Name of the Dog

by Elmer Mendoza

  Tijuana then, did the politician who wanted more money simmer down?

  Everything is settled, señora, Ugarte directed his answer at the figure in the pistachio-green dress and matching earrings.

  What about La Paz?

  We have no problems at all, in fact we’re investing in several sectors of the economy and we’ve created new sources of employment.

  That’s important, we’ve got to help the people, they should have places to work besides directly in our operations.

  Somebody from Forbes magazine wants to talk to you, what should I say? they want to put you on the list of the world’s billionaires.

  A little more than half an hour later the meeting was over. She shook everyone’s hand and left the room. The representatives did the same. Another twenty minutes and none of them remained in the hotel. Days later, at a crucial moment, Ugarte would recall her firm handshake and intense gaze: Say hello to your boss, tell him to send you more often, we prefer lieutenants who are good-looking and more prudent than the Hunk. With pleasure, I shall tell him, señora.

  *

  From her room Samantha called her son again. They had spoken for nearly an hour before the meeting and she had not managed to calm him down; she had to promise she would pick him up the next day in Pasadena, California, where she had sent him for safekeeping and he was attending a bilingual school. Of course they would not spend Christmas vacation apart. César was a demanding child, and there was little she could say, since the boy was right.

  Honey, are you feeling any better? Mama, I mean it, I want to be with you, like I told you, I’m the only child in the world who’s been left alone. Of course, my love, I’ll be there tomorrow, but in the meantime I don’t want you to be sad, your whole life lies ahead of you, lots of opportunities for us to be together. Christmas is special, Mama, and it only comes once a year. She hesitated: What’s with this kid, who got him so worked up? But who said we wouldn’t be together? we’ll be there tomorrow, meanwhile think about what you’d like to do. Aren’t we going to Culiacán? because I want to see Grandma. I’m trying to convince her to come with us, if I need your help I’ll call you; I wanted to surprise you, but you’re too smart for me. Mama, I love you. I love you too, my prince, now you dream about the angels because tomorrow we’ll have lots to do, shall we go to Disneyland? Oh, I’d rather go out for hamburgers, are you coming in our plane? Of course, in case you feel like going somewhere else. Except for Culiacán, right? If we’re all with you, what do you want to come to Culichi for? To see the pictures of bodies in the newspapers, they’re really cool. Oof, well, we’ll decide when we get there, after all we’ll have the plane on hand. Bring shrimp. Wow, my love, so small and already nostalgic about so many things. And Guacamaya sauce. We’ll bring everything, don’t worry, now go to sleep. I love you, Mama. And I love you.

  She sat thinking for a moment. No way around it, she also had to be a mother. The next day they would have to leave early for Culiacán and then on to Pasadena. She stood up, she would tell Mariana right away and then call her mother so she could get ready. They would be happy to see César. He’s so little, but every day he’s more like his grandfather, maybe he’ll grow up to be like him; but for the moment the one who needs to keep people in line is me, the meeting did not go badly, I just hope none of them gets any bright ideas. Mariana must be deep into a book or watching television, she’s crazy about that Monica Lavín; that’s why it’s so quiet in there, and she’s fascinated by Sor Juana just because she was one of us. She opened the door, television on, Mariana in a bathrobe, asleep face down, her thighs uncovered. Lights turned low. Book on the dresser. At a glance she knew something was not right. Hmm. She might have fallen asleep in her old blue bathrobe at home, but in a hotel? She moved closer, touched her hand: cold. Oh, hair wet, she turned her fragile body over. Bullet-hole in her forehead. My God. They say the good thing about women is that they cry, but Samantha froze and could only stare. What did they do to you, honey? She fell to her knees and put her head on Mariana’s breast. She was trembling. Eyes dry, but shining. Pretty Mama, what did they do to you? Fuck it all. She closed her eyes for a few seconds. Whoa. Then she rose and walked slowly out of the room.

  She would have bitten down on her balls, but how do you chew on an ovary?

  Thirteen

  Motel.

  She stood still: barefoot, ardent, quivering. Man with a three-day beard, so nervous she had trouble getting him to let go, was drinking her in. She fixated on his eyes. Brown. She thought about taking his clothes off piece by piece, about caressing him bit by bit, but that was not her nature. She dropped to her knees, unzipped his black jeans, pulled out his sizable member, and wrapped her mouth around it. Mmmm. She sucked him avidly. Cherry Popsicle, but warm. The man grabbed her head, moaned softly, but she only heard the keening of his body, the total eclipse of the heart. He resisted: I’m not going to come like a school-kid, nope. His body cheered him on: Buddy, let’s go, you wanted action? get to it, apply yourself, you bastard. He quickly rid himself of his clothes and steered her to the bed, raised her skirt and went straight to the apple, the one that really got caught in Adam’s throat. A large mole on her dark pubis. A place of rest. Her excitement grew, her entire being lay in her crotch, and she licked her lips, umm, yum, ahhh. He nibbled at her clitoris, at her large pink labia, and the woman teetered from spasm to spasm. Aghh. His hands on her compact tits. Aaghh. Convulsive orgasm. She pulled him toward her while turning to offer him her round ass, and he penetrated her to the hilt. Ahhh. He watched her magnificent behind coming and going, coming and going, and caressed her back which felt strong in that moment when no-one is fragile. I’m not going to come, not yet, no. He pulled it out, she turned to face him. Come inside me. He licked her nipples, her neck, he kissed her pillowy lips. Come inside as far as you can; she put her legs on his shoulders and he penetrated her anew. She took him defiantly. Ahhh. She rubbed his nipples, licked his hands, his wrists and gave herself over to the cock that was stroking her stoking her screwing her skewering her. Make me come. He thrust and thrust and in a few minutes she convulsed anew. Aaaghh. Then he ejaculated. Oghh. She pumped her hips against him. Ohhh, the only high in the world that’s worth the effort.

  Motel.

  Fourteen

  The Secretary was holding a glass of whisky with ice when he heard the ring of the cell phone whose number he had given Ugarte. A variety of toy giraffes on the desk. He turned to face the large window filled with city lights. Tell me. We finished ten minutes ago. Are you still on the scene? We all left immediately, here is the information. He relayed every word: the certainties, the doubts and the promises. Nine, and all of them from the Pacific Cartel, no-one else. That’s all? Precisely. Do you know the name of the politician in Tijuana? Same as yours. Is the señora good-looking? Very good-looking. What about her body? Perfect. They tell me she dresses very formally, likes dark colours. Something like that. How will you leave the city, Señor Ugarte? By sea, señor. In case you’d like to know, what you have reported is a piece of shit, it’s worthless, not even that bit about her thinking we’re vulnerable; this is more proof of how ludicrous your reputation is. He interrupted: Well, Señor Secretary, it was a pleasure working with you, good luck. He pitched the cell out of his car window on to the highway so with any luck it would get crushed by the tyre of some rented V.W. Crunch. He felt tense, persecuted, no reason I have to listen to his threats; a sharp pain in his abdomen, nausea. Mediocre jerk. His discomfort worsened, I think I overdid it, everything hurts. He pulled over to the side of the road, would he use his pistol? He opened the door and vomited into the darkness. It was a sign of one day fewer and one activity too many. Not in that open field. A black car raced past. He thought about his wife María, about his daughter Francelia and his son Aramís, who was so far away. He vomited again. To be sick is to be doubly alone.

  A searchlight from the Mazatlán airport illuminated him for a moment, then he closed the door and drove on, which of the
men at the meeting did he recognise? Two; of those, only one scrutinised him at any length. He turned on the radio: “Bethlehem, bells of Bethlehem that the angels ring, what good news for us do you bring . . .”

  Fifteen

  Max Garcés escorted the gunslinger in charge of watching Mariana’s room toward the golf course. The young man was bathed in sweat. He knew he was going to die, who could save him? No-one. Eight metres behind, two bodyguards followed. Not even the fact that he was a relative of the señora’s. His last hopes evaporated in the cold onshore breeze. Both were wearing black hats. They stopped. If you’re straight with me, we’ll protect your family, if you aren’t you know perfectly well what we’ll do: tell me what you saw, what you heard, what you smelled. Nothing, boss, no-one came near, only a few gringos coming back from the beach besides our guys doing the rounds, who would come by every so often. Use your memory, asshole. Nothing, truly, the gringos were all sandy and drunk, all of them. Did you see the Bogeyman or any of the others? Nobody, just the guys doing the rounds. Did the Bogeyman say anything to you? We never spoke, those are the orders you gave us: him inside and me outside. The hotel has a video of everything that happens in that hallway twenty-four hours a day, but I want you to tell me. I never went in, boss, I swear by Malverde, by my children, by the Virgin of Guadalupe, but if you’ve got to kill me, go ahead, I’m happy to be in this world, but if my number’s up, just do it. Garcés studied him. How much did they pay you to play the dummy? Treason never, boss, that isn’t my way, if you don’t want to kill me, then I’ll kill myself, but I would never betray the Valdés family. Garcés studied him again, calmer; his father and brothers had died serving Don Marcelo Valdés, Samantha’s father. Unless you were the one. Not even if God willed it, boss, truly; I’m a man and I would never do anything like that, and if you aren’t convinced, go ahead and kill me and my family, I’m a man loyal unto death and if I have to prove it, bring it on; besides, you know better than I, she was really nice, I haven’t forgotten how she sent a present when my son was born. Garcés breathed in, patted Drysnot on the back, and decided to let him live; the video showed the hallway empty of strangers, except for an elderly couple on canes, and it was humanly impossible to get in by the window without being seen. Who killed her and how did he reach her? Garcés realised the matter was beyond him. That is what he told Samantha Valdés minutes later in her room.

  I can’t believe we are surrounded by such dolts, how could it be? Max, I asked you to get me the best, you said they were the best, and then this? Señora, I can’t explain it either.

  What do you think Marcelo Valdés would have done if they’d killed my mother?

  Max Garcés had not thought about it like that, but he knew that was not the answer to give. He remained silent for a few seconds.

  We’ll do something, señora.

  Answer me, asshole, what would my father have done?

  Señora, I don’t know, your father was special.

  He would get even, Max, he would make sure his vengeance was as bloody as possible and that is precisely what we are going to do; someone had the balls to do it, and now many are going to pay the price; if they think they’re going to cow me with this murder, they are fools; if you don’t know where to start, then with pleasure I will tell you.

  Leave it to me.

  Well, do something in Mazatlán, so they know Samantha Valdés only plays hardball.

  She took a slug from the bottle of whisky then smashed it on the floor, even though it was nearly full. No more alcohol, she was in the room adjoining the one where the crime took place, where Mariana Kelly’s body still lay. I shouldn’t be drunk on top of this tragedy weighing on me. Samantha’s face turned to stone, she stood and looked over at the window. They say God knows why He does things, but not this time, how could it happen to the nicest woman in the world? she had plans for good works, as if we were politicians; what assholes, I have to phone my mother, and César, poor kid.

  Excuse me, señora.

  Call Devil, so he can get the funeral home people from San Chelín and tell him to come with them.

  He must be at his wedding.

  Ask him to do me that favour.

  She went to the window and the scenery looked like shit. Fucking tears.

  Sixteen

  Enrique told me you almost died. Sometimes, when too many bullets are flying, a few of them have your name on them.

  It was a bit more sensational, like your car exploded, something like that. Don’t pay any attention to him, he was always a big talker.

  You look really good, I thought you’d be pot-bellied and wrinkled. The one who’s incredible is you; truly, you look fantastic.

  You imagined me a fat-cheeked lady with her hair dyed yellow and her saggy ass bulging? More or less.

  You’re horrible. No, I’m not, how could you say that?

  I’d think of you every so often, you were that gentle kid who only opened his mouth when he had to and always gave strange answers. And you were a rocket.

  I knew how to have a good time, I tried to feel everything, to experience everything, to dream everything.

  Girls always pretend to be older; when does a woman stop wanting to celebrate her birthday?

  It depends, some women do everything they can to hide their age, even when they’re young; they add to their asses, their breasts, they have their faces done, despite the fact that for a number of years we don’t change, say between twenty-five and thirty-two; why didn’t you get married?

  Maybe because I never found the right woman, or she walked right by me and I didn’t notice, or because getting drunk seemed preferable to looking for a mate; what about you?

  I met at least three people I could have made a life with, but I didn’t go through with it, for Jason’s sake; all three made some comment about him that scared me off; the last one, for example: what about the kid, can he handle school or is he just a roadrunner? That set alarm bells ringing and I backed out.

  I didn’t get that close, well, maybe once, but she was married and it didn’t end well.

  They caught you with your hand in the cookie jar.

  Worse, they turned out to be murderers and I nearly got caught in their trap.

  Really? Did you put them in prison?

  Even more drastic, but tell me what you do over there.

  I partnered with a friend and we started a taco business, the best tacos in Santa Monica, we’re near Hollywood. Do gringos like tacos?

  Not the gringos, but for the chicanos they’re like catnip, sometimes we sell out; the most popular are the political tacos. What’s with that name?

  They’re made with tongue. Seriously? and now that we’re speaking frankly, what’s your secret for managing to stay so young-looking?

  I made a pact with the devil. With Devil Urquídez?

  Who’s that? The groom of the wedding we just went to.

  Why weren’t they there? is that the new thing? Not that I know of; in Devil’s case, his father-in-law didn’t know and he didn’t care either, he got his daughter hitched and that was enough to satisfy him.

  That never changes, and in the United States it’s the same story, despite the fact that kids leave home as soon as they can. Does Jason live his life alone?

  He never talks about it, I think he considers himself the man of the house; this afternoon, when he came back from Altata, Mama said a few things about you, that I shouldn’t go out with you, that you were dangerous and untrustworthy, and what’s more, an alcoholic, and Jason cut her short; he went over and hugged her and whispered that he loved her a lot, but she shouldn’t say such things about his father either to his face or behind his back; my mother was left with her mouth hanging open; all she could do was hug him back.

  I trust he doesn’t do drugs. He was never an addict, but he experimented; now he’s managing to steer clear of all that.

  Why is he always texting? His friends are the same way, it’s the latest fashion; listen, I’m a mother and I’ve got to
get home early; Jason won’t go to bed until I turn up.

  I hope there’s a comfy chair at Doña Mary’s.

  Seventeen

  Ugarte answered his cell. How are you? all night long I was waiting for your call. Good morning, General, the thing was delayed a couple of hours, more, and I thought it would be too late for you. Did everything go according to plan? Just the way you like it. It’s a relief to hear that. Last night I called the Secretary, I told him what they talked about and, well, mission accomplished. Now, tell me. The señora’s good, clearly in charge, she asked them to remain united, not to send their people out to die in vain, that their business isn’t killing but trafficking; she asked each of us about our territories and the meeting was adjourned. Just like her father, right to the point. That seems to be her style. How did the group seem? Tight; however, if she was asking for unity there must be something going on. Do you think that was a threat? Hmm, I couldn’t swear to it, it felt more like a preventive measure, it’s her feminine nature. Were the kingpins there or just their representatives? Mostly representatives and everyone kept a low profile, there were only people from the Pacific Cartel. Did the Secretary ask you any class-A questions? None, he wanted an interpretation and you know that isn’t my thing. That’s his job; did he try to humiliate you again? You could say that, he said the information was worthless and denied they were vulnerable, which is a point the señora touched on in the meeting. Perfect, I’ll call the President to give him our version, and I’ll be seeing you. I’ll be expecting a visit. Are you going to stay there for a while? No, I’ll soon be on my way to my own little hell. It’s good to spend Christmas with the family; by the way, I just sent you some decorations for your tree that will knock your socks off, people in Yucatan are really ingenious, have you had breakfast? That’s what I’m up to now. Me too, enjoy it.