Devil and Chopper came to take the Hyena to the airport.
Max told him: Wong doesn’t trust Durazo, our representative in Hermosillo, he says he was a good friend of Eloy’s, but Quintana was everybody’s friend; and the ones he didn’t know are the gringos, all trusted by their bosses. Could the bit about the leather jacket tell us something? Half of them were wearing leather jackets. In other words, we’re fucked. And full of holes in the middle. I’m looking for a rock-climber, the Hyena said half of them were obese, did you see anyone skinny enough to rappel down easily? Several of them, but that isn’t much to go on. What time is the guy from Hermosillo coming? At three o’clock, and you know what? he’s not exactly a piece of spaghetti. No? He must weigh ninety kilos and he’s uncoordinated as hell. Well, when you’ve got him here, let me know.
Mendieta felt they had managed to get nowhere, it was a complicated case, particularly because of the people he would have to interrogate, why didn’t Hyena Wong want to spill anything over the telephone? What he said wasn’t any big deal, was he testing him, to see how tough he was? Fuck him, if he’s hiding information the only thing he’ll do is slow us down; and that bullshit of bringing up my past, was there something there? So they’re all dead except for one, eh? I’m getting tired of these assholes. He figured if he wanted to get his adrenaline up and running he’d have to go after Tenia Solium, but as soon as they got to their feet, the din of a deadly gunfight reached them from the street. Max grabbed an A.K.-47 and ran out. Iraq. Intense fire. Afghanistan. Exploding bombs. Culiacán. Three men who had been standing guard were up on the high metal wall shooting like demons into the street. Lefty at his side, Max asked, What’s up? Our guys are out there, somebody was waiting for them. Why haven’t you used the bazooka? give it to me, he handed Lefty the A.K.-47 and picked up the bazooka. There’s no angle to fire. Max climbed up and took a look, then stepped down and went over to Drysnot, who was shooting nonstop. Let me by, loco. He clambered up then dropped to his haunches because at that moment they came under sustained fire. Lefty’s mouth fell open. Garcés leaped up and let loose a deafening blast from the bazooka. Vrooom. A dark hummer flew through the air and another put the pedal to the metal and vanished. Sepulchre. Max climbed down, and everyone went over to the dark-green iron gate. Lefty, as he later admitted, was prepared to shoot. The armoured S.U.V. had survived with about three hundred holes in the body and two flat tires. Devil put it in reverse and got it into the yard. Let’s go; Mendieta, you head out first, Max ordered. No fucking way, I leave with you or I don’t go. The men emptied out of the car: Devil and Chopper, adrenaline to the max, Hyena Wong unflappable, holding the burning hot A.K.-47 he had used to respond to the attack. They climbed into Max’s armoured Tundra, Lefty got into his own Toyota, the rifle still in his hand, and the bodyguards piled into a black Hummer. Copper, my man, Wong shouted, I know who that dude is, when I get to Mexicali I’ll give you a call. They sped off. Sure, you’ll call whenever you fucking feel like it, he mused. The Toyota in the middle. The neighbourhood as if nothing had happened.
What is that bastard doing? It bothered Max that Mendieta was holding his position in the caravan. He’s going to follow us, said Devil Urquídez at the wheel, until Señor Wong tells him what he has to tell him. Well, he’s going to have to follow us all the way to the airport. He’s a bastard, that badge, we used to call him the Cat.
Before Hyena Wong stepped into the zone for small aircraft, Lefty approached him. You are a tough one, copper, the real thing, and I’m glad you didn’t die. Tell me about the dude. He was the law, I’m sure. Do you remember his name? What’s with you, the rat-a-tat got the gourd to kick over but not that much; Max ought to know, at least the name he used at the meeting in Mazatlán; the name I do happen to recall is what they call the only dude still alive of the jokers that blew up your wheels and then sprayed you with bullets. They looked into each other’s eyes. Valente Aguilar, better known as Tenia Solium. No shit.
*
We don’t do it that often, could that bastard be screwing somebody else? if he is, I’ll cut off the sonofabitch’s balls; maybe we should do it more, it relaxes you, makes you happy and it brings you closer together, even the boss is going around like a leaf of lettuce; that would keep him satisfied too, I don’t want some slut he might run across to turn his head. Ring. It was Robles: Agent Toledo, they called in a seven-four-six in Las Quintas. Got it. She called Mendieta: Boss, a gunfight in Las Quintas, should we go? Who called it in? A neighbour telephoned 086, it’s near Estado de Puebla Street. I was there. What? It has to do with the Kelly case, that’s the house I chose for interrogating suspects, somebody was out hunting and the bang-bang went on for a long while, there must be bodies because they blew up a Hummer. What do we do? Wait for me, I can’t go in the Toyota. They already called the forensic doctor and two of Ortega’s boys are on their way. We’ll catch up to them, it happened about forty minutes ago, I’m pulling up to Headquarters right now.
Hummer roasted. Bodies burned to a crisp. Three A.K.-47s and four pistols all charred. The iron gate of the cartel’s house showing smallpox. A couple of housewives peeking out their windows, a chubby man heading to the super. Lefty, do you have any idea what happened here? Fucking Quiroz, why didn’t you stay in Colombia? Hey, I brought coffee for you, so you can learn what it really tastes like. You should have stayed, maybe by now you’d be the correspondent for ¡Hola! or Hello!. Listen, what’s your theory about this? Notwithstanding what the commander might say, I hear there’s a P.C. safe-house nearby, it’s probably that one that got all shot up, and people say a heavyweight from the North and another from around here were in there having a meeting, I even heard a detective on a case was present. Whoa, Lefty, what a lousy friend you are, what would you lose by telling me what you think or what you’ve heard? If you want I’ll write your article for you, you fucking media slave. You only talk nonsense, how can I do journalism right if you won’t talk to me? Don’t lose your temper, Pineda’s sure to be here soon, he’s the one who knows all the dope on this. I thought you were my friend. Don’t be a crybaby, fucking Quiroz, did the Colombians treat you so badly? And here I was thinking I might get fresh information from you. You also believe in God and you never curse; wait for the anti-drug tsar and stop flapping your gums, he won’t be long.
In an hour all that was left of the confrontation was a stain on the road. They were returning to Headquarters when Zelda Toledo’s cell phone rang. Hello. Señorita, I hope you haven’t forgotten me. Who’s speaking? Glasseater, the performer with an exclusive engagement at El Quijote. I can hear you fine, Rodelo, I’ll put the boss on; Lefty continued: What’s up? did you polish off all the bottles in La Pipima? Worse, I had to flee; a buddy there, Nacho Trejo, warned me that Tenia’s people were looking for me; I’m here with the whole family. Seriously? Fear doesn’t travel by burro. O.K., go to the Hotel El Mayo and get a room, we’ll call now to let them know. What about El Quijote? We’ll see about that tomorrow.
Zelda made the calls. Lefty told her about his conversation with Hyena Wong and said they ought to announce José Rodelo’s debut for the next day. Did you speak with the owners? No, but I bet Tenia likes the show. As long as we’re bringing each other up to speed, three days ago an older man was killed in the Citicinemas parking lot, but the family wants to let things lie, his name was Samuel Estrada. Samuel Estrada? that sounds familiar. It should, he’s on the list of Dr Manzo’s patients. I suppose, anything else? He’s got a record: he did time in La Mesa for drug trafficking, stockpiling weapons issued exclusively to the army and resisting authority: nearly twenty years in the shadows, he got out two years ago. Hmm, of course; Agent Toledo, you are a first-class Toledo; it’s time you took your first graduate course, we’ll set that up soon. There’s more, I spoke with the son. With Jason? Zelda smiled. No, with Estrada’s son, a smart kid, he told me his father had a slip of paper with a name in the pocket of the jacket he wore every day, “Antonio the Hunk Gómez, Maz”, and that he d
id errands for Carlos Arredondo. Another of Manzo’s patients and a very active narco, according to Terminator. Gómez is a friend of Blake’s and he told him he was headed to Mazatlán without saying what for. Alright, let me take that up with Max. The point is that Arredondo called the son, promised to help the family out and named the culprit, can you guess who? Tenia Solium.
No shit.
Forty-Two
In three hours Ugarte’s friend, an architect with connections all over, had them set up with a place to stay, passports and enough money to get by for a few days. Thankful, they avoided making any calls from his telephones, a detail the architect did not notice. All he thought was: Everybody makes a mess with his own shit. What he could not fail to note was that the dynamic but clingy boy from high school had disappeared, and in his place was a wretched bag of bones. The poor bastard, he was a good egg. María convinced him to get her a bank account where she could deposit his generous loan; then she called her friend Loretta from a public telephone and asked her to send enough money with someone she trusted. María, I’m totally freaked out, this morning I went by your house and a bunch of men in grey suits were lined up outside, guarding it, what happened? are you alright? Something spectacular happened, I’ll tell you about it later. Just give me an idea, my husband was with me and he said by the look of those guys it must be something heavy; I went back a little while ago and everything looked normal, as if you were still there, I even felt like knocking. It isn’t easy to explain, for the moment don’t go anywhere near the house and don’t telephone me either, right now I’m calling from a pay phone; I’ll give you the details when I can, for now be happy that we’re alive and safe, and please do me that great favour I asked.
At dusk, at the fishermen’s monument people call Brutes in the Buff, someone would hand her a lime-green suitcase with plenty of cash.
Moni will lend me money, she told Ugarte, caressing his hair, now completely grey and somewhat longer than official regulations would permit. I’ll use it to buy more medicine and pay back your friend, the light-brown skin of her angular face looked soft. For the past eight years she had been in a relationship with Loretta Livingston, the woman who had just proved she would stand by her. The husband, a wealthy importer–exporter of fragrances, had agreed without comment. How will she get it to you? She explained. As you can see, I learned a few tricks from you. I’ll go. You, why? you’re really fragile, don’t push yourself. Is Fran-celia in the swimming pool? No way, she’s in the surf, riding the waves and chugging salt water like crazy; you know she’s as reck-less as you are. They were at the Hotel Playa, resting in a spacious room facing the sea. There is something I’ve got to tell you, María. Another secret? there’s no denying it, you like to dole out the details of your life with an eye-dropper; but there’s no need to, Héctor, we’ve lived the way we’ve lived and that’s how it turned out for us; dear woman with a penis, you don’t have to make eleventh-hour confessions. It’s important. What, that you slept with most of my friends, including Loretta? they already told me; so, better you should rest. Silence broken only by the sea. I killed Mariana Kelly.
María Leyva’s expression went from astonishment to rage as she pulled away from her husband; if there was anything at all she knew about him, it was that he was lethal. You are a son of a bitch. Ugarte felt lucid, powerful, in charge; he felt his blood flowing, even the pain eased off for a moment, an extraordinarily critical moment in which he had his wife’s entire attention. María got to her feet disgusted, took a step back to keep from strangling the vermin with her bare hands, how could he have possibly done something so abominable? Yes, I put a bullet between her eyes, Ugarte said with a vindictive sneer; María resisted the urge to suffocate him, skin him alive, burn him to a crisp. As soon as she recognised me, I told her she owed me a debt, that she was going to die for what she did to me; I had sworn as much eighteen years before and she remembered. It wasn’t her fault, she’d been with Samantha since we were teenagers; if anyone was a culprit it was me, since I was always after her; then I consoled myself with an appalling sexual aberration, you. She didn’t take it badly; she was coming out of the shower, didn’t resist when I led her to the bed, she sat down and I shot her in the forehead with the Smith & Wesson, then I collected the shell and the cartridge. All vengeance is absurd, but vengeance for love is just plain stupid; after so many years, woman with a penis, how could you dare? The heart never forgets, María, and mine is a computer chip. And of course, all this lunacy you’ve dragged us into has to do with that, they must be looking for you all over the world. I went to a meeting with Samantha afterwards, I felt like rubbing her face in it, but I wanted to spend my final days with you; I gave her a bit of an insolent look to let her know the damage I had done her, she felt something because she shook my hand vigorously and frisked me with her witch’s eyes. María stormed out on to the balcony, anger consuming her; evidently the next step was up to her. Ugarte turned on the television.
Javier Solórzano was reading out the news of the death of General Atenor Alvarado in the sun-bleached city of Mérida. Shot down at seven a.m. while jogging along Paseo Montejo; a man close to the President, who this morning lamented the death of an exemplary Mexican, that is how the President put it, and announced the creation of a special corps to put an end to organised crime. Who did we interfere with, General? Who is making us pay so dearly? Not the Secretary, he’s an imbecile, and if it isn’t him, then who? My God, the President? Alvarado was his top envoy for dealing with the drug gangs, the only one of his advisers who suggested negotiating peace at any price. Those were his plans and his desires, and I ruined them. Is it the war they want to put an end to? Or is it the Pacific Cartel? Of course, the Mochis Initiative, and we were in the way; what can you say, the General owed me a few.
Name of the Dog Page 17
