He recalled his dream from the previous night: I am in an ultramodern paradise, awash in electronic appliances and sweet-scented decorations. I’m happy, I like the place and I like what I see. I’m looking at a photograph of a snow-covered mountain on the wall when one of the machines spits out a hunting knife. It shines. It vibrates. I realise it’s not coming at me and I breathe a sigh of relief, but only for an instant: it’s headed directly at my daughter’s heart. She’s lying on a waterbed, I try to run and I can’t, try to scream and nothing. María mocks me, and the red-handled knife continues flying straight at the girl, who’s awaiting it with open arms, prepared to be sacrificed. No! I wake up bathed in sweat.
Remembering it made him shiver. He had no intention of telling Francelia, who lived in Cuernavaca with her mother and brother. Recounting dreams is for idiots, why should he? they’re dreams, that’s all, and usually irrelevant. He learned that at the college, where he had nightmares every night; the only time he tried to talk about one, his best friend told him to cut the nonsense. He returned to the recliner and gradually fell into a soothing reverie. He would do Alvarado’s bidding, it would not be easy, not like before when he had all his wits and his name alone spelled trouble; even so, he would do it calmly, drawing on the little strength he had left, before surrendering unconditionally to the inevitable.
Two days later he called the Secretary.
Six
Click. Whirrr. Constantino Blake Hernández, thirty-five years old, from Culiacán, degree in mechanical engineering, kick-boxer: I met Lizzie Tamayo in high school, she was my fiancée for three years until she married that jerk of a dentist. She left you to marry him? Something like that, I went to Mazatlán for the weekend and when I came back she wasn’t my fiancée anymore. She must have had a good reason. You tell me: she wanted a doctor in the family, so she married a dentist. Is that why you killed him? Me? you aren’t going to pin this on me; I hated the bastard, I won’t deny it, but I got over it when we became partners. When you became his wife’s lover. More or less. Where were you between eight last night and six this morning? Do I have to answer? You are a suspect in the murder of Dr Humberto Manzo Solís. I told you I had nothing to do with it, I agreed to come in because I wanted to see with my own eyes how fucked up you people are. So? So, I’d rather call my lawyer, I don’t feel like answering such stupid questions. Use your cell phone. Long pause. No answer. You look like you’ve felt some intense emotions over the last few hours. Chuckles. Does it show? How long have you been Lizzie Tamayo’s lover? For ever, I’m the only one who can satisfy her, when that bitch is with me she is the happiest woman in the world; she got married and all that, but as soon as she got back from her honeymoon our love life picked up where it left off. Were you with her last night when the dentist died? No, she wanted to have a regular time with him and why should I care? they liked to entertain themselves with silly stuff, they’d pretend they were other people. Do you know Daniel Peraza? We’ve never shared a beer or anything, but I think we get along pretty well. And you weren’t with him the night of the crime either? Of course not; listen, I’ve had enough of this shit, if I can’t get hold of my lawyer I want to pay the fine or whatever and get out of here, this place stinks. Well, go ahead and call him, I don’t want them saying we twisted your arm to get you to confess. Silence. Something’s wrong, this room, of course, it’s out of range, you must think I’m an idiot, right? What did you mean when you said they liked to pretend they were other people? They’d play at being somebody else, for instance she’d be Marilyn Monroe and he’d be John F. Kennedy, and they’d talk trash as if they were them; Lizzie told me these things. Did she tell you about Daniel? Of course, I’m not the jealous type. So you have no alibi? Listen, don’t shit on my balls, I didn’t kill that jerk and I can’t take any more of this fucking stench, maybe it’s you that stinks, are you menstruating? Click.
After listening to the tape Zelda and Lefty sent Gori Hortigosa over to get the prisoner ready for a second session. Twelve minutes later one of the guards brought them the news: Gori was all keyed up when he went into the detainee’s cell; buddy, he said, you should behave yourself, don’t you disrespect my fellow officers; he was pacing around the cell and the guy just looked at him; here’s something to make you behave like a person should, Gori said that, and then he threw a punch that caught the guy on the shoulder; you shouldn’t have done that, the buddy leaped up like a wild animal and boom-boom-boom, a punch here, a punch there and ka-boom, one in the face and down goes Gori, out cold, like he’d been hit by Julio César Chávez.
Lefty and Zelda followed him back to the cell. Two guards had carried Gori out and splashed water on his face, and he was coming around when Lefty walked up. My man Gori, are you alright? Lefty my friend, let me at him. Are you sure? how about you use your tools? No, I don’t need them, Lefty my man, that guy knows how to punch and he did fuck me up, I concede that, now I want to use my right of reply, as they say. And suppose he wipes you out again? Then I’ll resign, or you can put me to stapling papers or straightening up the files. What day is it today? The best of the year, Zelda my girl. Why don’t we leave him alone for a while, until you’re all recovered? Right this minute, Lefty, if you’re going to cook it tonight, you’ve got to start soaking it now.
Seated on the concrete bed, Blake Hernández listened to their conversation with a grim smirk and a scowl. The cells on either side empty. Lefty hesitated. This bastard must have had military training, he looks really sure of himself and Gori is getting old. Gori, if you want to use the prod or something, he mumbled, you can go ahead. No fucking way, my man Lefty, I want a clean fight. Then Lefty addressed the prisoner: The señor wants a straight shot, any objection? None, let him in so I can fuck him up but good and you can let me go, I’m fed up with this pigpen. You’re acting pretty confident. He shrugged his shoulders. Assholes like that are no problem for me, I meet two or three every day and I give each of them something to chew on. After hearing that, Gori stretched. He was calm, relaxed, and he asked them to open the cell door. It’ll be like in the old days, Mendieta suggested, nobody hits anybody when he’s down and whoever has had enough just raises his hand. Whatever, Blake said and he spat toward the door as his opponent stepped inside.
Detective Mendieta, a voice called from the doorway to the lock-up. It was Commander Omar Briseño, chief of the State Ministerial Police. The group froze. Lefty hurried over to him. Good afternoon, commander, what can I do for you? What kind of a circus is this? his eyes narrowed. We were discussing Christmas presents, did you see the little tree we put up? That guy I’m looking at, is that Blake Hernández, the engineer? One and the same, we were getting his advice, very interesting advice as a matter of fact, before we take him to the interrogation room; he’s a suspect in the murder of Dr Humberto Manzo Solís, which we have been investigating since this morning. Does he have an alibi? If he does, he doesn’t want to share it. I can see you asked for Hortigosa’s help. It’s just a formality. You don’t say; you are going to do the following: take him to the interrogation room, have him tell you what he has to say without any funny business and then set him free; I got a call from his brother an hour ago, he’s president of the National Commission on Human Rights and I don’t want any problems, understood? It’s crystal clear. Send me a report on the case, and I want to see you escort this guy out. Lefty returned to the group waiting expectantly. Agent Toledo, take Señor Blake to the interrogation room. Gori hung his head and let him pass. Standing tall, Blake left the cell wearing a cocky smile, the kind that gives you hives.
Señor Blake, we have taken note that you were born in silk diapers and that you have a lethal right hook; we’ve got no problem with letting you go, just tell us where you were last night. Lefty looked serene, he emanated a saintly aura of compassion. Are you an idiot or what? if I’d killed Manzo you wouldn’t be able to lay a hand on me in your bitch of a life, but I had no reason to kill him, the guy supported Lizzie, he took good care of her, and he didn
’t bother us in the least; the real murderers here are you people and nobody chases after you, you fucking torturers. Get off your high balls, Señor Blake, we haven’t treated you badly enough for you to be so prickly. I couldn’t care less what you think, let me out of here before your dumbass nature rubs off on me. We don’t want to have to invite you to stay for dinner, Señor Blake, tell us your alibi and there is the door. I won’t say one syllable without my lawyer. We’ve seen how much he loves you, he won’t even answer your call. I want out, I didn’t kill that sucker and I’ve got no reason to be here. Mommy called, she complained to the boss. Don’t you bring my mother into this, asshole, she lit no candle for this funeral, she’s got nothing to do with it. From what I see, the one who lit a candle is her pretty boy. Let me out, this place gives me claustrophobia. Oh, poor baby, you know what? since I don’t like whiners, you can go. Can I leave the city? Sure, but only with Mommy, you don’t want to get lost. Blake gave him a fuck-you smile: I’ll be at my company, Blake Auto Parts; if you need a trainer for your dog, I’ll give you a deal. Lefty looked at him indifferently, but Zelda’s expression was sour. We’ll think about it.
The moment they left the interrogation room, the “Seventh Cavalry Charge” rang out from Edgar Mendieta’s cell phone. Camel and Terminator were at Manzo’s wake. All clear, boss, the Mass isn’t until tomorrow at eight and from there to the public cemetery. Is the widow at her post? She hasn’t moved, all very proper. Any suspicious visitors? Zero. If anything crops up, let us know.
Boss, I haven’t seen you so cheerful in a long time, you look, I don’t know, hopeful. It’s the Christmas tree, seeing it makes me nostalgic and gives me happy thoughts. Zelda smiled, for a moment you also looked a little worried, something else that doesn’t happen very often. It’s your imagination, Agent Toledo, better you put your mind to calling Manzo’s secretary and getting the contacts for the patients he saw yesterday. I already did that, boss, in fact I already interrogated them; Señora Eddy Quiñónez, who was first, says the doctor was a bit distracted, that she’d never bled so much. The assistant didn’t mention that, talk to her again, maybe some detail got by us. Paty González said everything was normal, he was attentive, hard-working and very handsome. So nothing stands out. Maybe it was a narco or a hit man; there’s the calibre of the shell and the grains of coke, and you’d have to be some kind of brute to take the life of a dentist who never bothered anybody. Montaño mentioned he had a good reputation, what did you make of Blake? Aha, I was afraid you would never ask.
Seven
The former military man checked into the Sábalos. At dusk he set himself up at the bar next to the pool, ordered a beer and did not take long to spot Hunk Gómez: a metre eighty tall, forty years old, slightly bulging gut, thick moustache, gold chain, gold bracelet encrusted with diamonds; he was wearing sky-blue pants, a white shirt, blue boots; and he was accompanied by three young beauties, one with long hair, another with it cut mid-length and the third cropped short. A fat bodyguard in dark glasses was keeping half an eye on him, while paying more attention to a couple of speedboats doing pirouettes a hundred metres off the beach. They were seated at a table with a variety of cocktail glasses and snacks, plus a half-empty bottle of Buchanan’s. Mirth and merriment. Ugarte understood the man’s character at a glance: demanding and vain, but willing to relax and have a good time. So he called a modelling agency and asked for a girl with no hair. They had none and sent him a short-haired girl named Katy Blue; twenty minutes after arriving, she was shorn to a stubble. The girl was sharp and $2,000 in cash dispelled any doubts on the spot: she was to walk slowly over to where the Hunk could see her, and that she did; she was to have fun with him, and indeed she did; she was to accompany him to his room for a drink with the other girls, and again she did her part; she was to take off her clothes, and at that point she nearly broke her deal with Ugarte. However, before the man took his third snort of coke, she had given him enough sleeping powder to keep him at peace until Sunday noon, since Ugarte had already called the Secretary and learned that the meeting would take place on Saturday at six in the Hotel Estrella Reluciente.
Would you like me to stay? The job completed, Katy Blue had found him sitting in the same spot, bathed in sweat. That won’t be necessary, but be on hand in case there’s something for you when my friend wakes up and wants to celebrate his birthday all over again. I’d love to come back, but only if it’s for you, thin men turn me on. Got you, but you’ll have to bring three friends for him, you can see he likes trios. As many as you want, do you feel alright? you’re sweating, but your skin looks way too dry. It must be the magic of Mazatlán. Katy drank from his bottle of beer: This is warm, you haven’t even tasted it, don’t you like beer? They don’t have the one I like. O.K., I’ll expect your call. She truly was lovely.
Ugarte did not have the heart to recall how long it had been since his last real erection.
At that moment one of his cell phones rang. He saw the Secretary’s number and did not answer.
Eight
Tenia Solium unceremoniously tossed a limp man from his double-cab pickup into the ploughed field and shot him with his pistol. He was already dead but had yet to serve his sentence. Fucking dentists, they’re worth their weight in shit, they only want to take care of you when their fucking balls swell, with me those mothers are fucked. The young gunslingers on either side of him nodded. His son, a chubby sixteen-year-old who liked to leave messages on pieces of cardboard, spoke up: He deserved it, ’apa, I’m glad you didn’t feel sorry for him, would you let me put a bullet in him? As many as you like, son, so you can get some target practice; shoot at his head or his chest, not his belly like the last guy. The youth shot the body of the dentist several times. Learn some respect, asshole, respect my ’apa. The others did not let their contempt show. The older man they called Uncle Beto put a hand on his shoulder: That’s enough, Valentillo, save a few shots for later, we might have a big party. The kid smiled. They left the body in the cornfield with a sign on it – sho some respet snaiks – and found Tenia back at the truck spitting out thick wads of pus. What rotten luck, not a single bastard who’ll pull this bitch. Boss, another gunslinger approached, the Chúntaros are in Bacurimí eating barbacoa. How many? Seven in view. Great, let’s go get ’em. Should I put a sign on their bodies too, ’apa? Not them, my son, it doesn’t do any good anyway. But I’ve got four all made. Ah, go ahead if you want, put ’em on any of ’em; Uncle Beto, I know you couldn’t get it out yesterday, but if you don’t yank this bitch for me I’m going to plant a bullet in your belly. Don’t do that, boss, better let’s see if there’s a dentist in Bacurimí, we can kidnap him and we won’t let him go until he does your tooth. Why would we let him go? better we kill him. You got it.
When they pulled up at the restaurant, their rivals were coming out with no long guns in view. At ’em, Tenia ordered, opening fire. Rrrat-a-tat. Oh, shit. Take cover. Run. Hit the dirt. Fuck it. Your father’s here, fuckin’ Chúntaros. The gang under attack responded with pistol fire; two of them fell dead, but the rest grabbed their Kalashnikovs from their pickups and pulled the triggers. Shouts: Follow me. Watch it. Over there. Three of Tenia’s men rolled on the asphalt. People scattered. Diners in the restaurant sought refuge in the kitchen and got on their knees, praying; in the shops nearby everyone hit the floor. Neighbours crawled under their beds. About five hundred metres away a pair of policemen in a patrol car listened to the rat-a-tat-tat without apparent concern and continued calmly smoking. Is it behind us or in front, partner? Who knows? Bastards, what a waste of bullets.
Using the double-cab as a parapet, Tenia, a white handkerchief tied around his swollen cheek, and his son fired their A.K.s. The kid was reckless and his father liked that. No playin’ sports or any of that bullshit, son, to be a real bastard with balls you’ve got to know how to pray and how to kill, in good times, bad times and the worst of times, just like your father. Yes, ’apa. Shattered windows, perforated doors and hoods, gas tanks dripping, bod
ies on the road, silence. The don of the Chúntaros, a man in a black hat, was seething: You’re going to pay in blood, you sonofabitch. Of Tenia’s vehicles one was ruined, so they piled their two dead and three wounded into a pickup that had a few inconsequential bullet-holes in one door and pulled out, merging into the uninterrupted traffic. The Chúntaros did the same.
Bit by bit, terrified neighbours peered out, called the police, who were busy keeping watch on another country altogether, and got ready to say they had seen nothing.
Some afternoons you just wish the earth was flat, tell me it isn’t true.
Name of the Dog Page 4
