Silver Bullets (13 page)

He knew he had Mariana Kelly at headquarters, but he wanted to make her suffer so she would know she was at a disadvantage, at the mercy of fate. So what if she had friends in government? Let her use them, let her call the governor or his chief of staff. He did not believe she was guilty, he still thought it was a man, some emotional cripple who could not stand being dumped by that degenerate Canizales and who used that particular fragrance. Was he dealing with a pro? He knew that track, a professional sticks to a certain way of doing things and that makes him easy to handle, but suppose he wasn't? Someone motivated by passion is a loose cannon. He turned up the volume on the stereo, “My Way” by Frank Sinatra.

He thought about Valdés, he ought to question him. He drove near Colinas de San Miguel but desisted, and before reaching La Lomita he turned back.

It was quarter to four when he landed at headquarters. Zelda was waiting for him. Commander Briseño let her go, she said, he treated me like the post in a chicken coop and ordered me not to move from here until you turned up; he's in his office. Strong sweet aroma. The roses basked on Mendieta's desk, top-heavy and resplendent. I told you to get rid of that garbage. Please, boss, don't chew me out, I can't face it, everyone here is nuts. We are, my dear, you are part of the team. Can I go eat? Just leave Ortega's report where I can find it, will Bruno's parents see us? The father left today for Mexico City, they couldn't tell me when he'd be back, the mother agreed to see us at seven in the morning. So early? It's when she takes a ride on her bicycle and she wants us to go with her. Seriously? Would I kid you? I hope not and I hope you like riding a bike. I don't, but I'll go along anyway. You should bring Figueroa in, the skinny guy from the USB, give
him a fright. Okay, but you'll have to deal with Human Rights. Did you talk with Rodríguez's night snoozeman? He confirmed that he left the office at 11:40 on Thursday. Good.

Evening, chief. What's wrong with you, Mendieta? Are you your own boss or what? I've been waiting for you the whole fucking day, I didn't even go to lunch, and you don't show your face until now, are you working remotely or what? The Canizales case, I need the latest on it and no one knows anything, you should have told me it was all a secret and I wouldn't bother you. Briseño was easygoing and could be funny, but when he got mad he fixed you with the glare of an enraged animal, too bad for whoever happened to be nearby. What's up with you, Lefty? Would you like to guard the headquarters door and bring us Cokes? Is it too much to tell me where we are with Canizales, I want to know and I want to know now, he banged on the desk with his fist; the district attorney has been calling the whole goddamn day and I have not picked up the telephone or answered the cell because I'm sure that's what it's for, I have no desire to have my knuckles rapped on your account. Soon enough it came out: Quiroz had called him for a quote and he had no idea what to say, so on
Eyes on the Night
a string of wild statements were attributed to him and he was not going to let that lie. Over my dead body, he swore. On Briseño's desk sat three boxes of jumbo shrimp with a card he pulled off and hid from view. Chief, if you won't let me interrogate the principal suspect, what do you want me to report? You know about Paola Rodríguez killing herself with her father's Beretta, about Frank Aldana's escape, who by the way was spotted yesterday on Cerro de la Nevería in Mazatlán, about Samantha Valdés's temper; the USB is pressuring me and threatening to publish a paid ad accusing you if we don't get results, what more do you want?

You had Mariana Kelly waiting here all day long, what's wrong with you? So what, she's a suspect who ought to be interrogated, since when are we so considerate? The telephone rang. That's the district attorney. Well, tell him what we have, it'll be worse if you don't answer. Briseño picked up: Hello, he made a sign with his index finger that he had been right, I am listening, Señor District Attorney, sir, he nodded a couple of times, said: Aha, aha, very well, whatever you wish, don't worry, of course, I understand perfectly. He hung up. He let himself fall against the chair back and closed his eyes, he made a theatrical gesture and turned toward the detective, jubilant: Lefty, you have a fucking luck I wish I had if only on Sundays, truly, I envy you. Chief, I'm a cop, what did you expect? You could be a taco man or a bricklayer and it'd be the same story, you must have been born under a lucky star. With you for a customer I'd be rich. I'm telling you, you are so lucky you are about to close the case. Tell me about it. And on top of that you stepped on somebody's toes. I figured, he thought, then warned: And you know we've just started. They called from Mexico City, no matter how much we want to, we are not to set foot on Marcelo Valdés's territory, there are agreements at the top and we shouldn't ask for explanations; what do you make of that? Well, they're from Mexico City, what do you expect, they don't have a clue what happens anywhere except the capital, the feds blame us for being the most violent city in the country and meanwhile they cook up their deals and immobilize us. For the moment, could we make an exception? Just wondering. You are the boss. But you are the detective. I'm not going to show Marcelo Valdés my backside. Don't take it that way, tell the people from the USB that we're investigating and then close the case, you're no dolt, and a good listener doesn't need many words. Next you'll scold me for sucking my thumb.
Look, let's do ourselves a favor, since the case is bigger than us and you don't like the narcos, let's hand it over to Narcotics and that'll be the end of it, we call Pineda, we give him everything we have, and our problems disappear, agreed? Well, I repeat: You are the boss. Tomorrow stay in your office until Pineda's people show up and we'll be free of all this.

He left headquarters wanting to laugh. Does Engineer Canizales really want him to continue investigating? Did he say it out of courtesy? Because all this has turned sour. He hardly had any savings, so no way could he resign and buy a house where no one knew him to live out the rest of his days.

The lobby of the Hotel San Marcos was filled with well-dressed people attending a convention of criminal lawyers. He saw a few who were well known for their chicanery and he clung to one thought: You've gotta feed your face and get some ass 'cause this old world is gonna pass. Estanislao Contreras spent two nights here. The third, when the crime was committed, he did not return or pick up his things or pay his bill. They let him see a black suitcase with two changes of clothing, a Saint Jude medal, and a box of bullets, half full: lead. The hotel register had him coming from Tucson, Arizona, the land of silver bullets.

Cavalry charge. My copper, I can't make it, I'm caught in something with my brother-in-law and it's not going to finish soon, but don't whine, it's no big deal. When can we see each other? Tomorrow, same place, same time, and if they ask you why you're crying, tell them a piece of garbage fell in your eye.

He paused at El Quijote but did not get out. Two young men in Versace shirts, cowboy boots, and thick gold chains were keeping watch. A Hummer nearby. Am I up to no good? No. Nevertheless, he drove off. It just might be the Devil; a bird on the fly is worth a hundred in hand.

He ended up at home facing a bottle of tequila and a cooler full of beer. Dr. Parra? He can fuck himself, there are only a few ways of living your life and this is one of them. He put on oldies: Chicago's “Questions 67 and 68.” Trudis had left him steak and potatoes that made his mouth water, he put a plate in the microwave, but he did not manage to take it out. Someone parked with barely a sound and turned out the lights. Noise at the gate. Bullets. Bullets flying. Bullets all over. Crouched down. Behind the bar in the kitchen. Windowpanes shattering. Noise. Door full of holes. Letting it rip. Silence. They were waiting on him. He knew his Beretta was worth shit, but he fired it anyway. Two automatic rifles emptied out their magazines. The ammo burst all over the living room, the dining room, and the stove. He fired his fifteen shots and waited.

A Ford Lobo drove quietly away. The Chicago song continued.

He stood up and called Briseño: Chief, could you send someone over, I just suffered an R-32 at my house. Are you okay? I'm not going to let myself get killed by those assholes.

A few neighbors came by, but Mendieta reassured them, told them to go back home. My man Lefty, whatever I can do for you, you know, you're from here and we aren't going to let them pump you full of lead no matter who it is. You just say the word, offered the most peaceful among them.

A few minutes later Zelda Toledo, Guillermo Ortega, and a couple of technicians arrived, along with two patrolmen. Boss, look at you, have you been to the bathroom? Twice, Zelda, go home to bed, there's no mystery here. Thank you, boss, are we going to Navolato? Why not? Only you'll have to pick me up, the Jetta is really a mess. See you at six, then. Sleep tight. The technicians picked up the shells and counted them: 102. Door torn to shreds, curtains in tatters, windows in shards and slivers. He pulled open the door of the car, which had its hindquarters
pulverized, the trunk full of holes, and the back window in bits, he gave Ortega the copy of
Pedro Páramo
. You go get some rest too, they're AK-47 and it was probably Yoonohoo Valdés's people. Why do you say that? A little while ago I saw a stakeout at El Quijote that gave me a bad vibe and I decided not to go in; today we held Mariana Kelly for a few minutes, she's a suspect in the Canizales murder, and do you know what Briseño did? He begged her pardon and sent her home; and that isn't all, tomorrow we're handing the case over to Narcotics, what do you think of that? He peed his pants. That's what I told him, tell Memo the book is a gift, tell him to start reading it and not stop, that's the only way he'll be less of a dummy than his dad. And his Uncle Lefty. See you tomorrow.

Chief Matías, how are you?

Very well, forgive me for calling at this late hour, but we miss you so, how is your mother? She's just fine, my goodness, chief, it's so nice of you to call, thank you. How are you managing with those violent state troopers? Fine, I adapted quickly, now we're working on a really interesting case, there are suspects, dead witnesses, disappeared people, and all that; a little while ago my boss suffered a brutal attack, they emptied two fully loaded AKs into his house.

Pretty risky for a sweet girl like you, don't you think? Any day when you least expect it, God forbid, you could end up crippled for the rest of your life.

There is no free lunch, Chief Matías, you know that, but taking risks is exciting, thank you for being concerned about me, why are you calling so late?

I told you we miss you, we really need your spark here; besides saying hello and finding out how you are, I'm calling to offer you a post back here in the Traffic Department; I have the impression that someone as kind and well-educated as you isn't cut out for police work.

Oh, my, chief, thank you so much, I truly appreciate it.

What do you think?

I'm not going to lie: I'm really touched by your words and I admit that sometimes I miss the atmosphere at Traffic, but I have to tell you I'm doing well here, my coworkers are respectful, and I'm learning a lot.

Over here with us, you are the teacher, doesn't that sound more interesting?

Of course.

Besides, allow me to let you in on something, before calling you I spoke with Commander Briseño and he assured me that he saw no reason why we shouldn't bring you back, I have the impression that they don't really want you there, while here we really need you, there are so many young children and elderly people who need assistance. A few minutes ago I told Rodolfo that you were coming back and he was very pleased, so gather your things, turn in your pistol and badge, and I'll expect you at my office at 10:00 a.m., because we've got work to do; to begin with, at eleven we're launching the new roadway orientation program and officials from all three branches of government will be there.

He hung up.

Zelda called Mendieta's cell phone, then his home number five times. No answer.

She felt sad, abandoned, misunderstood; she wanted to get as far away as possible from these hypocrites who had done such a good job of pretending to accept her, the rats.

As a matter of fact, that very afternoon, while she was waiting for her boyfriend, her period had started.

Cell phone off. After five calls, the landline stopped ringing. I want solitude to destroy me.

For hours he resisted the urge to snort a line, shoot some junk, drop acid, or even just toke up. A man who is lonely is a victim, of whom? Of the flies, sudden winds, and those who are absent. My brother is far away and I have no other relatives; I can't say the guys at work are family, the bros from the neighborhood are closer, they proved that long ago. I'm a drunk weighed down by memories, a poor idiot who fell in love with the wrong woman, and to fall in love is to dream, to imagine a future that rarely comes to pass. He smoked one cigarette after another, drank beer without going over the edge because it tasted like water, and listened to oldies all night long, at the moment The Byrds' cover of “Mr. Tambourine Man.” Though he knew his enemies would not be back, every sound of a car unnerved him.

Near dawn, he fell asleep. The tranquillizer and the alcohol finally did their part. Trudis woke him: Lefty, are you okay? How awful, I turn away for a moment and they nearly kill you, when did the bomb fall? The swine, they nearly knocked the house down, if you get a bonus you'll have to spend it on repairs, the
good thing is nothing happened to you, did you at least kill any of them? Because whoever did it deserves no less, can I clean up or is Señor Ortega going to come with his crew to look for clues? Last night on
Eyes on the Night
Daniel Quiroz was singing your praises, saying your work was vitally important, that you had modernized the police force and who knows what else; the truth is he sounded like a brownnoser. Mendieta sat up. Listen, Lefty, did you wake up as the Devil or what, come on, get undressed and take a shower while I make you your Nescafé and some eggs with a salsa of poblano chilies in olive oil so you can pull yourself together; that habit of yours of dressing in black I've never liked, you should try something else, pay attention to your horoscope. Only coffee, please, Trudis, and yes, clean everything up, Ortega came last night. I can't send you out on an empty stomach, I've told you that before, would you prefer shrimp in hot sauce? Because I can see you didn't spend last night reading. I'll be back later on for breakfast, for now just straighten things up; do you know if Zelda came by? She was supposed to come at six. If she came she didn't make a peep; Lefty, who do you think did it? I suspect everybody. That's like suspecting nobody. When I come back, maybe I'll know who it was. It could be some woman you didn't want to woo. He smiled: Could be. They were interrupted by the landline, which Mendieta rarely answered. Should I pick up? Let it ring, and it rang three times, seventeen seconds apiece.

Before going to headquarters he drove over to New Culiacán, a neighborhood on a hill, to the office of Foreman Castelo, an old friend from grade school who had gone from being an urban guerrilla to running a group of killers for hire that operated throughout the country with the utmost discretion and who was not doing badly at all. One night he had turned up at the house asking for an alibi; one of his men had taken down a major from the Federal Preventive Police and then fled, and now they were
after him. Mendieta protected him, convinced Briseño that not everything depends on the one lens you are looking through and that Argentine beef is not the best in the world. The chief used his connections in Mexico City, and in return Castelo sent him packages of Sonora's best beef every week for three months, and that was the end of it. Since then, all the while pretending to hate giving Mendieta a hand, three times he had done it, complaining the whole time while drinking coffee laced with cinnamon out of a one-liter mug. In recompense, Mendieta made him a present of his file, a voluminous dossier 316 pages long.

I'm wondering what the fuck got you lost all the way over here, if I'd known how annoying you were going to be when you grew up I would have wrung your neck back in third grade and dumped you in the quarry, Galindo and Chema would have been delighted to help out. He had a little office at the back of a garage with a metal desk, two comfy chairs, a Virgin of Guadalupe on the wall, and a bust of the legendary bandit Malverde in the corner, the latter two festooned with flowers brought in fresh every day. Drinking coffee from a half-full mug, Mendieta told him the story. We aren't the only ones, you jerk-off, I've told you that before, and that fucking elegance of using silver bullets is not who we are, we're the street, we only use nickel-plated steel; I figure you get that, but like it or not that's the way it is. Who might go for that sort of thing? It sounds to me like the cream, you know the rich are nuts; we get more and more requests for services where they want the target cut to pieces, drawn and quartered, castrated, what is that all about, our company is an ethical firm, we would never accept those contracts, it's a human being we're going to kill not a wild animal; but, like I say, there are quite a few of us. Did Hildegardo Canizales ever hire you? Don't ask me that sort of question, don't be a bastard. Did I let you copy my weekly quiz or didn't I? And now what do you
expect, pain in the ass? I expect you to make a few calls and then call me, my number is on this card.

He turned on the cell phone and it rang, he saw it was Commander Briseño and did not answer, there were seven missed calls and six were from him. Only you could have such a folkloric ring tone. Only I have the balls. Agreed, my child. Foreman my buddy, I need a big favor. Another? Listen asshole I'm not your father, you're big enough now to stand on your own two feet. I've got Yoonohoo Valdés on my tail, last night he sent me a warning of 102 slugs from an AK. What a waste, for any of my boys one would have been enough and you wouldn't be here bothering me. Lend me your bulletproof car. Castelo smiled: How do you know I have one? Because you aren't stupid. I can't let you have it for long, it's vital equipment for the job. It'll only be for a few days, if you need it give me a shout. What about the heap you came in? They ruined it last night, send it to one of your friends who can fix it up fast. Absolutely, start thinking about what you're going to give me on Father's Day.

It was a blue Beemer, totally armor-plated.

His bulletproof vest, however, was English. This is real protection, he thought as he drove by two Hummers parked at a seafood place where the drivers were curing their hangovers. In the stereo he found Santana's twenty greatest hits, stupendous for cheering up any morning.

Cavalry charge. He made sure it was not Briseño. Mendieta. A 7-27 on Maquío Clouthier Boulevard, very near Ernesto Millán Park. Got it, send Zelda Toledo over.