Silver Bullets (17 page)

I don't get you, Goga, why is it so hard for you to leave him? It's as if you were married to him; I don't like that in a lot of women, they take a lover and it's as if the world had run out of men, they become blind, deaf, and dumb. Well, with him I felt things I never could have felt with anyone else. But he's a jerk. Sweetheart, maybe that's why. Don't be a bitch, don't just agree with me; look there are more than enough men ready to whip it out; forget that idiot, he's nothing but a fucking godforsaken cop, I'm so glad you didn't bring him. We weren't going to your place. Forgive me, but I would have kicked him out the door, just looking at him brings on my period, I hope it was our people who tried to take him down, you would feel a lot better with that load off your back. Have you never thought how it affects me that you hate him so? Don't be ridiculous, I don't believe that imbecile matters to anyone, much less to you, who have everything; you feel trapped because you don't take any initiative, girl, you live in Los Angeles, find yourself a black honey and you'll see how you wake up singing. A gunshot rang out, followed by a howl from Luigi. What happened? Samantha looked out the window at the swimming pool and the beach beyond, deserted at that time
of day, Goga, something happened outside. What? I don't know, I heard a shot and the dog whining. She saw Mariana running toward the house and went out to meet her: Mariana, what's going on? A man shot at me and killed Luigi. Goga, they killed Luigi and Mariana's terrified, I have to go, we'll talk later. She hung up.

Mariana's heart was pounding: The dog was with me, I saw this guy approaching, I thought it was one of the guards, but he shot at me, poor Luigi. Rojas, Miguelillo, Samantha screamed. A boat sped away full throttle amid flying bullets. The guards ran to get their own boat, but Samantha stopped them. How many were they? One. And you all have colds or what? Idiots, she went up to them and gave each a slap across the face. You give them a chance and it means shit, they simply don't want to do their jobs. She punched a number on the cell phone. Gringo, some numbskull tried to kill Mariana and did in her dog, he took off in a boat toward that strip of restaurants, see who you can call, oh, and the punks you gave me were worth shit, get rid of them and send me ones that know how to work. They were on the beach, Mariana caressed her dog, weeping, blood dripped from one of her hands. Then the pet stirred and tried to get up, his owner shrieked: Sam, the dog is alive, he must be wounded because I'm covered in blood. Let's find a vet. They raced to the green Hummer and roared off in search of help for the cocker spaniel.

Cell phone ring. Mariana, talk to Goga. What happened, are you okay? Yes, Goga, thank you, a bit shocked, Luigi's hurt, but he's alive, right now we're taking him to the vet in Navolato. That's a relief, let me know what happens, you scared me to death. Will do. She hung up. No doubt about it, Samantha said, that bitch is a good friend.

Leaving town, the women zipped around an SUV with tinted windows. The driver recognized them, yet he continued on at a normal speed, trailing the red taillights of the bodyguards' black Lobo.

It was Saturday, and Trudis had taken the day off. That night there was a Luis Miguel concert, and she wanted to be well rested. You never know, I might run into him and I ought to look attractive, lively, ready to face the mystery of life. Agent Toledo had been occupied with her own affairs since the previous day. Mendieta had spent all of Friday at home with the cell phone off, trying not to think about Goga or the case. He spoke to no one and read
News from the Empire
, which kept him up much of the night.

Although he slept badly, he got up late, put on Elton John's “Daniel,” and made himself a Nescafé. Who had Ezequiel Barraza seen? And did that person know we were going to meet up? Where did Ezequiel call me from? He realized that even if he was not going to pursue the case, he was caught up in it, in its impossibility. Before deleting anything, he tried to decode what was on the Palm. Sunspots must have gotten to it, they say they damage the things you'd least expect, from a transistor radio in the countryside to a satellite tracking station: “silv bull, ritual?” A ritual with silver bullets? I meet Professor Rendón tomorrow, and I promised not to be late; since I can't get this out of my
mind, let me think a bit, every crime has an author, who would be the author of this one? We'll see what Rendón found out. He was going to put the Palm on the chest of drawers, but several numbers appeared on the screen. What's this? “Eng. Canizal,” it read in his own horrible handwriting. Engineer Canizales's number. Should I let him know? Just to be a nuisance he called, two minutes later he had the man himself on the telephone. How did it go in Mexico City? Really well, everyone busy, working hard; as a matter of fact my lawyer called your headquarters this morning and no one knew where you were and they wouldn't give him your cell phone number. Tell me. I want you to shelve the investigation into Bruno's murder, definitively, and if you don't mind I would rather not go into my reasons. Did they manage to convince you, too? None of that, Detective, let's just say I have no interest in ruffling feathers. Don't worry, neither do I, in fact I was just calling to let you know that your son's case was closed by order of the district attorney's office, although your wife maintains that the culprit is you. I know, however, that is irrelevant. Not when you are going for the big chair. Are you accusing me? I wouldn't dare, I'm only thinking about all that can happen in a passionate campaign, besides the case is closed. Then we have nothing to speak about. Good luck, Engineer, and don't forget you have my vote.

There's news: He hates to make waves; for sure he's afraid of Yoonohoo Valdés; poor guy, our poor luminaries, up to their necks in it.

He took out the notepad and found several entries, among them one about the strange perfume, L.H.; he had forgotten about him. He called and after twelve rings got an answer. Mendieta here, yearning for another drink at the Dandy of the South. Lefty, what are you up to? I'm savoring some delicious shrimp with lime and ground red chilies and a cold beer. Me,
I'm having lobster with beans and I think we're tied. To each his paradise, my friend. I would add that I have open a bottle of Château Camou, a '94, which arrived yesterday from the Trigo Canyon. To each his extras. That means you accept the tie. How is Tijuana? Impressed with the exploits of my twelve-incher and his honorable twins. TJ is impressed? Yeah, tell that to the girl of your eyes, my Magda says hello, she says you owe her that story about Malverde's day. Didn't I already tell her, I was so drunk I can't remember. Listen, Lefty, before you bring it up, I haven't been able to check out the sample you sent me, work is raining down, including three from the other side, one from San Diego and two from San Bernadino, I'm going twenty hours a day. L., my man, don't worry, we just closed the case. Why's that? Oh, you know how it is, too much investment, we're in the middle of a horrible budget crunch, etc., so when you finish that nectar you're relishing, toss the samples down the drain and that'll be that. But wasn't anyone caught? Not even a scapegoat. So I owe you one. Get hold of enough wine, I'll put up the lobster. And we'll get the beans from my mother. Which are the best in the world.

Laughter, the infallible remedy, sincerely,
Reader's Digest
.

In the late afternoon a taxi delivered Goga to the house in the Col Pop. Over the telephone he had let her persuade him to go with her to Navolato, where Luigi had been operated on after the veterinarian sobered up. The dog was in the recovery room.

They all met in the vestibule. Samantha confronted him: What are you doing here, unrecyclable garbage? Sam, please, I brought him, I practically had to beg him to come with me. Well, he came, now he can scram. How is the dog doing? Fine, they'll give him to us any minute now, the bullet broke a rib and never came out; according to the vet, it's because he's so old, here it is in this piece of paper. Can I see it? Mendieta was asking Mariana. You aren't allowed to see anything here and if you don't get lost this very instant I'm going to have you thrown out. Samantha did not back down, but Mariana passed him the paper.

The bullet was silver.

It was probably the same guy who killed Bruno Canizales. He put the slug in his pocket. The women turned to look at him. Naturally his target wasn't the dog. We don't give a fuck about your conclusions, you two-bit hero. Sam, you and I are friends, please, I beg you, a bit of tolerance. You must know by
now the case is closed. You don't say, Detective, I was getting to like being a suspect, I suppose you'll be able to make this one happy after all, though the truth is I don't know what she sees in you. Not that it matters to me, but it seems obvious that you are also on the murderer's list. Goga gave him a worried look. What kind of a case was this? Chief Detective, you and your suspects can lick my you know what. He shot at me, Mariana whined, her voice full of fear, I watched him take aim at me. Did he say anything? Samantha was about to interrupt, but Goga put her arm around her. Nothing, I saw him walking toward me on the beach, when he was about twenty-five feet away he pointed the gun at us and I heard the shot, I screamed, and he sprinted away because the boys came running. Was he young? I didn't manage to see, probably, because he ran really fast, then he got away in a speedboat. Long hair, short hair, bald? He had a baseball cap. Did you see the number on the boat? No, it was too far away. What about the bodyguards? Samantha ordered them back to Culiacán, but they're still outside. He turned to the two women with their arms still around each other: One thing, Señora Valdés, leave Laura Frías alone, there is no reason she should be the victim of your tantrums. Well, then, she should shut her trap; she could not say more because Goga's hand was over her mouth.

It was getting dark.

The bodyguards, two guys about thirty years old, Versace shirts, gold chains, baseball caps, were leaning against their black dual-cab Lobo. They must buy them by the lot, the detective thought. We didn't see any numbers on the boat. I'd say he was young, he ran fast, and he was good at handling that powerboat, the way it took off it must have had 360 horses on it. Yeah, he was heading toward the restaurants. At that moment
the women came out, Samantha carrying Luigi, who had awakened from the anesthesia and was letting himself be babied by his owner, who was walking alongside. He perked up his ears and barked weakly, something the two women celebrated before they climbed into the Hummer and pulled away, followed by the Lobo.

He recalled Dante. How did Mariana and her dog fit into his theory? What was it that made them stand out in the set of victims? I'm so glad they suspended the investigation. It would have driven me crazy.

They got into the Beemer, failing to notice that a few yards away sat the SUV with tinted windows, the motor running but no driver in sight.

They were passing through San Pedro. Goga was aroused and kissed him on the ear. Her breath was hot. Lefty, Lefty Mendieta, do you want me to call you Lefty? No. Why not? Her voice soft, fragile. You are the only woman who calls me by my name. Okay, she ran her tongue over his earlobe. I feel like a Goga-Cola. Mendieta was caught between two urges: on the one hand the resentment cooking his innards, on the other the vindication of a man about to win the battle. He put a hand on her warm thigh; she took it and very slowly drew it to her crotch. The BMW slowed. To Lefty the highway looked like a Möbius strip. He never saw the SUV with tinted windows that pulled alongside at the speed bumps near Aguaruto and paused a moment, perhaps to scrutinize them; even less did he notice when it pulled in front without signaling.

He had asked her once: Why do you always wash yourself there? They all wanted to know, and she always had the same answer: I don't know, doesn't everyone? My world is small. I guess mine is too. It was the last time they had seen each other;
afterward he read on the Internet that it helped prevent uterine cancer.

She had not changed: the same moles, the same agitation, the same smoldering stride. He thought: What is it about sex that binds us so? What does it have that plugs into our brains and alters our most fundamental behavior? How does it generate such need? I wouldn't want to know. It pains me to admit it, but I cannot be with anyone else, I can't even think about anyone else, I simply cannot. Parra was right: Now I can even mention Bardominos without feeling trapped. Montaño must be from another planet, what else could explain him? Goga returned, the very same freshness. This time she did not smoke, she just hugged him and caressed his hair, and they fell asleep.

Finishing breakfast, he turned on the cell phone; he had nine missed calls, among them two from Montaño. I already heard Briseño's news, no need to worry, he understood it all. Lefty, you already know what I think, I didn't call you for that; I called to tell you that Ezequiel Barraza's semen matches what we found in Paola Rodríguez; that much I owed you and now you won't see my tail until tomorrow noon. Will you be okay? Oh, yes, you have no idea.

He fell silent, meditating. Goga was having a second glass of orange juice. A table at the back of the Chuparrosa Enamorada. Beside them a flock of geese was swimming in the Rosales Canal. Is something wrong? They closed the case, but this pain in the ass is solving itself. Tell me. I'd rather sing to you. Is everything all right, Edgar? Jorge Peraza served them more coffee. Couldn't be better, Jorge, thank you. Why haven't you touched the custard tarts, didn't you like them? I swear it's because she
doesn't want to put on weight. Okay, but what about you? I'm showing solidarity.

When you solve a case, what do you feel? She took his hand. A profound peace, something like a good night's sleep. That means now you're restless. Like a rabid dog. The murderer defeated you. Yes, it does become an elegant competition, but it wasn't him, outside factors intervened and kept me from continuing. Don Marcelo, Goga said. Yeah, the one I told you about, Marcelo Valdés and his monstrous empire. Now that they've attacked Mariana too, don't you think maybe they have nothing to do with it? It's possible, but I have information that the gunman hired by the Gringo, Yoonohoo's operator, was in the city the same day that Bruno Canizales took his leave and the next day he turned up in Piggyback full of lead, and don't forget about the attack. What about Paola? I don't think so, she did herself in with a Beretta and Bruno was knocked off with a Smith & Wesson, and then there's the part about the silver bullets, even the dog got one. Though it was meant for Mariana. Even so, I don't get it, why spend the money? Maybe he's trying to be original. Could that be? Why not? If it was Don Marcelo, he's beaten you, but suppose it wasn't? We'll never know unless he turns himself in. Or he finds you, just the day before yesterday he showed his face at the beach house in Altata, don't you think he's following you? Me? Why? You're the ringleader. Let's get going, I have to see somebody at the Miró at eleven. He left Goga at Mariana Kelly's house.

He called Quiroz: I heard you the other day, asshole, and the fact is I don't get you. My man Lefty, it's nothing against you, it wasn't even me; a friend asked me to do him a favor, it's that simple. Who? A guy from the USB, besides I didn't mention any names. Okay, regarding the Canizales case, here's the scoop.
They blocked you, I know, there are heavyweights involved and they would rather not make waves. Something like that. People are even saying Hildegardo Canizales has got the backing of Marcelo Valdés for his candidacy if it happens. They've always sailed in the same boat; you know what's so strange, I'm very close to catching the murderer, I think he's looking for me; we're mounting a media campaign to give him some notoriety and make him nervous so he'll make a mistake, the last thing he did was try to murder a respectable girl in Altata and ended up wounding her dog; you can run with this, just don't name the case, you can call him the silver bullet murderer or whatever you dream up. What was the name of the respectable girl? Yesenia Guadalupe Pereira Ortiz. You got it.

Rendón was drinking beer and reading Ricardo Piglia. I thought you were going to stand me up, Professor. You're late like you always are. It's a cultural practice that I don't wish to abandon. It's underdevelopment internalized. Did you get your car back? That young man, Rodolfo I think his name is, took one look at the napkin and went and got it and he didn't even want a tip for a cold drink. I told you, that man would give his life for my partner, what have you got on silver bullets? I didn't find much, it's a widespread myth in Western culture, Pliny the Elder was the first to write about it, in that case it was a werewolf, now it includes werewolves and vampires, which are another myth of eternal youth. Okay. Being sensually and sexually magnetic, they project elegance, strength, and vitality; they fear silver's purity, and its use goes back to 1767 when they fashioned a silver bullet out of Virgin Mary medallions to kill a werewolf in France. So it has to do with sexual appetite. It's closely linked, especially in the case of vampires. Does it include the use of exotic perfumes? I don't know, perhaps in the Orient where aromas are common in rituals. Why would someone kill two people with
silver bullets in Culiacán? Look, Detective, I'm from Mochis. He smiled. Mendieta was still mystified, but he thanked him just the same: Have a few more beers to my health, he made a sign to Rudy, it was a pleasure and thanks for the help.

Like I said, the case is solving itself.