Name of the Dog

by Elmer Mendoza

The echo snapped like an athlete’s knee.

  And then it was all remembering: a quiet life, his wedding in Santa Inés, make-up at the last minute, the coloured rice flying, fiesta at the Country, honeymoon in Hawaii-Five-O, how much he liked Chespirito and plum ices and that blue bicycle his father wouldn’t buy him when he was in junior high, where everybody hated him because he was a top student and he wouldn’t let anyone copy and because he was afraid of horses and his parents never let him go to sleep without saying his prayers.

  *

  Edgar Mendieta contemplated the cadaver of Dr Humberto Manzo Solís. Dried blood over the heart. Two bullets in the chest and eight in the abdomen. Ortega and his people working, the forensic doctor hurriedly writing his report. Christmas decorations all over. Lefty, I’m so glad you got here, I’ve got to go. Fucking Montaño, have you realised how skinny you are? Uh-uh, I’m perfect, besides, I’ve got news for you: I bought a house for socialising, no more wasting money on motels. At last you’re going to get rich, you bastard. Whenever you want, it’s yours. Are you using it already? Of course, I gave it to myself for Christmas and I’ll be there in just a few minutes to break it in. What about this guy? he pointed to the body lying supine decubitus on the floor. Shot in the heart, the bullets came out his back and he’s been dead between twelve and fourteen hours; the ones in his stomach are extras, none of them fatal. What would he have been doing before he died? the detective wondered, dentists don’t smoke in their offices anymore, maybe he was sucking on a candy or he called his wife; from the look of things he didn’t put up a fight; given the hour he must have been alone, of course, anybody here would have called us or we’d have two bodies to deal with. Friend, I’m leaving him in your hands. Did you know him? No, but people say he was a good dentist. Congratulations on the house. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way,” a technician sang as he worked. Ortega came over, in his palm he held two big lead slugs and eight smaller ones. Why would they have used a Herstal on him? he was a dentist, he didn’t wear a bulletproof vest. What about the others? All .45s, shot into him when he was already dead, according to Montaño, there are dents in the floor, the big ones hit the wall. Maybe he didn’t have another gun? An ingenious response, now I finally understand why you’re the detective. Have you seen Zelda? She’s in that office interrogating the receptionist, who was the one who called. No signs of struggle, his coat is on the chair, Jack the Ripper everywhere. Near them the singing technician was picking up a few grains of white powder, another was taking photographs, a third looked for fingerprints. Tell me something, Ortega. Hey, hey, no way, I’m just here by accident, Papa, not a day goes by when we don’t have more bodies than we can deal with, so don’t start in with your “Do me a favour since we’re friends.” What a fucking twerp you are today. I know you inside out. Just one question, and it’s not about work. Listen, jerkoff, I don’t like to stir shit up, you know that. What do you talk about with Memo? The crime-lab technician opened his mouth and thought for a moment. You’re going to change jobs or what? More or less. Now that you ask, we don’t talk much and when we do it’s about soccer, he’s nuts about Chicharito. That’s all? Well, what else? no way I’m going to tell him about crime scenes or the way the bodies look, what’s with these questions? Curiosity, do you lend him your car? Some nights yes, some nights no. What are you going to give him for Christmas? Listen, what kind of shit, are you going out with somebody who has a son or what? Pardon me, señor, I didn’t think this was top-secret stuff. A son is hell, asshole, he’ll make you pay for all your sins, the sins of your past and the ones you’ll commit a hundred years from now, but the only people who know are people who have them, and if you have three it’s three hells, if not more. So, what luck I was born sterile. And if you lend him your car you’ve got to give him money for condoms, fucking kids aren’t satisfied with just partying, they always want to dip in the brush and they couldn’t give a shit about the bitch of pregnancy. Hey, hey, it was just a question, take it easy, I can see I touched a nerve. A nerve? it’s the witches’ Sabbath, you bastard, give thanks to God it didn’t happen to you.

  “They say distance brings forgetting,” sincerely, Luis Miguel.

  He went into the office where Zelda Toledo was finishing with Noemí Campa, the blonde receptionist, who was distraught and unable to formulate anything useful. In the other chair sat Lizzie Tamayo, the young widow, sobbing. Stay where we can get hold of you if anything comes up, Zelda said, and she told Campa she could leave. On the wall, a few prancing reindeer from Unicel.

  Lizzie: Thirty-five years old, 35½-24½-36, high-school beauty queen, two semesters in business admin at the Tech, no children; she married Manzo to spite her lifelong boyfriend, she likes Madonna, Mecano and Maná, she adores sexy clothes and soap operas, her lover is named Daniel, Dani to her, though two or three times a week she also goes to bed with her old boyfriend. In high school she was in a play in which she whimpered the whole time: she was recalling that just then.

  Mendieta watched her and felt a great weariness. Her expression said nothing, and he could guess her answers before Zelda asked: Did your husband tell you about anyone who hated him?

  Mendieta (in his mind): No.

  Lizzie: Yes.

  Mendieta: Oh, shit, I was wrong; besides, she’s a knockout, the vixen.

  The detective was now paying attention; he waited a few seconds and she did not add a thing. Who are you speaking of, Señora Manzo? Zelda eyed her suspiciously. Who hated him so?

  Lizzie: His father, when he was a boy he never bought him a racing bike and his Christmas presents were never what he wanted.

  Mendieta: What to get Jason is a riddle; what has a face and two hands and it sits on the wall?

  Zelda, at a sign from Lefty, continued the interrogation without missing a beat: The man’s address?

  Lizzie: He died two years ago, but he hated Humber, in fact he never treated me right, he didn’t like my style, he liked to put me down.

  She sobbed. The detectives carried on for a few minutes more, during which she filled them in about Dani and the lifelong boyfriend, including their home addresses, plus the fact the dentist had no mother, no siblings, just a couple of cousins in Puerto Vallarta they had seen only once.

  Where are the journalists? especially Quiroz. Strange they haven’t come, boss. They only care about mass murders, one body isn’t news anymore. It’s been a month since we last saw your friend, I can’t wait to hear you chew him out next time he shows his face. I hope they’ve kidnapped the fucking pest.

  They left the place with a list of patients, suppliers, etc. At the door, Noemí was sending home the people who turned up for their appointments and once everyone was gone she locked up. The undersecretary of the economy went off so sweaty he was practically transparent.

  Mendieta talked to the owner of the hardware store across the street, a former schoolmate, who provided some information on Dr Manzo’s routine. He asked Zelda to interrogate the lovers while he dealt with the list. What sort of patients would be snorting coke in the waiting room? The technicians said it looked pure. Isn’t that incredible about Jason, besides, I’m going to have supper with Susana Luján, let’s see if she comes wearing her short skirt and no underwear. Oh, Mama, may God hear you, do you remember her mole right up there? Shut up, fucking body, you’re the worst of the worst, you can’t even look at a girl without wanting to get her into beddy-bye. Listen, this girl Lizzie is tempting, isn’t she? Take it easy, you fucking leper, you wouldn’t leave a single one to be the maiden aunt.

  Before getting on the road to Headquarters, he ate an octopus and shrimp cocktail with lots of chiltepín chilli at Roberto’s, the best spot for seafood. When the news is always the same it isn’t news, that’s how it seemed to him: twelve bodies found in various places around the state, the army patrolling, the police terrified, the politicians declaring that no-one needs to worry because they’re only playing cowboys, and the country burning. It becomes normal, and what’s norma
l doesn’t encourage reflection. At his desk he put the newspaper aside and dialled Enrique: What’s up, beer belly? Tell me the kid doesn’t look exactly like you. I just met him and I like him a lot. Did he already tell you he wants to be a policeman? And that he’s in a club of young guys who want to be like their fathers. Fucking Edgar, you sound excited. That’s why I called you, so you can hear how I feel. He’s a good boy, treat him well, he deserves it. Don’t worry about that, besides, he has our genes all over him. He likes to be with the family, he’s been great with my girls, he even gives them presents. Takes after his father, no doubt. Congratulations, bro, and don’t be a fucking skinflint, give him money so he can have a good time. Will a gazillion be enough? Don’t fuck with me, you should rise to the occasion. I shall be a Modelo father, don’t you worry. A Tecate father would be dynamite too. O.K., see you later, I’ve got to catch a drug lord. Don’t make me laugh. Lefty hung up, then he took out his notebook with the list, Lizzie’s backside came to mind, her generous bosom. Who was it who said the neckline is what best dresses a woman? And he saw he only had contact information for the lovers. Noemí swore he was an exemplary man and his patients adored him. Ofelia Anchondo, the assistant who came in later, didn’t offer any clues either. An impossible case? My balls, these days everything is predictable, same story the weather or a gunfight or a wedding. Ah, no shit, tomorrow Devil Urquídez is marrying Begonia, and I promised to go. Alright, let’s see, Papa, who were you torturing in your chair? Anayansin I., Attorney De la Rocha, that jerk, isn’t he undersecretary of the economy? no wonder we are the way we are; Carlos Omar Pérez, María Paredes, Martha and César Fuentes, Samuel Estrada, Daniel Quiroz, look at that, and here I was thinking that ink-shitter never even bathes. He read on for three pages without seeing anything out of the ordinary. He called Angelita. Which of the boys is around? Well, Terminator just came in. Send him over.

  My man Termi, read this list and tell me who you know or which one sounds familiar. The agent, twenty-eight years old, skinny as a rod, read slowly. I know Attorney De la Rocha, he’s either really nervous or he’s sick, because he’s always sweating. Everybody knows that jerk, he’s responsible for the mess the economy’s in, but we can’t toss him in the can, look at the others. Another read-through. Chief, do you know who Carlos Arredondo is? How would I know? They call him the Caporal and he seems to be more or less a heavyweight, we’ll have to check. Those assholes have to go to the dentist too. They get sick. Right, let’s see, according to this he has an appointment in three days, let’s call him up. His number was on the list. On the seventh ring a female voice answered. Let me speak with Señor Arredondo. Who is calling? The office of Dr Humberto Manzo Solís. He’s not in. Oh, he has an appointment for a cleaning. Who is speaking? Miguel Alonso, his new receptionist. Oh, it’s just that a lady always calls. She’s on Christmas vacation, excuse me, but did you study singing? Me? what kind of a question is that? It’s just that you’ve got a powerful voice, it sounds like you’ve had training. I’m from the mountains and up there we talk loud. Well, you sound really good. Thank you. So, do you think Señor Arredondo will be in this afternoon? Really, I couldn’t say. Could you ask him? He’s not here, he left two weeks ago, he called the day before yesterday and said he wouldn’t be back until next month. Won’t he spend Christmas here? He never does. Listen, are you sure you don’t sing? Not even in the shower. The doctor wants to know if the man Don Carlos recommended is going to call. I don’t know, I didn’t know he’d recommended anyone. O.K., make sure you take good care of that voice, you could be singing in the Ángela Peralta Choir, merry Christmas. Same to you.

  Zelda came in. Any news? Nothing, boss. My man Termi, find out who Arredondo’s friends are, maybe one of them needed diamonds set into his smile. Don’t forget the coat was on the chair, boss, he might have already finished for the day. It could be, but maybe this guy wasn’t happy with how it turned out, he went back to complain and took him down, like his friend from the hardware store suggested; let’s take a look at the patients from the last few days. The last one was Señora Valenzuela, Frida Valenzuela. Maybe it’s somebody who just went there to kill him and was polite enough to wait until the last patient left. Good point, boss. What about Lizzie’s lovers? Yes, I’ve got them in the little room. Let’s see if they start fighting. They’re friends, they’re chatting as if nothing was wrong. Lock them up for a while and let’s have lunch. Suppose the people from Human Rights show up? one of the guys is drooling about how well connected he is. You can make the case we police officers are poorly paid, poorly trained and poorly equipped. By the way, do you know when they’ll give us our Christmas bonus? Agent Toledo, do I look like I work in Payroll? Sorry, it’s just I need the money. Don’t get anxious, it’s bound to show up within two years.

  They went to El Quijote.

  Curlygirl wasn’t there, he was on vacation until December 22. So they ordered beers, steak and potatoes, flour tortillas and salsa mexicana. I couldn’t believe it, those guys turned out to be friends, Dani didn’t know Lizzie still saw Constantino, and he just smiled, utterly unperturbed. That’s what the democratic school system produces nowadays, Agent Toledo. Don’t tell me if you had a girlfriend you’d be fine with her running around with somebody else. Well, when have we police officers ever been democratic? Maybe that’s why I find it so strange, though the one getting gored was Dr Manzo. What did you make of the office, Zelda? With so much Christmas stuff I couldn’t see a single clue. According to his schoolmate, who by the way sells light bulbs for crack, the guy was alone; probably a patient turned up late and maybe didn’t wait in the waiting room, which would mean he came with company; who would leave two grains of pure cocaine on the floor? A narco. Or his bodyguards. A blind man. An absent-minded professor. Somebody who had too much; besides, there’s the weapon, he used a cop-killer. We’re hot and then we’re cold. So, what should I do with Lizzie’s boyfriends? Most snorters are middle class or upper class; we should interrogate them, maybe one of them wanted to get him out of the way. Well, thinking about it, the girl’s worth it.

  At that moment the house band struck up “White Christmas” so the keyboard player could strut his stuff.

  Five

  Scottsdale, Arizona. Héctor Ugarte left the Scottsdale Healthcare Center on Drinkwater Boulevard, raising his hands in a gesture of resignation. Confirmed for the sixth time: his prostate cancer was terminal, they gave him two arduous months to live. That part did not worry him, way back at the College he had already made up his mind: in any endgame situation he would uphold military tradition and put a bullet in his head. Nevertheless, he wanted to render a final service to General Alvarado, the man who had taught him to appreciate his country, to understand the fragility of human life and to live amid corruption and narcos without getting tainted; besides, it was obvious he needed distraction. He thought about his contact, the Secretary, a man he did not trust.

  Six hours later he landed at Pedro Infante Airport in Culiacán, Sinaloa, and thirty-four minutes later he was paying the cabdriver and walking into Vía Verde to sip chakiras with Turk Estrada. Fucking Faggot, you’re never going to lose that habit of being on time, I got here seven minutes ago and today’s only the second day I’ve come. There are vices that make you look good, I.B.M., being punctual is one of them. Those vices aren’t for me, I prefer a well-rolled joint; sometimes I’m dying for a snort, I can feel the tickling in my nose and the urge just wells up inside me. So? So, I bite down on one of my balls, if I give in even once I’m fucked for good. You’d better buy yourself a plastic ball. Good idea, so I don’t end up a boy soprano. The chakiras arrived, “Silent Night” on the sound system. Estrada handed him a piece of paper folded over. In case they’re reading my lips, oh, and it’s not the kind that burns itself up, eh, so let’s have it back. Don’t be so mistrustful, what can you lose? Fuck you, fucking Faggot; listen, buddy, you’re like on the pale side, it’ll do you good to get some sun. I’ll need more than a tan to feel fit. Just don’t
go more faggoty. Or you more I.B.M.ish.

  “Antonio the Hunk Gómez, Maz,” he read, the Maz was extra and he liked that; he returned the piece of paper to his friend, who slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket and waited before saying: He’s a pretty boy who’s always on the lookout for hot babes, he usually arrives early, he’s from Tijuana and he likes the Sábalos Hotel. When is the meeting? Nobody knows. Thank you, you’ve earned yourself a double chakira, he put a grey envelope with the rest of the pay on the table. This is the last time we fuck around, don’t forget it, if I want my relationship with the big guys to be on the up and up I shouldn’t be asking questions that’ll get me burned, you should have heard the groan from my buddy when I phoned him. What’s the story, how did you find out? You know how it is, I made up a couple of things. I’m shocked, are you still mad at the Valdéses? Don’t speak to me about those assholes, now with that dyke bitch in charge I hope they’ll be worth shit; do you know who her gofer is? the son of Dwarf Garcés, remember him? the shrimpy asshole that got whacked the same night I got pinched. I remember. So I want nothing to do with those bastards; and don’t play dumb, word’s got around they did you one too. Don’t make things up, they never touched me, I never felt affected. The two of them fell silent, the Turk trying to keep his anxiety in check. So, are you going to take a babe along? A pair, so they can play relay.

  *

  Ugarte entered his house in the Culiacán neighbourhood of Las Quintas. Leather furniture long out of style, pen-and-ink drawings on the walls, grimy knick-knacks on dusty sideboards, unkempt back yard overgrown with grass and weeds, not a Christmas decoration to be seen. He took his medicine and lay back in an old recliner that moulded to his body. For a few minutes he slept. Then he went into his study: bookshelves half empty, a cluttered work table, on the wall a diploma from the Military College and a few more drawings like the others; he opened his laptop, smiled as he read messages from his daughter Francelia and responded to them. The Turk was right, he had lost a lot of his allure, and to do this job he shouldn’t be hard on the eyes. He wondered if he had bitten off too much, doesn’t the General have someone else he can trust? Then he told himself to snap out of it; he wasn’t just any old agent and the job was a special one; the more he thought about it the more he felt it was right for him. He skimmed the newspapers online: bodies piling up. The General’s theories about the President wanting to consolidate power made no sense; for Ugarte it was nothing but a massacre, plain and simple, and the Mochis Initiative was a boondoggle to siphon millions up to the gods on Olympus. He wasn’t fooled. In politics, as in life, only the strongest survive. And in a democracy that always means the wiliest, the ones best at disguising the gap between what they claim to be and what they really are. Success comes down to a single thing: you do whatever benefits the chief. Fifteen years he was obliged to spend in hiding because he thought differently and refused to bend to the power of the narcos and their mighty web of influence; if it weren’t for Alvarado he might have simply disappeared, taking his not insignificant talents with him.