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It was the month of June and the weather was beautiful. Alejandro left school; I was on vacation, but I was not happy.

I didn't have a motorcycle. Alejandro was 17 years old. He had finished school, but had not started working.

All his friends started working immediately, but Alejandro didn't want to work.

I wanted a long vacation and needed a motorcycle. Alexander lived in Leeds, a large city in the north of England. Leeds is a city full of offices,

shops and factories; It is not a good place for a vacation. Martin, a friend of Alejandro, worked in a workshop. Martin had a motorcycle for sale; It was a beauty: a Japanese Suzuki.

Martin wanted 350 pounds for the bike, but Alejandro didn't have 350 pounds; I didn't have money. Alejandro went to look at the motorcycle every day. She was a beauty; I wanted to buy it.

"Where can I find 350 pounds?" Alejandro wondered. Alejandro left the workshop and walked back to his house.

His house was on Blenham Street, near the university. There were many old, empty houses on Blenham Street.

The university was one of the largest in England. He often bought land and buildings;

most of the old houses in Blenham Street belonged to the university. Some of these houses had been empty for years.

Alejandro used to look for things in them; sometimes I found old books and gramophone records. One day, he said to himself, "I'm going to find something valuable."

There was a large house on the corner of Blenham Street. Its owner, a rich old woman, had died a few days earlier.

The university bought the house immediately, and now the house was empty. There were wooden boards on the front door and the windows were broken.

Someone looked through a window. He was a man of about 20 years old; She had long hair and wore a ribbon on her head.

It seemed strange; He was a squatter. The squatters live in old, empty houses and do not pay rent. The stranger greeted Alexander;

I wanted to talk to him. "What do you want?" Alejandro asked himself. "Hello!" "Hello. Do you want to help me?" "Alright."

"Watch this house." "For how long?" "Half an hour." "Okay. I'm Alejandro." "My name is Frank. I'm going to go get my things. Are you going to occupy this house, Frank?"

"Yes. Don't let anyone else in. I'll be back soon." "Okay, see you." Frank walked slowly down the street. His head was bent forward and he was looking at the ground.

He was about 20 years old, but he looked much older. Frank turned the corner, and Alejandro turned toward the house. It seemed interesting.

The window was low, quite close to the ground. The street was empty.

Alejandro swung his leg over the window sill and looked inside. Outside, the sun was shining brightly; inside the house,

It was dark. Alejandro stayed still for a few moments and waited. Slowly, the inside of the room became clearer.

There was a calendar on the wall and many old newspapers lying on the floor. There was a mattress against the back wall;

It looked new. Alejandro looked up and down the street; there was no one. He quickly entered the room.

Alejandro walked to the center of the room and kicked the old newspapers. There was nothing beneath them.

There was no carpet, and the floorboards were covered in dust. Alejandro took down the calendar from the wall; It was old, from five years ago. No one had changed it in five years.

Then Alejandro remembered the owner of the house. The old woman had been ill for a long time; He hadn't gotten out of bed in five years.

The mattress was leaning against the back wall. Alejandro approached and looked at him carefully; It was a good mattress.

Alejandro lifted the mattress and carefully turned it over. There were some stitches along one side, about 10cm long.

Alejandro held the mattress between his knees and pulled out a small knife. He cut the stitches carefully and then reached into the hole.

He felt a bundle of newspapers and took it out. He quickly unwrapped it. Inside the packet of newspapers, there were some bills. Suddenly, Alejandro heard a voice. It was Frank.

"Hey, Alejandro, where are you?" Frank shouted. Alejandro quickly wrapped the money in the newspapers and held the package behind his back.

"I'm here, Frank," he shouted. Frank walked to the window and looked into the room. "What are you doing in there?" Frank asked.

"Nothing," Alexander replied. "I'm looking." Frank entered the room and approached Alejandro.

Alejandro moved towards the wall, holding the bundle of newspapers behind his back.

Frank looked around the room; He didn't see Alejandro's knife on the ground. "You haven't caught anything, have you?" Frank asked. "I haven't taken anything of yours," Alejandro replied.

"You've moved this mattress," Frank said. Frank lifted the mattress and carefully turned it over. Then he saw the hole in the side. "You cut up this mattress. It was sewn up.

Is this knife yours?" "Yes." "What were you doing?" "Nothing." "Did you find something?" "No." "What is that in your hand?" "Where?" "Behind your back." "Nothing." "You have something."

"Some old newspapers." "Give them to me. They're mine." Alejandro remembered the motorcycle; I needed the money. I was going to keep it.

It was his money, not Frank's. Frank held Alejandro's knife in his hand; He approached Alexander.

"Give me those newspapers," he repeated. An idea occurred to Alejandro. "There's something else on the mattress," he told Frank. "There was something under the newspapers. It's still there."

Frank looked at Alejandro for a few moments. At first, he didn't believe him. "Look and see," said Alexander. Frank put the knife on the ground.

He lifted the mattress and reached into the hole. Alejandro didn't wait a second; He turned around and jumped out the window onto the street. He ran quickly; There was a turn to the right.

Alejandro turned the corner. He heard a scream behind him; It was Frank. Around the corner, there was another old, empty house.

It had a large garden on one side; thick bushes had grown all over the garden. Alejandro jumped over the wall, ran a few meters and then hid under some bushes.

Alejandro heard more screams and footsteps. The footsteps got closer and closer; then they stopped. Alejandro waited in silence, without breathing. Then the footsteps began again.

Alejandro laughed silently to himself. Frank had quickly picked up Alejandro's knife and jumped out the window after him.

Frank saw Alejandro running around the corner, so he followed him and turned the corner, but the street was empty.

Frank stopped for a few moments and looked around. He noticed the old garden. "Maybe it's there," Frank thought.

But everything in the garden was silent and Frank saw nothing. There was another corner further down the street.

Frank began to run again; He still held Alejandro's knife. Alejandro was happy. He had escaped from Frank with the money.

Alejandro sat under the bushes and unfolded the newspapers. The bills were tightly wrapped together. Alejandro undid them and counted them carefully.

"10, 20, 30... 320, 325." Alejandro had found £325, and Martin wanted £350 for his motorbike. It was cool in the garden, and Alejandro lay down under the bushes.

"I'll wait here for half an hour," Alejandro thought, "then I'll go to Martin." It was almost 12:00. The day was getting much hotter.

A police car was parked on a side street. There were two policemen in the car: the sergeant, a fat man with a round face, was half asleep,

and the other policeman was younger and taller,
an agent. Suddenly the agent sat up; I had seen something strange. "Wake up, Sergeant," he shouted. "Look over there!"

"Where? What?" the sergeant asked, still half asleep. "There! Someone is running with a knife," the officer responded. "The man has gone mad; it is this heat."

"Quickly, go out and get him," said the sergeant. The two police officers jumped out of the car. Frank saw the police officers. He threw Alejandro's knife and started running.

The officer soon caught up to him and grabbed his arm. The sergeant found the knife in the tall grass.

The officer led Frank toward the police car. The sergeant approached them, holding the knife. "Oh, it's you," the sergeant said to Frank. "What's going on, Frank?"

"Estoy buscando a un tipo con un cuchillo." "¿Qué tipo?" "Él me robó el dinero." "¿Qué dinero? ¿Cuánto dinero?" "No lo sé... mucho." "¿No lo sabes? ¿De dónde lo sacaste?"

"En una casa vieja." "Vamos, sube al coche." "¿A dónde me llevan?" preguntó Frank. "A la comisaría", respondió el agente. "¡Pero no he hecho nada! El dinero era mío; ese tipo se lo llevó."

"¿Cómo se llama?" "Alejandro. Alejandro se lo llevó." "¿Quién es Alejandro?" preguntó el agente. "Lo conocí en una casa vieja", respondió Frank. "¿Donde encontraste el dinero?"

preguntó el sargento. "Sí, lo encontré dentro de un colchón", dijo Frank. "¿Quién tiene el dinero ahora?" preguntó el sargento. "Ese tipo Alejandro, se escapó con él."

"Entonces ahora tenemos que encontrar a Alejandro", dijo el agente. Alejandro esperó en el jardín durante media hora. Hacía cada vez más calor; casi eran las 12:00.

"Tengo que moverme ahora", pensó Alejandro. "Martin se va a almorzar a las doce y media." Alejandro miró cuidadosamente desde los arbustos. El jardín estaba vacío.

Salió rápidamente del jardín hacia la calle y caminó hacia el taller de Martin. Alejandro no vio el coche de policía; se detuvo fuera del jardín unos momentos después.

"Revisen este jardín", le dijo Frank a los policías. "Quizás esté escondido aquí." "Hola, Martin." "Hola, St." "¿Cuánto por la moto?" "£350." "La quiero. ¿Cuánto para mí?" "Aún £350."

"¿Tienes dinero?" "Sí." "¿Cuánto?" "£300." "No, eso no es suficiente." "¿£325?" "Está bien, es tuya." "¡Genial! Gracias." Los policías salieron del coche, y Frank también.

El agente lo sujetaba firmemente del brazo. El sargento entró en el jardín, miró por un rato y luego regresó sosteniendo un paquete de periódicos.

"No hay nadie ahí", dijo el sargento, "pero encontré estos periódicos viejos." "¡Esos son!" gritó Frank. "¡Algo estaba envuelto en esos periódicos!"

Justo entonces, una moto se acercó al coche de policía.
"¡Es él!" gritó Frank emocionado. "¡Es el tipo! ¡Compró una moto con mi dinero!" "¡Detente!" le gritó el sargento a Alejandro.

Alejandro no vio a Frank. "¿Qué quiere la policía?" se preguntó Alejandro. "No he hecho nada malo; estoy conduciendo correctamente."

Alejandro detuvo la moto al lado de la carretera y se quitó el casco. "¿Es tuya esa moto?" le preguntó el sargento. "Sí, es mía", respondió Alejandro. "La compré en el taller de aquí abajo."

Entonces Alejandro vio a Frank. "¿Qué les has contado a estos policías?" le gritó Alejandro enojado a Frank.

"Vamos todos al taller", dijo el sargento. Todos caminaron de regreso al taller de Martin. Una gran nube negra cubrió el sol, y empezó a llover.

"Entonces, este muchacho te pagó £325 por esta moto?" le dijo el sargento a Martin. Martin asintió. "¿Y de dónde sacaste este dinero?" le preguntó el sargento a Alejandro.

"Lo encontré", respondió Alejandro. "Lo encontré en un colchón. Estaba en una casa vacía." El sargento tomó el dinero de Martin. "Nosotros cuidaremos de este dinero", dijo.

"Ustedes dos pueden irse ahora." "¡Es mi dinero!" gritó Frank. "¿Quieres venir con nosotros a la comisaría?" preguntó el agente.

Frank se alejó, aún gritando. "Lo siento", dijo Martin a Alejandro. "Es mi moto de nuevo." "No por mucho tiempo", respondió Alejandro. "¿Qué quieres decir?" preguntó el sargento.

"Ahora ha empezado a llover", respondió Alejandro. "No quiero unas vacaciones. Voy a conseguir un trabajo. Voy a ahorrar otras £325 y comprar esa moto."