Plata quemada Page #2

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on the radio.

This gang acts

like a secret

organization,

my dear journalist.

Everyone is interviewing him!

Commissioner this,

Commissioner that...

Nene says they were set up,

that they nearly got killed.

He's covering up.

We'll have trouble

because of him, he knows it.

He's screwed it,

he's scared of us.

- He should pay.

- You suggest we turn them in?

We can also kill them.

Who's going to kill them? You?

It's no good.

It's out of Aguirre's hands.

He'll have to kill us.

All of us.

He has a lot more to lose

than his share of the money.

If they find he was in,

he'll kill us all.

And that includes you, Nando.

We're lepers,

police murderers.

To Uruguay. As soon as possible,

with all the money.

For the Police, the robbery

turned into an obsession.

The death of the officers

was a red ember in their hands.

Any croissants, Elsa?

There aren't any left.

It's been busy today.

They moved fast,

with all their might.

The usual suspects

were the first ones down.

They wanted results.

No, not now.

Pressed by the situation,

the corrupt officers

dropped Fontana's name.

They had no way out.

But they couldn't reach him.

- Is Chancho in today?

- He's in his office.

All the evidence they had

was the military machine gun,

the one Angel left behind.

Florian Barrios was seen

by a witness

testing a similar gun

at a shooting range.

Florian was the one

who could take them to Fontana.

Florian was the key.

Vivi knows now why Cuervo

didn't want to mention Uruguay.

But she doesn't repent

making him tell her.

She wanted him to resist

and say nothing.

He should have protected her.

She always knew

truth was dangerous.

If she knew nothing,

she'd have said nothing.

"Whose fault is it, then?"

Vivi thinks.

But she doesn't feel guilty.

She doesn't feel anything.

Even if Cuervo kissed her, now,

she would feel nothing.

THE VOICES:

Buenos Aires.

It's sh*t.

Worse than Bilbao,

worse than Marseille.

Buenos Aires is a prison.

The streets

are like a prison yard.

People move quietly, dryly,

Iooking cautiously

as if to avoid being wiped out.

I wish I never come back.

In English "I wish"

is said "I wish".

"I wish" means "I desire".

I desire Nene.

I wish he leaves Buenos Aires.

He's like his city.

He hates himself, he feeds on hate.

I want to save him.

I can save him.

Somewhere else.

You shouldn't smoke here.

It's not advisable. The light.

Spirits can spot you. The spirits?

- Yes.

- Do these spirits swim?

They float.

They're lighter than water,

and they shine,

they follow you,

as if you were one of them.

Since when

do you believe in ghosts?

Angel's fingers

always smell the same.

They smell like saw dust,

like gunpowder.

Like blood, like sex,

they remind me of things.

The toilets at Constitucion,

the jobs, the road,

cheap hotels,

getting undressed,

darkness.

Thank you.

This is Mr. Losardo,

my friend Fontana.

What are you looking at?

Don't you know

the cold makes it smaller?

What?

Want to keep on looking?

More?

Saw the pictures?

You saw them?

They're everywhere.

Remember I'm

doing this for you.

Any problems and I'll know

who's to blame.

You stare because you're dumb

or because you're a fag?

Or both?

Tell me.

I'm curious.

Scientific interest.

Got it from the old man.

Stop!

Is being queer

and retarded connected?

Or just the luck of the draw?

Because it's really bad luck.

Angel! Cut it out...

Stop it!

Stop, you can't, Angel!

So, were you born like that,

or did it grow on you?

- That's it!

- I'm just telling him...

Did you hear him?

I'm no retard!

- He called me...

- A fag!

I called you a fag!

That's it! A fag!

A fag!

I'd kill you if it

weren't for the old man.

I'll stick this

up your ass, f***er!

Stay out of sight

five days, at least.

I need time to get the I. Ds.

So be still.

You can't be too careful.

We'll keep in touch

through Nando,

it's best.

If you see this face again,

- it's a bad sign.

- We can't wait that long.

Five days. Ten. A hundred.

It's the same for you.

You're moles.

I want you under cover

and out of the light.

Cuervo, what is there

to do here?

What's good here?

Whores.

Hold on...

- You write their numbers?

- What else is a phone book for?

Gabriela, Gladys, Gloria.

They're all whores!

The fullest address book

in Latin America.

So weren't you so in love?

Vivi has my heart

but I have my cock with me.

Not all of it, for what I saw.

"The search goes on

for the bloodthirsty gang.

It is assumed... ''

This is an Argentine paper.

This one on the other hand...

''Argentine gang

searched for in... ''

This paper is Uruguayan.

See!

See for yourselves?

F***.

So, they know where we are

and anyone can recognize us.

They've got Vivi!

Anybody.

On the street,

in this building,

even going out to the balcony

is dangerous.

I must do something.

- That means...

- Are you deaf?

That means the girl told them

what I ordered you...

What I ordered you

not to tell her!

She should never have known

we were coming to Uruguay.

Under the circumstances,

our discretion is crucial.

If you want to leave

this country alive

you must do exactly what I say.

They aren't formalities.

It's a matter of life or death.

1 st rule:
We're invisible.

We can't be seen, not at all.

Don't show yourselves.

2nd rule:
We're mute.

None must hear us.

The world must think

the flat is still empty.

3rd and final rule: We're alone.

There's no world outside for us.

Let me look at the wound.

Let's see.

It's better.

You're not studying at all.

You should.

Study what?

English.

When we get to New York,

we're going to need it.

We must speak it perfectly.

Pass off as...

Our new papers will have

other names, right?

I want to choose my own name,

to confuse the voices.

Who, me? Wrong, wrong.

You've got the wrong guy.

Angel? What Angel?

I don't want to hurt him

but I can't help it.

I also feel like it. I want to.

But I mustn't.

The voices are not to blame.

They say I should,

they say I shouldn't.

They call me "fag",

"fairy", "saint".

They want to confuse me.

But I know what to do.

The semen. You have to save it.

It's sacred.

Nene doesn't get it,

I'm trying to save him.

No semen, no God.

Semen is sacred.

Waiting.

Most of the time it's waiting.

Waiting for the hit.

Waiting

until the heat's cooled off.

Waiting to move the money.

Time is exhausting,

a lost battle.

Like in jail, you wonder

how to fill the time.

What are you staring at?

You have a cop's soul.

You can't count on your body:

You can't f***, you can't cry,

they're above you,

you only have your head.

And you think crap

but you think.

If I had to explain all I thought

while I was inside

it'd take the same time

I was locked away.

You start imagining things:

What you lost,

what you left behind

when you put your life on hold.

A robbery,

step by step,

1 and 1000 times, like a movie.

The building of a house,

brick by brick.

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