and, after doing a scan of the office, closed the office door and moved into the shop. Gustavo was chatting with Jania, examining the tango music CDs on the countertop display.
“Ah, good morning, my friend. So today is the day where I finally win a game against the maestro ?” Gustavo boomed in greeting, holding his boxed mini chess set aloft in his left hand.
“It’s a time of hope. One never knows what little miracles will be bestowed upon the fortunate,” Antonio replied with a grin.
“Shall we?” Gustavo gestured at the door.
Antonio nodded.
They made their way to the French bakery a few doors down and claimed one of the sidewalk tables. A waitress emerged from the shop and took their order as Gustavo carefully set the pieces on the chessboard.
“How’s business, my friend?” Gustavo asked.
“Oh, you know. Slow. It could be better.” The truth was that business was dismal, not that Antonio cared much.
“It’s the damned government. Did you know that Argentina was the eighteenth richest nation in the world at the start of the twentieth century?” Gustavo commented.
“What happened?” Antonio asked politely, having heard the story before.
“Back at the end of the Eighties, the president, Menem, privatized all the industries in Argentina that were part of the collective national worth. That’s the polite way of saying that he took anything of value and sold it to foreign banks for two cents on the dollar, in return for massive bribes. That’s why everything costs so much here. Argentina produces oil, and yet there are chronic gasoline shortages, and the price is higher than most non-producing countries. Same for power. The electric rates are among the highest in the world. Even the airline got sold, and it was wildly profitable at the time – and yet it went for less than the value of the assets, much less the revenue.”
“Well, the rest of the world is starting to get the same treatment by the same banks. The population gets screwed while the banks and the government get rich,” Antonio observed.
“Is it any wonder that the rule of law is breaking down? Society is a contract, between the people and their government. If the government doesn’t honor the deal, and lets special interests rob them, and inflates the currency till savings are worthless and prices go through the roof, then the population walks away from the deal. That’s how things are in Argentina,” Gustavo concluded.
“I’m not here to judge. I’m here to get beaten at chess. You do what you have to in order to get by.”
“A wise philosophy, my friend,” Gustavo said, nodding. “So how are you getting on with Jania?”
“She’s perfect for the job. I couldn’t ask for a better person,” Antonio replied neutrally.
“I think she’s rather fond of you.”
“As am I. Like I said, she’s the perfect person for the job,” Antonio repeated, preferring not to go down the road Gustavo was trying to steer towards.
“Ah. Just so.” Gustavo moved his opening pawn and eyed Antonio warily. “Your move.”
~
Gustavo had always perceived that, with Antonio, there was more going on than met the eye. He considered himself a good judge of character, having spent years doing handshake deals as he built his network in the Argentine underworld while he was one of the directors of the secret police. He wisely vacated his position after his role in the mass executions and death squads of the 1970s came into question, and he faded into obscurity before being recruited for the new regime, which was equally brutal, a few years later.
He’d leveraged his power in the newly-created intelligence apparatus to solidify a slavery and drug distribution network in Buenos Aires that survived to the present, albeit with younger men in the active positions. Upon his retirement from the government twelve years earlier, Gustavo had moved first to Patagonia, and then later to Mendoza, to be as far from the scene of his crimes