sidewalk. Someone else hits Lascano on the head from behind, knocking him out. Onionskin stashes his gun, takes two steps, pulls a hood over Lascano’s head, and the two quickly carry him to the Falcon that just pulled up alongside them. Without moving a muscle, Giardina watches the two men load Perro into the back seat. For a moment, Giardina is too shocked to know what to do. He looks from side to side and behind him and sees that the street is quiet again. He starts the engine and inches backward to where Horacio has fallen. Between the bumpers of two parked cars he sees Horacio bleeding to death. The Ruger he sold him is next to his body. He checks again to make sure there are no witnesses, gets out, dashes over to the gun, picks it up, puts it under his belt, returns to the Renault and takes off.
An hour later, Lascano opens his eyes in the darkness. He’s still hooded. He hears a voice.
I think he’s awake.
The hood comes off. It’s late afternoon and a stream of orange light pours in through the window. It takes a few moments for his eyes to get used to the brightness of the room. He’s handcuffed to a chair in a seedy apartment. Across the table, Miranda the Mole’s face, grinning at him, comes into focus. Next to him is Onionskin, a merciless psychopath who has the blood of at least five, if not six people on his hands. He’s a dimwit who has no business keeping company with Miranda. Everything Lascano had with him is on the table, including Eva’s letter and his gun. He’s glad it’s Miranda and not the Apostles, because then he’d already be dead.
This time I beat you to the punch, Perro. What’s up, Mole? As you see, I entertain myself saving your life. Seems like I’m condemned to having my life saved by crooks. You could at least thank me. I thank you, as long as you haven’t done it so you can have the pleasure of killing me. That’s not my style, as you know very well, Perro. So, to what do I owe the honour? You know. I owed you one. You don’t owe me nothing. Not now, but you saved my family when Flores wanted to pull a fast one. I did it for them, not for you. Same difference, Perro. I don’t like to owe anybody anything.
In a split second, Miranda’s deadpan face lights up with a smile that makes him look ten years younger. He smiles openly, heartily, proudly.
Hey, that was brilliant, you calling the TV station and all. About time TV was useful for something. I can just imagine Flores’s face when he saw the huge to-do you stirred up. No, you can’t. The cops made him get down on the ground in his thousand-dollar Armani suit. No kidding. Swear to God, when he got up he was so pissed off he was levitating.
Perro and Mole laugh in unison. Onionskin, looking bored and bitter, has no interest in the exchange and sits there staring at his nails.
How did you find out they had a hit out on me? We’ve all got our sources, Perro, it’s a small world. But you really pulled one over on me at the pizzeria, Lascano. Truth is, I’ve got to admit that you’re a master. With that moronic look on your face. Look who’s talking. Who do you think you are, Alain Delon? How did you find me? Good detective work, Mole. Cut the crap, who snitched on me? Nobody snitched, I’m telling you, don’t go getting paranoid. Truth is you’ve made yourself a handy bunch of enemies. Who wants to kill you? The dry-cleaner because I didn’t pay for my laundry. You never lose your sense of humour. I bet you weren’t laughing when I went up in smoke at the station. Don’t be so sure, I almost bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate. To tell you the truth, Perro, that was pretty damn stupid of you to leave me at the mercy of Roberti, probably the most corrupt policeman on the force. Believe me, if I’d had any choice, I never would have. I guess not. Is it true you got kicked off the force? I didn’t get kicked off, I quit. So why were you after me? You already know. Oh, right, for the dough from the bank. What does a skinflint like you need with money? That’s my business. Might it have something to do with this letter written by… Eva? You going to look for her? I told you, that’s my business. What are you going to do with me? Nothing. So why did you knock me out? Look, Perro, as long as you’re walking around out there, I’m not safe. I need you to disappear. Getting out of where you put me cost a pretty penny. Roberti must be happy. Probably. I also made arrangements for Flores to get lost. Mole, haven’t you ever considered that with all your hard work, all the risks you take, in the end the money you steal just goes to making the dirtiest damn cops dirtier and happy? Probably, but that doesn’t matter now. What does matter? For you to disappear, Perro. You were a fool. When I offered you money you told me the bank thing was clean. Yeah, and now the bankers have vanished with their clients’ money. See what I mean? Will you tell me what the hell you want? I told you, I want you to disappear. Go to Brazil, wherever the hell you want, just get out of Buenos Aires. And if I don’t want to? You’ll disappear anyway, Onionskin will see to that and if he doesn’t, someone else will. I’ve heard rumours about a group of very heavy-duty officers who want you dead. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t play the fool, Perro, we’re all adults here. Today you escaped by the skin of your teeth, but don’t push it. I don’t want to kill you; you know I don’t like the dead. So just make sure you vanish. May I ask you a favour? Under the circumstances, you can ask me whatever you want. Sit here for ten minutes, okay? Okay. Then, get the fuck out of here, Perro, do me that favour.
Miranda stands up, smiling. Onionskin picks up Lascano’s gun and shoves it under his belt. Then he takes off Lascano’s handcuffs. Onionskin and Miranda walk to the door, where another man is waiting. On the other side of the door the elevator doors can be heard, opening and closing. Lascano stands up, barefoot, and walks over to the window. He is on the top floor of a tenement building in Fuerte Apache. He looks out and sees Miranda, Onionskin and two others climb into a Falcon. Just before getting in, Mole look up, waves and smiles. The car takes off and disappears around the corner. Lascano turns and looks around for his shoes, but he doesn’t see them anywhere. Then he notices that there’s a large envelope on the table along with his things. He picks it up and opens it. Inside is a big wad of dollar bills. He returns to the window. Night is quickly falling. Strange sense of humour Miranda’s got, forcing him to walk through that neighbourhood full of muggers and murderers, at night, barefoot, without a peso and with a wad of greenbacks in his pocket. He can’t help cracking a short-lived smile. He’s going to have to figure out how to get out of there in one piece. If he were a believer he’d cross himself, but since he isn’t he touches his testicles and walks out the door.
28
Lascano strolls barefoot up the hill of the Plaza San Martin overlooking Maipu. As he walks he thinks that life, as he has been living it until that moment, has been one great big mistake. He now understands the message from the shadowy person in his dream. He now understands what he needs to change. He realizes that life is actually like a ride on a carousel with no brass ring for the winner. All that crap about austerity, about suffering being more dignified than happiness, that creed about tragedy being nobler than comedy, it’s a huge crock of shit, especially for a nonbeliever like himself. All that religion business seems to him like a swindle: You pay now for a service you’ll get only after you’re dead. If you don’t expect a reward in the afterlife, what’s the point of living like a rat in a sewer during this one?
The men in uniform at the doors of the Plaza Hotel are about to intercept him but, for some reason, they don’t dare. A hundred-dollar bill is all the concierge needs to give him a room, even though he has no identification and no luggage. That night he sleeps the sleep of the dead.
In the morning, wrapped in a plush terrycloth bathrobe the hotel provides and wearing slippers decorated with the hotel’s insignia, he asks the bellhop to buy him a pair of size forty-two brown loafers at the shoe store on the corner of Marcelo T. de Alvear and San Martin. He orders a superb continental breakfast and, as he savours the freshly squeezed orange juice and contemplates the marvellous view of the treetops in the Plaza San Martin, he feel as if John Lennon were whispering in his ear: Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
Miranda the Mole, backed up by Nails and Fathead, spends the whole morning making sure Dandy’s house is not under surveillance. They take work in their stride and enjoy a steak sandwich from Argos, on the corner of Lacroze and Alvarez Thomas. To make their wait less tedious, they watch two kids, probably truants from school, playing a game of pool.
Once they’re sure the coast is clear, they knock on Dandy’s door. Graciela greets them with a smile, a cocktail of three equal parts: relief, joy and reproach. A visit from Mole, when her husband’s in the clink, can mean only one thing, and it’s something she knows will diminish the tremendous anxiety she has been feeling ever since her husband got arrested. She offers them mate.
How’s it going? I don’t have to tell you. No, I guess you don’t, but I’m really asking how things are going for you. What do I know how things are going for me, the truth is that you men, my dear, I don’t know, the life you offer us… But we make you happy every once in a while, don’t we? Yeah, the movie’s great, but the price of the
