The Foreign Girls

by Sergio Olguin

  She felt her heart beating faster. She called Verónica and asked her what the old woman’s name was.

  “Adriana Vázquez. Why?”

  “I… I know her. Yes, I do know her.” She struggled to get the words out.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, her son was my friend Rosalía’s boyfriend.”

  “You know the sons?”

  “Yes, of course, Sebastián and Rulo. Pretty and Ugly.”

  “Mechi, you’re a genius.”

  “For real?”

  “I want you to tell me everything you know about those boys.”

  They arranged to meet that afternoon in the same bar as before. Mechi went back to fetch her cigarettes. She would take them with her and light one in front of Verónica. She was a genius.

  VI

  After speaking to Mechi, Verónica started on the article she planned to deliver that Monday. The telephone in her room rang. It was Mariano.

  “Someone’s asking for you at reception.”

  “Who?”

  “Your father.”

  For a moment she thought Mariano was joking. That perhaps by “father” he meant Federico.

  “Federico?”

  “No, your father.”

  It couldn’t be true. It must be a trap. An assassin masquerading as her father in order to kill her or send her a message, mafia-style.

  “Aarón Rosenthal?”

  “Your father, Verónica,” said Mariano, in the same even tone.

  Anxiously, she went down the stairs. Could something have happened to one of her sisters? Or one of their children? Her concern must have shown because the first thing Aarón said was, “Don’t worry, everyone’s fine,” adding, “We need to talk.”

  Verónica offered to take him up to her room or to the hotel dining room. But her father said he would rather go somewhere else.

  They left the hotel. Outside was a car with a driver who made as if to get out, but her father gestured to him to stay put and to wait there.

  “You’ve got a chauffeur?”

  “I came with one of the interns from the office. I don’t like driving cars that aren’t mine.”

  They walked from the hotel to the bar without speaking, both smoking. Her father seemed preoccupied. To break the tension, Verónica asked after her sisters. He told her that Daniela and Leticia were both fine, that he’d had lunch with them the day before at Leticia’s house. He told her with a smile that Benjamín, Daniela’s son, wanted to be a drummer.

  “That’s given me an idea for his birthday. It’s coming up soon.”

  “Daniela will kill you.”

  They went to Amigo’s, where the waitress greeted Verónica like a regular. They ordered coffee and Verónica looked at her father expectantly.

  “What a good lawyer you’d have been if you’d wanted to,” Aarón said.

  “I’d get mixed up between laws, codes and courts. There are too many numbers and sections in law.”

  “It’s much simpler than that. Someone – an injured party, an entity or the state – is the victim of another person or institution and you have to do everything possible to defend your client. Basic law is common sense.”

  “Yes, you’ve told me that before. But I didn’t believe you. And I was right.”

  “Vero, darling, as I’m sure you realize, I didn’t come all this way to persuade you to study law.”

  “Something tells me that in a minute I’m going to wish you had.”

  “You’re not wrong. I want you to come back to Buenos Aires.”

  “I’m going to go back, Dad.”

  “I want you to come back right now. To stop what you’re doing up here.”

  “Dad, two of my friends have been killed. They were killed and violated. The people responsible are still out there and the law hasn’t caught up with them.”

  “And what has Aráoz got to do with any of this?”

  “Aráoz?”

  “Captain Aráoz and his son.”

  “They’re suspects in two other crimes that took place in this town.”

  “I’m not going to get into an argument about whether or not you have proof of that.”

  “I should hope not.”

  “The captain and his son don’t concern me. I care about friends, or the children of friends having problems. Here in Tucumán I’ve done business and had dealings with the Menéndez Bertis, with the Posadas and with a lot of other people I hold dear, who have helped me and whom I’ll help in whatever way I can. And you are part of this family.”

  “Which family? My family consists of you, my sisters, their children and husbands.”

  “You’re wrong. A lot of what the Rosenthals have we owe to people who gave us help when we needed it.”

  “Those people didn’t give me anything. They must have given it to you. That’s nothing to do with me.”

  “The Menéndez Berti boy and Elizalde’s sons probably think the same thing about their fathers. It’s easy to say that.”

  “Dad, you’re turning this into a tragedy when the real tragedy is the death of two girls.”

  “A dog has better conduct than you.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You should never bite the hand that once fed you. Never.”

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “Yes you do. And that’s why you have to come back.”

  There was a silence during which Verónica avoided her father’s gaze. What she couldn’t understand was something deeper: how was her father not going to allow her to get to the truth? She was his daughter. She thought of saying that – I’m your daughter – but it seemed redundant and pathetic.

  “I’m not going back.”

  “As you wish. But don’t count on Federico or the practice to help with your investigation. If you care anything about that boy at all, don’t ruin his life.”

  VII

  Federico and Verónica saw each other at lunch that Sunday. Mariano and Luca had invited them to eat in the hotel restaurant. It was the first time the four of them had been together since the events of the previous morning. Verónica wondered what it would be like to be in a relationship like the one Mariano and Luca had. They seemed so contented, so interested in one another (she didn’t want to say “in love” because that sounded too adolescent or nineteenth-century), their union impossible to break. Her own relationships broke like Bohemian glass in the hands of someone with Huntington’s disease. It must be impossible for a relationship like the one they had to last a very long time. At some point all couples foundered.

  “How was the meeting with your father?” Mariano asked her.

  “Difficult.”

  Verónica looked at Federico, who was still finishing off the contents of his plate. He didn’t acknowledge the look. He seemed to know she had been with her father.

  After coffee, when they were alone, Verónica said, “Did my dad really do a number on you?”

  “Nothing too bad. I could handle it.”

  Federico told her there was another possible suspect as well as the Vázquez brothers. He was called Javier Reyes. Raids had been carried out the day before on both the Vázquez and Reyes houses. The judge wanted to bring in the brothers’ mother. But there were still no new developments.

  Later, Verónica returned to her room to continue writing her article. When she checked her watch, it was already time to go and meet Mechi. As she walked to the bar, she thought over the events of the last few days, when one – in fact two – men had been looking for an opportunity to kill her. Now she could walk in peace.

  At any moment it would start raining. The wind was getting stronger, lifting eddies of dust on the crossroads. Far away there was a rumble of thunder. It was getting dark earlier.

  Mechi was already waiting in the bar. Verónica liked the girl. She was bright. If she wanted to, she would go far. And she was pretty, with that straight black hair she always wore tied back. She must be very popular with the boys.

  The girl
told Verónica what she knew about the Vázquez brothers. The younger one, Sebastián, had been Rosalía’s boyfriend. The mother was crazy and had put various hexes on her friend to make her give up the son. And she had achieved her aim. She had become famous as a witch, at least among Mechi’s friends.

  “Actually, all mothers-in-law are like that,” Verónica said.

  Sebastián must be about twenty now because he had been three years ahead of her in primary school. He had always been good-looking and all the girls swooned over him, but it was Rosalía who landed him. Sebastián was quite shy and a bit of a loner. Rulo was a few years older than Sebastián and she didn’t know him as well. Only that he was a troublemaker, always getting into scrapes.

  “What kind of scrapes?”

  “He crossed the line. In clubs he’d go up to women and say obscenities or even grope them. He got into fights with the men. Nobody likes someone hitting on their girlfriend.”

  “And do you know Javier Reyes?”

  Mechi thought for a moment. “The name doesn’t ring any bells. They have a friend they call Oso and I think his name’s Javier, but I’m not sure.”

  “None of them have been back home since the night of the party. Do you have any idea where they might be hiding?”

  “No, but I can find out.” Mechi took out her packet of cigarettes and went to light one.

  “I don’t think they let you smoke inside here.”

  “True, I always forget.”

  “If you like, we can leave our things here and go and smoke by the door.”

  They stood by the wall outside. It was very windy and they struggled to light their cigarettes. Mechi didn’t seem all that expert in these matters.

  “Verónica, I wanted to ask you something. I’d like to go and live in Buenos Aires.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know – now, in a year, any time really. I can work as a maid in someone’s house.”

  Verónica drew deeply on her cigarette. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Yes, you should come to Buenos Aires, but not to be a maid.”

  “It’s the work I do here. There, it’s bound to be better pay and everything.”

  “If you come to Buenos Aires I can help you, but not to work in a house. It’s the worst job. If you start working as a maid, it’s very likely you’ll be doing that for the rest of your days. Thirty, forty years cleaning other people’s toilets, looking after their kids, then their children’s children. And for just a few pesos.”

  “So what do you think I should do?”

  “There are some crappy jobs which are better than that. I don’t know, stacking shelves or working on the till in a supermarket. They mistreat you, underpay you – although maybe less than in a house – but at least you have prospects. Slim ones, but prospects all the same. You could end up being chief cashier or, I don’t know, floor manager. You could have a career within the limits of the supermarket. But not in a house. They won’t even reward long service.”

  “But I don’t think anyone would hire me.”

  “Well, of course they won’t hire you. How can they hire you if you haven’t even finished secondary school? Do you want to have a good life, a decent job and to grow as a person?”

  Mechi was cowed by Verónica’s emphatic tone. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  “Then let me give you two bits of advice. One: study, get through secondary school however you can but stick it out. Even better if you carry on studying afterwards, but you must at least finish school. The second piece of advice is key: don’t get pregnant. Life is too hard for a girl without having a baby to look after too. And above all, don’t have a child because you didn’t take precautions. If you do that, you’ll ruin your life. However much your boyfriend tells you he’s going to help you look after it, don’t believe him. It’s never true.”

  “But one day I’m going to want to have children.”

  “Think about it when you already have a stable job and no more plans to study. Let’s just say you shouldn’t even think of becoming a mother for the next ten years.”

  The rain had arrived. Verónica offered to give Mechi a lift home. She paid the bill and they went outside, running through the downpour. The town felt strange, and not only because of the storm: there was more movement and traffic than on previous days. Everyone seemed to be going in the same direction, towards Coronel Berti.

  “What’s happened to bring so many people out onto the road?”

  “It must be something to do with the murdered boy.”

  VIII

  That morning, Mechi told her, the Coronel Berti police had gone to carry out an operation at one of the houses on the outskirts of town. It was in a poor neighbourhood which, while not yet quite a shanty town, was expanding by the day. In circumstances that remained unclear, a police officer had killed a teenager in his home. When the news came out, fury quickly spread among the neighbours.

  “There’s a protest happening now outside the police station in Coronel Berti.”

  She dropped Mechi at her house and decided to go to Coronel Berti to see what was happening. Like a doctor running towards an emergency, Verónica’s journalistic instincts led her straight to the public protest.

  The scene that greeted her in the town’s main square was like a vision of hell. Some two hundred people were rampaging in the rain, destroying everything in their path, while the sound of gunshots could be heard. Several fires had been started and even a car overturned. Verónica left her own car outside the area of conflagration and continued on foot. People were very angry, shouting and demanding justice for the dead teenager. Some boys who couldn’t have been more than eighteen were throwing Molotov cocktails at the shops. Thunder and lightning made the atmosphere seem all the more hellish. Verónica had to run a few yards to avoid being caught in the middle of a mob escaping from a group of police who seemed as fired up as the protesters. She stopped under the eaves of a building. Her body was soaking and she was trembling. She thought she could hear her telephone ringing, but when she looked at it the caller had already rung off. There were five missed calls from Federico, who called back at that very moment.

  “Where are you?” he asked sharply, almost shouting.

  “At a protest that’s happening in the square at Coronel Berti.”

  “Get out of there now. Have you got the car?”

  “Yes.”

  “You need to leave. Come here now. Right now.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “They smashed up the police station at Coronel Berti, and Peratta and the other guy have escaped. Come now.”

  Verónica’s legs were shaking. She looked all around her, certain she was about to come face to face with the assassins. She wanted to run towards her car but, as in nightmares, her legs refused to cooperate. She had to make a great effort to impel herself forward then, having finally picked up some speed, she had the misfortune to slip and fall in the mud. Somebody helped her up, but she neither looked at them nor said thank you. She kept running, reached the car and locked herself inside it. Frantically she turned round, expecting to find one of her assailants in the back seat. Nobody was there. She started the car and sped away. There was a cramp in her left leg and an uncomfortable chill swept over her body. She kept driving with her eyes on the rear-view mirror. Nobody seemed to be following her. At the entrance to Yacanto del Valle she spotted Federico’s car and slowed down without stopping. Federico followed behind her and they drove to the hotel.

  Mariano was waiting at the door. Also there was Officer Benítez, the man who had disarmed Peratta and his accomplice. She felt her soul returning to her body. But her heart was still racing. Someone (Mariano?) said she should have a hot shower and change her clothes. Verónica looked at them one by one. Their voices seemed muffled compared to the noise of the rain. Molotov cocktails were still exploding in her head. Streaks of lightning were still blinding her. Someone (who?) told her to relax, that the hotel was safe. Verónica nodded.

  13
On Love

  I

  His concern for Verónica had given way to a general irritation with her: what was she doing in Coronel Berti? Why had she ended up in the middle of a riot? Verónica answered him as best she could.

  Now Federico had a new reason to be worried: if Peratta was free, it was likely he would return to kill her. He spoke to Chief Superintendent Suárez and asked him to send a police car to the hotel. Suárez refused, saying that too many of his men were tied up in Coronel Berti.

  “Imagine the problems you’ll have if these escaped criminals kill a woman in your jurisdiction,” Federico pointed out.

  The chief superintendent agreed to send a patrol car. With the presence of Officer Benítez and the deterrent effect of the patrol car circling the hotel, Federico thought they could have a quiet night. All the same, he couldn’t sleep a wink.

  At dawn he went down to the lobby and found Mariano drinking a brandy. They talked for an hour about the fugitive hitmen. Federico told him what he was most worried about at that moment:

  “Could Peratta have hired an assistant? Would you contract a second architect for a job you’ve already done dozens of times?”

  “Not unless it was a very big job.”

  “Or unless someone hired two architects to make sure the job was done right. And I think that’s what happening. Somebody hired them to get Verónica out of the way.”

  “And why would they want to do that?”

  “Because of her investigation into the murdered girls. So that’s the key to finding out who’s behind this. The same person responsible for the murders must have ordered Verónica’s execution.”

  Federico didn’t mention it to Mariano, but he was also worried by the interest shown by Verónica’s father in this whole affair. Why was he so protective of Ramiro, of Nicolás and their families? The truth was that Aarón had sent him to shield the same people Verónica was investigating, to erase any incriminating evidence on them. Verónica had not realized Federico was striving for exactly the opposite outcome to her. To eliminate the evidence, though, he needed to find it first.