“It’s true,” said Alan. “After independence, the system of bribes and favors became a primary way of advancement for many. Even at the lower levels of society, poorly paid bureaucrats found they could supplement their income and raise their wealth and standing in society by collecting small payments on the side for their services, favors and attention.”
“And today, Alan?”
“Much the same. Local officials boost their social standing and influence in the community by delivering favors to some and not others. They supplement their low incomes by accepting small payments for carrying out their duties, cutting red tape to produce quick results. Bribery is still widespread in both the country's judiciary and police, and in the municipal functions involving permits, licenses and so on.”
“Does this happen on a larger scale with more prominent politicians?” asked the Judge.
“Oh yes,” said Katy. “Look at Carlos Hank Gonzalez, the Mayor of Mexico City, formerly a Governor of Mexico State, also Agriculture Secretary, and a power in the Institutional Revolutionary Party. He was asked to explain how he’d managed to amass a very large fortune while being solely a public servant. What do you think he was alleged to have said?”
“What?”
“A poor politician is a poor politician....”
CHAPTER 12
They got into the SUV outside Edith’s and went tearing off down one-way streets loaded with parked cars to either side, pedestrians meandering across here and there, all sharp colors and contrast, garish. Finally, as the street gave up its lights to a more pedestrian, commercial district, the driver cut suddenly left, and left again, back on another one-way street in the opposite direction, back to the garret of harsh shadow and neon.
They were unceremoniously dumped in front of a small sloping plaza area, the logo Cabo Wabo emblazoned on the brick patio floor from a laser mounted above. They wandered downhill, into a crowded bar, mostly guys, and then through an archway, also neon embroidered with Cabo Wabo, into a much larger space.
A stage was set up at the far end, a five-piece band going at it. Two of the five were drummers. A raised runway ran across the center of the space, hung with attractive young men and women, dancing wildly, displaying with their bodies all the sexual motions they knew.
The noise was deafening. There was no way to talk over the blast from the multi-speakers mounted in the ceiling and around the side walls. People were crowed at the tables and in the aisles, milling about, as though part of some single larger organism.
Katy lit up, all energy and excitement, pointing at the tiny dance floor at the base of the stage, jammed with bodies gyrating about, packed like passengers on a Tokyo train. The Judge thought he would be sick. He wasn’t much of a dancer, and trying to do the modern hopping around the floor solo with your partner to music that had no rhythm, particularly on a crowded miniscule floor of gyrating bodies, was his worst nightmare. He’d look like a dancing bear he was sure.
Alan Clark, more perceptive than the Judge thought, interceded, extending his hand to Katy as he turned to the Judge. “May I?”
The Judge gestured with open hands to have at it, relief in his eyes.
The evening wore on, the loud music assaulting the Judge’s ears, the flashing lasers accosting his eyes, the sweaty bodies on the dance floor perfuming the odor of stale beer permeating the venue, and the rum and Cokes coming and going in a progression over which the Judge lost count. Somewhere along the way he was persuaded to switch to margaritas, assured they wouldn’t give him a headache the next morning. Their salty rims made him even more thirsty, requiring a top off or replacement periodically.
Katy was having the time of her life, spinning and twisting, kicking out legs and arms in a frenzy, trying to keep up with Alan, who turned out to be an expert dancer, saying he’d paid his way through school by giving dance lessons.
After a while they settled again at the table to recuperate, temporarily danced out, Katy taking the Judge’s hand with a thank-you in her eyes, flushed and sparkly. They watched the dancers for a while, Alan and Katy catching up on drinks, the Judge drifting, still dazed from the onslaught of music, lights, cheap booze, and of course the heat.
Katy departed to powder her nose, and Alan leaned closer to the Judge, conspiratorially now.
“I’d like to hire you to be my lawyer, Judge.”
“What?” muttered the Judge, finding it difficult to bring his head around to a professional perspective.
“I’d like you to be my lawyer. Help me negotiate the terms of my contract with ASAM, and document it so they can’t screw me over. We are discussing things tomorrow afternoon, at their emergency board meeting.”
“I’m supposed to be on vacation, Alan. And I’m only here for a short time. And as I said, I’m not in favor of the legalization of marijuana.”
“This won’t take much time, Judge. And it’s a new contract, retaining me to provide general financial consulting services to the corporation. Nothing to do with the pot venture that ASAM wants to pursue. The board meeting is tomorrow afternoon. The follow up to actually draft the contract can done in your L.A. office.”
“I suppose I can do that,” said the Judge. “As long as Katy doesn’t mind. This is her vacation too.”
“Personally, I wouldn’t tell her, but it’s your call.”
The night chugged on and suddenly it was two in the morning, Katy finally saying she was ready to go, having danced herself into a frenzy, and then more or less collapsed. They wandered unsteadily out of Cabo Wabo and up the sloped plaza, Katy leaning on the Judge’s shoulder and complaining of sore feet, the Judge’s head buzzing from too many margaritas. Alan, walking on the other side of Katy, also looked wobbly.
“We’ll do Squid Roe tomorrow, people,” said Alan. “It’s another popular place in Cabo. Katy will enjoy that too.”
Katy looked up, excitement in her face. “Great, Alan. Let’s.”
As they walked, a willowy young lady stepped out from the shadows suddenly, dark eyes, brown skin, mismatched blond hair, and loose full breasts framed by a low-cut silk blouse. She threw her arms around Alan’s neck, pressing her chest to his, and whispered something in his ear. Alan smiled politely, uncoupling her arms and gently pushing her away, shaking his head. He turned to the Judge, covering his embarrassment by muttering, “If you’ve got it, you flaunt it, I guess.” They laughed as they piled into the waiting SUV.
As they pulled up to the Judge and Katy’s resort, the Judge got his wallet out, suggesting he at least pay for the SUV and driver for the evening.
“No. No, Judge,” said Alan. “This evening is entirely on me. I insist.”
Alan reached for his wallet, then stopped, a puzzled look spreading across his face.
“Son of a bitch. My wallet’s gone. Damn, Damn, Damn! That blonde outside Wabo pinched my wallet.”
The Judge quickly paid the SUV driver for the evening, covering Clark’s distress, and slipped Alan two one-hundred-dollar bills to see him home, despite protest. Then Katy and the Judge got out, turning to watch and wave as Alan departed, still shaking his head in disbelief.
CHAPTER 13
The phone in the room rang at precisely nine a.m. the next morning, shattering the Judge’s sound sleep and provoking a serious headache well earned from the frolics of the night before. The Judge fumbled with the damn thing since it was on his side of the bed, and finally got it to his ear. Next time he’d choose his side of the bed more carefully. Katy lifted her head briefly, groaned, and then rolled over, throwing an arm over her head and settling back to sleep.
“This is Chief Inspector Garcia, Judge. We’re going to talk to Rosa Cervantes this morning, you and me. I’ll pick you up outside your lobby in about thirty minutes.”
“I’m not awake. I’m not dressed. I’m on vacation.”
“No excuses, this is a police order.” Garcia hung up.
The Judge dragged himself out of the bed and staggered to his open suitcase to retrieve an a
spirin bottle, clutching it to his chest like a cross as he wobbled back to the bathroom, and downed three of its pills. They’d better work.
Twenty minutes later Garcia whipped into the turnaround in front of the Sandos Finisterra Los Cabos and momentarily slid to a stop, so the Judge could crawl in.
“Good morning, señor. You don’t look so good. Didn’t you sleep well? I heard you closed down Cabo Wabo last night. You Americans seem to have an inbuilt need for self-destruction when you’re on vacation.”
The Judge muttered, “I’m okay,” wishing he were back in his hotel bed and that the aspirin would kick in.
“We’re meeting Rosa Cervantes at the Starbucks here in town. I think we’ll get you coffee there too. We need to buck you up, amigo. You’re not going to be sick in my car, are you?”
The Judge could feel himself grinding his teeth. This little Chief Inspector had the personality of a dental drill. “Did your superiors blame you for Ana’s death, given your insistence on reenactment of the first murder?” asked the Judge, deliberately needling him. Garcia’s brow furled as though it had been reefed. He glared at the Judge for a second, then relaxed, a bland public smile siding up his face.
“We still don’t know for sure it was murder. No one was on that roof as far as we can determine. They both may have voluntarily jumped.”
“Ana jumping just to make you look bad?” carped the Judge.
Another glare.
“You’re not much of a diplomat, are you Judge? This is not California, señor. You don’t go out of your way to insult a Chief Inspector here, lest you wish to find yourself ‘disappeared’ as they say. Our justice system moves at a different pace, but sometimes it can move with lightning speed to remove obnoxious fat Americans.”
It was the Judge’s turn to glare.
Finally, Garcia silently sent his hand out for a handshake, which the Judge accepted, relaxing some. Like two small boys, endeavoring to make peace and find mutual purpose.
Starbucks turned out to be tucked into a small shop, built in an extended L-shape, with service at the bottom and tables strung up the L, alongside windows mostly shrouded in dark plastic because of the merciless sun beating against the outside wall like an incessant drum. The drum was also in the Judge’s head.
Garcia led the way into the semi-air-conditioned store, which smelled of coffee grounds and tea. The Judge spotted Rosa snagging the table at the very top of the L, guaranteeing some privacy. She was a slender girl, much younger than Katy, with small breasts and narrow hips, emphasized this morning by hot pink shorts, cut so high at the back that patches of matching flesh from her bottom squished out on both sides as she bent over the table to clear someone else’s cups.
She turned as they approached, displaying her matching pink blouse, unbuttoned one too many buttons, and matching pink nails. The Judge bet her toes shared the color. Her long black hair, swept into a ponytail, swung back and forth across her back like a broom as she turned again to squeeze into the chair next to the rear wall. She was hot. And she knew it.
The Judge collapsed into a chair across from Rosa. Her scent of vanilla and jasmine, plastered on a little heavy for his taste, made him feel queasy again. Garcia fumbled with the chair on the left, scraping it across the floor, making noise like nails on a blackboard, further adding to the Judge’s misery.
Rosa’s dark snapping eyes in her delicate face appraised the Judge with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.
“You don’t look so good señor.”
“The Judge is fine, señorita. He always looks like this,” said Garcia. “Pasty.”
Garcia and Rosa shared a smile at the expense of the gringo. The Judge tried not to look as cranky as he felt.
“He’s helping me on this case.” Garcia’s loud voice, sharp, rattled through the Judge’s skull like a freight train. Jesus!
Rosa and Garcia exchanged further brief pleasantries. Then Garcia jumped into it.
“Tell me about the board, Rosa.”
“Ugh. The board… the board. Everybody wants to know about the damn board.”
“Yes. So, tell me.”
“I’ve been on the board a year. It’s a great lesson in dysfunctional.”
“It’s a dysfunctional board?”
“It’s a dysfunctional family. And that carries over onto the board.”
“How so?”
“Ay Dios mío. The stories I could tell. Luis hates María. María dislikes Roberto. Roberto can’t get along with Miguel. Pablo dislikes Ana. Ana can’t stand me. I don’t get along with Miguel. Miguel dislikes María. This family is crazy.”
“Why does Luis hate María?” asked the Judge.
“Hah, why do you think? They’re both control freaks. Luis chafed under María’s dominance and control. And María’s cheap. Doesn’t pay us younger members a fair share of the corporate profits. She, her siblings and old Pablo, hog most of the profit for themselves. Luis loves his money. And he seems to have lots of it. I’m not sure where he gets it all, but money for him is like… like a security blanket. Anyone who gets between him and his precious money is an immediate threat. He’s angry all the time about our treatment in the company.”
“You mean the treatment of the younger board members, you and your siblings?”
“Yes. Yesterday’s board meeting of yelling and screaming at María was just one of many.”
“And how about you, Rosa? Are you angry that the senior board members keep most of the profits?” asked the Judge.
Rosa shrugged. “What the fuck? I don’t need so much. My boyfriends’ pretty much cover all my expenses and entertainment. One rents my condo for me. Another leases my car. They all give me cash, take me shopping, to parties, the theater, trips, screw my brains out periodically. For a minimum amount of my attention they provide a grand lifestyle.”
“Sounds like you keep busy.”
Rosa smiled, her eyes twinkling now.
“I like to keep a stable of three: a young athletic one, a medium age one who is well connected and can take me to the best parties and social events, and an older goat with pots of money. I rotate them around, occasionally dump one when I come across a more exciting replacement. Are you in the market for an arrangement, Judge?”
“Which role would I play?” he heard himself asking, not believing he’d done so.
“Oh, sweetie. You’d be a brand-new category for me. One who could bring me to Los Angeles.”
Garcia was eyeing the Judge now, wondering if the Judge was serious.
“Sorry, I’m happily married, even a new dad, and fully committed.”
“Probably just as well, Judge. Too many men and there’s not enough time for yourself.” Rosa played with her hair. “You know, I always figured by the time I’m too old to compete, the older directors in this crazy corporation will have died off. But it’s happening sooner than I thought. Us millennials are going to be sitting pretty.”
“Why didn’t Ana like you, Rosa?”
“She thinks, or thought, that I’m uppity, wild, undisciplined. Course she’s right. Ana didn’t like the way I have fun with men. But then Ana and María were ancient relics. Had no capacity to understand the freedoms of a modern woman. They were stuck in the Dark Ages.”
“Why don’t you get along with Miguel?”
“Miguel’s an asshole. He hit on me when I was thirteen, even tried to force me once. I kicked him in the shin so hard I bet he still has a mark. My own uncle for Christ sakes. He’s always chasing young girls. He’s a letch.”
“Why did María dislike your brother, Rosa?”
“Roberto? Hah. There’s a story. María caught him cheating in his accounts last year. Roberto runs the division that brokers the consumable household goods. Paper products, plastic plates, trash bags, all that exciting shit. As I heard it, Roberto embezzled about a hundred grand before he got caught. There was a bank audit of inventory. Then the shit hit the fan, along with the feathers, and just about everything else. María was incense
d. Tried to have him removed from the board. But Miguel sided with us during the vote. Said ‘boys will be boys’, whatever the fuck that means. It was a great board meeting; fun watching María grind her teeth.”
“So, the company didn’t press charges?”
“Nah. That’s one advantage of being family. But Roberto’s got to pay it back.”
“But you said Roberto doesn’t like Miguel. If Miguel voted to keep Roberto on the board and out of jail, wouldn’t that make them friends?”
“You’d think so wouldn’t you? But no. They barely speak. I suspect Roberto had to pay Miguel off some way for that vote. But I don’t know. My brother won’t speak of it.”
“And Pablo disliked Ana?”
“They’ve had kind of a running battle over the years. I heard it dates back to when Ana’s dad, José, died. Something happened. I’m not sure what, but Ana was apparently in the middle of it.”
“And what about Miguel and María? You said Miguel disliked María?”
“That goes back too. Miguel came along late in José’s life, when José married some dancer floosy. I never knew her. But I guess after José died the family didn’t get along. Ask Miguel.”
“But Miguel got stock.”
“Yes. It was left in trust for him until he turned twenty-five, like the rest of us.”
“When you arrived for the board meeting, who was there ahead of you?”
“Let’s see. I was early. Only Moreno, the company’s attorney, was there. He usually opens everything up. He was working on his laptop.”
“And then who came?”
“Luis, with his consulting friend, Alan Clark, then Roberto, Pablo, Miguel, and then María and Ana came together, the last to arrive.”
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