Heavy tears fall from Beba’s eyes; she shows more anger than sorrow, the pain having crystallized over the years, become deeper, more and more compressed and bitter. Lascano knows that feeling all too well, that sensation of having nothing to live for, that screen falling in front of your eyes that makes the world, even the breath you’re about to take, appear meaningless, and he can’t help wondering: what sustains this woman, how does she maintain her sanity, what can she hope for from life? Lascano realizes that only by asking the right question will he hear the answer that’s struggling to find its way out of her soul and into the light.
You’re absolutely right, Beba. Please forgive me. Don’t ask me to forgive you. I’ve got nothing to forgive you for. How can I help you, Beba? You want to help me? Yes, I do. You really want to help me? Yes, I really want to help you. Estefania was six months pregnant when they took her. I know her child was born and that it’s a boy. How do you know? Someone called me. They told me they saw her at a detention centre in Martinez, that she was taken to a hospital to give birth. Then they brought her back and a month later they took the boy and transferred her. Don’t look at me like that, I know what it means to transfer someone.
Lascano looks at her and remains silent. The cries Beba holds back cast a shadow where the screams from the torture chambers echo.
You can’t imagine what it’s like to live day in and day out, night after night knowing that the monsters who tortured and killed my daughter are the same ones who live with my grandson, feed him, raise him… There’s nothing any human being could have done to deserve that. Just thinking about it makes my blood boil, Lascano, it makes me want to make them suffer as I have, but then I think, I don’t deserve to end up being like them. I try not to think, try not to drive myself mad. The only thing keeping me alive is the hope of finding my grandson. Do you understand me? I understand. Okay. Well… Nothing. There’s nothing to say. Now I want you to go. I want to cry and I want to be alone to cry.
20
The Duchess got in touch with Gelser and told him she needed to see Miranda. Miranda was so eager to see her he arrived an hour early for the appointment Gelser set up.
Perro walks the six blocks from the Napolitanos’ house to the main street. At the corner, Topolino Pizzeria is bathed in an aquamarine light. He stops for a minute to contemplate the scene on this suburban street corner, a scene that looks like it was lifted right out of Buenos Aires en Camiseta, Cale’s satirical comic book about the city’s frazzled denizens. The restaurant is packed with families, a swarm of children who think the world exists for their amusement, and who are constantly on the verge of knocking over glasses and creating other kinds of havoc. All the tables are full, and the counter as well. The people ordering pizzas or slices to go hover around the cash register, agitated and impatient. The waiters, carrying trays laden with bottles, glasses, carafes of cheap house wine and sodas manoeuvre around and through the crowds and the tables in a prodigious balancing act that acrobats of the Moscow State Circus would admire. Then he sees him: his hair has been dyed yellow, he’s grown a moustache and he’s wearing fake prescription eyeglasses, but it’s him. Dandy didn’t lie. Mole is sitting at a table smack in the middle of the room, and he’s alone. Lascano takes one step back and watches him from behind the window just as the waiter brings him a large half-cheese-halffugazza pizza and a bottle of Quilmes beer. He slips into the restaurant behind Mole and sneaks over to the public phone booth. The phone is broken. He goes to the cash register and asks to borrow the phone. He dials the number of the switchboard.
This is Superintendent Lascano… Connect me to the Haedo station… Give me the number then… Who’s in charge there?… Thanks, kid…
He hangs up, mumbling a curse. If at all possible, he’d rather avoid talking to Roberti. He tries to remember the name of the cadet he met at shooting practice, but his name seems to have vanished from his memory. The kid, who had only a few months left before graduating, had impressed him as being very serious. He seemed to take being a policeman very much to heart, and Lascano couldn’t help worrying about him, about how disappointed he’d be once he fully entered that world. He’d seen it too many times: these kids enter the academy full of ideals and end up turning into hopeless scum. That particular kid had sought him out several times to ask for advice about problems that had come up in the department, and Lascano had given it freely, being careful not to shatter his illusions but, at the same time, not shielding him from reality. He thought the kid should know that he wasn’t joining a kindergarten, and that the police force was riddled with danger zones. The last time Lascano saw him, he told him he’d been assigned as a clerk in the Haedo station. But what the hell was his name? He gives up trying to remember and dials the number. The moment someone picks up the phone, the name pops into his head. He speaks, his eyes never straying from Mole.
May I please speak to Maldonado… How’re you doing, kid? Lascano here… Remember me?… It’s been a long time… Listen, I need a favour, tonight… but I don’t want anybody at the station to find out, especially not Roberti… You up for it?… Listen, I have located a very dangerous suspect, and I want to arrest him… It’s a public place and I think I’ll be able to do it without problems… What I need is for you to come and give me some backup and keep him under lock and key until tomorrow… How soon can you be here?… At the pizzeria on Gaona and Las Flores… You can’t make it sooner?… That’s fine. I’ll figure out how to keep him here… You have a car?… Bring it… Okay, be quick.
Miranda is eating his pizza with his hands, placing one slice of mozzarella face down on another of fugazza. Perro eats it the same way. He takes his gun out of his belt and puts it in the pocket of his overcoat, without relaxing his grip. He waits. Down the narrow aisle that leads to Miranda’s table a fat woman is dragging a kicking-and-screaming six-year-old piglet to the bathroom; you’d think she was leading him to the slaughterhouse. When the way is clear, he covers the distance in three long strides and sits down in front of his prey. He takes the gun out of his pocket under the table and points it straight at him. Mole has frozen, his sandwich poised halfway to his mouth.
Steady as she goes, Mole. We don’t want to kick up a fuss. I’ve got one pointing at you under the table and there are three more surrounding you. Did you really have to ruin my dinner? Couldn’t you have waited for me at the door? Keep your hands still. Don’t worry, I know when the game’s up, I’m not about to do anything. But can I finish my pizza? Go right ahead. You want some? No, thank you. You don’t mind if I take the knife away from you, do you? No problem, anyway I eat with my hands. Are you armed? I’m never armed, Lascano, you know that. The three guards your gang shot the other night wouldn’t agree. What three guards? The armoured car in Villa Adelina. I have no idea what you’re talking about. The armoured car you attacked the other night, don’t play dumb. I had nothing to do with that. Oh, really? Just so you know what’s what, there are three dead bodies who’ll point their fingers straight at you. In Chorizo’s zone, right? I think so. Now I get it. What? They’re framing me. You know very well my gang got scattered after the last job. Dandy’s in jail, and they must be putting the screws on him, but good. The others are probably trying to find a dung heap to hide in. And Bangs? Bit the dust, hit by a car while he was running away. Fucking shit. At least he didn’t have a family. And you? Managed to disappear till now. Yeah, with a cool million. Really, you don’t say. But I’m sure we can come to some kind of understanding. You know me, Mole, no understandings. You hand over the dough to me, I return it to the bank and I put in a good word for you with the judge. You must think I’m some kind of idiot, Lascano. What’s in it for you? Money. And me, what am I offering you? Dirty money. If the banker gives it to me, it’s clean. Yeah, as clean as the urinal at Retiro station. I’ll give you double. Don’t waste your breath, Mole, there’s not a chance in a million. Well, too bad, then, ’cause I’ll need every penny of it for my family and to pay the lawyers, especially if Chorizo wants to lay those corpses on me. Damn right, I’m going to need a whole shitload of the stuff.