Needle in a Haystack (14 page)

They depart with a firm handshake. Actually, the firmness comes from Perro, because Marraco’s hand is like a jellyfish with manicured nails. Lascano says
see you kid
to the office boy, who responds with a smile that makes Perro feel all fatherly. Marraco, deep in thought, grabs the file.

He opens a drawer in his desk, puts the file inside and locks it away with a key.

Have you got the cheques? All right, Amancio, calm down. A cop’s been here. What did he want? They’ve found Elías. How? I don’t know. What did you do with the body? That’s got nothing to do with you. I put it somewhere safe. Not safe enough it seems. Damn! I don’t understand how this can have happened. What do we do now? How the hell should I know! Calm down, idiot, and let me think. You think all you like. But I have to go to the mortuary and identify the body. And when I’m there, I’m going to have to deal with this cop. What’s his name? Lezama. Lezama, eh? Right. Don’t say a word to him. Mate, the stiff is my damn brother, I can’t just sit there in silence. And what’s more, this guy doesn’t miss a trick. He acts the innocent, but he’s a radar, picking up on everything. Honestly, I think the whole thing has turned very sour. Shut up, don’t be such a chicken. Whose idea was it for me to come over and threaten your brother anyway? Yours. Who told me he was terrified of weapons? You. And when I pointed it at him, he jumped on top of me like an animal. You lied to me, you son of a bitch, you knew what would happen and you hoped I’d end up killing him. But Amancio, I swear… Don’t bother swearing anything to me, you’re more false than a three-dollar bill. You Judas, you surrendered him just like that! But no, honestly… Do me a favour and shut up, will you, your sort
can’t be trusted, that’s as clear as Christ walked the earth, until you sent him to his death, that is
.
What are you talking about? The only one who has sent anyone to their death here is you. Your tongue’s too loose, Cain. Now let’s see, let me think… leave this Lezama for me to sort out. You just keep your gob shut. I’ll be in touch later to let you know what to do. Fine. OK then, now give me the cheques and the blank papers I signed, I’ve got to get going, things to do. Look, I was thinking I might hold on to the cheques for a bit longer, until this whole mess has cleared up. You’ll give me them right now! After I’ve been to the mortuary. Now! Later! Look, you piece of shit Jew, give me the cheques right now before I send you off to keep your brother company! OK mate. No need to get like that. Everything’s fine. Here they are. That’s more like it. Now just keep quiet and wait for my instructions. Understood? Understood.

Amancio puts the gun back in the holster and leaves, slamming the door in fury. While he waits for the lift, the neighbour noses quietly through the peephole. Horacio opens the door and pokes his head out.

Fuseli has been sitting in the mortuary yard for some time, amusing himself watching the changing skies. It started out as one of those winter days blessed with a little sun. Then later on, typically for this time of year, rain clouds suddenly gathered over the urgent city, an urgency only too evident in the impatient cars jammed up on Viamonte, right outside the mortuary gates. Through those gates comes Lascano, with his familiar bear-like walk. Fuseli smiles: he’s always pleased to see his friend. In some way he feels personally responsible for the fact that Lascano’s still alive, that Perro was able to overcome the catastrophe of Marisa’s death. Fuseli had been Lascano’s deep-water harbour, somewhere he could dock until he was ready to set sail again, but set sail where? Fuseli decides he’s not in the mood for existential questions today. Right now life consists of him resting in the yard and his friend coming towards him, a friend who owes him a debt, a nice one, one that never need be repaid.

Lascano watches Fuseli’s hands as he rolls the weed into a thin Gentleman cigarette paper. His artisan fingers work with agility. He wets the sticky strip with his tongue, finishes sealing it and then twirls a perfect cylinder, smooth and delicate, in his fingertips. He passes it back and forth over the flame of his old Monopol lighter until the dark stain of his saliva disappears. He puts the joint in his mouth and lights up, inhales deeply and holds back a hiccup. The yard fills with an acrid smoke that stings your nostrils. Looking down at the shiny cobbles, Lascano gets the feeling they’re at the seaside, fishing.

With a sharp yank, Fuseli uncovers the corpse, which now has stitching splitting it in two down the breast bone.

The door opens and an orderly announces that Horacio has arrived. Fuseli quickly covers the body back up. As Horacio enters, Lascano notices he’s wearing brand-new clothes.

Fuseli and Lascano deliberately stand on one side of the table, across from Horacio on the other, the better to monitor his reaction. Fuseli distracts him, Lascano watches him.

With a flamboyant gesture, Fuseli unveils the body. Horacio goes into some kind of stupor. He covers his mouth with his hand, lowers his head and sobs without much conviction. Lascano and Fuseli exchange sceptical looks.

Perro takes Horacio by the arm and leads him out into the courtyard.

Horacio departs, Lascano noting that the soles of his shoes are brand new.

Giribaldi furiously slams the receiver down. It bounces and falls to the floor, ululating. His mad anger abruptly subsides and calm restraint takes over. He slowly bends down, picks up the receiver and replaces it carefully on the base. He sits motionless for a few minutes. In his head he goes through the names of the people he’ll have to lean on to sort out the mess that Amancio the imbecile has caused. “Life on a plate” they used to call him. Giribaldi’s from a lower-middle-class background and deep down he’s always despised Amancio. He finds him too soft and clumsy, and without a single aim in life. Giribaldi sees himself as the product of hard work and endeavour, earning everything through self-sacrifice, while everything of Amancio’s came from above. Wealth, social standing, his wife, other women, property, everything for free. With one simple call to
his friend Jorge, Giribaldi finds out that the policeman sticking his nose into the Biterman affair is not called Lezama but Lascano. He also finds out that the bodies have ended up at the mortuary and that the name of the doctor who did the report is one Antonio Fuseli. Giribaldi decides it would be opportune to pay this Fuseli a visit.