«You should have sent someone else. »

«I couldn’t turn down an invitation from an old friend. » Carlos looks at me with that ironic smile, the same one he had as a boy. «That would be rude, don’t you think? »

I’m sure he doesn’t expect an answer. Without stopping to stare at him, I make a gesture that includes us and the old gas station.

«We’ve come a long way to get back here. Just you and me. »

A forgotten place, far away from everything: as kids, however, we often passed this stretch of highway.

He laughs loudly. «You won’t believe it, but when I got there I thought exactly the same. And what would have happened if I had passed that exam. »

Sliding doors, they call them. We had just received the results of the admission test to the Police Academy. The other friends who had been admitted and I were happy, ready to begin the adventure. Carlos in tears: he had failed by a few miserable points.

Then we lost sight of each other, even though I learned that he had made a career: extortion, robberies, contract killings. Until today.

Unlike his, my tone is very serious: «Go away now. We've never met. »

«No, Jorge. Accounts must be settled, and you know I'm a man of my word. »

He pulls out his gun, too fast.

One shot misses me, the second hits me in the leg.

I run as best as I can behind the low building covered in graffiti, my gym bag hindering my movements. I curse, then take out my gun.

I have an unpleasant feeling: I'm fighting for my life. Hard to believe, after so many years spent in an office directing other people's operations.

I move, I see him, turned away. I can't miss the opportunity: I hold my breath. I shoot.

He falls with a cry of pain.

I reach him, carefully. He's on the ground, on his back, motionless. A stain of blood on the asphalt.

Attentive to every little movement, I approach.

«Carlos, stay still. It will be over soon. »

The barrel of my gun is two feet from the back of his head. An easy shot.

But where is his gun?

He turns suddenly. He gives me a hunted-animal look, then the shot.

Now I'm lying on the ground, a searing pain in my belly. I feel cold, very cold.

«Help...me. Please… » I can barely articulate.

He's bleeding from his injured arm. He picks up his bag, from which two bundles of banknotes have fallen out.

He stares at me, a scornful look. He spits on the ground.

«There's nothing worse than a corrupt cop. »