Money to Burn Read Online Free PDF Page B

own thing and shouted their piece, as if fleeing alone across the countryside on a railway track, with a train bearing down from behind. 'We can go via Colonia and it'll take two hours. Get through Tigre district and, well, we can grab a boat, rent a ferry, buy an aeroplane, eh, darling?' The Kid laughed out loud and took more cocaine with his hand in a claw from the brown paper bag. His tongue and his palate had gone numb, and his voice sounded weird.
    'With the acceleration we've got,' said the Gaucho, 'the car could be our ferry.'
    'Hey, here's a level-crossing ... and here's a dead loss of a crossing-keeper.'
    'Leave him to me.'
    Brignone stuck his body out of the window and, when he saw what he was doing, Dorda did likewise out of the opposite window.
    Their machine-gun round sliced through the closed barriers at the level-crossing.
    Sparks were flying and wood splintering.
    'I had no idea the barriers were so flimsy,' and Kid Brignone laughed out loud.
    'They were hanging half outside of the windows and cut clean through,' relayed the crossing-keeper.
    Neither the railway employee nor the friend of twenty years who accompanied him could give a coherent description of the assailants, given their state of excitement.
    'As they escaped they found the level-crossing barriers closed at Madero Street and without stopping the car they sliced their way across them with a round of machine-gunfire' (according to the papers).
    'There were two behind and one in front, with the radio on at full blast. The car was hooting loudly too.'
    'The patrolman was following fifty metres behind them.'
    'It seems incredible they made their getaway.'
    Two guys hanging off the sides of the car with machine- guns in their hands.
    According to some witnesses, among the Chevrolet's occupants there seemed to be a wounded man who was being supported by his comrades. In addition, the rear window of the car had been shattered by bullets.
    The car came along Libertador Avenue honking its horn and forcing the traffic to open a path through until, at the crossroads between Libertador and Alvear Avenues, they came across a traffic police substation, which had been put on alert.
    Officer Francisco Núñez decided to block the car's path and jumped out into the street but a fresh round of fire burst from the moving car and flung him against a wall. Without pausing in their flight, the yobs let off yet another round of machine-gunfire and peppered the front of the police substation.
    The Chevrolet shot onwards at full speed with the gunmen still firing off at the police station. Three policemen got into a patrol car and began following them, their siren on at full blast.
    Crow Mereles was fully absorbed in his driving. He was addicted to Florinol. He drank the best part of a bottle of the stuff daily, and it lent him a serene vision of life. Florinol is a tranquillizer which, when taken in large doses, functions somewhat like opium; he'd acquired the habit in Batán jail, where it's as obtainable as any legal medicine that doctors can offer on prescription and the nurses can give you in exchange for money or women. The deal was simple: the prisoners' women were far more appealing than the wives of the prison screws and so a market was established, or at any rate a transaction. Visiting hours were really only held to put the young fillies through their paces, as Mereles expressed it. Their fiancées, their girlfriends, the girls who enjoyed whiling away some time with a bit of rough who was up for doing anything to them, would go with a hick if it were required, even with a screw, in short, a no-hope loser who'd take his turn with them in the guards' office. One afternoon the Crow had succeeded in getting his girlfriend at the time, Bimba she was called - sexy all right, but always out of her skull, a total smackhead - to get off with the boss of Batán jail. The guy was nothing but an obese executioner who enjoyed making them all sweat, but whenever he saw the