All language subtitles for Perder.Es.Cuestión.De.Método

Wait.

Wait.

What's wrong?

In the 18th century,
people suffered more elegantly.

A discreet cough,

a mild tuberculosis...

But frankly,
this century is humiliating.

Well, no. All right.

Okay. In the 19th century...

it's psychosomatic.

Monica's leaving me
and my hemorrhoids are acting up.

Hello?

Yes, what is it, Colonel?

What?

But Colonel, it's Sunday...

With my tape recorder?

What for?

Sure, I know what that is.

Yes, Colonel,
I know what "impalement" means.

It's awful.
Did someone get impaled?

No, they say Dracula invented it
in the 14th century.

Yes, Colonel.

I'm on my way.

Now listen here.

If you follow the rules
and behave yourself,

unlikely in your case, but...

the impalement is all yours.

Mine?
What do you mean, mine?

Yours. It's all yours.

I'm giving you an exclusive.

Here, eat this.

If you're not interested,
I'll find someone else.

Starving journalists
are easy to find.

Of course I'm interested, but...

You ever heard of
"The Last Supper"?

Yeah, Da Vinci's famous fresco.

I don't mean the painting.
I mean the organization.

It's a non-conformist
Christian evangelical group

that promotes weight-loss
through Bible reading.

Some gringos in Memphis
invented it.

They read, fast,
eat vegetables,

cook together...

Why do you ask?
Anything illegal?

It's my wife.

Somehow she got this crazy idea
it's the answer

to my weight problem.

It's quite popular.

The problem is, when you first join
you have to give a speech

explaining what brought you there.

It's not so hard, Colonel.
Just be sincere.

Sincerity can't be improvised,
my dear journalist.

I mustn't make a fool of myself.

It's not just about me.

I have a reputation
as an officer.

So what will you do?

Very simple, Silampa.
You'll write my speech for me.

No... no, Colonel.

I'm a journalist.
I wouldn't know how.

You're educated.
An intellectual.

It's a different
style of writing.

Need I remind you
of all the favors you owe me?

All right.

Go ahead.

My name is Moya Aristofanes.

I'm six feet tall
and I weigh 127 kilos.

I became aware of my problem
the day I ate,

apart from the three daily meals
recommended by the Church...

I went on a rampage...
eating 17 chocolates,

14 bags of gummy bears,

and 11 caramel cookies.

And that was just the sweets.

I also set a record
with the salty foods.

12 empanadas with hot sauce,

4 cheese arepas

and 3 bacon cheeseburgers
with fries.

In the country
of the Sacred Heart,

there's no absolution
for anyone

when cash is king

and decency won't cut it.
Honor is dead...

We hack our way through
a jungle of semantics.

Survival of the most violent...

Scruples are an invention

of a faraway past
covered with dust.

They've bribed us all,

nobody beats the rap.

We all carry guns,

we like our cash
under the counter...

Victor Silampa,
the Observer.

It's up there.

Nobody's innocent anymore.

Everyone's a delinquent.

They come in all shapes
and colors,

the worst ones
wear white collars.

Where politics means theft,

millionaires, money
and golden papaya...

Social animals,
like lions,

and wealth Is the prey.
We're all predators.

They've bribed us all,

nobody beats the rap.

We all carry guns,

we like our cash
under the counter.

They've bribed us all,

nobody beats the rap.

We all carry guns...

My wife suggested I buy

"Selections from Reader's Digest."
There was this article

titled "I am Juan's stomach."

That's when I became
aware of my problem.

I was treating my stomach
like a trash bag.

Hl, this Is Monica. Leave a message
and I'll call you back.

No more messages.
Let her call me.

Otherwise fuck it.
It's out of my hands.

Should I put this in the novel?

How long has he been dead?

Between two and eight weeks.

That's not very precise.

Ask him yourself,
you might get lucky.

While you're at it, ask him his name.
They burned off his fingerprints.

Is that him?

No. My brother-in-law
was younger and thinner.

And he was black.

Follow me.

Name the person missing
and your family relation.

Osler Estupi�an Juarez.

Older brother.

-Have you got their names?
-Names?

Too many corpses.
We haven't got time.

If people get here quick
to identify them, fine.

Otherwise
we bury them together.

Something about him
looks familiar.

Where are his clothes?
Was he found naked?

Do you know him or not?

Maybe.

Then go with... the nurse.
He has some routine questions.

Your brother was single,

50 years old,
no mental disorders...

He drove an '84 taxi...

Upgraded to a '94.

The whole thing is bizarre.

I ran into him last year
by chance.

I'd taken a job in Cartagena...

that ancient colonial gateway
to the enlightened ideals of freedom...

I've been looking for him
ever since.

You think it's your brother?

It could be.

What might have happened to him?

No idea.

He didn't drink,
he didn't like the Rumba

and with the ladies,
he barely qualified

as a member of the male gender.

Could it be a kidnapping?

Who would kidnap
a taxi driver?

Thanks.

Do all nurses
ask questions like that?

I find it rather
odd that you...

-Secret police?
-Well...

Let's just say
I'm collaborating.

Oh, right.

-Call me if you hear anything.
-I'm happy to help.

-And make sure.
-Of what?

That it's your brother!

Oh, right.

First question:
is your Monica gone for good?

She's after success and money
and you don't fit the profile.

Second question:

why all the interest
in the impaled guy?

Has Colombia progressed so much
that a single death makes the news?

Well, it's a weird case.

A book?

No. I don't know.
I haven't thought about it.

I think you have.

You think you can win her back
with a bestseller.

Mr. Guzman.

What's this?

A reward for good behavior.

The psychiatrist said
no newspapers.

He was very specific.
Nothing connected to media.

It's not connected.
Because it's not news.

It's history.

Bullshit.
They're newspapers.

Not anymore.

Every day they give me
an old paper.

Beginning the day and year
I was committed.

A daily dose of history.

I'm at the storming
of the Palace of Justice.

Now that was a fucking mess.

You won't believe
what happens next.

Don't tell me!
You'll ruin the intrigue.

Back to the impalement.

All I can say is
this is no random crime.

This kind of stuff

is driven by hate.
Or to scare someone.

I haven't even
identified the body.

It'll start talking at some point.
All corpses do.

I'm from Nelva.
My folks had a fried-food stand.

The most Colombian
of all Colombian food.

Well, no offense
to the fatherland,

but it's poison to the arteries.

I grew up eating
out of a deep-fryer.

IMPALEMENT IN TEUSA

Never heat croissants
in the microwave!

It turns them into rubber.

Where's the new girl?
What's her name?

Nancy, sir?

I have no idea.

I saw her around earlier,
but she could be anywhere.

Looking for me, sir?

-Morning, Nancy.
-Morning, sir.

Find the Antunez file
and take it to my office.

Yes, sir.

Get me Mr. Esquilache,
at City Council.

Excuse me, where's the file?

It won't be denied.
We can't let bureaucracy hinder

those who with Roman-like
visions of grandeur

build such magnificent
housing developments

for our beloved Bogot�.

Would we deny, I ask,

Rome its Appian Way?
The grandiose

convergence of all roads
leading to Rome,

today still a pillar
of human history?

Barragan on this one,
and Vargas and Culebro on this one.

Right.

How's Catalina?

And the kids?
The little one?

Then everything's rosy.
Family comes first.

Fucking prick.

Go away.

So what about that impalement?

Don't say crap like that
over the phone.

Tell Catalina and the kids
to come on Saturday.

We'll have lunch,
go horseback riding...

We'll have potato soup for lunch.

I'm serious, too.

You should try to honor
those little meatballs

under your penis
and act like a man.

This thing is only
getting started.

Hello?

It's me, Councilman.

Vargas Vicu�a.

How's my thing going?

What?

No, Esquilache,
that wasn't the plan.

Of course I understand.
You're talking about "the law."

Fine, whatever.

If we have to cut back, fine.

But we cut back the whole thing.
Your share as well.

If we can only build
three stories high,

then three stories it is.

It's all proportional.

Any news about that land
by the lake?

I'm on it, I have a lawyer
handling the claim

on the estate.

My niece's husband.
He's nice and obedient.

You met him.

I know.
That's the point.

Excuse me, the Lolita Bar?

Here I am, Estupi�an.

-Wadda you got?
-Boss.

Check it out.
That fat guy over there

says someone paid
him to take a strange

package from Tunja to Choconta.

-A corpse?
-I don't know about that.

But you said Choconta
was near the lake

where they found
the guy you showed me.

So I thought,
what if it was him?

Right.

I think the guy
has something to say.

You should hear him out.

Let's go.

One, two, three.

Hold on.

On my right, Sigurny.

On my left, Maiteir.

What a gift!

Look, for what they paid me

I'd transport manure.

What was it exactly?

I don't know.

Over here, baby.
It was a stroke of luck.

On Thursday this classy lady
showed up in a little red car.

She asked me to take a package

from Tunja to Choconta.
Before I could even give a price

she stuck a big wad
of cash in my hand.

And you know what she said?

That in Tunja I'd get paid
the other half.

And you didn't ask
what it was?

I'm not the curious type.

Curiosity isn't good for business,
you know?

That's true.
I'll drink to that.

That's right.

So I took it to some warehouse
near the edge of town.

The granary.

Granary, that's right.

The granary.
And that was it.

I got paid the other half
and I came back here

to find my little queen

and do a bit of socializing.
That's what money's for.

Yes, sir!

I hear you.
Here's to the ebony queen!

As the dominant classes like to say:
friendship before health.

It was nice meeting you.

Boss!

He must be getting tired.

Who wouldn't be
at 5 in the morning?

Leaving already?

What's your name?

Quica.

But I'm sorta busy tonight.

Another time?

Come tomorrow at 7,
nice and early.

That was fun, boss.

He sang like a canary.

If you'd been patient, we'd have got
the whole story out of him.

Hey, I'm patient.
I just couldn't take the pain.

Have you ever had hemorrhoids?

No, not me...
Sorry, boss. I didn't know.

Forget it. I'm leaving.
And don't call me "boss."

Why are you so worried
about this?

Because of my brother.

I'll do anything I can
to find him.

But you weren't sure
he was the impaled guy.

And what if he is?

I don't want any regrets
on my future conscience.

UNION GRANARY

Shit!

It smells like
a rodent fart in here.

"Urban Council No. 2, Bogot�.

Building License.
Builder, Vargas Vicu�a."

HEAVEN ON EARTH
TURKISH BATHS

Boss.

I've never been
to a Turkish bath.

Production-related collective property
rights must be a real bitch.

Hey, boss. You think socialism
will ever make a comeback?

Was it ever here?

Who?

Socialism.

No, I mean the iron curtain, boss.

Don't mind me.

I don't understand politics,
that's why I ask. So I can learn.

I noticed, Estupi�an.

It's complicated stuff.

Now what, boss?

Don't call me "boss."

Just between the two of us,
you're the one in charge.

I'm no good at giving orders,
Estupi�an.

I'm just a journalist.

-You're not secret police?
-Not at all.

If I were I'd be doing
more thrilling stuff.

Like chasing drug runners.

You're an angel, Baquetica.

At your service, Mr. Victor.

It says here the original deed
was taken to be signed two months ago.

-Has it been registered?
-Give me a second.

Look, an official document
was requested in this office

for a land donation.
The relevant part reads:

"This document through which

Casiodoro Pereira Antunez
transfers ownership

to Mr. Heliodoro Tiflis
400 hectares of land situated

between stipulated boundaries...

surrounding Teusa Lake."

Isn't that where

the "Heaven on Earth"
Turkish baths are?

Yeah, but they don't own
the land.

It's a temporary usage agreement.
It says so right here.

It's in the contract.

The expiration date is coming up,
Mr. Victor.

-What's today?
-The fourth.

It expires next week.

So this guy Tiflis owns it now?

More or less.

-"More or less"?
-Sure, like I said.

The deed is ready and signed,

but it hasn't been registered
in this office.

Because they haven't brought back
the signed original.

That means it hasn't been legalized
as an official document.

And as you know,

they would have to pay
a higher rate.

In Paris it's better.

Have you ever been?

No, not yet, sir.

What a shame.
We'll have to fix that.

Shall I answer your cell phone?
I'm your secretary, right?

Too bad. Excuse me.

Hello? Good afternoon,
you're speaking with

Mr. Emilio Barragan's secretary.
Can I help you?

One moment, please.

It's Vargas Vicu�a,
the engineer.

Tell him...

I'm talking to New York.
Have him hold.

I'm so sorry, Mr. Barragan

is finishing up
a call from New York

on his other cell phone.
You can hold the line if you like.

Thank you, sir.

Well?

How was I?

Perfect.

We should seriously consider
that trip to Paris.

Anytime, sir.

Please.

Engineer? I'm sorry, I was talking
to someone in New York.

No need to apologize.

New York always takes priority.

The signal's fading,
where are you exactly?

I'm driving on the freeway.

Right, sure you are.

Look, I found out you're handling
the Antunez estate.

The deceased had some land
over by the lake.

I've taken an interest
in that land.

The case is mine, but it's still
in the preliminary evaluation stage.

Once I have a clear idea
I'd be happy to discuss it.

I need to refresh my memory.
Call me next week and we'll talk.

Having memory problems?

Pardon?

If you as the appointed lawyer

see there's a chance
I could negotiate directly,

consider me your first option.

And even if the land becomes
state property, call me anyway.

All right?
Memory is like a plant.

It needs water,
lots of water...

"Soon after I turned eleven,
I heard my father say:

'AII Aristofanes does is eat.
I'm ashamed of him.'

So I stopped eating, and when I got
so thin I could hardly stand up,

they hospitalized me.

From then on
my father never left my side.

One morning I was woken up
by someone moaning.

It was my father weeping
by my hospital bed.

I weighed a mere 28 kilos.

Friends, we all know how it feels
to see your father weep... Pause."

"Pause"?

Oh, I get it.

"The next day my tormented body
came unblocked

and I was able to eat again.
But my father's tears

taught me to fear
the power of words."

Pretty.

Very touching.

Congratulations.

What about the rest?

Give me a few days.

I'm busy with
the impalement case.

What have you got?

Not much, for now.

I need more information,
Colonel.

Otherwise I'll get fired
from the paper.

The "Heaven on earth"
Turkish baths. Start there,

Silampa.

When will the body
be identified?

We're working on it.

Just make sure
you finish my speech.

And keep me informed.

Cheer up, Mr. Journalist.
You've been too serious lately.

Quica?

Quica.

You're late, honey.

How much to go upstairs?

But you treat me nice.

Yeah.

Boss.

He scored.

That journalist
is becoming a client.

He's a journalist?

That's what I heard.

Make sure he pays in cash.

I'm ready.

Did you have anything special in mind
or just the daily menu?

Hey, this isn't a hotel.

If you want

I can get on top.

Okay?

Look, mister.

I may be a hooker,
but I'm still human.

Answer me.

Yes.

Get on top.

Get on top, please.

You know what? That's what you get
for drinking too much.

How's your hangover?

Honey, you were shitfaced.

What happened?

You fell asleep and the guys
from the bar left you outside.

I brought you home
because I'm stupid.

And I felt sorry for you.

But hey,

now you owe me
a lot of money.

What time is it?

Twenty after six.

Go upstairs if you want.

Take a shower.

-You want some coffee?
-Yes.

Here, see if that helps.

Thanks.

Hey.

Where's my car?

Your friend took it.

Which friend?

A guy who helped me
put you in the taxi.

He said he'd come for you later.

Thanks, Quica.

How much do I owe you?

A hundred thousand.

For overtime and the taxi.

I had to pay him double
for helping you upstairs.

All right.

I'll invite you out
for dinner sometime.

Look, I'd be happy to accept.

But if you just wanna get drunk,

you can count me out.

I don't like drunks.

I'm all ears, Estupi�an.
Tell me what you're doing here.

Okay, boss. But first tell me
how things went with the lady.

She's a real cupcake.

How was the filling?

Do you remember anything
about last night?

Last night?

You gave me your car keys
so you could stay and drink more.

They brought you outside

and right when Abuchija
was about to tell me something

the girl came out
and you left with her.

She even gave me the address
to come get you. Don't you remember?

-No, I don't.
-Shit, boss.

You were really out of it.

-Did Abuchija say anything new?
-Just about the granary.

Nothing else?

You wanted more?

That Quica's a real muffin, boss.

She's just a kid.

You should have seen her
when she started at the bar.

All the customers
fought over her.

You included?

I prefer my used merchandise

a little older, boss.
Otherwise...

Don't call me "boss."

So what do we do now?

We drop you off
on my way home.

But let's get some gas first.

Here we go.

Boss...

Are the guerrillas neo-liberals?

I once heard we Latin Americans
lack political education. So...

No harm in asking.

I don't know, Estupi�an.
I'm Latin American, too.

At age 11 I moved in with
my grandma Simona, who sold candy.

When that first spoonful
of butterscotch

and that first strand of taffy
hit my stomach,

I was a goner.

I'd fallen into
the clutches of sugar.

Joaquin!

It just isn't the same,
Marco Tulio.

The morning "Le Monde,"
a warm croissant at a caf�...

Then a stroll along
the Rue Saint Honor�...

Oh, no, no.

Let's get some lunch in your dad,
maybe he'll shut up.

Don't make fun of their dad,
they're still too young.

There'll be plenty of time
for that later.

Here we go again.

Pereira Antunez died 8 weeks ago
and I sent you to the funeral.

Did you forget or just not go?

Let's get to the point.

What happened with that land
by the lake? I mean,

that's exactly why I sent you

to handle his estate,
so we wouldn't get reamed.

It's moving forward.

So far nobody's claimed
the inheritance.

I reviewed the documents
you sent me

listing Pereira Antunez's assets,

but there was no sign
of the 400 hectares.

What?

You heard me. Not a trace.

What the fuck?

You can't lose 400
hectares of land in a desk drawer.

They're not lost.

Antunez just happened
to be a nudist.

He gave a part to
"Heaven on Earth."

He ceded certain property rights,
but not the property itself.

That's right,
among the papers there was

a usage agreement.

But the original deed is missing.

I have to find out who has it.

Vargas Vicu�a
is interested as well.

Who told you that?

Well,

I have sources, too.

Look, Emilio. The president
of Colombia Construction

told me the housing project
is ready to go.

That's all I care about
right now.

Don't tell me you already have
a commitment with them.

A commitment? What country
do you live in, man?

What country?
Come back to Earth, Emilio.

Who do you think financed
my campaign for City Council?

If we aren't able
to expropriate that land,

what'll happen to my Senate campaign?
Because I will be a senator again.

So don't get my dick
in a twist here.

Hold on...
What about Vargas Vicu�a?

I thought you two were
in this together.

I owe Vargas Vicu�a nothing.

I owe everything
to Colombia Construction.

Sometimes your ineptitude
really surprises me. It's exasperating!

I can't fucking believe it!

-Calm down.
-Calm down?

We're talking about
a shitload of money, Emilio.

Millions of dollars.

If we're unable to exploit this

because you're not
up to the task,

I'll castrate you.
And another thing.

Because we're family.

One word of this gets out...

A single word
and I'll bury you.

I'll wipe the floor with you.
I don't care who your mother is.

Don't threaten me.

I'll threaten you
whenever I fucking please.

Get me that deed.

Mr. Elius, how are you?
Where have you been?

My dear Councilman,
how lovely to see you again.

-Likewise.
-How are things?

Have you met
Mr. Barragan?

Heliodoro Tiflis,
at your service.

Pleasure. We met
at Mr. Pereira's funeral.

Tequila with lemon over here

and two doubles
for that table.

Here, have a seat.

Tequila goes down nice and smooth
in this weather. Care to join me?

Sure, sure.

Make it five over here!

A bit of liquid sunshine.

To what do I owe
this rare honor?

It's a consultation.

Mr. Barragan and I
are looking for the deed

to some land of Pereira Antunez's.
I thought you might know

since you and he were close.

I thought maybe...

A toast to the memory
of that great man.

Mr. Barragan
is handling the estate

and as a councilman
I have to intervene

because so far there's no heir.

The local authorities
must be involved.

Excuse me, sir.

Another round?

-lf we must.
-Sure, boss.

Three doubles over here.

Excuse me, sir. Carry on.
Where is this land?

It's in Teusa.

400 hectares by a lake.

What can I say?

Let me do a little
checking of my own.

The thing is,
if the deed doesn't turn up

the city will have
to expropriate the land,

which will complicate things
and make everything more expensive.

I'd like to save the taxpayer's money
and simplify things

for the people involved.
You see?

I understand perfectly, sir.

Don't worry,
I'll get back to you.

Goodbye.

I think he's our man.
He can get us out of this jam.

Quica!

Quica!

-What's up?
-Hi.

Come on, get in.

Yeah?
Where to, may I ask?

We'll go for a ride.
I owe you, remember?

Who's gonna pay me
for today?

Me, of course.
I don't see anyone else around.

Well...

I'll call the bar
to say I'm not going

-and get changed.
-No, you look fine. Hurry up.

Like this?

Yeah, get in.

Quica, I need to ask a favor.

I need you to keep quiet.
Try not to speak to anyone.

Swear nothing kinky
will happen to me.

I swear.

Sir, I need a signature.

This is a respectable business.
We only take couples.

We're looking for people
who share our nudist philosophy.

-Of course.
-Sounds great.

The invitation

as a free one-day pass
has two purposes:

the first,
to familiarize you

with our facilities.
The second,

so we can get to know you.

As you can see, we're very selective
about who we admit.

And with good reason.

Fantastic, isn't it?

Of course, yes.

Wait for me.

-Where are you going?
-Wait for me here.

In there.

Quica.

Victor, meet Alberto.

Hello.

I was just saying how pleased I am
that young people have taken to nudism.

Ah, yes.

It's fascinating.

I started at age 19.

Of course back then
we were branded as degenerates.

As if nudism were
just about your willy.

-Alberto.
-Come here.

We have a meeting, remember?

-They're waiting.
-Look, a new couple.

Susan Caviedes, our manager.

Welcome.

And then he said,

-"Touch me."
-No...

"You could blow on it
and still nothing would happen."

-Sure.
-Yeah, right?

What could happen?

Quica...

Have you ever suffered?

Yes.

When my brother got killed.

He was the greatest.

He was taken by a
couple guys in uniform

and later turned up dead.

Shot three times.

We never found out if
they were soldiers or guerrillas.

My brother never bothered anyone,

he showed everyone respect.

That Susan must be bad news.

It shows.

Where to now?

To my place, to rest.

Rest?

You want to fuck me
in the ass.

You pervert.

How old are you?

It depends.

If you're a cop, I'm 23.

If you're a customer,

I'm 16.
Which do you prefer?

The truth.

The truth...

The truth is
I don't even know.

"Hey, fatso...

How about a nice tasty beer?

They were talking to me,
but the words seemed so distant,

as if spoken to someone else.

But it was a lost cause.

The whores called me "fatso."
No matter how hard I tried to hide it...

-Who's that?
-A fat friend.

More bad news.

What's that?

A gift.

Who would give you
such a thing?

My mentor.

So I have someone to talk to.

Talking always helps.

How awful.

Your mentor must be nuts.

Actually, the poor guy
is a bit nuts.

He got put in an insane asylum
right after that.

-Who's this?
-No one.

Is she dead?

She is to me.

She left me.

You see?

I knew you were depressed.

Did you love her?

I don't even know anymore.

Since she left,
it feels like it.

But I'm getting over it.

That's why you drink
so much, right?

You're down in the dumps.

My mom always told me

never to fall in love.

Well, what now?

Bedtime? Or do you prefer
the mannequin?

Victor Silampa?

I know who you are.

And why you went
to the Turkish baths.

Who covered the Antunez funeral?

I did.

Recognize any of them?

I need to run an errand.
Loan me your car and I'll help you.

Okay.

Colonel Osorio Benavides,

this looks like the engineer
Vargas Vicu�a,

the lawyer Emilio Barragan...

Hey, it's Heliodoro Tiflis.

Wow.

-Heliodoro Tiflis?
-Yeah, you know him?

The name sounds familiar.

Probably because
he's someone to watch out for.

-Really?
-And how, my friend.

He's a thug.
Look him up and you'll see.

Okay, let's have your car keys.

Bring me a bottle of rum.

Hey, man.
You're drinking way too much.

You want to end up like Guzman?

Careful with my car!

"Heliodoro Tiflis.

Arrested and released
for lack of proof.

Owner, the Emerald Hotel,
the Happiness Motel,

the Bar Lolita..."

Owner of the Bar Lolita!

Go have a look at your car.

WE CAME, WE ATE, WE SHAT

Motherfuckers.

Bastards.

Bar Lolita?
Put Quica on the phone.

I'm a friend of Mr. Heliodoro Tiflis.
Put her on or there'll be trouble.

You said you didn't know Tiflis.

Hello?

Quica, keep quiet and listen.

Don't say my name.
It's me, Victor.

Don't ask why,
but you're in danger.

Leave the bar and meet me
at Jimenez and Decima.

Stop at the stairs, please.

No, keep going.

-But we're here.
-Keep going, I'll explain after.

Here.

That was my front door.

Why all the mystery?

This is way over
both our heads.

We'd better not take any chances.

Are you sure no one at the bar
has your address?

No, only you
and your friend have it.

Quica, someone is after me.

That means they know who I am.

I think you're in danger
as well.

But I'll protect you.

Just do exactly as I say.

You got me into this, Victor.

What will I do if I lose my job
at the bar?

Where will I work?

This is going to cost you.

Whatever.

But promise me you won't go back
to the bar until we figure this out.

Go home.

What about you?

I'm going back to the paper.
I can't go home.

Sure. You don't give a fuck
about me.

I'll stay if you want.

It's not that I want you to.

But you should.

This is all your fault,
isn't it?

No whisky or gin for me.

That stuff is for British hermaphrodites
and American faggots.

My bar serves it all, but I'm faithful
to our homegrown firewater.

Me, too.
How about that?

You never really know a man.

Who'd have thought a man as important
and serious as Pereira Antunez

would end up running around naked
with his balls in the air?

You see, Heliodoro...

Frankly I don't think
they have the deed.

But I do know
it won't be easy to find.

Otherwise I wouldn't be here
bothering you.

For me it's an honor

to have a gentleman like you
visit my establishment.

Some people despise these places.

We all have a right to pleasure,
don't we?

Divine words, Mr. Engineer.

How's that legal
issue going? I mean,

the estate.

It's in Mr. Barragan's hands.

Not to worry.
You have nothing to fear from him.

He's in debt up to his neck.

I wrote him a little
check to motivate him.

You don't know
where the deed is?

What I don't know is why
there's so much interest.

You know I'm willing to write
a juicy check with lots of zeros

to whoever makes
that deed reappear.

Can I ask you a question?

Of course you can.

You have lots of diplomas, right?

A doctor's degree from Stanford,

some post-graduate work
in London and Paris...

Then answer me this question.
And forgive my asking.

At any of those fine places,

didn't you learn that it's disrespectful
to offer money like that?

Excuse me?

Did it not occur to you
that in a fat deal like this one

the right thing to do
is include your friends?

I can't make that kind
of decision on my own.

I have partners.

Talk to them, Mr. Engineer.
Talking always helps.

Right.

How about a little female company?
It's on the house.

At your service,
Mr. Engineer!

Bonchito, what's the plan
with the journalist?

-It's already done.
-Yeah? You sent him a message?

A metaphor, Mr. Heliodoro.

That's right.
You said he was an intellectual.

It looks like he understood.
He hasn't been in today.

Search his place.
Set up surveillance until he shows up.

You're not using me as bait,
I hope.

Confess.

No, man.

It's because
they don't know you.

If you don't want to,
that's fine.

I don't blame you.

Look me in the eye, boss.

Swear that this isn't about drugs,
guerrillas or the army.

I swear.

In that case,
I'll do whatever you say.

Otherwise, there's no way.
Those people

scare the hell out of me.

Here are my keys.

I'll tell the concierge
a plumber's coming.

Hey, boss.

As long as we're here,
how about we pray or something?

-Just in case.
-Sorry, Estupi�an.

I'm not a believer.

I'm agnostic.

Agnostic?

You're a real piece of work.

What harm could it do?
Go on,

kneel.

Hey, boss.

Is there a lot of paperwork
to become agnostic?

You're an angel,

Mr. Baquetica.

Do you mind me calling you that?

I heard everyone does.

-Not everyone, but you can.
-Thank you.

Normally these things
aren't allowed.

I'm so very grateful,
Mr. Baquetica.

Thank you.

-What's the pizza number?
-The same as always, dipshit.

Hello?

Sure, he's still here.
The pizza guy.

Do we need beers?

What for?
The fridge is full of beer.

Otherwise I'll have to go
and get them myself.

Are you fucking stupid or what?

Tiflis told us to wait here.

You obedient little faggot.

We can see the apartment
from the pizzeria.

The boss will be pissed.

That fucking journalist
won't come back here.

I'm sorry, Estupi�an.

I should have gone.

It did cross my mind.
"What the fuck am I doing here?"

But don't worry,
those guys didn't see me.

You're sure about that name?

Tiflis?

I'm positive, boss.

This is getting dangerous.

Thanks, but this is where
you get off.

For your own good.

I can't get off now,
this is just starting to get good.

I can take care of myself.
We know who they are.

They're about to
come out of their holes.

-Who?
-The killers, boss.

Promise me again they aren't
drug runners, and I'm in.

Silampa, don't even insinuate
that I'm not doing enough.

I even had that crap
on your hood analyzed.

What else can I do?

I'm grateful, Colonel.
But I must insist.

We have to follow up
the Susan Caviedes lead.

I know she's the one who sent
Tiflis's thugs to my apartment.

How about that other thing?
My speech.

My tape recorder
is still at my place.

What? You mean
the entire recording?

No, I hid the cassette.

I hope so. If I hear that my personal
life is being spread around,

I'll cut off your balls
with nail clippers.

Relax, Colonel.

I am relaxed! Look at me.
I'm perfectly relaxed.

Take note:

our elegant friend
Susan Caviedes

has plenty of experience
at running around naked.

You heard me right.

Before joining "Heaven on Earth"

she worked as a prostitute.

And get this...
just to show you

I'm on the ball.
Listen to this:

I spoke personally with your boss
at the paper

and got you permission
to keep investigating.

Plus another interview
and that phone to contact us.

Take it.

And get this:

Tiflis has an office in the penthouse
at the Emerald Hotel.

Did you fix that "Heaven on Earth"
contract for me?

The privilege agreement
expires this week.

Susan, you know my hands are tied.
Everyone's after that deed.

I can't touch it
until they reach an agreement.

Is there a clause that specifies
the "Heaven on Earth" property line?

Yeah, baby.
But let's save business for after.

Come here, sugar.

Hurry up, man.
Don't lose her.

I'll give you a big tip.

Son of a bitch!

Drop it or I'll shoot!

It's for my throat!

It's not a stun gas?

I'm not a detective,
I'm a journalist.

Victor Silampa.

-Gustavo Cansaza, at your service.
-Nice to meet you.

She's his lover!

Of course,
they must be lovers!

And he said:

"Check my pockets
for proof of another lover...

hair on my lapel,

my smile gives me away...

Check my shirt,
my alibi is In shreds...

I'm being too obvious,
deception is a science.

I've had It with you,

you're not

my other half,

you're nothing special..."

That's great. Keep going.

When I save up enough at the bar
I want to be a singer.

Great idea.

You like my voice?

Very much.

When can I go back to work?

I don't know yet.

If Tiflis finds out
we were together...

Stop scaring me.

Quica...

Be patient, okay?

I'll fix this.

I don't care.
Take all the time you need.

I just hate having to charge you.

You understand?

You let the deed get stolen
so you could get laid?

It won't happen again, boss.

If we don't get it back,
I'll have to castrate you.

-Here she is, boss.
-Let go of me.

Why did you send
this animal for me?

-You still don't know?
-No!

Put some ice on that eye,
Runchito.

What's going on?

I'm a bit nervous,
but you can help.

Give back the deed
and everything will be fine.

The deed got stolen?

That's right. Problem is, you're
the only person who knew I had it.

I told you to keep it
in the safe.

And not to listen to these idiots.

Just give it back.
I'll open some champagne,

a little caviar
and straight to bed,

-as usual.
-I don't have it.

I swear to God I don't.

Then who?

Didn't you say Esquilache
and Barragan wanted it?

And Vargas Vicu�a?

And that journalist
who disappeared?

I warned you about him,
didn't I?

You're not in cahoots
with any of them?

Of course not. You're my partner,
my only partner.

You're the best, daddy.

Very flattering, but nobody's going
anywhere until I find that deed.

Let her watch TV.

Let go of me!
You can't do this!

-Move it, honey.
-Let go!

Put a gag on her.

And Wilbur.

Go over to that journalist's place.
Bring him here as soon as he turns up.

Yes, sir.

Bastard!
Let go of me!

Have you tried imagining her
taking a shit?

What?

Monica, I mean.

Sometimes it works.

"Battles with women
are the only battles

that are won by retreating."

Napoleon.

I didn't want to win.

I lost.

I always lost.

It neither irritates
nor worries me.

"Losing is a question of method."

Luis Sepulveda.

You're just improvising,
my friend.

Suffering isn't always
a bad thing.

I agree with him.

Estupi�an, please.

It's just that I have experience.

-With what?
-Suffering.

Believe me, in the end it feels great.
Worked for me. And over a lady, too.

Who was the owner
of that land again?

Pereira Antunez.

People of faith
always look for symbolism.

He's the one who got impaled.

Impossible. They buried him
in the cemetery last month.

I'm sure of it.
It must be him.

Maybe they dug him up,

took him to Tunja,
then to Choconta,

and finally impaled him
just for the hell of it.

But who?

Figure that one out for yourself.

I'm just thinking out loud here.

So I'm alone?

Watch what you say about being alone!
That's irrelevant!

Victor, I'm tired of this subject!

Tell them to leave.

Gentlemen, please leave.

You're like a bird
flying towards a tree all day

and when you get close
you turn around!

-Vladimir...
-Yes, sir?

-Did you read Rafael Pombo as a kid?
-No, sir.

Your parents blew it for you.

Maybe, but I never met them.
So I don't know.

Listen to this, it's great.

"Michin to his mother said:
'I'm going to eat some pie.

And should anyone to stop me try,
they will soon be dead.

Stolen it, have I..."'

What's this asshole doing?
Stop the car!

-What the hell?
-Take it easy.

Remember me?

Well...

It just so happens that my boss
seems to have lost some papers

and he'd like to speak to you.

What papers?

The papers.

The deed to the land.

Think back, man.

I don't know anything about it.

-What's your fucking problem?
-Runcho!

You don't like my shirt?
My tie?

-No, you look great.
-Oh, yeah?

Bullshit!

You fucking faggot!

Runcho, relax!
He just wants to know

-where you bought it!
-This motherfucker

wants me to smoke him!

Stop it!
That's enough!

Vladimir, apologize!

I'm sorry, sir.

You see? He apologized.
Everything's fine.

Sorry about that.
My partner

Loses his cool sometimes.

Don't forget to give
my boss a call.

Please.

Good luck, gentlemen!

Hello?

Mr. Barragan's secretary.

No, Nancy.

Who shall I say is calling?

I'll see if he's available.

Excuse me?

-Who is it?
-Mr. Esquilache. He's a pervert.

What did you say to her?

That's unacceptable!

What?

That has nothing to do with me.

How can you...?

I never saw the original!

DEED AGREEMENT
ANTU N EZ - TIFLIS

Oh, you're right.

I told you to stay away from
that mafia character Tiflis.

You're offending me,
Marco Tulio!

Is something wrong, sir?

Get me Vargas Vicu�a
on the cell phone!

The number isn't here.

Check the office!
Wherever! Hurry up!

This is madness, Estupi�an.

Your mentor seemed convinced.

He struck me as
pretty intelligent.

He's out of his mind.

You can shake my hand.
Leprosy isn't contagious.

Holy shit! It's Osler.

That's my brother.

Estupi�an.

My condolences.

I never saw him much. But knowing
he was out there made me less lonely.

Wait a moment, gentlemen.

I may be a leper,
but I have a name.

Since we weren't
properly introduced...

My name is Jaime Bengala.
Please don't forget.

Jaime Bengala.

Excuse us, Mr. Bengala.

Thank you for your prayers,
your company was a great relief.

The girl at the bar
never introduces me.

I'm not allowed in the bar.
I'd scare away clients.

But I have a name.

We all have names,
otherwise we'd be like...

stones in a field.

Please don't forget.

Jaime Bengala.

Jaime...

Come with us.

Well, Guzman was right.

So were you.

I never thought to look for
a living person among the dead.

Listen to me, boss.

We have to catch whoever killed
my brother. This is personal now.

We will, Estupi�an.

We will.

Vargas Vicu�a beat us here,
as usual.

Will the day ever come
that we get somewhere first?

Stay there.

I'll be right out.

-Look at me, this is serious.
-I am.

Who else knew?
It's confidential info.

Your friend, Vargas Vicu�a.

-Who else?
-A lady.

A lady sent by whom?

That I don't know, I swear.
She was pretty, though.

-What was her name?
-Nancy.

Nancy. Who else?

Who else?

You've got three seconds, asshole.
Or should I report this?

Now I remember!
A journalist.

A journalist named...?

Silamba or something.

"Silamba or something."

"Silamba or something."

Freeze, fuckers!

The deed!

What deed?
Who sent you?

We ask the questions,
ass-wipe.

We might have the same boss!

Son of a bitch!

Motherfucker!

-Faggot!
-Let's go!

Start the car!
It got messy!

Did you find the deed?

Estupi�an here, over.

They took off, boss.

Hold on, here comes another car.

It's got official plates, boss.
Lots of tail lights.

-A Mercedes Benz.
-A Mercedes, from City Council.

And an ambulance!

An ambulance!

-And the cops.
-And the cops!

Estupi�an, over and out.
Bye, boss.

Vladimir, don't sit here staring.
Drive!

Thanks for the favor, Abuchija.

A taxi would have charged me
a fortune.

Can I borrow your cell?

We have to catch those killers.
The country can't go on like this.

You're right. We have to do
something to change it.

Are you right or left wing,
Abuchija?

Remember, phone calls cost extra.

Right wing.

-Don't go to the bar.
-Shut up.

Quica...

Don't touch me.

Hello?

Yes.

Esquilache?

Yes.

No, call me when he gets out.

Estupi�an, listen to me.

If I'm not there in an hour,
tell Colonel Moya that Tiflis killed us.

You got me into this!

Quica, give me a few days.
We'll be fine.

-I'm scared!
-Come here.

What a cute couple!

Congratulations!

Hey there, little Quica.

You're in trouble, darling.

Never shit in your own bed.

So you're the one who stole
the papers from my boss...

And you, faggot!

Where are they?

I asked you a question!

There.

Quica, run!

Run, Quica!

Where do you think
you're going?

Faggot!

Quica!

-Did I kill him?
-I hope.

I don't want to kill anyone.

Hello?

No, I'm okay.

I'm on my way.
You keep following Esquilache.

I'll be there in 10 minutes.

Come on, Quica.

-Where to?
-Come on.

What happened?

He got away.

CALL MR. TIFLIS

What's this?

What are you doing?

Cut it out.

I won't let you ruin my life!

What are you doing? For God's sake,
don't do anything foolish!

You told Tiflis I stole the deed,

-right?
-No, I didn't.

-Then why did they come for me?
-Because maybe you did!

I don't have it.

You gave it to Vargas Vicu�a,
right?

Vicu�a is a very dangerous man.

I'm certain he's the one

who impaled Pereira Antunez.

You knew the impaled guy
was Pereira.

-You knew it and you lied to me.
-Of course I did.

You wouldn't have understood.
That was before.

Now you have a gun.
You understand everything.

Don't say that!

I'll say whatever I want,

you asshole.

Without me you're worthless.
Shall I tell my niece

about all your debts
and secretaries and bullshit?

You're nothing.
You're worthless.

What happened, boss?

-Look at you!
-We're okay. What happened?

Look.

Who is it?

The politician
with the Mercedes.

-Do me a favor.
-What?

Take her somewhere safe.
She can't go home.

And the investigation?

I'll keep you informed.
Just take her away.

Okay, I will.

Papers, mister.

Victor Silampa,
from the Observer.

He's armed!

-Get moving!
-I'm a journalist!

I work at the Observer!

Talk to Colonel Moya
at Police Headquarters.

He can confirm everything.

Heliodoro Tiflis

kidnapped Pereira Antunez
to force him to sign.

This photo is of the staged
signing ceremony.

See where it was taken?

In a room at the Lolita Bar.

But the deed
couldn't be registered...

because Vargas Vicu�a
kidnapped him again.

Which explains the granary
in Choconta.

The clay found beneath
Antunez's nails

matches the clay at the granary.

Here's the report from
the National Geology Institute.

Piedrahita examined
the blood samples

and they match
that of Pereira Antunez.

Which presumably means that the blood
came as a result of the impalement.

But when they took him
to the granary,

Antunez died of diabetes.

Here's the death certificate.

The granary in Choconta

was the last stop the body made
before being impaled to intimidate

the nudists.

To summarize:

Heliodoro Tiflis kidnapped him,

Vargas Vicu�a stole him from Tiflis
but Antunez died on him,

and one of them killed Estupi�an's
brother and buried him as Antunez.

And all of them

were after this deed.

Whoever got their hands on
this original copy

and had it registered

would own the 400 hectares
right next to the housing complex

that begins construction
in two months.

Good work, Silampa.

But tell me, how did you

connect all the dots?

Method, Colonel.
It's a question of method.

Congratulations, Silampa.

Congratulations.

Hey, serve that mute guy
a drink!

Mr. Tiflis?

-May I help you?
-Come with us.

Yes?

I'll call you later.

Our brother Marco Tulio

rests in peace with Christ.

We entrust him
to the love of God,

to the light of faith
and Christian hope.

Let us pray for him
and for ourselves

that he may be welcomed
in Heaven...

Police, freeze!

-Don't move!
-Stay calm! Stay calm!

-Don't move.
-Here.

Bring us consolation,
as we are

afflicted by his departure.

God created us for Him,

and our hearts shall never rest
until they rest with Him.

Let go of me.
Hold on, give me a second.

Our longing for God
begins when we are baptised.

Our brother has been granted
this wish,

and we must prepare ourselves
every day

for this personal
and definitive encounter

and to realize God's mission.

At least you'll have to answer for
the poor devil in Antunez's grave.

Don't give me that,
you're the one who killed Antunez.

You thought he hadn't signed.

That's why you took him,
so he would sign it over to you.

That's a lie. I didn't kill him.
He died of diabetes.

Then you impaled him
to scare the nudists.

But you didn't scare me.

No, but that journalist
sure got in your pants.

She's the one
with her pants down.

Because she wants a real man!

My masculinity is off limits!

Stop it!
Stop or I'll shoot.

I didn't kill Pereira Antunez.

You fucking idiot.
Nobody did.

He died of natural causes,
dipshit.

Colonel, I refuse to speak
without my lawyer present.

Mr. Vargas, your lawyer has been

arrested.

This has been recording

the last 6 hours.

The law must be strictly

applied, as defined and blessed
by the Church. And God...

is the supreme source
of all authority.

That authority is represented
by the police force.

We know all the details.

You can't pin
Antunez's death on me.

Would you shut up!

Please, sit down.

The whole process is too long.

We investigate, accuse...
the suspects hire lawyers

to defend them...
Objections, appeals...

And in the end
the judges make their decision.

Who are the losers?
We all are.

I don't understand.

Of course you do, Mr. Engineer.
But I'll clarify.

We have two options:

either we begin
the cumbersome judicial process,

or we talk business.

Mr. Silampa,
Colonel Moya will see you now.

Estupi�an.

No, no.
He'll only see you.

Brains behind the crime:
the late Councilman

Marco Tulio Esquilache
and Mr. Emilio Barragan,

arrested.

Perpetrators:

Palomeque Pi�eiro Hermogenes,

alias Runcho, arrested.

Perez Pardella Calixto,
alias Morsita,

killed in burglary attempt at home
of Maria Gomez Casta�on, alias Quica.

Two yet unidentified hit men
killed in shooting

at home of journalist

Victor Silampa.

Excuse me, Colonel.

There are a couple things
I don't get.

Go ahead and ask.

Why did Barragan
kill Esquilache?

Because he was his accomplice
and he wanted to claim Antunez's land

as public property and for negotiating
behind his back. Anything else?

Yes.

Go ahead.

You think I'll publish
this version?

Of course you will.
That's why I gave you the exclusive.

That's bullshit
and you know it.

No, I don't. What I do know
is you had sexual relations

with a minor, Maria Gomez Casta�on,
alias Quica,

and that the two of you
killed Calixto Perez

Pardella, alias Morsita.

Now do you see
the trouble you're in?

You can go, Silampa.

Write one of those
great stories of yours.

Make yourself the hero.

Win the Simon Bolivar
prize for journalism.

Just don't forget my speech
for "The Last Supper."

A toast to my brother,
Osler Estupi�an.

Victim of the injustice and corruption
that run this country,

that make the poor even poorer and
the rich even richer and more powerful.

To Osler.

Brother, the glory of God
be with you.

-Hey, boss.
-What?

What if we tell
the United States Congress?

They all could cook,
but it was my future wife

who gave the fish stew
that elusive patriotic touch

that makes it food
fit for emperors.

Not to mention her desserts,
the pastries and puddings...

Who is it?

It's me.

Quica.

What a surprise.

That's how you greet me now?

No kiss?

You look like shit.

How are you?

I came to say goodbye.

Where are you going?

Estupi�an got me a job
as a singer in Cartagena.

What do you think?

Why do you ask?

Aren't I allowed to ask?

I don't know.
Of course you are.

Then answer me.

Because if you don't think

it's a good idea,

then I'll stay.

Well...

it's a good idea.

A great idea.

Yeah?

You think so?

Then...

goodbye.

Stay here with your mannequin.

You shithead.

I mention this last case

which required my attention,
not to praise my own expertise...

which would be
a flagrant act of narcissism...

but to demonstrate
that the virus of evil

knows neither borders
nor hierarchies,

and can infect anyone, for the
criminal organization in question

included common street crooks
as well as educated men in suits.

My point,
ladies and gentlemen,

is that this evil
which I now address

is of an innate criminal nature.

It crawls beneath,
ready to deceive us,

immune to national borders
and tradition.

It nests in our very own
patriotic yucca bread,

as well as in foreign foods
like hot dogs and cheeseburgers

with mayonnaise
and ketchup and onion...

in our celebrated varieties
of Parmentier tubercles,

glazed Peking duck,

Venezuelan shredded beef and beans,

French onion soup,

subtle Swiss chocolates,
baroque Viennese biscuits,

cocido Madrile�o
with chorizo and pork fat,

British sausages and fried eggs,

Italian spaghetti carbonara,

barbecued beef from Argentina...

In the country
of the Sacred Heart,

there's no absolution
for anyone

when cash is king

and decency won't cut it.
Honor is dead...

We hack through
a jungle of semantics.

Survival of the most violent...

Scruples are an invention

of a faraway past
covered with dust.

They've bribed us all,

nobody beats the rap.

We all carry guns,

we like our cash
under the counter.

Nobody's innocent anymore.

Everyone's a delinquent.

They come in all shapes
and colors,

the worst ones
wear white collars.

Where politics means theft,

millionaires, money
and golden papaya...

Social animals,
like lions,

and wealth is the prey.
We're all predators.

They've bribed us all,

nobody beats the rap.

We all carry guns,

we like our cash
under the counter.

They've bribed us all,

nobody beats the rap.

We all carry guns,

we like our cash
under the counter.

They've bribed us all,

nobody beats the rap.

We all carry guns,

we like our cash
under the counter.