“After about an hour, Aldana and his driver turned up in a Cutlass. The captain got out and looked us over.
“‘Do you know what’s back there?’ he asked, nodding to the hills.
“After a moment’s silence Chota replied:
“‘No, we don’t, sir.’
“‘This one’s got manners,’ said Captain Aldana in a pleased tone. ‘Speak when you’re spoken to. What we’ve got back there is our burial ground. How many graves so far, Chueca?’
“Chueca, the captain’s driver, replied:
“‘Around forty-three, sir.’
“‘Forty-three,’ repeated Aldana. ‘So we don’t forget.’
“‘So we don’t forget, sir,’ parroted Chueca.
“‘Now you know: so no tricks. Noriega, explain it to them.’
“Noriega took a step forward and instructed us with the seriousness of someone addressing a deployment about to undertake an important mission.
“‘It’s very simple: you’re under arrest for the armed robbery of federal gas stations. Only you haven’t committed the infringement yet; we’re going to give you the equipment you need and take you to the scene of the crime. You do your stuff, we arrest you, and that’s it. Tomorrow you’ll be sleeping peacefully in lockup.’
“It sounded even crazier to us than it must to you, champ. But that was Aldana’s plan.
“While we were getting ready to board the vehicles, Muerto explained to his boss that Piel was badly hurt. They decided it was too risky to use him and, anyway, three would be enough for the heist.
“‘Keep him with you, Muerto,’ ordered the captain. ‘We’ll see how we can involve him later.’
“They worked out the logistics: I’d travel in the car with Aldana, with Chueca driving; Benja and Chota would go in a Shadow, guarded by Chacón and someone called Jonás; Muerto would be in the Chevy with Piel to make it seem like the whole squad had arrived in that vehicle; and Noriega would be on sentry duty a couple of miles from the gas station, with his radio on in case of unexpected eventualities.
“‘Did you bring supplies, boss?’
“Aldana put an ounce of cocaine on the hood of the Chevy.
“‘Offer some to the kids too. You have to give them an incentive, the way you do with hookers.’
“As we were walking to the Cutlass and the Shadow we were going to use for the heist—both pretty beat-up—Aldana approached me and said:
“‘I’ve seen you somewhere before, foxy eyes. You kind of remind me of the guy in the advertisement. Remember? The ostrich.’
“‘Yeah, it’s him,’ said Chueca.
“‘How can you tell?’ I asked.
“‘My cousin knows you. You were at the ICH with him. Then you went to Mexico City, right?’
“‘Right.’
“‘So that’s how.’
“Champ, you’ve no idea how much I wanted to kill that agent of law and order for making me remember the glory and the farce. No idea just how much I wanted to return to the doors of the production company and shout that it was a mistake to let me go, beg some invisible person to take pity on me and not put me back on the streets among those schmucks. Yes, television had made me popular, but I was also a laughingstock for those morons: a bunch of losers who would end up devouring me with zombie jealousy.
“When I was twenty-two, I made a commercial. My thirty seconds of fame.
A handheld camera. In the foreground, a fifties ranch and a presenter. Behind, a corral filled with ostriches.
‘Here we are with Don Fernando de Ceballos, pioneer and spokesperson for ostrich farming in America.’
A hand (apparently the cameraman’s) enters the frame.
‘What’s that?’ asks an off-mike voice.
The camera tracks unsteadily toward the part of the corral where I, surrounded by ostriches, have my head in a hole.
‘What’s the problem, youngster?’
I cry. Gradually I reveal my face. Confusion: everyone—ostriches included—flees. Except for the camera, which continues recording my face at ground level: blotches, zits, warts, and hairs … I’m the classic monster from a Santo horror movie.
Voice-over:
‘There’s no need to hide: let us fix your problems. At Clínicas Larios we have the perfect solutions for all your skin problems.’
Cut.
I’m looking straight into the camera again, radiant, without a single blemish, surrounded by slender girls in miniskirts.
Close-up of my head and this triumphant phrase:
‘Thanks to Larios, I can show my face: I’m not an ostrich anymore.’
“‘Why did you come back?’” asked Chueca.
“I told the truth:
“‘I graduated from drama school and couldn’t get work as an actor.’
“‘Why d’ya turn back, child, if you’d already won?’ said Aldana imitating the voice of Piporro. ‘Move your ass, man.’
“We got into the vehicles and set out in a convoy for the Monterrey highway. The captain was beside me in the back of the Cutlass.
“‘I’m gonna let you in on what this is all about: it’s revenge.’
“He said he was in love.
“‘A really beautiful guy. You’re quite good-looking, don’t get me wrong, but he’s … you can’t imagine. And what a talent in bed. We were happy till he went and dropped me for the old lady of a state government minister. I can’t compete with that during daylight hours. But I can make them pay.’
“I was as confused as you, champ. The thought of a killer like Aldana being in love with another man felt repugnant, and not because I care what people do with their asses, but in those days I was dumb enough to believe that brutes like him shouldn’t fall in love with anyone. That’s what you cultured people call irony, right?
“‘I want you to know that you’ve got a special role in this whole business,’ Aldana suddenly blurted out.
“I thought he was just trying to jerk me off, although for an instant I also harbored the hope that if I played along and managed to seduce him, I might save myself from jail.
“This is how it was going to work: Muerto would stop the Chevy just before the gas station. The occupants of the Shadow would park in front of the minimart, and the Cutlass would be a few yards away, right by the gas pumps. Chota and Benja would be inside the minimart carrying the weapons Jonás and Chacón would give them. Two minutes later, I’d go up to the only attendant in the station (it was just before two in the morning on Monday: there never used to be anyone on the road at that hour) and show him my gun, also provided by the feds. Then it would be a matter of waiting for our captors and following the instructions for our arrest.
“My friends went into the store and Chueca handed me a snub-nosed revolver. For an instant I fantasized about shooting him and Aldana, starting up the Cutlass, and getting out of there. But I’d never used a firearm. Aldana must have guessed what I was thinking, because he explained:
“‘It isn’t loaded.’
“I got out of the car holding the gun. It was windy: dust and willow leaves (I don’t know why there were so many willow trees near the gas station) were gusting over the cracked asphalt. It wasn’t cold; the air was unexpectedly mild. The area was well lit and looked safe, but the highway was deserted. Suddenly an off-track trailer passed; it was clattering and throwing off a stink of diesel that for some reason seemed to me an icy substance.
“I walked the length of the forecourt, as far as the last pump. Behind it, sitting on the concrete base with his arms crossed, a kid crammed into a PEMEX overall was dozing. I shuddered: he was well built, pure gym-trained muscle, and I thought that if I got too close, he might disarm me, beat me up, or put a bullet in me … I remembered that my weapon wasn’t loaded. That gave me courage. I pointed the gun at him.
“‘Freeze,’ I said stupidly.
“The kid gave a start, got to his feet, and stood looking at me. He was tall. Young. Blond. As Aldana approached him from behind, I even m
anaged to think that he did indeed have a handsome face.
“Aldana didn’t kill him straight off. First he punched him in the ribs and then, when the kid doubled over in pain, he kicked his weight-bearing leg. The kid fell to the ground, faceup. Aldana took out his weapon, identical to mine, and fired at his balls.
“‘Don’t do it, darling,’ sobbed the kid, covering his wound with both hands.
“‘Fuck you, darling,’ said Aldana and fired two shots into his chest.
“‘Federal agents,’” said Chueca, standing behind me. ‘On the ground.’
“‘Freeze?’ mocked Aldana. ‘What kind of shit is that?’
“From the concrete, as Chueca was handcuffing me and attempting to get Muerto on the radio, I saw Benja and Chota coming out of the minimart with their wrists handcuffed behind their backs, escorted by agents Chacón and Jonás.
“Aldana grabbed my hair and lifted my head.
“‘See how quick and easy that was, honey? You’re charged with homicide now. Like I said, you’ve got a special role in this whole business.’
“They loaded us into our respective vehicles, we picked up Noriega—the lookout—by the side of the road, and the convoy set out for Saltillo. I thought they’d take us directly to the state prosecutor’s office, but no: the bastards were in the mood to celebrate, so we went to the Hotel de los Beisbolistas.
“We drove through narrow, winding alleys in the center of the city: the old Tlaxcalteca neighborhood, made up of steep slopes and dilapidated adobe houses. We parked on a backstreet I’d never passed through (in those days, the city was so small and so old that whole stretches of it could get lost) and someone got out of his vehicle and opened the metal gates to a long carport. We parallel-parked. In the headlights of the Cutlass I made out a large patio at the far end, dominated by an acacia tree.
“They removed our cuffs and, slapping and punching us more out of habit than anything else, ordered us to get out of the cars. Muerto threw Piel—he was still semiconscious—over his shoulder.
“‘Fuck this, guys,’ said Chota. ‘It’s a frigging clandestine jail.’
“‘Forward march, buddy,’ said one of the judicials, giving him a whack. ‘You can make your allegations later.’
“Two other agents, Chacón and Noriega, took their pistols from their holsters and silently escorted us to a side door. We passed through and, as the man in front of us switched on lights, saw one of those old houses with high ceilings, crumbling adobe walls mended with patches of cement, and a sort of corridor or covered patio with bedrooms on either side. It was a large tumbledown house with windows protected by ancient bars, just like the ones in Western jails. It had the general appearance of being some sort of hollow, oval thing but with corners … Like a huge adobe egg with prison windows, but a monstrous, rectangular egg made up of innumerable gray bedrooms with a long, narrow, peach-colored corridor in the center. The corridor was decorated with newspaper clippings, posters, and photos, either in wooden frames hanging from nails or thumbtacked to the walls. I scanned them as the officers led us to the bathroom (or maybe it was later, because, as you’ll see, I made that journey a couple of times). There were portraits of Juan DeLiza, Nelson Barrera, Carlos Lee, El Gallo Batista, and Derek Bryant: baseball players who’d achieved short-lived fame in the early eighties. And big headlines: ‘Ten innings and the crowd going wild,’ ‘Monclova has 5-3 record,’ ‘Another piece of devilry in the IMSS Park.’
“‘Welcome to the Hotel de los Beisbolistas,’ said Captain Aldana from the lounge. He flopped onto a couch and sprinkled a little coke onto a piece of glass. ‘Make yourselves at home.’
“We were led farther down the corridor to a rectangular bathroom with glazed floral tiles, and equipped with a white toilet and bathtub veined with pale blue, old and elegant, despite the grime. The room was covered in cobwebs and dust, the floor carpeted in dirty paper, piss, and shit. There was a single barred window that looked out onto the acacia tree on the back patio. It was bathed in moonlight.
“They handcuffed Piel to the window bars, Benja to a pipe leading from the washbasin, and Chota to the remains of a wood-burning boiler in the corner. My cuffs were removed and I was ordered to sit on the toilet bowl. I was there for a good while, and this is what was going through my mind: in that corridor, on the way to the bathroom, I had the feeling I’d glimpsed someone through a half-open door, someone chained to a bed: she was wearing a doll’s outfit, her face was made-up like a clown’s, and she had a frizzy wig on her head. Or perhaps I didn’t really see her at that moment; perhaps I saw only a shape on the mattress, and it was much later, when she put a pistol in my mouth, that I was able to examine her in detail. I’m not sure. Sometimes memory is like a video on rewind, a false premonition.
“Half an hour passed. From time to time music wafted into the bathroom, euphoric shouts and sobs. Chota, Benja, and I didn’t exchange a single word: we were too tired, or terrified, or ashamed. Piel, on the other hand, began to regain consciousness. He sat up and asked:
“‘Are we there?’
“Then he passed out again.
“Chueca appeared in the frame of the bathroom door and motioned for me to follow him. He led me to the room where we’d seen Captain Aldana. Behind me, I could hear the moans and cries of the woman dressed as Muñequita Elizabeth—this time I’m sure I did get a good look at her: she was being raped in full view by Chacón and Jonás. Aldana offered me a line of coke. I accepted. He offered me a glass of whisky. I accepted that too. He took me by the shoulders and pushed me to the door until I had a direct view of Muñequita’s suffering.
“‘We found her turning tricks on the corner of Valdés Sánchez and Abasolo,’ he said. ‘She might look like a clown, but she takes her clients to the Hotel Higaldo and robs them. You know how it is.’
“‘No, I don’t know.’
“‘Maybe you do, maybe you don’t,’ he said without much interest. ‘What matters is that you know what comes next, sweetheart.’
“We went back into the lounge and sat facing each other in armchairs.
“‘Are they going to kill her?’
“Aldana’s gesture seemed to say that anything was possible.
“‘We’re not sure yet. But we do know what’s going to happen to you, right?’
“He took a revolver from his belt—I couldn’t tell if it was his weapon or mine—and placed it on the table between us.
“‘The story isn’t over yet; not until the evidence comes before the public prosecutor’s office. I’m wondering if you’re willing to do something to make things a little easier for yourself.’
“‘Whatever you say.’
“‘See? That’s what education does: you can adapt to any situation.’
“He got to his feet, unzipped his pants, told me to kneel, and forced me to give him a blow job. I tried not to think about what I was doing, watching out of the corner of my eye the torture of Muñequita in the room opposite. I guess her eyes met mine at some point, but my memory is hazy. Afterward, Captain Aldana told me to get up; he pulled down my pants and boxers, casually pushed me onto the sofa where he’d been sitting throughout, and began to fuck my ass. It was painful because we were both dry, but he didn’t seem to care.
“I thought about the third time Bertha and I tried to get together. That was in eighty-nine. I’d been living in D.F. for two years and had just made my commercial for Clínicas Larios: the high point of my other life. It was Bertha’s first time in the capital and I arranged to meet her in a really cool tamale restaurant in Condesa. Then we spent two days walking the city. I took her to see some of the ruined buildings still waiting to be demolished three years after the earthquake, and at night, we had dinner in some fairly cheap place before I took her to her hotel. We didn’t fuck; just wound ourselves around each other at the door of her room. She said she needed to be sure, that she cared about me a lot, that she didn’t want to have sex with me again unless it was for love and was the start of a last
ing relationship … On the third day we went to a party given by some people from Coahuila living in D.F. Bertha got to talking to a young engineer from Sabinas and danced with him the whole night. They left together. Two months later they were married and the schmuck moved to Saltillo. The marriage lasted less than a year because he used to hit her. There were no children.
“I searched for any pretext not to think about my rape. For the second time, I noticed the revolver on the table. Was it mine or his? Was it loaded or empty? Captain Aldana was giving it to me harder and harder. I felt what I imagined to be blood (or it could have been sweat or shit or semen) trickling between my buttocks. When he was coming, I let myself fall onto my stomach and twisted around, my weight on one arm of the couch, and elbowed him in the nose. Before he could react, I chanced my hand: I grabbed the revolver from the table, took aim, and pulled the trigger. It was his. The bullet entered just below his nostrils, and his lower face opened up in a toothy rectangle like Schwarzenegger’s predator. The people in the room next door—Jonás and Chacón raping Muñequita Elizabeth—were taken off guard: we glimpsed one another through the doors. First they went quiet. Then they leaped from the bed, looking for their weapons. What none of us knew at that moment—unfortunately for them—is that I’m a born deer hunter, champ. Never, since that first time, when I gave it to the captain, has my hand been unsteady. First I brought Jonás down with a bullet in the eye, then came Chacón, with two shots to his chest. Before exploring the rest of the Hotel de los Beisbolistas, I decided to put one last bullet into Captain Aldana, for good measure. I plugged him right in the center of his forehead. Not out of pity: it was for the disgust I felt at smelling my own shit on him.
“I put on my pants. Through the wall I could hear the other three agents—Chueca, Muerto, and Noriega—grabbing their weapons and loudly cursing each other and me. Chota and Benja were also screaming in the distance. Only Muñequita Elizabeth was silent; half-dressed, handcuffed to the bed, she was looking at me with those big makeup-smudged eyes. She and Piel.
Bring Me the Head of Quentin Tarantino Page 14
