Sweet Money Read Free Page A

Apostles; they want it for one of their own. Who? Thin Man Filander.
     
    When he hears that name, Perro crosses his arms and bows his head. Turcheli elaborates enthusiastically.
     
    So, we can bring you back. Truth is, Jorge, I’m not sure I feel like returning. Just leave all that to me. I’m going to need you to keep the Apostles in their place. What makes you think I’d help you with your internal power struggles? Because you’ve got the soul of a cop, Perro, that’s why. And because I’m better than they are.
    What makes you better? First place, I saved your life; second, the Apostles are mixed up with some Turks who’re mixed up with Colombian coke. They want to make Buenos Aires a transfer station to Europe. Several department higher-ups are already involved. When I become Chief, the first thing I’ll do is clean that one up.
    You just want to keep at your traditional business of selling precincts. You know what, Perro? It’s simpler, and it’s already all set up. When you get in bed with those narcos, you don’t know what you’re in for, those people are hell, big time. They’ll take a pound of your flesh if you look at them wrong. I’m a businessman, Perro, not a man of action. With drugs, you’ve got to be ready for anything. I’m ambitious, but I like the good life, peace and quiet. Everything in moderation, I say, can’t let yourself get too greedy.

    Perro feels nauseated. He stands up and inhales deeply.
     
    What’s my status? Your file is locked away in my desk. Everyone thinks you’re dead. I won’t be able to keep it up for too long, but once I get my promotion, we’ll set everything straight. And Giribaldi? Retired. Military officers don’t even step outside in uniform any more. They’ve got legal problems. Things are getting rough for them. The Full Stop and Due Obedience laws they passed so we couldn’t prosecute them for crimes committed during the dictatorship are full of holes. What do you mean? The kids they stole from the guerrillas, for example. Nobody can stop those trials. Because stealing a baby can’t be an act of war, you understand? I understand. There’s one prosecutor who’s all over that, he’s hunting them down, one by one, already got three or four of them behind bars.
     
    Turcheli looks at his watch, stands up and makes ready to leave.
     
    They tell me you’re right as rain. How do you feel? Not bad. Good, let’s shut down this operation, it’s costing me a fortune. I’ve got a room for you in a pension in Palermo. Don’t worry, it’s not a dump. Whatever you say, but I don’t have a penny. Don’t worry about the dough. Ramona will take you there in a few days and she’ll take care of everything. Just sit tight until I’m in, then I’ll come get you. Okay? Whatever you say, but don’t think for a minute that I’m going to get my hands dirty for you. We’ll talk about that later.
     
    Lascano goes over to the window to watch him leave. The dust the car kicks up is going in the other direction now. Turcheli wants to send him back to the front. His
life of suspended animation for his recovery and rehabilitation has come to an end. In his head, he can hear someone shout, “Action”, and he knows that means the cameras are rolling once again. He has no desire to wage war against crooks and murderers, in the police force or outside of it, to be vigilant twenty-four hours a day, constantly looking over his shoulder. He has absolutely no urge to take on responsibilities, run risks. He’s got nowhere to go, nowhere he wants to go, except to Eva, into her arms, her love. His close brush with death made him wiser, more detached, more calculating. He looks at the spool from which the thread of his life is unravelling, and he realizes there’s not much left, and the little there is is unwinding faster and faster. He dreams of easygoing, pleasant days. He wants to lay claim to the quota of love that life has, up till now, lent him only very briefly then