Name of the Dog

by Elmer Mendoza

  What’s the name of that character in Shakespeare who’s an expert at making people jealous? Oh, boss, what would I know about that?

  As soon as they got into Zelda’s car, Lefty wrote down the facts he could not memorise. What do you think, boss? We’re in the dark all over again, worth shit. That’s what the President said: the Mexican police are incompetent, corrupt and unprepared. When did he say that? Last night, and I read about it today; listen, that was heavy with Tenia, wasn’t it? his son getting burned to a crisp right there, and Chopper with the itchy trigger finger. A couple of bastards. They drove unhurriedly toward the address in Las Quintas, it was right near the Pacific Cartel’s safe-house. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. And then Christmas; are you going to have dinner with the family? Most likely. Boss, congratulations, and like you said the other day we’ve got to forget all about this zoo and have a good time with the people we love; we’re going to have turkey with stuffing and buñuelos for dessert; we invited Rodo’s parents, and I’m going to get my hair washed the way it should be, in a salon. Poor Rodo, you’re going to make his head spin; I don’t know what we’ll eat but it’ll be something special for sure, Susana owns a restaurant in Los Angeles. So she knows how to stir a pot. That’s what Jason says. Silence. Do you have any hope this guy will be there? Nope, I’m not even sure it’s him; the only thing we’ll get out of this business will be more money for presents. There is that, thanks to your friends. Mendieta pretended not to hear, and he dialled Susana. How are you? Taking a nap. Nice, that’s what good girls should be doing, did the gringo turn up? Not that I know of; you’ll come for dinner tomorrow, right? Of course, we’ll eat and we’ll drink until our bellies turn blue. Are you at work? Affirmative. You should put in a request for vacation and we could go somewhere. Stupendous idea. I love you. So do I, goodnight. Short silence. It’s great to be stuck on someone, right, boss? More or less. They breathed easy. A lot of traffic on the main streets.

  The address turned out to be a one-storey house in darkness, garden abandoned, walls unpainted and discoloured. Don’t even stop, Lefty told his partner, it’s emptier than a country cemetery, and she drove slowly on. We can drop by in the morning not to leave it hanging. Mendieta studied the facade and as it left his angle of vision he saw a window grow brighter. Wait a sec, it looks like somebody’s home, park wherever you can. They took their guns and walked back. The neighbours, maybe watching television, maybe sleeping, for sure getting things ready for the following day; through their windows, the blinking lights of Christmas trees. Devil and Chopper parked far enough away that they would not be seen.

  Sure enough, a feeble glow was coming from the living-room window. They crossed over the nearly metre-high wrought-iron fence and squatted in the weeds for two minutes; a car went by. From the looks of it nobody lives here, hardly a family with a young daughter, Zelda muttered; the glow disappeared. Aha, somebody’s there, the detective whispered, maybe not the man we’re looking for, but someone just closed a door or turned out a light. What do we do? The simplest thing: we knock. Well, get to it, boss, I’ve got to pee.

  Knock knock knock. After a long minute, guns at the ready, they heard feet dragging. Ugarte threw the door open. He looked very thin, very old and very sick, even in the darkness. They gaped at each other. Were you expecting someone? Not anymore, as you can see I’m in no condition to . . . he interrupted himself to examine them carefully; police? We’re no big deal, but you are Captain Héctor Ugarte Rojo from military intelligence. He contemplated them. If you’re looking at me, you must understand I can’t ask you in, I’m really sick. That much we can see, put your hands in view, you’re wanted for the murder of Mariana Kelly. The man breathed deeply, smiled as if a weight had been lifted from him. Lefty frisked him and led him back inside, behind them Zelda confirmed there was no-one else in the place. Ugarte asked permission to sit in his La-Z-Boy; Mendieta checked it over carefully. Zelda came back with a Smith & Wesson Classic, a five-bullet .38-calibre special with a three-inch barrel and a silencer. A jewel. I only have one question, Captain Ugarte: after you rappelled down, how did you manage to open the window to Mariana’s room? The man felt better: this policeman was showing him respect, he wanted something only he knew. Through Samantha’s window; she was in the shower; that’s also how I left. Of course, that was what Lefty had perceived but could not work out: two windows right next to each other, leading to connecting rooms, he turned to Zelda who nodded. Did you know it would be open? No, I went there after I found Mariana’s closed and thought I’d failed, then it was just a question of waiting. You must have had your reasons to do this job, Captain Ugarte. Nothing much, after so many years the only thing that remained intact was my hatred. Like Edmond Dantès? With the difference that I could never forgive. We found your climbing equipment, were you hanging there a long time? About eight minutes, Samantha wouldn’t stop talking on the telephone and a young guard kept looking in my direction, maybe he was just watching a few gringas who were practically naked, I don’t know, but all the same he could have seen my silhouette against the window; a couple of gunslingers making their rounds went by once boasting about their romantic conquests without showing the least interest in the wall, the overalls I used were the same shade of red. I can see you are a very patient man. Patience is an addiction; with all due respect, señor . . . They call me the Cat, Ugarte looked at him for a moment. You couldn’t be the policeman who somehow survived an explosion about twenty years ago? Mendieta made a gesture that said there was no way around it. Dog’s Name, that’s what a lot of people called me; I was telling you, with all due respect, I would appreciate it if you would allow me to end this matter myself, that’s why I have the pistol. Lefty studied him: Right, a military tradition. And look, I only did undercover operations, some of them were truly spectacular, but this one was personal and I would like people to know, so if you have any reporter friends and could do me the favour . . . Lefty smiled, made a gesture of understanding, went out into the garden and dialled Samantha Valdés.

  I’ve got your man. Who is he, Lefty Mendieta? Héctor Ugarte, husband of María Leyva. Instant reaction: My God, I can hardly believe it. Should I give you the address or bring him to you? No, I’ll be right there, Devil called Max a few minutes ago. Lefty paid no attention to a beautiful young woman with shining hair and a backpack, who paused at the gate to stare at him haughtily before walking on. Seven minutes later, the head of the Pacific Cartel stepped resolutely from a black S.U.V. Max, Devil and Chopper went inside with her.

  She stood in front of Ugarte, who looked at her with that same peculiar smile of triumph. Zelda went outside to keep her boss company. So it was you, woman with balls, it never crossed my mind that I knew you, you looked so decrepit and with that moustache you stuck on. Because of you damned bitches my marriage was hell for years on end. You’ve got your ass on backwards, woman with balls. I spent fifteen years separated from my family because of your father. And I can imagine your witch of a wife must have missed you terribly, that shameless flirt. He looked at her contemptuously, in command, immaculate; the others watched. I beat you, Samantha Valdés, admit it; I took away what you loved most, just as you people did to me; now you know what it feels like to be utterly deprived of the one you love. La Jefa, whose face had fallen, signalled Max, who passed her his .45 with the safety off. Dry lips, trembling mouth. She took aim.

  *

  The afternoon of the 24th, following Trudis’s advice, Mendieta went to Doña Mary’s house to ask if he could bring anything for the meal that night and to take her a bouquet of pink alstroemerias. He felt happy, for himself, for Jason and for everybody else. The Jetta was parked outside. A dishevelled young man texting on his cell answered the door. What happened? She’s like that, unpredictable, she uses me as an excuse but it’s like with the Marine; she’s the one who doesn’t dare make a commitment. He reached for the flowers and set them on the table. You mean Susana’s gone? She took the first flight out this morning. Lefty collapsed into a c
hair, he had spent all morning writing his report and depositing his money in the bank. Jason put a hand on his shoulder. Take it easy, Papa, that’s how women are, they don’t pick sides, they come and go. Mendieta smiled mirthlessly, ruffled the asterisks of Jason’s hair and handed him a debit card. Your other present: there’s enough there for you to study whatever you like, whenever you like, wherever you like. They hugged. Then he convinced his son to go have a good time with Gustavo and the girls. You are an idiot, his body muttered, utterly crushed, but then reassured him he would be alright.

  At home he took the Bob Dylan C.D. out of the stereo and put on José Alfredo: “Qué Suerte la Mía”. And he drank for hours until he passed out. Fuck it.

  ÉLMER MENDOZA was born in Culiacán, México in 1949. He teaches literature at Sinaola Autonomous University and is widely regarded as the founder of “narco-lit”, which explores the impact of drug trafficking in Latin America. He won the José Fuentes Mares National Literary Prize for Janis Joplin’s Lover, and the Tusquets Prize for Silver Bullets.

  MARK FRIED is a literary translator specialising in Latin American literature. He lives in Ottawa, Canada.