Susana flooded his mind: everybody loved her; that time she asked me about books I wanted to impress her and I thought I could do it by playing the tough guy; that’s why I told her I never read love stories; The Count, it’s not really about vengeance, it’s a love story like the one rolling around my brain these days; what did I see and not see in that hotel room that would give us something to go on? On the car stereo: José Alfredo’s “Ojalá que Te Vaya Bonito”. Maybe they’ve invented bullets that go through walls and windows without making a hole, they zoom around and find the victim, whack him and make their way calmly back to the pistol; well, why not? it couldn’t have been the invisible man.
Suppose I ask her to stay? Yes! Take it easy, fucking body, who asked you to butt in? Well, I did; you don’t think it’s your astonishing intelligence that’s got her all worked up? no, señor; admit it, I’m the draw, and even though I’m convalescing I miss her. Enough, asshole, leave me in peace. Don’t pull out. Don’t butt in. Ay.
Thirty-Three
María Leyva, blonde and thin, strong, hair pulled back, small breasts, entered the bedroom where Ugarte was fiddling with the Bible: he would open it at random, read the first few lines and imagine it said something about his future or the future of his family or friends; “I am come into my garden / my sister, my spouse / I have gathered my myrrh / with my spice / I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey / I have drunk my wine with my milk.” Yes, I am come, I have come, I’ve lived the life I was born into, and whatever happens I shall be with her and she shall be with me; none of it was easy: not the College, not my profession, certainly not my family life. There’s nothing simple about living with a lesbian, too many days filled with uncertainty, contrary lusts, insomniac nights; in fact I’ll never forgive her that. Why did we marry? me, because I adored her and she never insisted I be at home, not even when the children were born; she, for my feminine soul; she always said that: You are a beautiful and delicate woman with a penis; I don’t know why you aren’t a homosexual. He was lying on three pillows. His skin had grown even more pallid and scaly and he weighed less each day. Dear, two señores are here to see you, I told them you’re not well enough to see anyone, but they insist. Who are they? They say they don’t carry cards and I didn’t ask them their names because I didn’t think they would tell me the truth. He was going to ask her to try to convince them, that he just did not have the energy, when the two crossed the threshold into the bedroom and one glance was enough to know what it was about. He had never seen them before, but they had the sinister air of impious men. Señora, do us the favour of stepping outside. María looked at him, he nodded and shifted on the pillows. The one who had spoken came a little closer. Héctor Ugarte, nice house, and a pretty wife, eh, and everybody knows you don’t go for that. He felt a twinge, placed the Bible on his chest, coughed lightly. What can I do for you? For us, nothing, and from what I can see nothing for yourself either. He observed them: they wore grey suits and dark ties; dark-skinned, stone-faced, elegant. I’m dying. We know, and people who care about you decided to save you the suffering. A murderer who speaks too much is either afraid or a cynic, or he wants to humiliate. He shifted again on the pillows and in the same movement pulled out a Glock 34 and drilled each of them. María Leyva, who was waiting behind the door with a Sig Sauer P226 in her fist, burst into the bedroom, thinking it was he who had been shot. She contemplated the scene with a wry smile, disarmed the visitors, one dead and one mortally wounded, and asked: Now what? Ugarte was sweating, his eyes closed, his gun hand on the covers. Where’s Francelia? She’s with friends. Call her, tell her to meet us in Mexico City, tell her to take a taxi to the U.N.A.M. and wait for us at the entrance to the campus, near the School of Philosophy and Letters, on Universidad Avenue; tell her to bring her passport and whatever cash she has. He sat up with difficulty. Help me get dressed. Whatabout them? Someone will be along soon enough to get them.
They parked their car at a supermarket open twenty-four hours and took a taxi to the capital, seventy kilometres away. She had asked only one question: Who were they? While he guessed they might be envoys from the Secretary or the narcos, he said I have no idea; he detested the former, who had plenty of power and kept his subordinates elegantly dressed; the latter were sworn enemies and now they were at war; although, truth be told, they knew little of him, he was from another epoch, and besides, thanks to the disguise and his thinness he was sure no-one had recognised him at the meeting. The army? no, it’s an institution that never betrays its members; as soon as he was near a telephone he would call General Alvarado, since he knew his own must be tapped. Now all that mattered was to get his family to safety, his son was still in New York seeing musicals, so he was in no immediate danger; he had to get Francelia out of the country, and María could go into hiding with him until the disease finished him off or he followed through with military tradition and put a bullet in his head. Could it be the new group the General mentioned? If it was, why would they come for me when I’m on my last legs? So much for comfort, maybe it makes sense to go back to the old house in Culiacán, since it looks abandoned it would be perfect for hiding out. He realised he did not want to fight, he just wanted to die in his own bed on the day his body gave up or when he gave it the little push it needed. In all honesty, he was still not sure which he preferred; we Catholics take our end very seriously.
Cold. The cab-driver turned off the Christmas music and soon they were on the highway lined with pines. It was dark when they entered the city, coloured lights everywhere. They spied Francelia where they expected her, by the entrance to the National University, which was closed for the vacation. She got into the taxi without asking a thing, but she looked upset, her lips were trembling when she kissed them. She was wearing black: stockings, short skirt, blouse and coat. Are you alright? Yes, in English. At the Gandhi bookstore they changed cabs. Before that, Ugarte explained the situation and the next steps. The young woman broke down and sobbed silently: Again? can’t we be together even in your final days? well, I disagree, I’m going with you to Culiacán, if you’re going to be safe there, so will I. Maybe it’s just an obsession of mine, but something in my gut tells me you ought to be with your brother to protect him. His voice breaking. Aramís can protect himself, Pa, in Manhattan he barely sleeps, you know he wants to direct musicals, he’s seeing two a day; so, shall we go by way of Toluca or Querétaro, or are we flying out from Benito Juárez? Let’s go by Toluca, tomorrow we’ll look for a flight from the airport in Guadalajara. But you’re sick. Sure, but I’m still here and that’s something. They hugged each other.
An hour later they crossed under the Periférico Highway in a white minivan with Tlaxcala plates.
Thirty-Four
Navolato. City of farmers, shopkeepers, a sugar refinery, and in La Flor de Capomo no women allowed. What? Just the way you heard it, señor, the waiter told Lefty, the señora has to go. Hey, you should be talking to me, Zelda protested, her voice rising, I’m the one you’re dealing with, now get me your boss. They were at a table with wooden chairs in a nasty-smelling cantina. Señora, I don’t want any trouble, I can’t serve you. What kind of fucking town is this where they still discriminate against women? It’s the rule, besides, soon the boys will start acting out, thinking you’re something else. On the sound system “Mujeres Divinas” by Vicente Fernández. Call the owner, a frankly irritated Mendiata cut in. I can’t serve you. You already said that, now go get the boss. A dozen little red bells hanging from the walls signalled that the year was drawing to a close. The bartender put a few frosted mugs on the wooden bar, along with several open bottles of beer. Everyone in the room was watching attentively, most of them working men in search of a bit of cheap entertainment. And while you’re at it, bring out José Rodelo. The waiter, a puny man wearing an apron with pockets for napkins and the money he collected from customers, yelled something toward the back and hurried to carry the mugs to their destination. They were seated near the entrance.
A fat ma
n with a chip on his shoulder approached the table. Señor, this business has rules, and number one is that women are not allowed. That is vile discrimination. It’s the way it is, señora, and we’re also violating the Mexican Constitution, but there’s no fixing it here; La Flor de Capomo is Comanche territory, or what amounts to the same thing: the land of men. Well, you’re going to serve me a beer. Not even if you people are from the Interior Ministry and are going to shutter the business for the rest of my life. What do you have against women? Me? nothing, God forbid, it’s simply the way things are here; look at it like this: my wife has a beauty salon and she doesn’t take care of men or faggots, only women; one day Carmen Aristegui and Javier Solórzano came in here and Carmen had to wait outside. A furious Zelda turned to Mendieta. Can we go to your office?
Once they were all inside a room filled with kitchen utensils and spicy aromas: You’re badges, right? We want to talk to the Glasseater, not long ago they killed his dentist and he was his last patient. The fat man looked at them: He’s a good boy, sit down, he indicated two empty plastic chairs; he’s about to do his number, as soon as he finishes I’ll send him in to you. Could you bring or send in a couple of beers? Zelda insisted. Your tongues are parched, aren’t they? if you like, you can watch the show through there, he pointed to a small window in the fibreboard wall.
Background music: Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild”.
Good evening, dear friends, welcome to your fayvorritte barr.
Oh yeah, it’s me, candy-asses, don’t throw a fit.
(Boos and whistles.)
What was that you said? it’s Burro Van Rankin in his underwear, right? Uh-uh, not him or his mother; it’s me.
We thought it was your whore of a mother.
Enough, fucking impotents, take it easy; it’s obvious you left your women wanting more; but no need to worry, your good buddy is here and he won’t leave you high and dry.
Shut the fuck up, you smug bastard.
You’re a faggot.
La Flor de Capomo bar has the pleasure of presenting
In exclusive engagement
The only man on the terrestrial sphere who has found the solution to world hunger
Directly from Las Vegas, Nevada
The famous
Glasseater!
(More boos and whistles.)
A heavyset man, twenty-seven years old, dressed in blue, appeared with three half-drunk beers in his hands. He drank one down. You’re thirsty, fucking Glasseater. Drink water, asshole, leave the beer for the men. Rodelo bit off the neck of the bottle he had emptied and chewed slowly, as if he were demonstrating how it ought to be done. He used a microphone and everyone could hear the shards grinding. Crinch crunch. That’s stale bread you’re swallowing, Glasseater, you’re not fooling us, here’s a real one for you, the protesting customer heaved a litre bottle, which Rodelo caught on the fly, then bit off the neck and chewed hungrily. Crinch crunch. They brought him one of tequila and same story: impassive and deliberate grinding to the violent rhythms of Hermann Hesse’s Canadian fans. For eleven minutes he chewed glass to the delight of the audience and the astonishment of the detectives. The bastard’s crazy. Soon they were sending him full bottles without a pause in their shouts: Come here and bite what’s hanging from me, fucking Glasseater, let’s see if you dare.
Good evening again, candy-asses.
How about a round of applause for the Glasseater
And his world-famous show!
The music rose, Rodelo departed amid loud whistles and the odd flying bottle.
He went to join the detectives, carrying three beers. Good evening, he handed a bottle to each and drank his own in one guzzle. Ahhh, there are those who praise the first sip, but for me it’s all the same. For us too, listen, what’s the trick? He bit off a chunk of his bottle and chewed gently. The glass in his mouth crunched loudly, you could hear it getting ground up, and once it was reduced to a powder he swallowed it. Good answer. Rodelo smiled. Saliva, mine is thicker than most people’s, but every once in a while a shard sticks in my gums. That’s why you went to Dr Antonio Estolano, may he rest in peace. Tell us what you saw, we heard you were his last patient. The dentist was a good guy, he must have been about seventy, he pulled out the glass and was done in five minutes, didn’t want to charge me a thing; he took off his coat right away because he wanted to watch a football match on television; I hurried out and that was it, a few days later I heard somebody took him down. You’ve got an interesting way of earning a living, I imagine you get paid well. I’m happy with it, the drunks never let me down, I pass the hat and they cooperate. But you get a salary too. A hundred pesos a day. You live with your wife and three small children and you’re from a little town called La Pipima. Rodelo smiled: I left high school because I got sick and tired of going to class without breakfast. I’m glad we understand each other, what did you see when you left Dr Estolano’s office? Not even his receptionist because she’d already gone. We’ve never had a glass eater in Aguaruto Prison, would you like to be the first? You’re going to throw me in the slammer so soon? Who did you see? Well, I’m going to tell you, but promise me if they come for me the government will take care of my children, as you know I’ve got three. First thing tomorrow morning I’ll send you an insurance agent. Don’t make fun of me, I don’t want my kids to be worth shit like me, I want them to become professionals. Señor Rodelo, if something happens to you, I’ll take care of them, proposed Zelda, only give me your word you won’t go around flapping your gums or taunting your enemies; you stay home until we solve this mess, agreed? Better you take me with you to Culiacán, I’d like to do a show at El Quijote, they say it’s a great bar, the bros there are really wild. Done deal. He smiled, his teeth were crooked but they looked strong. When I left the office, two black pickups arrived, I crossed the street but I managed to see several gunslingers get out, one of them was a guy who’s famous, they call him Tenia Solium and he had his head tied up with a cloth, the way you do when your tooth hurts; I moved off a ways, saw the dentist come out, they spoke with him, he looked at his watch and shook his head; then Tenia put the barrel on him, they piled him into one of the trucks and took him away; end of story. Wait, describe Tenia Solium. He’s hefty, not very tall, dark-skinned, short hair, and he controls the highway between Culiacán and Navolato. Does he have a house around here? No, not that I know of, I think the dude is from the hills; he runs a really bloody gang; I’ve dealt with most of the narcos from around here, they like to see me eat glass and they treat me well, I’m finishing a house with what they’ve paid me; if he lived around here I’d know about it. Does he have a family? Couldn’t say. Cavalry charge: Mendieta, the detective answered. It was Quiroz. Inkshitter, where have you been hiding, you fucking sell-out? Hey, I went to Colombia to take a course at Gabriel García Márquez’s New Journalism Foundation. Seriously? gee, I thought they didn’t accept primates. So soon, my man Lefty? don’t be riding me, you ought to know that’s a serious crime. My, didn’t you come back all delicate, did the narcos down there beat the shit out of you, or what? That I’ll tell you about later, listen, what do you make of this wave of dentist murders? Not bad, two down so far, one of whom was yours. I know, I need information. Go to the chief, yesterday he told me he missed you, he didn’t think he could have a merry Christmas without you. Before you go on fucking with me, I brought you a present, it’s instant coffee. You think I’m going to drink your poison? you’re dreaming, inkshitter. I’ll look for you tomorrow.
Name of the Dog Page 13
