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“No.”

29“Yeah, how would you know? Because I had enough of bein poor. You get me?”

“Yes.”

“When I get outta here I’m gonna be rich. This is my chance; I want it to go right. There’s somethin big, very big, that the guys upstairs have already planned, and me and the boss need you to lend a hand.”

It’s cold, but who gives a damn. Diego starts to sweat. He observes the tattoos, the pictures of bloodstains; he asks himself what kind of human being has corpses, blood and entrails inked onto his skin. He retches. He’s desperate to escape. He’s nauseous.

“And what would I have to do?”

“You such a chickenshit, my brother. I ain’t even started.”

“No, no. I’m just asking.”

“Let’s go, Sparrow. Listen good, get your brain in gear.”

“I’m listening, Hobo.”

“We gonna take out an armoured truck. You just help them get away with the bags, that’s all. You’ll be on lookout; you grab the bags with the cash, and the same day you’re back home with the loot, no problems.”

“And who’s organizing it? You? From inside?”