Dandy seems to be speaking in slow motion, and it seems like he’s about to start to cry. He tries to hide the tremor in his hands by pressing them together, but it doesn’t work. Lascano nods at Sansone and they walk out of the cell.
Do me a favour. What? Go to the storeroom and ask them to give you a little boric acid. What’s that? It’s a chemical they use to kill cockroaches. What do you want it for? If you want a canary to sing, you’ve got to give him his favourite birdseed. How much do you need? Not much, a handful. You’re not going to poison him, are you? Not to worry.
A few minutes later Sansone returns and hands Lascano a little paper envelope filled with white powder.
Do you smoke, Sansone? Don’t even mention it, I quit a year ago. How about the sergeant? Let’s ask.
They take a few steps over to the officer, who’s dozing at his desk.
Hey, Medina, do you smoke? Yes, sir. Do you mind showing me your pack of cigarettes?
Medina takes a pack of half-crushed Particulares out of his jacket pocket and hands it to Lascano, who empties the contents out onto the desk. The two policemen watch him, intrigued. Perro pulls out the foil, puts it aside and returns the cigarettes to the box. He shakes out the foil and brushes off all traces of tobacco with his hand. He smoothes it out on the edge of the desk, blows on it, lays it down with the foil side facing up and pours some of the boric acid into it. He folds the paper carefully, fashioning a small envelope. He thanks the sergeant, motions to the deputy superintendent and they return to the cell. Lascano sits down in front of Dandy; Sansone sits to one side and watches. The prisoner’s eyes are irresistibly drawn to the little envelope on the table. He squirms in his chair. Lascano opens the envelope, just enough to give him a glimpse of the white powder.
I brought you some candy. Wouldn’t a snort right about now be nice, Dandy? Don’t fuck with me, Lascano. I’m not. I’m making you a business proposition. What? You give me information and I give you a little blow. You give me nothing and I snort it all myself. I’m not selling out to nobody…
Dandy’s entire body betrays the urgency he feels for the coke. Nothing would feel better right now than sucking that anaesthetic in through his nostrils. Lascano observes him carefully — the prisoner has eyes only for the powder — takes a shiny new banknote out of his pocket and begins to roll it into a straw. Dandy starts to get desperate as Perro takes out the card Fermin gave him at the bank and traces two equal and parallel lines of powder on the foil.
I’m not giving nobody away, understand, Perro? But Dandy, I’m not asking you to say anything. I’m just going to ask you a few questions and you’re just going to answer me with your head, yes or no.
Dandy looks at him and nods. Lascano smiles.
Mole planned the whole thing, right?… Very good, Dandy, that’s the way. He ran off with the money, right?… We’re doing great, any minute now you’ll win the lottery, but now you’re going to have to make a big effort. Where’s Mole hiding?… You’re not going to say? Okay, watch me, I’m taking away the stuff, Dandy… Give me the name of a place. Haedo… A street. I don’t know. You’re going to lose it. I told you everything I know. Anything else?…
Lascano doesn’t need to know anything else and Dandy doesn’t have any more information. As Lascano stands up, he pretends to stumble and drops the envelope. The white powder flies through the air, falling slowly to the ground in front of Dandy’s desperate eyes. Lascano doesn’t realize he’s left Fermin’s card on the table.
As they walk away down the corridor, they hear Dandy’s shouts, cursing Lascano and demanding vengeance, echoing against the walls. The noise stops the second the sergeant goes to the cell and opens the door.
Still laughing, Sansone and Perro leave the building together and walk down Entre Rios toward the House of Congress.
Oh, before I forget, Pereyra is looking for you. Who? Pereyra. I don’t know him. He’s the prosecutor in the Third Court. A young guy. Do you know what he wants? He’s working on an old case of yours. He said the name… but I can’t remember it. Give him a call. Did you say the Third? Yeah, the Third.
At Rivadavia, they each go their separate ways. Lascano continues along Callao, the name Haedo still echoing in his head. He now remembers that’s where Eva’s parents lived.
The envelope keeps Lascano’s chest warm. Until a few hours ago he was alone, aimless and broke. Now he has three grand, a job — to find Miranda the Mole — and a desire — to find Eva. He feels that life is beginning to take a turn in the right direction, that just maybe all the setbacks and bad luck are moving to one side and a luckier season is about to begin. It’s odd, but he feels optimistic, which is much easier to do when you have three grand in your pocket. But that feeling summons another, which leads him to a rather shady locale in a run-down shopping arcade on Calle Bartolome Mitre, where you can purchase a gun, no questions asked, as long as you know how to ask for it.
16
Lascano spends the whole night compiling all the bits and pieces of information about Miranda he has stashed away in his memory. He was in charge of the investigation that led to his arrest. Mole got off with a light sentence because he’s one crook who doesn’t scrimp on lawyers. He’s astute and intelligent but, unfortunately, devoted to crime. He’s always dreamt of convincing him to work for the police. A mind like his would be an enormous boon because you have to think like a criminal if you want to capture one.
The things that matter to a man tend to remain the same, despite time and experience. And if there’s one thing that matters to Miranda, it’s his family. His wife and son. As far as Lascano knows, she has nothing to do with his criminal activities. She’s a “native beauty”, the girl next door — though not such a girl any longer — who had the misfortune to fall in love with a crook. But she’s nobody’s fool: several times she managed to shake off a policeman who was tailing her to get to Miranda. The son must be about twenty by now. Too bad he doesn’t have any contacts to find out what the kid is up to. He remembers spending days and days watching the house, which is what he plans to do again now.
A little before dawn Lascano stations himself in the doorway of a house on Pasaje El Lazo. From there he has a good view of the front door as well as the back, which Miranda could easily come and go through. Miranda’s house is silent and still. The neighbourhood slowly begins to come to life. A Falcon carrying three plainclothes cops turns the corner at Cuenca. Perro immediately recognizes one of them: it’s Flores, one of the most corrupt and bloodthirsty superintendents of the Federal Police. Lascano knows that his presence there is no coincidence. Flores has the same idea he has, except Flores is not going to waste time following the son and hoping he’ll lead him to Mole, as Lascano was planning to do. He’ll surely take a much more expeditious route, like, for example, kidnapping him and demanding Mole in exchange. Perro’s brain kicks into high gear. He starts walking away quickly while digging around in his pockets for a coin. As soon as he’s out of sight of the Falcon, he jogs to Jonte. El Quitapenas is raising its metal curtain. He dashes in, rushes to find the telephone, picks up the receiver and dials information.
Please, the number for Channel Nine…
A recorded voice recites the number, one digit at a time. He hangs up, cradles the phone between his shoulder and his ear and inserts another coin into the slot, repeating the number to himself as if it were a mantra. He dials.
… The news department, please…
It seems an eternity before they answer.
Come on, come on…
It rings six or seven times, then finally a young voice answers.
Listen, there’s been a shootout here in Paternal… Thousands of shots… I think there are piles of dead bodies… I’ll give you the address… Write it down, 2049 Cuenca… Half a block from the corner of Cuenca and Jonte… Yes… Is there some kind of… reward?… Jorge Lopez… That’s fine, when the van gets here I’ll tell them who I am… You’re welcome.
He hangs up, then dials the police. A woman answers immediately. Trying to sound arrogant and intimidating, like a lordly landowner, he spits his words out like a machine gun.
Hello… This is Judge Fernandez Retamar of the Second Criminal Court… Let’s see, I want to report an assault occurring at this very moment at a private residence… No, I’m in the street… It’s a residence… Cuenca and El Lazo… There are three men stationed outside in the alleyway in a grey Falcon… I didn’t notice… They’re armed…
