Sweet Money (4 page)

He goes back to the bedroom, where Cora has laid his clean clothes out on the bed. The shirt is impeccably ironed, the trousers have a crease so sharp you could cut salami with it – as his old man used to say – and the shoes are shined so brightly he could use them as mirrors to shave in. He takes a sip of maté through the
bombilla
straw as he contemplates himself in the mirror. He isn’t carrying an ounce of fat, and the few grey hairs that have appeared here and there give him a touch of distinction.

 

 

He gives the maté back to his wife and puts on the jacket of his spanking-new Chief of Police uniform.

 

Graciela is waiting for him at the entrance on Moreno Street. She, too, is wearing a brand-new uniform. She greets him with a
Good morning, sir
, and a cheeky wink. They have a perfect understanding. The entire department suspects there’s something going on between them. And there is, but the secret they share is very different from the one the others imagine. She follows him into his office. Jorge asks her to get him the phone numbers of a series of people whose names she writes down on her pad. She closes the door behind her, sits down at her desk and begins to look up the numbers. Jorge, sitting at his desk, is figuring out what he should do first. In front of him he has the police organizational chart, with all the names and their corresponding positions. He begins the task of moving people around. Internal Affairs: he crosses out Crio. He puts a line through Superintendent Olindo Gaito and writes in Lascano. Vice: get rid of…

In the reception room, Graciela is writing down telephone numbers next to the names Jorge dictated to her. The door opens and two superintendents she already knows, a civilian and one young female officer she’s never seen enter.

 

 

The man is whispering, but his tone and the look in his eyes brook no argument. Graciela grabs her purse and walks out, her chest heaving with distress. The female officer sits down in Graciela’s chair behind the desk and hands the pad with the names and numbers to Superintendent Valli. He reads, smiles smugly, shows it to Bellón, tears off the sheet, stuffs it in his pocket and hands the pad back to the policewoman. He looks at the civilian.

 

 

Valli and Bellón enter the office; the doctor follows behind and closes the door. Jorge starts to get up, but Valli is already on him, pushing him back down in the chair. Bellón stands behind Jorge and pins his arms back. Valli puts Jorge’s neck in a lock with his right arm as he grabs his hair with his left. The doctor approaches, pushes open Jorge’s jacket and, with both hands, rips open his shirt, tearing off the buttons. Jorge tries to move, but Bellón holds his arms and Valli has his neck. The doctor takes out of one pocket a ten centimetre-long cardiac
needle and out of the other a vial of adrenaline. He places the needle in the plunger, pulls up the plastic pump, grabs the whole thing as if it were a dagger, and in one swift movement stabs it into Jorge’s chest with expert precision. Jorge feels a sharp pain in his heart; he fixes his bulging eyes on the doctor, who presses on the pump, emptying the contents of the syringe into his heart muscle. Jorge has a spasm and kicks the doctor in the shin, making him swear. He throws his head back and begins to shake violently. The two superintendents have to hold him down with all their strength, his eyes fill with blood, he desperately gasps for breath, he grows stiff, then relaxes, then dies with his eyes and mouth open. The two policemen are sweating and trembling from the exertion. The doctor touches his neck to feel for a pulse. Valli looks at the papers on the desk, picks up the organizational chart, reads it, folds it twice and puts it in his pocket.

 

 

The three men leave the office. The policewoman is in the same place they left her. Valli picks up the telephone and dials a number…

 

 

He hangs up.

 

 

The men leave the reception room. The policewoman accompanies them to the door and locks it behind them. She walks to the office. She enters. She goes up to Jorge’s body and touches his neck to look for a pulse. She leaves. She wipes off the two doorknobs with a handkerchief, closes the office door, unlocks the door to the reception area and sits down in front of the desk. She looks at her watch and sighs.

 

The whole thing took less than three minutes.

6

Miranda spends the whole night as if he’d been bitten by a tsetse fly: tossing and turning, floating in a vague half-sleep, falling into a deeper sleep for mere minutes, maybe seconds, at a time. He spends his first night of freedom full of regrets, fears, guilt and the constant urge to cry. He is tormented as only a tough man, hardened and moulded by life’s harsh realities can be when all his defences fall away; he feels like a slug starting down a path strewn with salt. Even his pores feel sorrow and ache. He is overwhelmed by a sense of vertigo, and the only escape appears to be the end of this interminable night. Tomorrow he will confront his greatest fear, hear his final sentence. He knows this is one of those all-or-nothing moments he has had to confront several times throughout his life. There have been times he’s even gone looking for them and then boasted about surviving them. But now he’s weary, he wants it to stop. He cannot imagine life as an invalid, or without his woman or his son. He gets up, goes to the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror, where all the marks stamped on his face by the prison bars are reflected back at him, no detail spared: his left eye slightly crossed – which wasn’t like that before – the brown spot on his temple, his receding gums that now expose the tips of the roots of his teeth –
which themselves have yellowed. He is sick of that insipid face staring heartlessly back at him. He hates mirrors. Now that they’ve let him out of his cage he can allow himself this moment of tremendous weakness, which anyway was inevitable. He feels sorry for himself and hates himself for feeling that way. He despises the man he has always been, the one he no longer wants to be, the man who is determined to change, come what may.

The black of the sky edges toward blue, then continues to lighten. The arrival of what Miranda waited for all night does not lift his spirits. Lying in the bathtub with his eyes closed and abandoning himself to the warmth of the water enveloping him, he thinks:
This is the ideal way: a razor blade in the bathtub. Uncork the blood, fall asleep, let it flow like water. Leave his wife and son a pale, clean corpse, as if he were sleeping. Nothing pathetic, sordid or bloody. Something that can be buried with decorum.

 

Doctor Gelser had to twice postpone his appointment with Peretti because the entryway was swarming with police. He is a prudent man and doesn’t want to run the risk of someone recognizing him and starting to ask questions. But at that moment, the entrance to Churruca Police Hospital is particularly peaceful. He looks at his watch. He walks from the corner with quick steps. He’s wearing a doctor’s white coat. As he enters, he keeps his head down, past the elevators and directly to the door that leads to the basement. The corridor is empty. He stops in front of the supply window and rings the bell. It opens briefly, then shuts with a bang. Gelser walks over to the door next to the window; Peretti, a big guy wearing blue overalls, appears.

 

Gelser enters. Peretti looks up and down the corridor and closes the door. He takes a box off a shelf and gives it to him.

 

 

Peretti picks up a styrofoam box and places it on the table in front of Gelser.

 

 

Gelser takes out a small wad of banknotes held together with a rubber band and stuffs them into one of Peretti’s pockets.

 

 

Peretti picks up the telephone and dials three numbers.

 

 

It’s almost eleven in the morning by the time Mole leaves his hideout. The morning has dished him up a perfectly splendid autumn day. The sun: perfect; the temperature: perfect, even exhilarating. He walks to Gelser’s house. Where that is, exactly, is one of the best kept secrets in the criminal underworld. Nobody would dare even mention that it exists, no matter how tight a spot they’re in. It’s where fugitives go to get treatment when they’ve been wounded by officers of the law or rival criminals, which are often one and the same.

Sawbones used to practise medicine in the poor neighbourhood of Claypole, where he’d been born and raised. One night the local police superintendent asked him to perform an abortion on a minor, but the pregnancy was too far along and he refused. They framed him and threw the book at him. In the end, he lost his licence and became the doctor of the underworld. He’s a genius at removing bullets, a true master at preventing and curing infections. If there’s dough, he charges; if not, no problem. He never leaves anybody out in the cold. The doctor has earned himself a place of respect, gratitude and appreciation, even among the most violent and crazy lowlifes.

 

There’s no lock on the door, but inside are all the trappings of a regular doctor’s office, even a small operating room equipped with everything he managed to rescue from his former practice, as well as what Peretti supplies him. Gelser comes out to greet him, flashing his magnificent smile.

 

 

Gelser stands up and looks in his eyes with a little device that emits a very bright white light, then in his throat and ears, listens to his chest through a stethoscope and palpates his lymph nodes.

 

 

After he leaves the laboratory Miranda calls Screw and they arrange to meet that evening at Topolino, a pizzeria in downtown Haedo, in the suburbs of Buenos Aires. Screw is the one who manages Mole’s money. While Mole was in jail, he made sure he and his family had whatever they needed. He has carried out his duty with remarkable loyalty and meticulousness, he has accounted
forevery penny and gives many more explanations than Miranda demands. They agree to meet at ten that night.

 

Mole arrives first and orders a large, half-mozzarella, half-onion with cheese pizza and a beer. Screw shows up one minute later. Miranda watches him step around two barefoot kids asking for spare change in the street in front and enter quickly; he stands up and gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He’s truly happy to see him, but Screw looks distraught.