Free The Angst-Ridden Executive by Manuel Vázquez Montalbán Page B

suppose it had to happen sooner or later.’
    Later on, when he was somewhere safe, he would get someone to call the boy. But maybe it would be too late, and he’d find that his son didn’t want to know him.
    ‘You’re going too fast.’
    This came from behind him. It took a moment for the exact tone of the words to sink in. Then he connected with them, got annoyed, and turned round. The man had sat up, and Dieter caught a glimpse of the muzzle of a gun which was held just out of his reach.
    ‘Take it easy, Fritz. Slow down and pull into the next lay by. You’ll see a big blue P. That means “parking”. No tricks, mind you, because I might just take your ear off. Just park up, nice and easy.’
    ‘What do you want? I’ve hardly any money on me. I travel with travelers cheques and credit cards.’
    ‘We’ll see. You just park, and then we can have a little chat.’
    Dieter clung to the hope that there might be other people parked in the layby to help him. He saw the blue P sign coming up, and he slowed down. He was heartened to see another car parked there.
    ‘Stop right here.’
    He braked abruptly, sending up a little cloud of dust. The man kept his distance, and kept the gun pointed at his head.
    ‘You can see for yourself. I’ll give you my wallet. You can look in my luggage.’
    ‘Give me the card I gave you. Throw it over.’
    There was a sign of movement from the other car. A man got out and came over towards them. The short man stayed just as he was. The other man was thickset and solidly built, and when he reached their car he leaned down to look in.
    ‘Is that him?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You sure?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘Are you Dieter Rhomberg?’
    ‘Are you the police?’
    The man behind him shouted—‘You—turn round!’ Dieter turned to look, and as he turned he saw the flash of something in the man’s hand as a razor slit his throat like a knife going through butter.
    Carvalho was jerked to full wakefulness by the surprise of seeing Bromide outside of his usual habitat of the Monforte and its neighbouring bars. There he was, standing at the front door of his house in Vallvidrera, kitted out with a tie, a three-piece suit, and extra-shiny shoes. He was accompanied by an athletic-looking youth with the figure of a Florentine statue.
    ‘Can we come in, Pepiño?’
    ‘For God’s sake, Bromide—you look like you’re dressed for a first communion!’
    ‘The occasion demands it. This is a friend of mine, to do with what you were asking me about yesterday. What’s more, the weather’s nice, so I thought to myself, a nice day in the country, go and pay Pepiño a visit.’
    The athletic youth had the air of a professional paranoiac, because as he came into the house he first peered into every corner and then stepped back to the door to check the garden. Then he followed Carvalho and Bromide. But he wouldn’t sit in an armchair; instead he leaned up against a chair and studied Carvalho, as if trying to get the measure of him.
    ‘This friend of mine knows everything there is to know about arguments and problems between pimps, their women, troublesome customers, and so on. Anything you want to know, just ask.’
    ‘Why—does he run a pimp’s agency?’
    ‘No. He’s a pimp too. Better sort of class, though. He’s a stunt man in the movies. One of those who go round crashing cars and throwing themselves down stairs. He’s an athlete. Show my friend your biceps.’
    The young man fended off the temptation with a sweep of his hand, but couldn’t avoid a smile.
    ‘Sure—I know—you didn’t come here to do circuit training! I presume Bromide has told you about the man they found murdered at Vich, and the women’s knickers, and so on. What do you know about all this?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘Do you think the killing had sexual motives?’
    ‘We never kill a client. If one of them goes too far with the girls and starts getting disgusting, we might give him a bit of a fright. If he hits a girl, for