The minute he enters the building, he sees that it’s been redecorated. Its previous atmosphere of a postmodern barracks has made way for the aesthetics of an expensive hair salon. The security people, the sheriffs who used to guard the entryway, have metamorphosed into young men wearing blue suits, with refined manners and eternally damp hair. The turnstiles have disappeared. The bank’s impressive emblem has been replaced by the image of a sun shining on an ear of wheat wrapped in a banner on which is written “ Banco del Pueblo ”, The People’s Bank. Lascano heads straight for the elevators, gets into one with a group of boludos — some things haven’t changed — and hits the “five” button. When he gets to the fifth floor, he sees there’s nothing there. It’s empty, the walls stripped bare. Two workers are gathering up their tools.
Hi. Good afternoon. Didn’t a bank used to have its offices here? Don’t know, could be, we’ve been clearing everything out because tomorrow another company is moving in. Who hired you? Tepes, the architect. Where can I find him? We’re also waiting for him, it’s payday.
The elevator opens and a short, stocky and irritable-looking man appears, wetting his fingers as he counts out a thick wad of banknotes. He sees Lascano, stops counting and stares at him. He looks him up and down and immediately understands that he’s a cop. He wonders what he wants. Just to be safe, he asks him to wait a second. He pays the workers and dismisses them.
Are you Tepes, the architect? I’m not an architect, superintendent. I’m not a superintendent. So we’re in the same boat. Might as well be. Might as well be. How can I help you? Look, I’m trying to find the people from the bank that used to have its offices here. You’re out of luck. Why? Don’t you read the newspapers? It was taken over by the government; seems they were involved in a lot of monkey business. Then word spread that the bank was about to go under and all the customers made a rush to get their money out. Then what happened? The directors grabbed the dough that was left and took off. You don’t say. That’s why I always keep my money in cash; you can’t even trust the banks in this country.
26
Through the telephone earpiece, Pereyra’s secretary’s sharp voice informs him that the prosecutor wants to see him right away. The edge in her voice puts him on guard. A few minutes later he is at the door of the courthouse. The line for the elevator is too long and he doesn’t want to wait. He climbs up the wide, empty staircase. But on the third flight, which is the first floor, he feels like his heart is about to explode. He sits down to catch his breath. Once he has recovered, he walks across the corridor and presses the elevator button. When it arrives, two very young female lawyers get out, seemingly indifferent to the effect their splendid bodies have on the men that crowd the elevator. On his way down the narrow corridor to the prosecutor’s office, Lascano doesn’t realize how much he hates this building because at that moment he hates the world, himself, everything. He feels sick, tired and disgusted.
We’ve got big problems, Lascano. Tell me something I don’t already know. I can’t seem to get out from under, but you, what do you have to worry about? That this guy is on the loose, for one. What guy? Miranda, who else could I be talking about? A bank robber implicated in the murder of three people has gone scot free, and all because you detained him illegally… Miranda didn’t kill anybody. That’s not what people around here are saying. I know, but he had nothing to do with the armoured vehicle job. How do you know? Because he told me. And you believe him? I believe him. It was a botched job, the robbers were interrupted by a patrol car that just happened to be driving by, and they took off. The cops took the opportunity to keep the cash. All you have to do is figure out if it was the robbers or the cops who killed the guards. When you’ve got Chorizo in the mix, anything’s possible. Who’s Chorizo? A super from the Bonaerense precinct, the one who framed Miranda. Mole isn’t a killer, he’s a first-rate thief, an intellectual criminal. Doesn’t matter, intellectual or not, I want him in jail. What do you suggest we do about it? We? I’m not planning on doing anything; the truth is, I’m sick of all of it, Miranda is your problem now. What do you mean? There’s something I’ve got to do to try to fix my life, just a little, now that I’ve finally realized I can’t change the world. Can I help you? No, it’s something I’ve got to do alone, but I can help you with Miranda. How? If you want to nab Mole, tail his son. Miranda is a family man. Sooner or later the son will lead you to the father. Thanks for the tip, I was starting to think you were in this with him. If you want to know the truth, I’m not telling you this to further the pursuit of justice. Oh no? It’s just that I’d rather you get to him before someone like Flores does, someone who’d be capable of doing just about anything to get some money, do you understand? What are you going to do? I need to find someone who left the country, so I’m going to leave. I can get you back on the force, Lascano. You know what, Marcelo, if I did get reinstated, I’d last less time than a fart in a wicker basket. Why? The one who was protecting me was Jorge Turcheli. The chief who died right after he took over? He didn’t die, they killed him. The newspapers all said it was a heart attack. Don’t believe everything you read. What happened? The Apostles and Turcheli were vying for the job or, rather, there was a struggle between two different ways of seeing the Federal Police as a business opportunity. I don’t understand. The Apostles are a group of young officers in bed with cops who deal drugs. And? Turcheli didn’t like that; he always said that drugs always come with a lot of violence, and that those narcos don’t have any respect for anybody. Turcheli beat them out of the job, so they killed him in his office and made it look like a heart attack. I wouldn’t be surprised if the ones who did it had the blessing of some very important politicians. Now the head of the Apostles is sitting in his chair. I have no intention of hanging around to squabble with guys like that…
27
Horacio opens the small door under the grill and sees with satisfaction that the wood fire is burning heartily. Normally he doesn’t begin preparing the grill until an hour later, but today is not a normal day. With the money Valli gave him for the job, he’ll be able to pay off the last two instalments on the stainless steel grill he had put in two months ago. Outside, a storm is blowing, whistling down the chimney and pushing smoke in his face. This will be the first time he leaves the kid who helps him in charge of the grill. He’s been watching him work the last few days, and he trusts he can manage on his own, especially if not a lot of customers show up. He gives him some final instructions, then leaves him to do his job. He drags a bench over to the four-door freezer, reaches up and takes down the package that contains the Ruger he bought from One-Eyed Giardina. He says goodbye and leaves, gets into The Panther, stuffs the package under the seat, drives down the ramp, merges onto the motorway and continues toward Buenos Aires.
It’s around noon when he takes the Jujuy exit and parks along Moreno next to a truck depot. He walks through Plaza de Once, crosses the railroad bridge and, zigzagging, reaches the Abasto marketplace, where he arranged to meet Giardina, who’s waiting for him behind the wheel of an old, beat-up Renault 12.