“El Solitario” (1994-2007)

During 13 years the Spanish police pursued a ghost. A man who brought more than 30 banks, who took millions of euros and who always acted the same. He was calm, he was educated, and with a cold of ice he went to the box. They called him the Solitario. His appearance was almost comical, an apelucamal in a place, a barbapostiza and a chaleco antivalas. It seemed like a carnival disfraught, but nobody laughed at him because everyone knew that after that barba of mentira he had a real head crying out of a cat. What was crazy in the police was not his clothes, but his identity. He imagined a military, a foreign mercenary or a professional criminal hidden in the underground. But the reality was much more inquisitive. The solitario was called Jaime Jiménez Darby. And he lived not in a secret garden, but in the rocks, in Madrid. He was the neighbor who greeted you in the elevator. A man obsessed with renewable energy and that was burned down by the neighbors on the terrama. And that's the true face of the terror, the absolute normality. For years Jaime built his own legend. He saw himself as an expropriator of banks, a kind of modern Robin Hood who stole the thieves of Corbata. And the press, in a certain way, bought his own story, that solitario sold that image in the city. But in 2004, in a cruise cruise in a barbapostiza in Castejón, he fell down, the face of the myth and appeared in the monster. That day, two gradual guards of traffic with Antonio Palmero and José Antonio Vidal gave him the ring. They did not know who it was, it was a routine control. But Jaime did not doubt. He did not give up words, nor any business. He took out his rifle and wrote it to St. Maria. Then he died the legend of the barbarian thief and born of the suspicious murderer. The entire Spanish realized that we were not a micro. We were a psycho-batan-ercissist, willing to kill anyone with the need to protect his secret. The most challenging thing is that Jaime did not do it by necessity. He did it by pure ego. He created a superior being. In his house they found a war arsenal and a notebook where he analyzed his own mistakes with precision engineering. He was a man who spoke five languages. But he used all that intelligence to perfection the evil and challenge the state. His career ended in 2007, in Portugal, when the police closed the circle before he could give another hand. When he was surrounded, he managed to show his opinion in a sentence that defines his ego better than any psychologist. He said something like "Hi everyone, I am the solitarium, greetings from the Spanish." Today, he complains in a celda, just like his apodon. But his story leaves us a lost choice. Sometimes evil does not light like a demon, nor lives the darkness. Sometimes evil does not light your powers, install solar plates and live with strength. Just next to your house.