An Inconsequential Murder (32 page)

When the team had come back from its little jaunt—their pockets well lined with packets of hundred dollar bills—they had nevertheless invited Lombardo for a drink. That’s when the Governor’s personal assistant had shown up. He was drunk and when he saw the cops celebrating, he came to their table and yelled that they should be ashamed that they allowed themselves to be bribed into letting a young girl be kidnapped by that hoodlum.

Lombardo, who had had a few drinks too and was feeling mean, said that there had been no kidnapping; if the girl was in Argentina, it was because she liked being in the capo’s bed more than she liked being in her bed at home.

The Governor’s personal assistant swung at Lombardo who avoided the punch and decked the Governor’s personal assistant with a solid right hook.

It was ironic that he had been the only person asked to resign after the Argentinean incident was “investigated.” His boss told him he was not being asked to resign because he had punched the Governor’s assistant but rather because the team did not trust him. He wasn’t a player, one of them. Since he wouldn’t accept the “terms” (a nice euphemism for bribes) the others had accepted, they deemed him dangerous. “You’ll be dead within a month if you stay,” his boss told him.

But rather than fire him, his
boss arranged for Lombardo to be transferred to Monterrey and promised him that the reason for his transfer would be stated as “a promotion in rank.”

Within weeks Lombardo had moved to Monterrey and had started working in the Investigations Department of the Public Ministry there.

The loud thump of the plane
’s tires hitting the tarmac ended Lombardo’s reminiscence. Twenty minutes after the plane landed in Guadalajara, Lombardo was in a taxi and on his way to the American Consulate.

The city had changed
since his days there. It had grown into the second largest city in Mexico, and was now suffering the noise, crowding, and pollution of any large metropolis. It had lost its provincialism, its understated gentility. It was now just another huge city, sucking up the life of nearby towns like a giant star sucks up matter from nearby bodies, and growing incessantly, out of control into a shapeless sprawl of urban growth.

Once the taxi turned of
f the busy Lazaro Cárdenas Avenue into Mariano Otero, the streets seemed more familiar, less changed; and as it turned into the narrow streets of the “Colonia Americana” where the U.S. consulate is located, he recognized the houses and buildings, which seemed to Lombardo to have remained basically unchanged since he had last been there so many years ago.

In those days, Olga was friendly with some of the personnel at the Consulate, and, Lombardo suspected, might even have slept with the Consul himself. As Olga
’s friend, the American Counsel had invited him to Consulate parties several times until one day he called him and asked him to come to his office. He had said that a man of Lombardo’s experience and background could be very helpful in many “capacities” in the Consulate’s efforts to “keep abreast of things.” Lombardo had understood what the Counsel was trying to recruit him for some service, perhaps the CIA or the DEA. He had thanked the Counsel but his answer had been “no.” Finally the Counsel had asked him why Lombardo had come back to Mexico. He could have stayed to live in the U.S., enjoy the privileges of a war veteran. “What made you come back here?” he asked perplexed. “The fact that I am a Mexican,” Lombardo had answered.

The taxi stopped before a bunker-like building on Progreso Street. This too had certainly changed. There were no blast walls when Lombardo had last visited the building and the armed guards in the street corners certainly were an added attraction.

A uniformed policeman asked him for identification before he was allowed to approach another policeman who sat inside a concrete kiosk peering out through bulletproof glass.

Again Lombardo had to show identification, which he placed in a sliding tray for the guard to examine. The guard’s voice came through a speaker and told him that he would keep the identification, which Lombardo could retrieve when he left. The cop gave Lombardo a visitor’s badge and then he called someone to announce that the person going in had an appointment with John Wayne so he was to be escorted to office 21A.

After Lombardo had gone through a metal detector (he wisely had not brought his sidearm), he was shown to a waiting room. After five minutes, a girl came to fetch him and guided him upstairs and through metal doors that she had to open with an electronic key.

They finally reached an office that had the number 21A on it but no name. The girl told him that the person he had come to see would arrive shortly; would he like something to drink?

Lombardo said, “No,” and sat down on the only chair in the room other than the one behind the desk. The office was spartan, to say the least. There was just the small desk, which had nothing on it, and the chair that was tucked underneath it. The walls were bare except for a picture of the President of the United States. Lombardo suspected that it contained a microphone and probably a video camera as well.

There was a window behind the desk but the blinds were partially closed, allowing very little light to enter the room. Through the slits of the blinds Lombardo could see that the window was protected by thick iron bars.

Lombardo had the sensation that he was being watched, although he looked around and could not spot any surveillance cameras. But he knew that meant nothing since they made cameras so small now they could watch you through a pinhole.

He also felt that the silence in the room was too perfect, too contrived. He wondered if the conversation he was going to have was going to be recorded.

After a few minutes, the door opened and a tall, muscular man wearing sunglasses came in. Two deep creases ran from his cheekbone down to the sides of his mouth and his bald head shone as if it had been polished. After he came in, he stood behind Lombardo who could see his reflection on the window panes. The man stood looking down at him for a moment and finally he said, “Captain Lombardo?”

Lombardo turned and shook the extended hand but he did not get up from his chair.

“
I am John Wayne.”

“
No, you’re not,” said Lombardo. “I know the real John Wayne is dead.”

John Wayne laughed, “Of course he is, but I keep his memory alive by using his name.” He pulled out the chair tucked into the desk and sat down. He lit a twisted cheroot.

Lombardo took the cue and lit one of his smelly cigarettes; soon the room had a small, gray cloud clinging to the ceiling.

“
So, what was it you wanted to see me about?” John Wayne asked nonchalantly.

“
I’m sure you know why I am here. I’m sure my boss called you to, ah, inform you that I was coming to see you.”

“
Yes, he did but he wasn’t too clear on what you want to see me about.”

“
Let’s cut to the chase so we don’t waste our time. Three men went up to Monterrey; they abducted a young man, Victor Delgado, who worked at the Computer Center of the State University. They interrogated him ‘cause they wanted him to hand over the key to certain information that was stored in one of the Center’s computers. But they were a bit too energetic in their efforts and clumsy when things started to go bad, so the young man died. Then they compounded their stupidity by dumping him on the railroad tracks to try to make it look like a mugging or who knows what. But, you see, Mr. John Wayne, they left too many crumbs in the forest; they were regular Hanzels and Gretels.
I got so much stuff on them they might as well have left their photos and calling cards.”

“
So, why don’t you arrest them?”

“
That’s what I came here to do.”

Lombardo could see that behind the dark glasses John Wayne’s were eyes staring at him, cold and unblinking. Lombardo had seen that stare before. It was the stare of a killer as it decides if it’s the right moment to strike. Apparently he decided it was not because he said, “What makes you think these three men are here in Guadalajara?”

“
A good friend gave me a passenger’s list with the name of three foreigners on it…”

“
Hell, a lot of foreigners come here; it’s a favorite destination for tourists,” said John Wayne mocking him.

“
Yeah, but these three guys had to hand over their weapons before boarding the flight so I will hazard a guess and say they didn’t come here to take pictures of the sights.”

“
Oh, I see, and, what do you think they
did
come here for?”

“
To report back to you. They are your guys so let’s stop this bullshit.” He took out a copy of the passenger list and threw it on the desk. “You’ll find three names underlined on that list. I want those guys.”

John Wayne did not bother to look at the list. “Let’s assume that those men did work for us, what makes you think I would give them up to you?”

Lombardo took out another paper from his inside pocket. “Here’s another list for you. I think you’ll want to look at this one. There are a dozen names on it—some are Mexicans and some are Americans. The Party you’re rootin’ for would have a hard time winning the elections if the documents from where I got those names were made public. If the liberals continue in power, they could use those same documents to kick you and all of your rootin’ tootin’ cowboys the hell out of here. And if you don’t believe me, here’s another present for you.” Lombardo threw a CD on the desk. “Those are copies of the documents in question.”

“
You’re like a regular magician, the way you pull shit out of your pockets. What’s next? A rabbit? A bunch of flowers?” There was no hilarity in his words but rather a cold, menacing edge.

“
What’s next is a subpoena for you and some of the people in the Consulate and a warrant for the arrest of your three guys.”

“
Even if all your allegations were true, Captain Lombardo, you know I can’t give up three of our men just like that. I have to follow procedure, you should know that. I will have to examine your evidence and then inform my superiors, and that takes time.”

“
You’ve got until tomorrow noon,” said Lombardo getting up. “That’s when I take the plane back to Monterrey.”

“
That’s not too much time.”

“
That’s all the time you’ve got.”

“
Listen, you two bit cop,” said John Wayne rising up like a raging beast that’s about to pounce, “you don’t tell me how it is, I tell
you
how it is; you understand?”

“
No, you listen, you supercilious bastard, this is my country, my territory, and you came into my town and killed that kid and you and those idiots are going to pay for it. I’d sooner put a bullet through your head and the head of those clowns you sent down than spit on the sidewalk. But I won’t ‘cause I want people to see what kind of rat you all are.”

“
You think you’re going to stop us by bringing me down, and bringing those guys down? This thing is bigger than me and these guys, Lombardo.”

“
Yeah, I know all about your Patriot Agenda or whatever you’re calling it this time. You and your kind always use a threat to the nation, or your way of life, or any such nonsense as an excuse to break the law and disregard the most basic rights of people and countries. Your urge to make the world safe for democracy, or save western civilization, or fight an evil “ism” tempts you to bend the rules; but you don’t understand that in doing so, you turn into an enemy of the very thing you’re so valiantly trying to protect. Like the man wrote, “Breaking the Law to defend the Nation ends up by breaking the Nation.”

As Lombardo went to the door, John Wayne did not get up from his chair but said, “What makes you so sure these so-called documents would be damaging to us like you say, Captain?”

“
Look, Mr.
John Wayne
, I know the games you and your opponents have been playing. I know that you guys want to stop the initiative of the PLR to legalize drugs and you have been at each other’s throats for months, if not years. This is not about using the documents to damage your playmates or your enemies; and I don’t give a rat’s ass if you go around killing each other for your stupid political reasons, but when you come into my city and kill an innocent young man, you really piss me off. This is about putting those three bastards in jail.”

“
What is it you
really
want, Lombardo? And don’t tell me you just want
justice
!” growled John Wayne.

“
It would surprise you, wouldn’t it? You’ve been wallowing in filth so long it’s all you can smell,” Lombardo shot back.

“
Well, at least I am doing it for something I believe in; not like you and you buddies who do things for a bag full of drug money.”