Élmer Mendoza
Name of the Dog
Translated from the Spanish by
Mark Fried
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also by Élmer Mendoza in English translation
Dedication
Translator’s Note
Cast of Characters
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
About the Author
MacLehose Press
An imprint of Quercus
New York • London
© 2012 by Élmer Mendoza
English translation copyright © 2018 by Mark Fried
First published in the United States by Quercus in 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review. Scanning, uploading, and electronic distribution of this book or the facilitation of the same without the permission of the publisher is prohibited.
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e-ISBN 978-1-63506-093-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017961031
Distributed in the United States and Canada by
Hachette Book Group
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, institutions, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or dead—events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
www.quercusbooks.com
Also by Élmer Mendoza in English translation
Silver Bullets (2015)
The Acid Test (2016)
For Leonor
Man is too much.
JORGE LUIS BORGES, “Poem of Quantity”
. . . guessing is always more fun than knowing.
W.H. AUDEN, “Archaeology”
There is no immortality, only memory.
CARLOS CASTILLA DEL PINO, Aflorismos
Translator’s Note
Name of the Dog is the third novel in a series set in Culiacán, a prosperous and sweltering Mexican city of nearly a million people, half an hour’s drive from the Pacific and nine hundred kilometres south of the U.S. border. Culiacán, the Sinaloa state capital, lies far off the tourist track, surrounded by desert and irrigated fields. The city’s elite still thrives on commercial agriculture, but the trafficking of marijuana, cocaine and heroin has long outdistanced the sale of cucumbers and chilli peppers. This story takes place at the end of 2007, when Mexico’s president escalated his war on drug trafficking, causing rifts in government, a realignment among the narcos and a rising toll of bodies the police would prefer not to address.
Cast of Characters
THE POLICE
Angelita, homicide department secretary
Briseño (Omar), commander of the Sinaloa State Ministerial Police
“Gori” (Gorilla Hortigosa), specialist in extracting confessions
“Lefty” (Edgar Mendieta), homicide detective
Montaño, homicide department forensic doctor
Ortega (Guillermo), head of the homicide department crime lab
Pineda (Moíses), narcotics department chief detective
Zelda (Griselda Toledo), assistant homicide detective
THE NARCOS
Arredondo (Carlos), head of an unaffiliated gang, patient of Dr Manzo
César (Valdés), nine-year-old son of cartel boss Samantha Valdés
“Chopper” (Tarriba), bodyguard and gunslinger for the Valdés family
The Chúntaros, unaffiliated gang, sworn enemies of Tenia Solium’s gang
“Devil” (Benito Urquídez), former policeman, now bodyguard and hitman for the Valdés family
“Drysnot” (Cayetano Villa Solano), bodyguard and gunslinger for the Valdés family
Durazo (Nicanor), underling of the Pacific Cartel affiliate in Hermosillo
“The Hunk” (Antonio Gómez), underling of the Pacific Cartel affiliate in Tijuana
“The Hyena” (Wong), underling of the Pacific Cartel affiliate in Mexicali
Max (Garcés), chief of security for the Valdés family
Minerva, mother of Samantha, widow of former godfather Marcelo Valdés
Samantha (Valdés), also known as La Jefa, leader of the Pacific Cartel
“Tenia Solium” (Valente Aguilar), head of an unaffiliated gang
“Uncle Beto,” member of Tenia Solium’s gang
Valentillo, teenage son of Tenia Solium
OTHERS
Alvarado (Gen Atenor Alvarado), retired army intelligence officer and advisor to the President, Ugarte’s superior
Dr Castro (Uriel Castro Arellano), dentist in Bachigualato
Col Félix (Domingo), father of Gustavo, colonel in the Mexican Army
Constantino Blake Hernández, lover and former fiancé of Lizzie Tamayo
“Curlygirl,” waiter at El Quijote, friend of Lefty Mendieta
Enrique, brother of Lefty Mendieta, former guerrilla who lives in Oregon
Francelia, daughter of Héctor Ugarte and María Leyva
“Glasseater” (José Rodelo), bar entertainer
Gustavo (Félix), cousin of Jason Mendieta
Jason, eighteen-year-old son of Lefty Mendieta and Susana Luján
Lizzie (Tamayo), wife of Dr Manzo, lover of Constantino Blake Hernández
María (Leyva), wife of Héctor Ugarte
Mariana (Kelly), romantic girlfriend of Samantha Valdés
Dr Manzo (Humberto Manzo Solís), dentist in Culiacán
El Presidente, the President of Mexico
Quiroz (Daniel), star crime reporter for “Eyes on the Night” radio programme
Rodo, boyfriend of Zelda Toledo
The Secretary, a federal cabinet minister
Susana (Luján), one-time girlfriend of Lefty Mendieta, mother of Jason
Trudis, housekeeper and cook for Lefty Mendieta
“The Turk” (Samuel Estrada), former narco, boyhood friend of Héctor Ugarte
Ugarte (Héctor), ex-military officer, undercover intelligence agent
MEXICAN FOOD AND DRINK
Agua de
jamaica: a sweet cold drink made from hibiscus flowers
Aguachile: Sinaloa-style ceviche made with fresh raw shrimp, cucumber, red onion, lime juice, ground chillies and water
Asado a la plaza: fried cubes of beef with cooked vegetables, garnished with lettuce and fresh cheese or sour cream
Asado sinaloense: another name for asado a la plaza
Ate de membrillo: quince fruit paste
Barbacoa: cubed beef and beef marrow stewed in beer with potatoes, onions, tomatoes, olives, chillies and spices
Bucanitas: Buchanan’s Scotch whisky
Buñuelos: tortilla-shaped fried dough served with anise-flavoured syrup and powdered sugar
Cabrería a la ingelsa: bone-in beef tenderloin flavoured with Worcestershire sauce
Ceviche: raw fish in lime juice with chillies, onion, tomatoes and salt
Chakira: a non-alcoholic drink made from strawberry, kiwi and orange juice
Chiltepín chilli: a very small and very hot chilli pepper
Huevos à la Leonor: hard fried eggs with sour cream, dried ground chillies and sea salt
Machaca: marinated beef or pork rubbed with spices, then pounded, dried and shredded
Machaca de pescado: dried fish cooked with tomato, poblano chilli, onion, garlic and spices, then mashed
Michelada: beer with lime juice, powdered chillies and salt
Pescado zarandeado: fish marinated in chillies and spices, then grilled
Pibil: Yucatán-style meat or fish cooked in a banana leaf
Salsa mexicana: chunky hot sauce made of tomatoes, onions, jalapeño chillies and coriander
Tacos al vapor: tacos steamed in a double boiler
One
Room on the twenty-fourth floor of the Hilton Guadalajara. No dogs no cats no. Those are your instructions, Señor Ugarte, and I expect quick results. A lousy reproduction on the otherwise blank wall, curtains drawn, lights dim. Permeating everything, the tension of mistrust. Ugarte fixed his gaze on the three men flanking the member of the presidential cabinet, Man Number One, Man Number Two, Man Number Three: With all due respect, Señor Secretary, that will be up to you; my job is to provide you with information, what you do with it is not my responsibility. The Secretary wore a black suit and had already tossed back seven drinks. Sancho Panza belly. Ugarte wore a wine-coloured tie and had not touched his beer. His sixtieth birthday had come and gone, the party postponed: In December I’ll make up for it.
A small office in the presidential palace a few days before. At your service, Señor Presidente, sir, how is your señora? are the children well? An assistant served them whisky and departed. Listen up, Señor Secretary, I’m told your data is bullshit and of course I can’t rely on it, I want precision, exactitude, absolute dedication and results, is that clear? so I’m going to send you a skilled operative, not one of our own, have him infiltrate that meeting; a friend will help out, he wants to know who we’re after and to offer his opinion, we’re not going to allow that, I even refused to let it be one of his men; I need to know what happens at that meeting: who’s there, if the señora is vulnerable, to what point we can control them and what their plans are; I want to know their next moves. The President drained his glass and refilled it. Any of our agents could do that, sir, I have experts at this sort of thing; please sir, turn a deaf ear to my enemies, they evidently want to undermine me. You aren’t listening, don’t let them drag us into their racket, they need to know they’ve been fingered as the enemy, that the agreements are over, that they’re confronting a state that is strong and powerful. My impression is that they understand that, sir. Well, you sure can’t tell, I’m sick and tired of hearing that I want to legitimise myself, that the economy is collapsing, that we’re a failed state, I need everyone to pull their weight and do their jobs; if you mess up, start thinking about some African country where I can send you as ambassador, I know you like giraffes.
That is what brought them to the suite at the Hilton, the Secretary nervous, his bodyguards alert. Ugarte, a former military officer linked to a powerful clique, did not work much for the government anymore, he had health problems and they took too long to pay: what’s the story with bureaucrats, how can they be so bad at routine business? of course, when it’s time to shoot off their mouths they’re the first to start yapping. Yet he could not resist this chance to learn first hand what was up with the President’s flagship initiative, the war on organised crime, and just maybe he would be able to fulfil the secret longing that crossed his mind half an hour before as he rode the elevator up to the suite; what’s more, he never refused an assignment from General Alvarado, who had utter faith in him and who sent him pibil and decorations made from henequen at Christmas. Man Number One took out a cigarette. Black easy chairs. Man Number Two grabbed it and crushed it with a smile. What was going on? A war apparently launched as a public-relations exercise was killing an average of 19.3 people every day. What was the President aiming at? Well, that much was clear, but what did the heads of the cartels want? Good question.
The Secretary, who had not dared take a sip when with the President, now emptied his eighth glass in one gulp. We will put an end to them, Ugarte, we’ve got this war won, the President doesn’t need to worry, the gringos are happy, their ambassador says so without any prompting. So, why do you need to infiltrate a meeting of the notables? He knew he was taking a risk they might not hire him. The Secretary glared at him for thirty-three seconds. My boss wants to be sure and he’s the one in charge, Alvarado recommended you, I don’t know why, have you heard of the Mochis Initiative? Should I have? By now Ugarte was fed up, he did not want the official version of what the General had already told him in all its gory detail and he was beginning to feel ill; he stood up, held out a card with a cell-phone number to bring the session to an end. I will only call once from this number, Señor Secretary, make sure you answer. You think my telephones are tapped? Yours I don’t know, but mine certainly are, and this one I will use just the one time. Don’t worry, I’ll answer. Man Number Three handed him a card with the number for him to dial. Don’t delegate it to one of these well-dressed young men. The three scrutinised him, their faces blank. Of course not, Ugarte, who do you think I am? You’ll want to know right away, it’ll give you more time to use the information to your advantage. You think you’re a big shit, don’t you? Well, Señor Secretary, I am Catholic. And you go to Mass at the Guadalajara cathedral. He thinks I live here, Ugarte thought, and he stood up. Señor, I have to go. He handed the Secretary a second card with another number: So you can tell me the place, day and time of the meeting; I will only answer once. They contemplated each other. Fucking shit of a James Bond. Goddamned fourth-rate Fouché.
While two agents waited in the lobby to trail him, the former officer lay down in his room on the nineteenth floor. He was exhausted.
Alcohol is the only adviser that decides everything by flipping a coin.
Two
He hated going to bed without a drink because it made him sleep in. Hey, Lefty, don’t make like you’ve got a private line to the Virgin, I need action now, remember, without me you’re nobody. Enough, fucking body, don’t mess with me. Why not? you think I don’t have rights? You want to be kissed and cuddled and milked, right, asshole? Why would I tell you no when it’s a fact; I want to see a set of legs splayed wide, whoopee, just the way you like it. Fucking degenerate. Come on, you like that. You’re sick. A banging on the bedroom door and Trudis’s voice jerked his eyes open. Lefty, get up, what are you doing in bed so late? up, up, you’ve got a visitor. He looked at the clock: It’s really early. What do you mean early, it’s nine o’clock, you’re never here this late, did you get drunk? Oh, I wish. So get yourself together, no man should be lying down at this time of day. Faintly in the background he could hear “White Christmas”. Trudis, what time do you think your beloved rockers get up? Don’t make excuses and hurry up; we’re in the living room. He put on his pants. What now? how many times have I warned those spongers never to look for
me at home, a black T-shirt, I’ve told Zelda too, the David Toscana boots, also black. What a morning, I’d better pick up some whisky or I’ll turn into a bear and hibernate till spring; besides, it’s December, and in this city which knows nothing but summer it’s time to think about another sort of season: the playoffs. Trudis was waiting at the far end of the hallway; she had a funny expression, something festive was lighting up her face. For sure she thinks she’s finally convinced me to get a Christmas tree, maybe she’s already bought it and wants me to see it. Your Nescafé is ready, señor. Hmm, she’s up to something.
Waiting for him in the living room was Jason Mendieta, deftly texting on his cell phone. He stood up when he saw him. Lefty knew immediately who he was and he froze. Worth shit. Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Our lives are rivers that lead to the sea, he thought, and he swallowed. What a character that Susana was, always struggling to be more than her body, even though that’s why we all chased after her. Hi, I’m Jason. And I’m Edgar, what’s up. Handshake. Both hands strong, nervous, moist. Same height, same features, same smile. Lefty with his hair a little long and unruly, Jason’s spiky like an asterisk. Fucking Enrique, he was right on the money. How are you? Fine. They sat down. The kid had a papaya juice half drunk and Trudis set Lefty’s Nescafé on the table in the middle of the room, next to a few pudgy Santa Clauses. Jason kept up his rapid-fire texting. So, how is your mom? She’s thrilled, chatting nonstop with my grandma, they’re catching up. How long since she last came? Four years, Grandma visited us three times, but she can’t travel anymore. First time in Culiacán? We came here every year for vacation until my mom started a taco shop in Santa Monica and became a slave to it; she sent you this, he produced a smallish box tied with a Christmas bow. Uncle Enrique said you’d like it. It was the C.D.s of Bob Dylan’s thirtieth-anniversary concert. Wow, what a great thought. Boys, would you like to eat breakfast now? Um, I hope you don’t already have it. No, and please tell her thank you very much. Señora, I already had breakfast. The coffee is enough for me. None of that, Lefty, don’t think just because this young man is here you’re going to get away without eating the way you should, I’ll make you a nice omelette with goat’s cheese, chillies and onions, and for you another juice. This one is plenty, señora, thank you. Lefty was still in shock, the kid started texting again. Do sons really look so much like their fathers? yikes, they ought to look like the milkman.
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