II
The simplest cases can become complicated. He had always known that. He didn’t trust straightforward jobs; in fact, 54they annoyed him. He preferred complicated assignments: a businessman with a security detail, a well-armed police chief, some narco traitor loaded up with guns. For that reason, when Doctor Zero had asked the four of them (One, Two, Four and him) to go and beat up one guy, a skinny runt, it struck him as way more force than the job required. Any one of the four of them could have taken him out alone. Then everything got crazily fucked up. Some Chinese dude turned up to defend the skinny guy, humiliating them with his karate moves. They got their revenge on the Chink soon enough, then they had to go and find the other one, the skinny motherfucker who was hiding in the journalist’s apartment. This time not just to rough him up but to put him six feet under.
All four of them went over there and when they were about to finish off the job on the sidewalk outside the building, the journalist chick turned up and drove over them all in her car. Twice. One and Four were killed instantly. Two died two days later. He was the only one to survive. By a whisker, but still, he was alive. And ready to take revenge on that bitch.
When he reached the corner there was a car, with Five at the wheel. He got into the passenger seat and put on his seat belt. Five put his foot down and sped away from the hospital.
“All good with Chancha?”
“He’s a fool.”
It was all they said on that journey to San Fernando. Three had no idea where they were heading, but he knew there was no point asking. Five took him to a bar beside a river. At that time in the morning the terrace was still full of people having breakfast, except for one table, whose occupant was drinking a glass of wine. Doctor Zero. It wasn’t often you saw him. Usually everything was done by phone. He thought the doctor must want to give him some long instruction, or deliver a warning, or a dressing-down.55
Doctor Zero gestured to Three to come over. When Three arrived at his table, he pointed at the chair opposite. Five had stayed at another table, on his own.
“Have you had breakfast?”
“At the prison.”
Doctor Zero drank some wine but didn’t seem about to call the waiter over to order anything for Three, who was sitting rigidly upright like a dog waiting for instruction.
“I have a job for you.”
“I’m at your orders.”
Doctor Zero wiped his lips with a paper napkin. He crumpled it into a ball and a breeze sent it tumbling to the ground.
“Simple and quick. But you need your brain in gear.”
Three said nothing.
“Are you still thinking about neutralizing the journalist?”
Three nodded while watching the river sweeping serenely along the banks.
“Don’t nod like a pansy. Say ‘yes’.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“You need to know you’re on your own for that one.”
“I know that.”
“If you fail for any reason, I’m not going to help you.”
“All I need is some time to do it.”
“Get this little job out of the way, then take some leave.”
There was a long silence. Doctor Zero scrutinized him, concerned.
“A professional kills for money. Revenge is a luxury reserved for people who can afford to pay someone else to do the killing. You don’t have the money it would take to hire someone else like you. This isn’t a joke, it’s a warning: don’t start thinking that the person capable of killing this girl isn’t a professional but a guy blinded by his lust for revenge. Because then you’re screwed.”56
III
Five drove him to the apartment where he’d be staying for the time being. It was where Calle Brasil crosses Matheu, in one of those run-down buildings subdivided into many units. The building was located just a few blocks from the old Caseros prison, an irony not lost on Three, who had done time there at the end of the 1990s, not long before it closed down.
He couldn’t go back to his old apartment because a prosecutor or judge might just turn up there accompanied by police. But Doctor Zero’s people had made sure his belongings were brought to the new place. Clothes, shoes, what little crockery he had, a CD player he didn’t use, an electric shaver, a fake ID that might be useful for some transactions but which would never pass muster with the police. Not much more. And the apartment was partly furnished: a table, two chairs, a mattress, a pillow, some blankets. They had also left him a bag containing maté, coffee, crackers, toilet paper, soap and a bottle of Bols gin. He opened the bottle and took a swig from it.
Five had also given him a mobile with the number written on the back. There was a missed call on it, from Five, in case Three needed to contact him or Doctor Zero. He went out for a walk even though he wasn’t sure how far he could go without attracting attention. Feeling hungry and thirsty, he decided to walk to Calle San Juan and found a pizzeria where he ordered a small mozzarella pizza and half a bottle of Moscato. Now that he was free again he would have to go back to taking care of himself. He had started getting fat in prison. The exercises he was doing there weren’t the same as intensive training in the gym. The television in the pizzeria was tuned to a news channel, but there was nothing about a prisoner having escaped during a hospital transfer. Three 57returned to the building complex that housed his apartment. Nobody paid him any attention. A new neighbour wasn’t noteworthy. He plugged in the CD player to see if the radio worked, then threw himself down on the mattress with the bottle of gin beside him.
The next morning Three went early to El Turco Elías’ gym on Flores Sur. El Turco greeted him with a hug. He was in a safe space: the police never went to the gym except to deliver Christmas greetings. El Turco also worked for Doctor Zero, keeping an eye out for promising thuggishness among the boys who went there to pump iron or to take part in more rigorous training.
They sat down in the gym bar and El Turco ordered Three a protein shake he brought in specially from the United States: it nourished while at the same time burning fat and building muscle. Then he took him through to the offices. At the back was a room that seemed built to withstand a nuclear attack. There was a safe in it, where Three kept his savings and something else: a Glock 39 and four six-bullet loaders, .45 GAP calibre. But El Turco Elías had taken him there to give him two envelopes from Doctor Zero. One contained money: payment for the work he was going to do the following day. In the other was a gun, a 9 mm Sig Sauer with silencer, photos and details of the target. He put everything into the safe and went to the main gym room to start his routine. At midday, Five and Six turned up. They all went to the grill on the corner and ate sweetbreads with fries. Five explained the job to him. All very straightforward.
After lunch, Five stayed with him to do weights. Three took a shower after his routine and then put his savings, the Glock, the loaders, the Sig Sauer and information about the target in his gym bag. Five offered to drive him to the apartment and left him on the corner of San Juan and Matheu. 58They agreed Five would come by to pick him up at half past eight in the morning.
Three put the bag in the bottom of the closet and covered it with an old bedspread. As he had slept well the previous night and the exercise had filled him with energy, he decided to go out to a whisky