tarmac. Past the road, a small souvenir shop was just opening up, it's owner a wizened old man with a cane who was struggling with the corrugated shutter. On his right, a large bush was growing with a large palm tree sprouting from the shrubbery. Coconuts littered the floor, creating a mosaic of green, brown and blue within the bush. Valentina patrolled the roadside, sniffing around for anything that could help but her search was ultimately fruitless. Arlo stood to full height, turned to help her - and stopped. He swiveled on the spot, looking at the bush again. Blue?

Arlo braced himself, and dived into the bush. Valentina, hearing the snapping of branches and rustling of leaves, turned to see the painter wading through the foliage, scrabbling at the floor.
"What is it? Have you seen something?" she shouted. Arlo replied, but his response was muffled by the bush between him and Valentina. The bush shook violently, and his head appeared from the undergrowth.
"Found it," he said triumphantly, clutching a blue journal.

Sitting in the Chevrolet, under Arlo's instruction Valentina slipped the wooly gloves on before carefully turning the journal over in her hands.
"It's definitely Johana's. It's got all her notes in it."
She shut the book and motioned it towards Arlo, who took the journal with his index and thumb, holding it in the corner.
"We should dust it - that's what they do in the movies." said Arlo.
Valentina nodded, and Arlo put the car into gear. The red fossil sputtered away, throwing black smoke behind them as the two sped back to Arlo's.

After shutting the front door, Arlo immediately began rifling through his cupboards. From what Valentina could see, they were mainly bare - the odd tin of beans here, a box of Cheerios there. Muttering under his breath, Arlo opened the cupboard above the pressure cooker and sighed with relief. A proud grin across his face, he darted over to Valentina clutching a box of corn starch. She looked at him quizzically as he slammed it down onto the coffee table and wandered over to the washing line, his hands waving in the air as he tried to place where an item hid in his messy room. Arlo's eyes lit up as he was struck by an idea, and he knelt down, scouring the bottom of the washing line. Rising again brandishing a small paintbrush, he smiled as he made his way back to Valentina. Handing her the brush, he opened the Corn Starch and poured it all over the front cover of the journal. Valentina immediately understood. After a few minutes of brushing the corn starch until it was a fine layer, a large, definite fingerprint was visible. Arlo whooped as he ran to the counter, grabbed a roll of sellotape and stuck it to the print. Then, after isolating the print he stuck the powdery tape to a long roll of black paper he had been saving for a rainy day.
"There they are, plain as day," he said. Valentina grinned, grabbing the paper and staring at the whorls and arches in powder. Arlo quickly snatched the roll from her, poured a small amount of corn starch onto where she was gripping it and began brushing.
"Hey! What was that for?" Valentina said indignantly.
"Checking for cross-contamination on the book..." Arlo mumbled as he stuck a layer of sellotape across Valentina's fingerprint. The two prints were obviously very different. Valentina's was in a rarer pure whorl formation, spiralling around a central point, whereas the other print was much more arched. Valentina stared at Arlo. There was a long pause.
"Aren't you going to do yours?" She asked. Arlo sighed, muttering about careful contact and gloves before ramming his finger angrily against the page and dusting it.
"Oh..." he said, flushing red. It was an exact match. Valentina turned and grabbed Arlo by the collar.
"What have you done with her! Pig! Give her back to me!" she screamed at him. Panic written across his face, Arlo stammered at her.
"It-it wasn't me! I g-grabbed it when I got it from the bush, I wasn't w-w-wearing gloves! I swear, I will find her!" Valentina pushed him away and released his collar, fuming silently. She turned to him.
"You better find her quickly."

Arlo sat in his yellow chair as he examined the pages of the book. It was a diary, each page dedicated to a single day and the whole book spanning a few months. Valentina sat on Arlo's bed silently, her emotions slowly lowering as the painter read through Johana's journal. Each page was not filled with idle notes about the day - they were instead bursting with constellation diagrams, logs about the planets and notes on the stars. Turning to today's date, Arlo was met with a worrying lack of writing and drawing. Besides a single note about Gemini, there were two ringed numbers - '28' and '14a'. Nothing more.
"Valentina," Arlo called out.
Rising from the bed, Valentina walked over to join Arlo by the coffee table.
"Do these numbers mean anything to you?" Valentina stared at the numbers, searching for some kind of meaning, but found nothing.
"Maybe they mean something to Johana. I can show you her room if that might help."

Valentina unlocked her front door and Arlo stepped into