Name of the Dog

by Elmer Mendoza

  Nine

  From somewhere nearby a Richie Valens line wafted out: “You’re mine, and we belong together”. Lefty knocked at the gate of Susana Luján’s house. A child asked what he wanted. Hi, I’m looking for Susana, Jason’s mom. He was nervous, he felt himself sweating and clenching his rough hands. He had gone home first: a good scrubbing, clean clothes, black again, polish for his nasty, beat-up Toscana boots, plus a little Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue, and he was presentable. Come on, Lefty, you aren’t even forty-four, asshole, you’re quite the guy and you look good; you aren’t ugly or handsome, in fact you’re precisely the opposite. When Jason had shown up at Headquarters to borrow the Jetta, he’d advised him not to shave: You’ll look cool and very sure of yourself. Zelda and Angelita raised their eyebrows when they saw the boy arrive, and when he left: Is he ever the spitting image of you, boss, wow, what a secret you were holding back, eh? Faced with two options, Mendieta chose the first: smile like an idiot; the other would have been to send them packing. Then he called Robles: Bring over the grey patrol car, the one without any markings or lights. Solián from Narcotics requested it for tailing someone. Shall I tell you what to say or do you know? Boss, I know, I’ll have it here in a minute. Make sure it’s clean as a whistle, I don’t want to find some hairy scalp in the glove compartment. Are you going out with . . .? Hey, hey, take it easy, don’t stick your noses where they don’t belong; Agent Toledo, I want you to analyse the statements by Constantino Blake Hernández, Lizzie Tamayo’s lover-fiancé. Just like you told me; Daniel Peraza, the lover only, has a solid alibi, last night he was in Mexico City, today he came in on the eight a.m. flight; he’s still got the boarding passes and the hotel bill. Unlike Blake, who didn’t want to say boo. Manzo’s patients seem like normal people. Uh-uh, Zelda, when there’s so much violence, like now, there are no normal people, it brings out the worst in each of us. Your son is really handsome, boss, it’s astonishing how much he looks like you. He’s not my son, we’re twins, it’s just that he’s an astronaut and he’s back from a twenty-five-year mission in space. They smiled. Have you got a grandmother, boss? No, Angelita, why? Because she would be the only one who might believe that story. They smiled again.

  My aunt says come in if you want, the child said from the doorway. Two minutes had passed. I’ll wait here. The detective: What, is she hoping I’ll have a heart attack? He leaned against the car and pulled out a cigarette. Is taking her sweet time a strategy? Match, puff, aroma. Did the people who outlawed smoking in public consider this situation? They must be incredibly confident, he blew out a cloud of smoke, or how would they get through this? They probably live by themselves, or they married young, or they only think about cancer and could care less about moments when you don’t know if it’s the death of Superman that’s hit you or the end of the Lone Ranger. I’m happy, his body said, at last the touch of a miraculous hand to save me from this cruel void. Don’t bug me, now is not the time for thinking about such things. I haven’t told you, but I still remember the night when the curve of her ass taught me the meaning of the word “sexy”. Shut your trap, fucking skin-and-bones, you’re worthless. You’re the pest, you idiot. A black pickup with tinted windows turned the corner. Alert, but not turning his head, the detective observed its slow approach. Fucking narcos, what has anybody done to them to make them act out like they do? How does it help their business? If they want to settle accounts among themselves, who cares, but why drag the rest of us into their shitstorm? He pulled hard on the cigarette so they would see he was not afraid. Oh yeah, aren’t you the hero. The vehicle drove by, accelerating a bit after passing Lefty, who recalled a scene from “The Warriors” when a gang member cruising slowly in his car and spoiling for a fight won’t stop clinking the two bottles hanging from the thumb and finger of one hand.

  As soon as he saw Susana in the doorway he crushed the butt of his second cigarette under his heel. S.M.P. Detective Edgar Mendieta, respected by colleagues, friends and enemies, teetered in the desert of his memory, mouth dry, mind dulled, the looking-glass through Alice. The first time I saw her she had four moles, he mused, one for each of the world’s great capitals. My penis is going nuts, his body whispered, but Mendieta did not hear it. What can I say?

  Susana Luján, forty-four years old, 35-24-36, an eighteen-year-old son, “looked more womanly and more girlish at the same time”, as Almudena Grandes would have put it; and a tipsy Quevedo would have toasted her and muttered, “like a sword indeed, I reckon you’d / slay less sheathed, than in the nude”, leaving his café companions mute; and, well, her Chanel No. 5 arrived before she did with her frank and confident smile and a black skirt above the knee. Edgar, what a pleasure to see you, you haven’t changed a bit. Lefty hurried to open the gate that had no latch. Hi, how are you? offering his hand, but she hugged him tight to show her pleasure was real and pressed her breasts against him so he would learn to drink tequila with lime and a bit of moonshine. She could not have been more than five foot two and she nestled for a moment into the chest of the man gingerly returning her embrace. God, help me until we get to where there are more people, help me to be me and not make a wrong move. Don’t exaggerate, fucking Lefty, give her a squeeze so she can feel your manhood; come on, penis, be useful, make yourself felt. Dearest Malverde, Virgin of Guadalupe, St Judas Thaddeus, don’t abandon me. Man, ain’t this great, his body continued, barely audible, I’m getting hard so stop the bullshit, Mendieta, I’m flying high.

  “You win nothing by trying / to forget me.” Sincerely, Roberto Carlos.

  You really do look good, Edgar, Jason told me you’ve got someone who takes care of you. Did he tell you Trudis insisted we eat breakfast? Yes, he liked her a lot, she made him feel at home. That woman is unique, he opened the door of the Toyota, Susana got in and there were her pale thighs, auspicious, insolent, between a promise and a threat . . . What year was it, that night when she was driving, Madonna’s “Material Girl” on the stereo? We talked happily about everything, she was expecting a lot from life, she was eager to live, to be different. I was beginning to lose sight of my own fate, unable to fathom how a city and a decade can swallow you up, while everybody else goes on as if nothing happened. We’re all ghosts haunting some street and it’s harder to get in for history than for mathematics, she said that time in a honeyed tone; one day I want to be a chef, another a model and the next a stewardess, what about you? Carpenter, so I can have God for a son. But He’s the son of the Holy Spirit, isn’t he? You think so? Of course, look how I’m driving, she lifted her hands off the wheel and the car stayed steady in the lane. Hey, we’re going to crash. We were going down Pedro Infante Boulevard at eighty kilometres an hour. No chance, look at my legs. Her thighs, she was steadying the wheel with her thighs, the miniskirt hiked up. Shit, why was she like that? Was such an assault necessary? Such an attack on reason . . .?

  What do you want to eat? Anything except tacos, could be asado a la plaza in the little market or grilled fish; you must have a favourite place, take me there. I have two: the Miró, where I can have breakfast, drink coffee and if Bety the owner is in she treats me as if I were the governor; and El Quijote, where there are roast-beef sandwiches and enough beer to get all of Culiacán sloshed. Someplace quieter. They went to Cayenna, a fusion spot the detective had never been to before. Nearly full. Little red candles on the tables. Christmas lights. They sat down where they could watch the river. Lefty, attentive, recalled her taste:

  Waiter: Something to drink?

  Mendieta (in his mind): A michelada with lots of ice and a steak.

  Susana: A michelada with lots of ice and a tequila.

  The detective smiled, asked for a Glenlivet, neat.

  Appetisers? Duck tacos (in spite of herself) and shrimp in poblano chilli sauce.

  This place is nice; listen, is the city ever spruced up, despite what they say about the violence it looks full of life. Well, today there are more funeral homes, and decent families buy more detergent. Don’t be sarcastic, y
ou know what? that’s not how I remember you, you were a kid who read books and didn’t get involved in politics. Susana had her own recollections: . . . What books do you like, Edgar? Anything except love stories. What do you mean you don’t read love stories, why not? Who knows, maybe I’m just not interested. Aww, but they’re beautiful. You read them? No, I don’t read anything, I say they’re beautiful because love is beautiful, isn’t it? So beautiful there’s always somebody committing suicide over it. Aww, but not very many, what are you reading now? Conversation in the Cathedral by Mario Vargas Llosa. A religious book, I can hardly believe it, you must think love is sinful. It’s not about religion, it’s a novel. Is it good? Well, I don’t know, I mean I haven’t managed to get into it yet. Why did you pick it? Because I read whatever falls into my hands, my friends and I read anything as long as it’s not about love. I’ll never understand that . . .

  O.K., Edgar, to your health, here’s to this moment after so many years. To your health, to the pleasure of seeing you; Lefty slugged his whisky and the waiter immediately refilled his glass. He sensed something strange and did not want to make a wrong move. Hey, behave yourself, Papa, easy does it, don’t rush things. He looked at Susana: lovely almond-shaped eyes, fine features, her smile, her flirting, her small breasts. Fuck easy does it, Lefty, get your hands on her like I told you: let her feel your manhood. She looked happy, relaxed, but Jason had needs and she wanted to speak about that.

  They ordered: Susana a T-bone with Worcestershire sauce and he seared tuna.

  Adele’s “One and Only” on the sound system.

  When he was twelve he asked me for the first time who his father was. I’ll tell you later. Even though he asked me often, he never made a big deal of it; anyhow in the end I told him his father was dead, and that was that until we ran into Enrique, who couldn’t stop staring . . . Susana, did my brother and you really? Well, yes, what do you want me to say, it was an accident, and when I found out I was already living here and there was no other way to deal with it; you wouldn’t know, but my period has always been irregular, sometimes I go months without one. Does Edgar know about it? Neither Edgar nor Jason. Don’t you think you ought to set things straight? Don’t jerk me around, Enrique, it’s been centuries since I last saw Edgar, imagine if I were to turn up with this news. Well, you’ve got to do it, they’re identical, that bastard was born all over again. Would you help me? For my nephew, anything at all. Can I tell you something, Enrique? he was born an American citizen and his last name is Mendieta Luján. That’s outrageous, Susana, how did you manage that? A cousin took care of it . . . As soon as Jason knew he wanted to meet you, speak with you, ask you things; it really upset him when you wouldn’t take his calls, fortunately Trudis told him all about your life; she’s from the neighbourhood, isn’t she? She’s always lived on Bravo, about twenty minutes from my house.

  Susana looked great in the dim light of the restaurant, soft music, her expressive eyes, the timbre of her voice, her Greek lips. Now, my man Lefty, don’t let her wriggle off the hook. Talking so much about Jason made her seem more grown up and Mendieta took note, listened attentively and stopped thinking; only once did Dr Manzo, who did not deserve to die, cross his mind, along with his beautiful widow: could a narco have killed him? there were the specks of cocaine and the calibre was the kind they use. And now he’s come up with this bit about wanting to be a policeman, what do you think? It’s idiotic, I thought he was champion in the mile. He is, but he doesn’t want to do that, you should see how they beg him to train and he acts like he has a private line to the Virgin; before we came he told his coach he wasn’t going to race anymore because he was planning to go to the police academy and take up the same profession as his father. Your father? the coach freaked out, Jason, who’s your father? The number-one cop in Mexico today, Edgar Lefty Mendieta. The man’s jaw was hanging open. The detective could not hold back a satisfied smile, then he chewed slowly, revelling once again in his companion’s enthusiasm.

  I never thought I would tell you all this the first time I saw you, oh, and he also likes to read, and here’s one big difference from you: he likes love stories. Really? Not long ago he read Love in the Time of Cholera and we went to the movie; he didn’t like it, but I thought it was terrific, and his hair is like yours, as soon as it grows out a bit it gets all spiky. They had Rivero González wine with the meal and continued drinking afterward, she sambuca, he whisky, that fruit of Scottish witchcraft that helps him sleep just long enough. Do you remember when it happened? He didn’t remember, I’d rather you tell me what I can do to help. I thought you were going to want a D.N.A. test. Maybe later, because I’ll bet you dolled him up with mascara before he came to visit me. Susana put her hand on his. Both were warm. I want him to go to college; if he’d agree to race it’d be free, but since he doesn’t want to we’ll have to pay and it isn’t cheap; we might manage to get a half-scholarship. Lefty was going to ask, How much are we talking about? but he let her go on. What did happen is that their hands cooled off and Susana pulled hers back; his body, which had experienced a tenacious pressure from the king of the crotch, returned, not without protest, to normal. If you help me convince him to stick with track, maybe you won’t have to put up your part and we could have an Olympian in the family. What about him wanting to be a badge? Well, we’ve got to convince him to pursue the other option. What other option? Business, I’d like to see him running a big company, in the United States kids who major in that get rich in no time. So, does he want that? Well, I’d rather he explain it to you. For sure he doesn’t, he thought, the fucking curse of the Mendietas, always working at something we don’t believe in and resigned to living in poverty; maybe Enrique had options, but he didn’t take advantage of them, now he’s gone to fat and stuffs himself with beer and bacon, fucking pig; why didn’t I finish my degree? right now I could be someplace else and still be worth shit.

  They served them one for the road. Lefty knew she was done talking about Jason, so now what? Would he take her home or . . .? Better the or. But what should he do so the or would happen? Really what he wanted was to lift up her skirt, pull down her underwear, and whoopee, how do you like that? His body was screaming: Please, Lefty, don’t let her go, you can see the babe is hot to trot. Don’t hassle me, I’ve barely met her again and you already want me cornering her; it’s true it’s been a long time since you’ve been caressed, but take it easy, you’ve got to be patient; she used to be a volcano and she never held back, but as you can see, the years don’t go by in vain, so calm down and act civilised. Don’t give me that shit, fucking Lefty, pedal to the metal, grab her by the tits and see how she reacts. You’re fucked up.

  She took the initiative: Let’s go for a drive, I haven’t seen Culiacán at night in years.

  In the Toyota, Lefty put on Air Supply, “All Out of Love”, a teenybopper song he figured she would like and he hit the mark. Oh, Edgar, what great music. Lefty took her hand, which was now burning. They were still in the underground parking spot when Susana threw herself at him, kissing him wildly. That’s the way she was, recalled the detective, who put his hands right in those flames that did not burn, but did they ever set him on fire. He turned off the Toyota. It was an armoured car with tinted windows, equipped for close vigilance and whatever else might come along.

  “How wonderful life is while you’re in the world.” Sincerely, us. (Sorry, Elton.)

  Ten

  From his suite in the Estrella Reluciente, a four-storey, mid-twentieth-century hotel, Ugarte watched the sun descend over the wide golf course and the sea, and he winced at the thought of his coming demise. He moaned, it was too soon to leave this world, but nothing could be done, why celebrate his sixtieth? Estrada could do it, but not him; after two years of constant pain he was at the end of his tether. He made no effort to keep his eyes from welling up and the tears flowed. Ah, life, so often I risked it and now I resist the end. The setting was beautiful, gardens filled with shrubs, palm trees and rose bushes. He no
ticed a few tourists heading out for a stroll or inspecting the golf course, and he asked himself: Why do I fear something so natural? Is there really so much more I have left to do? Maybe I was always a coward, a reckless man with no self-awareness, a henchman with no scruples, a dog. A man in a dark suit walked across the garden, reminding him of the Secretary’s bodyguards. He saw children running about, young men happily drinking and girls in wet T-shirts; older women were now emerging from the shade where they had sought refuge to protect their skin; he recognised Samantha Valdés, the powerful boss of the Pacific Cartel, and her partner Mariana Kelly walking toward the beach, they really are inseparable. What about María, would she be in Cuernavaca? And he caught sight of Max Garcés and his crew of bodyguards, discreetly covering the terrain. His father was a nice guy, brave and reserved, but he loved his coca paste or whatever it was he smoked, and he did not always work as hard as he should have. Samantha’s father, on the other hand, was a monster, although, he mused, maybe there was no other way to build such an empire; he admired how good she looked in a red beach dress contrasting with the pure white worn by Mariana, who to him looked fragile, angelic, almost winged. She will attend the meeting, General Alvarado had said gravely, her father never would have, he worked through his deputies, but she is something else, she likes to get her hands dirty, and the way things are, she needs to get across that she’s the one in charge; the Tricksters also have to evolve, Ugarte. That much? We don’t know where they’re headed, that’s why the President needs fresh, solid information, we know they invited every group from across the country, however, apparently none of the others will attend, only the ones in the Pacific Cartel, but they’re no small beer, there’ll be at least fifteen for sure. Alvarado paused and added: What might have seemed like a media ploy has turned into a thorny mess; as policy, war is a slippery slope, nobody knows which way to turn, least of all Samantha, who may not even realise how powerful she’s become. Anything new about the Secretary? asked Ugarte, recalling his phone conversation. We believe he’s after something, but it’s all very murky, we don’t know yet what it’s about, the President was forced to name him and he doesn’t know what to do with him, stay alert, you might uncover a clue. What do the Americans say? They must be celebrating, especially since it’s our people who are doing the dying. Then he went over plans A, B and C, above all C, which was the escape option in case of emergency. 5.45 p.m. He saw the women were still walking toward the beach and the meeting was at 6.00. She won’t go, he concluded, so who will take her place? He finished putting on his disguise: moustache, make-up, wig, white shirt with cufflinks and a black leather jacket; he didn’t have to look like the Hunk. Carefully, he picked up his small Smith & Wesson Classic, saw that it had all five bullets and stowed it in the right-hand pocket of his jacket. He put himself in God’s hands and walked out, a certain martial severity in his step. On the landing a Christmas tree blanketed in lights and red and silver ribbons welcomed him. He took the elevator down. At the door to the meeting room stood two guards with no weapons in view.