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…